The sheriff looked down at the carnage, spat into the wind and turned on her heels without a word. Jennings had gone pale again and I thought I might have to wait for him to spill his guts but he followed readily enough when I motioned that we should hurry after the woman.
“What the fuck is going on here, Sarge?” Jennings said as we went back through the hall.
“As usual, we’ll ken when we ken. Welcome to the squad, lad. Buckle up. Things are likely to get hairy.”
We searched four more houses, expecting to find more bloody slaughter in each but finding nothing of note. That didn’t relax the sheriff any, and she was visibly shaken when we climbed over a small rise and looked down to the next house, or rather, where it had been, for like the gas station in town this was only a burned out shell. That wasn’t the most notable thing though; the area between us and the house was a charnel pit of dead people and four dead wolves all mingled together, some of both burned, others torn to bits, and several of the wolves showing signs that they’d been blasted at close range by high velocity rounds.
The sheriff made for one particular body, a big man whose head had almost been torn from his neck. She turned him over; he was already mostly frozen to the ground. I saw tears glisten in her eyes as she dropped the body and turned back to me.
“That’s Fred Jacobs. Looks like he got everybody here to make a stand,” she said, having to shout to make herself heard in the wind.
“At least he took some of them with him,” Jennings replied.
“Yeah,” she replied, not hiding the sarcasm. “That’s a big comfort to me.”
I wasn’t speaking; I’d got a close look at one of the dead wolves and it was like looking into my memory; the same gray mane, the same steely eyes and the long muscular flanks. I had seen this thing’s brother, a few years and a few thousand miles away in Siberia.
If Jennings asked me his question now, I was beginning to think I’d be able to give him an answer.
It didn’t take us long to go through the last few houses which was fine by me for the storm had ramped up another few notches and it was getting hard to make headway against the wind. The sheriff seemed to be right in her appraisal; her fireman friend had gathered everybody he could in one place but it hadn’t been enough to save them. If my own reading of the scene was right and this was a pack of the things I’d faced in Siberia, I wasn’t sure even the four of us with our weapons would have helped overmuch.
I was starting to feel exposed out here in the night at the edge of town but it was still the sheriff’s call to make. I can’t say I wasn’t a wee bit relieved when she motioned that we should start to make our way back to the fire station.
And the way back was made easier by the fact that the wind was now at our backs. We were making good time despite the fact that the snow was now nearly up to our knees so I was surprised when the sheriff stopped us again, back in the same alley that led to the main drag. She leaned in close and shouted in my ear.
“Do you hear it?”
At first, all I heard was the wind whistling in the street beyond the alley, then I heard it; a high whine of an engine being run at high speed.
“Motorbike?”
“Skidoo,” she answered. “Somebody’s still alive.”
The sound got louder as we stepped out into the street. Then we saw the single headlight, coming in from the north end at speed with a hunched figure in the seat swaddled in heavy layers of what looked like bed-sheets. It was almost on us before we noticed the three huge wolves loping along behind, snapping at the rear of the vehicle as if trying to hobble it.
The sheriff had her weapon up taking aim before I could even give an order.
“Take them down, lads,” I shouted, then there was no time to think.
Gunfire roared in my ears as I took aim. The sheriff took a shot and raised a gouge along the flank of one of the beasts. My own burst of three rounds almost took the head off the one next to it. A second shot from the sheriff took out the one she was after.
Jennings and Wilko were after the last one but the corporal was in Wilko’s line of fire, and his own shots were too hurried and went somewhere far and wide. The beast barrelled towards them. I was still swinging my weapon round when Wilko roughly shoved Jennings to one side, toppling him into the snow. The wolf came on but Wilko stood his ground and as I had done with the other, put three almost down its throat. The beast was dead and down before it knew what had hit it.
Wilko turned and put out a hand to help Jennings to his feet.
“Not bad for a wee poof, eh?” he said. “And you’re welcome by the way.”
The skidoo had come to a halt sometime during the action and toppled over, pinning its rider beneath it. I motioned for Jennings and Wilko to take watch and went to help the sheriff right it. It was a heavy bugger and took both of us to get it shifted. The driver was a man, pale face showing white even against the snow, and he was out cold.
“This is blown,” the sheriff said, kicking the skidoo. “We’ll have to carry him.”
And before I could agree she’d thrust her rifle at me, bent and lifted the man over her shoulder in a fireman’s lift that looked practised.
“Watch my back,” she shouted. “I’m a bit busy here.”
We made our way up the street. There was no sign of any more of the beasts and the sheriff carried the man all the way back to the station, in heavy snow, and didn’t once ask for help.
I was starting to develop more than a wee bit of respect for Sheriff Sue.
- 4 -
The cap met us at the door of the station as if he’d been watching for our return.
“We heard the shots,” he said. “Everything under control?”
I nodded to the man that the sheriff was putting down on a cot.
“He came in from the north. Maybe from the research station? And there’s something else…”
He stopped me.
“When we’re alone,” he said. “First things first.”
He called over to the other side of the room.
“Davies, we’ve got someone you need to have a look at.”
The private looked up from where he was tending to an elderly lady, gave a thumbs up, and two minutes later was beside the cap, the sheriff and me as we stood around the cot.
“Do you know him?” I asked the sheriff.
“Nope. They keep themselves to themselves if he’s from where I think he is.”
“The research station?”
She nodded.
“They have their own supplies brought in by truck and they never come to town, not even for liquor or a meal. He’s the first one we’ve seen.”
Davies was peeling away the swaddling layers of cloth; I’d been right earlier, they were bedclothes. And the more Davies peeled away, the more blood we saw, caked and frozen stiff against the material.
Davies turned back to us.
“He’s hurt. I’m going to be a wee while at this. Go and talk among yourselves for a bit. I’ll update you on his prognosis when I can.”
All of us, even the cap, did as we’d been told; the unwritten rule was that in matters of health of both the squad and civilians the medics were the ones to make the call and that applied even when the medic was a private. I followed the sheriff and the cap over to the coffee area.