Besides Watkins’ death there had been another surprise waiting for me back at the cabin; our new corporal had come out of his funk. He still refused to look us in the eye but he cornered me as I was finishing my coffee and spoke softly so that only he and I could hear.
“I’ve let you down. I’ve let you all down. I’m bloody sorry, Sarge.”
I couldn’t quite find it in myself to forgive him right then but I couldn’t give him a bollocking either; that would have been like kicking an already injured puppy. Instead I stayed quiet and let him talk. He didn’t say anything I didn’t either know or guess, but it appeared to do him some good to get it out him. Long story short, the wolves had shaken something loose inside him that had previously tethered him to reality, and I knew that feeling well myself, from my first operation in Antarctica onwards; I couldn’t really fault him for being a human being.
“Try and hold it together for a wee while, lad,” I said. “It’s all any of us can do. We’ll have a longer chat over a beer or six when we get home. Just keep your head down and your eyes open, be ready to jump when I say so. Okay?”
He smiled wanly.
“Whatever you say, Sarge.”
He went to stand with Wilko at the doorway looking out but again couldn’t look either of us in the eye. He wasn’t all the way back, might never make it, but he was no longer dead weight so I took that as an improvement.
Davies was leaned over the table. I saw that he was working on the black boxes we’d dug out of the wolf’s spine. There was the distinctive sound of duct tape being ripped from a roll.
“Yo, McGyver, anything doing?” I asked.
He turned and smiled.
“Getting there, Sarge. A couple of hours and we’ll have a wee shock for them again.”
I left him to it; it kept him out of mischief but I wasn’t sure we were going to get the time he needed.
I rejoined the cap to find him arguing with the sheriff and caught from the gist that it was about the beasts down in the basement.
“We should put them down,” she said.
“Like dogs? Just like that? You’ve seen them. They’re almost human.”
“That’s what bothers me,” Sheriff Sue replied. “Just looking at them makes me sick to my stomach. Besides, I thought your job was to ‘sanitise’? That’s just a polite way of saying what I said, isn’t it?”
I butted in.
“She’s right, Cap, and we both know it.”
“Knowing it and doing it are two different things,” he said, turning to me. “Do you want to go down there and put three rounds into the pregnant one? I know I don’t.”
“I’ll do it,” the sheriff said and before we could stop her she made for the vault door and headed down the steps. She moved fast and although we were at her heels, she still would have had enough time to get the job done. Instead we found her standing in the center of the chamber, her rifle pointing at the pregnant female who was awake and looking right at her. When the sheriff turned, she had tears in her eyes.
“You’re right,” she said, little more than a whisper. “Saying and doing are two different things.”
As I led the sheriff back to the stairs, I saw that the two big males had stood to watch us again. Their eyes looked as sad as those of the sheriff and I imagined I felt their gaze boring into my back as we left.
“We need a cunning plan,” the cap said once we were all together back up top.
“We need a squad of veterinarians,” the sheriff said. “But first things first. I might not have been able to shoot that pitiful thing downstairs, but I’ve got no trouble taking out a fucking wolf. Let’s deal with them first and worry about the rest later.”
“I reckon we’ve got the pack numbers thinned right down,” the cap agreed. “But we need to get them all together; we can’t be chasing them all over these hills.”
“They seem keen on chasing us though, Cap,” I said. “They came after the Skidoo like dogs after an ice-cream van. Maybe all we need to be is bait.”
It had been almost a throwaway remark of mine, but he took it seriously.
“Bait and trap might work. We need somewhere we can funnel them in and surround them, get them all in one place and wipe them all out at the same time. Any ideas?”
“Don’t ask me, I’m new here myself,” the sheriff answered. But I was thinking about the sunken bowl where the garage sat, and I was seeing something in my mind’s eye.
“We can arrange the trucks side-on in the forecourt of the main block,” I said. “And use the building as a third wall. With guns on top of each truck and at the building main door we’ll have a custom-built shooting gallery.”
“A gauntlet,” the sheriff said. “I like it.”
“Me too,” the cap added. “But we still need bait. Something fast and loud.”
“I can handle that, sir,” a voice said at the doorway. “Get the trucks ready, I’ll be back in five.”
I turned in time to see Jennings leave the cabin. By the time I reached the door he was on the Skidoo. By the time I stepped down off the steps he had it running and my fingers gripped air instead of his jacket as the machine rattled off, gaining speed.
- 13 -
“What does he think he’s doing?” the sheriff said at my back.
“He’s found a sense of duty. He thinks he’s doing the right thing,” I replied. “Come on. He’s trying to buy us some time. We’d best use it.”
At least we made it back to the main building without incident but that was about the only thing that went to plan in the long minutes that followed. As I made for a truck to drive it into position, I could hear the high whine of the Skidoo in the trees, like an over-revved lawn mower. Exciting barking rose to join the sound and I had a sinking feeling in my gut as I realised that the hunt was already on.
Either Jennings was shite at counting time or the wolves hadn’t given him the amount he expected. Either way, the Skidoo came clattering and whining back into the forecourt before we’d got the trucks lined up opposite each other in front of the building. I was in the cab of one of them, the cap in the cab of the other, and Wilko, Davies and the sheriff stood, exposed, on the forecourt, four or five paces in front of the main complex doors. Half a dozen wolves were only yards behind the Skidoo.
I didn’t have time to think; my move was all reaction and adrenaline. I floored the pedal, turned the wheel and got the vehicle between Jennings and the pack just a second before two of them hit my driver’s door with an impact that brought a starburst crack to the window. I heard gunfire out in the forecourt but my view was only of the side of the other truck; I had no idea what was going down outside.
I tried to get my rifle up but it had got caught up in the seat belt, and I had to lower my gaze to find the problem. When I looked up again there was a wolf sitting on the hood directly outside the window staring in at me. The bloody thing was salivating. It began a frenzied, scrabbling attack at the window, as if the sight of me had enraged it. The truck’s engine was still running. I threw it into reverse, barrelling backward across the forecourt and swinging to straighten up at the same time. The wolf on the hood slid aside, still scrabbling, and fell away.
For the first time I got a clear view of the front of the main complex.
It wasn’t going well.
The cap was leaning out of the window of the other truck, firing volleys into a snarling group of wolves that were mostly ignoring him, focussing instead on the squad and the sheriff who were trying to make a retreat for the door of the main complex. Two dead wolves lay between me and them, but somebody among the defenders was down, either Wilko or Jennings; I couldn’t make out who but I saw the blood clearly enough, too much red on the snow. And by turning the truck round, I was now in their direct line of fire and saw that the sheriff had paused for fear of hitting me. That gave the wolves a chance to creep closer; the defensive position was going to be overrun in seconds.