A Season of Wolves, page 19
part #2 of Rangers of Walden Series
“We have trouble,” said Cody. “When Anya saw you coming up the street, she went crazy. She attacked Kaine and screamed at him. One of the other professors shot her.”
The real Kaine drew in a gasp and pushed forward. “Is she all right? Can I see her?”
Cody looked from Kaine to Daniel and back again.
“Short explanation; meet the real Professor Robert Kaine,” said Daniel. “Your other one isn’t who he says he is. I’m guessing Anya saw her real father, knew he was free, and decided to take her revenge on being kept a prisoner the whole winter.”
The others stepped back as they looked from Kaine and then at Daniel.
“That’s a lot for us to accept, fam. You got proof of that?”
“This is my identification and my key card for the campus,” said Kaine as he showed it to Cody. “Considering how the damn things are made, very hard to fake, no?”
“I’ll be…” Cody breathed in, and he looked up at Daniel. “Now what, though? Anya needs medical help, and the other took the Mayor up to the top of the tower.”
Daniel motioned to Kristi and said, “Get one of our EMSs to her.”
An explosion was on the other side, closer to the parking lot. “What in the hell is the man doing?” asked Cody.
“Not him, but others with him,” said Daniel. “Okay, you two—take a team and settle that issue. You and you, with me. Dr. Kaine, I was hoping you could go with them and see your daughter. Let’s roll.”
Daniel turned, leading the other two to the tallest buildings at the University, which also had the registrar’s office. “We aren’t going to have to climb the stairs all the way, are we?” asked the first officer.
With a glare, Daniel said, “You think I’m any more impressed with this?”
“No, ‘spose not,” admitted that same officer.
He led them up the stairs, gritting his teeth against the pain in his legs. He refused to hobble. All they had were knives and his screwdriver, and a sledgehammer. As Victoria had the other key to the weapons locker, they could only use what they could find. One, however, had picked up a steel baseball bat from somewhere, and the other had a bow with arrows sharpened to a nasty point.
“Arresting with bows, arrows, a bat… and a sledgehammer,” said Daniel, with a heavy sigh. “Okay, you with the bow… cover the hallway. If you see a shot on this fellow, take it. You and I will be on either side of the door.”
“And how are we getting in if…” asked the first officer until Daniel produced the keycard the real Kaine had handed him, plus his daughter’s keys. “All right.”
Daniel slid the keycard through the reader, and the light turned from red to green. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. With a nod, the officer with the bow covered what he could see. “I would ask how you found that card, but considering the new company you keep…” came the imposter’s voice.
“Okay, let’s talk,” said Daniel. “Starting with your real name so I have something to call you other than ‘hey you’ because we both know you’re not the real Robert Kaine.”
“He’s what?” Victoria exclaimed. “You son of a bitch!”
There was a slap, and Daniel wasn’t sure if the Mayor had slapped the imposter or he had slapped her to keep her from yelling at him. “Ow, she hits hard,” chuckled the imposter. “I suppose there’s no point in being nice about it. I have your Mayor.”
“He’s got a pen knife but not much else,” said Victoria.
“And as you all know, lots can be done with just this little knife, especially to her neck like it is now,” said the imposter. “My name isn’t important.”
Daniel sighed. I hate negotiations. “What is important then? Why don’t you tell me?”
“When the Colonel told me to be wary of interlopers from City Hall, I thought him overdramatic,” said the imposter. “But, I suppose he was proved right. More the fool me.”
“You’re with Harnet,” realized Daniel, and he let his head fall against the wall.
The imposter laughed. “With him? No, no! Oh, this is delightful. You have no idea. Harnet answers to the same person I do… which is why your little insurrection is futile. Your city was ours before you ever picked up a gun against us. That you still stand is luck on your part, but it will eventually run out.”
“Really?” asked Daniel. “Big talk for the man backed into a corner.”
“Give it time,” said the imposter. “I will leave here soon enough, and you will all be dead…”
There was a crackle of radio before it went dead again.
For a long moment, the imposter was silent. “Impossible.”
“What is?” asked Victoria
“How the hell… Cecelie is dead,” said the imposter. “How.”
Daniel sucked in a breath, and an arrow whistled by—a thud from within the room and a gasp. Daniel slid into the room, screwdriver and hammer up, but Victoria was unharmed. The imposter was on the floor, with an arrow in his chest—right into the heart. “Nice shot,” said the second officer, the one with the bat.
“Wish he could have stood down,” said the officer with the bow. “We still have no idea who he’s working for, but I had no choice. I could see it in his eyes—he was about to go after the Mayor next.”
“I saw the same,” said Victoria, touching the officer’s shoulder. “Thank you… again.”
The officer with the bow dipped his head, looking around the room as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, part of the job.”
“Let’s head down to the others,” said Daniel. “Take the radio. Maybe the next time they send a blast, we’ll hear a bit of their intel and get a warning next time.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The rain returned at night, and Gina welcomed it. Again, it meant the raiders had resigned themselves to being locked inside to wait out the spring rain, which was still biting cold.
Gina crept down the mountain slowly as she could not risk a light or breaking an ankle.
The rain covered any noise of her passage, and the lack of light covered any motion a lookout may have seen. Once she stepped into the ballpark, she kept to the tree line again as she moved through the subdivision. Given how many hours it had been and how many houses there were, she had to search every single home.
Thankfully, the subdivision wasn’t that large, and which houses were occupied was easy enough to tell from those that weren’t.
It didn’t take long as, at the fourth house, one woman crept out of a window, using a blanket to cover the window frame as she helped the older woman out of the window.
“Don’t scream,” said Gina quietly as she crept up to them, still hidden in the shadows. “I’m a friend, believe it or not. A friend from Lively. Russell Wither sends his regards to the Withers of Whitefish.”
The two women stared hard into the dark.
“And the Withers of Whitefish return those regards,” whispered the older woman of the two. “They still have my husband.”
“Then I will get the two of you to the mountain. Hide there. Do you know where they took him?”
The older woman shook her head.
Gina sighed heavily. “Come on. It’s better not to talk here.”
She led them through the town site and the ballpark, keeping them to the shadow of the trees—although it wasn’t necessary—before taking them up partway. The older one turned and stuck her fingers in her mouth, whistling a distinctive pattern that sounded birdlike but not quite. After that, she followed Gina at the same pace as Gina led.
Once they were well above Oja, Gina showed them to another tent-covered hidden shelter. “We can stay here. I have been watching the camp for a few days. M’name is Gina. I’m a firefighter on loan from the Australian Army, or I was when all this went down. Russell ditched his SUV over the winter, and the other EMS and I saved him. Long story short, I’m here now to tell his mother he’s fine but ran into a roadblock.”
“I’m Marissa, and this is Abby,” said the older woman. “Cecelia has my husband, Derek. Russell happens to be the Uncle of our goddaughters, Sheridan and Shiloh. Those horses belong to them—on loan to get us to Garson to find another Uncle who might be able to turn the lights on.”
Gina’s eyes rose. “Given the current climate, Garson is a long way from anywhere no matter how useful this Uncle is, but if you’re seeking Kirk, I can tell you he’s also safe. Russell managed to finagle me into helping him as well.”
“Ah, no, we’re looking for Garrett,” said Marissa.
Gina paused again, and then she snorted. “You’re headed in the wrong direction, then… and just how big is this family?”
“Russell is the eldest of three, Garrett is the middle son, and Daniel is the third son,” Marissa answered. “Kirk is their Uncle—their mother’s brother-in-law.”
“Oh, I’m familiar with her sister,” said Gina with a snort. “She’s safe too.”
“A relief, I’m sure,” said Marissa.
Shiloh looked up at Gina. “What do you mean we’re going in the wrong direction?”
“I met Garrett,” said Gina. “He’s holed up between Whitefish and High Falls. His truck got stranded right before everything went to hell, and he’s been living off the land and raiding the raiders, so to speak.”
Shiloh gasped. “Could you tell me where?”
Gina shook her head. “He was moving camp and didn’t need to tell me where. Not that I blame him. Kovach would be hunting for him if he knew he was still alive, much like how Cecelie wants your Derek dead. The same kind of relationship there, I reckon. By the way, that whistle you made… hell of a risk.”
Marissa shook her head. “It’s a signal for Derek telling him we managed to escape. He won’t risk doing anything until he hears anything. Cecelie and… well. There is a history between us all.”
“I gathered that,” said Gina. “She tried to recruit me and told me my first mission was to travel your way and kill Derek Moss.”
From Marissa’s horrified stare and Abby’s jaw-dropping slightly, Gina gathered that the Derek in the camp was the same one Cecelie wanted dead.
“I obviously opted out,” finished Gina. “Took down a few of her raiders in the effort. An entire hunting party worth. I imagine she is wondering what happened to them. They’re fish food.”
“While I’m relieved to hear that, I have to point out that was pretty efficient of you,” said Marissa as she looked at Abby. “Almost alarmingly so.”
“This new world we’re in doesn’t give you the luxury of avoiding a fight,” said Gina. “Commit to being the survivor or be the fish food. That’s the only two choices you have. Better to come to peace with it now.”
* * * * *
Garrett’s plan for the next thing he would make would take him a few days, if not more, and that was the wooden door.
However, he had a different problem, especially after all the work over the past few days.
He sighed as he checked his food stores. The only thing he had left was the wax-sealed cheese and a single can of beans. That’s not going to last me, he thought. Time to go hunting, I guess.
I should have done that a few days ago… Instead of getting all tied up in building the damn cabin.
That had always been a failing of his—he was so easily distracted by making and fixing things, even at work, that he’d go without eating or even thinking of how he would eat. Back then, though, it was as simple as stopping by Gus’s or Gonga’s on the way home for a bite to eat.
With his new situation, that was no longer an option.
Not only would he have to cook it, but he’d have to catch it too.
He had neglected two things, and now it was getting dangerously too late.
The weather was at least decent enough to go fishing, so he picked up the fishing tackle and gear. On the way, he set up a trap line with bits of bait. Trap lines were a lost art form that some had valid concerns over. However, he didn’t have the luxury of that. He needed to eat, and his last line was the traps if fishing didn’t yield anything.
He laid these both on the ground and in the trees. If he were lucky, he might get a partridge or something of similar size.
He took his notebook with him so he had something to keep track of his thoughts and ideas while waiting for something to bite.
He climbed up the mountain and across to Agnew Lake. He was far enough away from both the dam and the campground, well hidden by some bushes and trees so that if anyone happened by on a boat, he would be easily missed… so long as they didn’t go by too closely but where he gave him a decent eye line to prevent being surprised.
The morning passed, and while he had a few bites, the fish caught were all small—far too small to eat except for one bass that held a bit of promise but was still little more than a snack once cooked. Still, it was food, and noon approaching meant the fish would head to deep and cooler waters.
He headed back and checked on his trap line. His luck wasn’t much better, but he did find that he had a hare in one trap and a fox in another. Not my first choice, he thought as he cleaned the both of them using the bits he would never eat as bait for his next walk-through later this evening.
He returned to his camp and finished cleaning and trimming the hare and fox.
Using a bit of clean cloth, he threw the bones and other bits and tied the fabric closed as he let it sink into the cast iron pot of water on the cookstove. He seared half of the meat as he sliced the rest into thin slices and put them in the other opening of his stove that was still hot but not direct flame. He would smoke them until dehydrated to preserve them as jerky using pine needles for added flavour.
He hummed a tune as he cooked. While he wasn’t a fan of vegetables for soup and stews, not having the usual trinity of celery, onion, and carrot felt like the soup was missing something. It was missing potatoes, which was lamentable, but the bone broth and stewed meat gave him sustenance he would not usually have, as did the fried fish.
I wonder if I could find a book or two in those houses on bushcraft and grow or finding wild versions of things we’d typically eat so I’m not just surviving on meat, he thought and then snorted. Who thought I’d say I miss vegetables, but my diet is a bit monotonous without. Even a hunk of bread or a potato…
He went back out, leaving the jerky on the embers within the cook box, and checked his trap line.
This time he had a partridge, and he grinned as he returned to his camp.
These he liked—and had often gone out of his way to hunt. Their meat was a cross between a turkey’s dark meat and a chicken’s dark meat, if a bit wilder and more pungent in flavour but not so overpowering as other game meats.
He cleaned this back at camp as much of a partridge could be used in cooking or for other purposes, including the feathers.
After cleaning the bird and leaving it to hang to cure close to the cook box and with enough smoke to hit it without smoking himself out, he went to bed for the night.
The following day he checked the bird and the fish and was pleased that the slow roast and smoke had finished preserving both. The jerky had also cured well, and this meant he would have at least some dried meat for decent rations if he failed to catch anything else.
But, with food obtained, he continued working on his cabin to finish it.
The next thing he made, using the last rayon tarps as wind block and insulation, was a wooden door using saplings, pallet wood, and nails he had found in the same shed. He used the pallet to create a door frame and mounted it on hinges.
He left the canvas curtain on the inside of the door as it would close up any gaps still left and keep out the cold and wet. He made a set of shutters and continued tweaking and building the front wall until the wood was in no danger of falling, was wind and rainproof, and even had a plastic window he could take in and out and a set of wooden shutters to pull closed during storms and in the winter. The stretched plastic over a wood frame window would let in natural light in the day and block the wind at night.
He relaxed as he lit another fire in his new firebox, using a bit of metal window screen to keep the sparks inside the fireplace as another couple of fish hung above being smoked and dried by the low embers. The new chimney did its job, and, with a final check, the pine trees above dissipated any smoke. From the outside, it was next to impossible to see as he had used moss and rocks to camouflage it and the wood, burned dark on the surface, was like painting the rest a matte black. Once various types of grass took on the roof, no one would realize it was even there.
Perfect, he thought as he went back inside, sat on his bed, and stripped down to nearly his underwear. The floor, being built into a crevice, was still a bit uneven, but he would work on that next, perhaps by tamping down dirt to cover it with stones and what was left of the cement around the entry and to seal off any remaining cracks, as well as around the fireplace. The rest could be wood, perhaps even pallet wood.
Garrett leaned back on his bed and closed his eyes. It had taken him days, but now he had a home that would last him through the winter… and would not be easily found.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Night had fallen, making the dark in the shed inky dark. Derek could barely see the hand in front of his face, and the rain had not let up, which robbed him of any light the moon or stars could have given him. He still had his flashlight, but he didn’t want to betray that fact, nor did he want to use up what battery power he had left in it until he could get back to his pack and plug it into the solar charger.
Derek stretched his neck and then got up and stretched himself. He was about to return to the corner and the canvas bag he’d found to sleep on, but a whistle in a distinct pattern pierced the silence.
He stilled, straining to listen.
It sounded again, confirming his suspicion.
Somehow Marissa had made it to safety. The whistle pattern was one they had come up with years ago while camping and then used to the amusement of their family in the city to find each other in a parking lot. Usually, it meant ‘home’ or at the car, but in this instance, he knew it meant she was somewhere else—free.
