Crack! Crack!

Her heart pounding and breath caught, Mia Sandas stopped in mid-stride. The explosion wasn’t that close, the location impossible to pinpoint. Still, it alarmed Banshee enough that her dog barked and whined until she ordered him to stop. She strained to catch any and all sounds that didn’t belong in the wilderness.

As the seconds passed and the sounds weren’t repeated, her heart rate slowed. Her breathing remained ragged.

Vulnerable. She was fighting the fight or flight instinct because, alone except for Banshee, she was vulnerable. Rifle shots were common in southern Oregon’s coastal forest during hunting season, but it was June. If someone had been target shooting he or she would have fired more than twice, right?

Prompted by Banshee’s continued tension, Mia abandoned the deer trail she’d been on and followed the Rottweiler-bullmastiff cross-country. The change in direction took her straight up Dark Mountain. Her hundred pound plus, mostly black mutt picked his way around the ground-blanketing vegetation that came with months of cool rain. Because Mia’s business demanded physical labor, the climb didn’t tax her. She just wished someone had designed boots capable of firmly gripping slippery roots, lush vegetation and downed madrone, red cedar and sycamore trees.

Although nature’s sounds had resumed, Banshee remained determined to find some answers. In the three years they’d been companions, Mia had learned to take him seriously. Banshee could snore with the best of them—usually on the couch near her wood stove—but when his hackles lifted and he exposed his fangs, the dog meant business.

Despite his solid form, Banshee moved almost soundlessly. So did she, thanks to lessons learned from the uncle and his wife who’d raised her in Alaska. If she was going to continue to live near the wilderness, which she needed to with every fiber she possessed, she had to remain part of her surroundings.

Banshee stopped and looked back at her, prompting her to return his gaze. A little over a hundred feet above them the land briefly leveled and opened up, revealing good summer feeding ground for the coast’s Roosevelt elk.

At the thought of elk, she sucked in clean, cool, damp air. She wasn’t afraid for herself and only marginally so for Banshee, but she might soon see something she didn’t want to. Not far away, a long-abandoned logging road crawled up this side of the mountain. Only a few people knew of its existence, most of them hunters.

Not hunters this time of the year. Poachers.

After refilling her lungs, she waved her hand, indicating she was ready for Banshee to start again. As she climbed, she trailed her fingers over soft ferns and moss. The mountains that owned her soul as much as Alaska once had were places of incredible, enduring beauty and, sometimes, violent death. Here, the division between prey and predator was clearly marked. The weather ruled, and a careless step could mean broken bones and a slow end in an area where cell phones seldom found a connection.

Her calf muscles were protesting by the time she reached the level area. Instead of taking a break, Banshee continued his deliberate walk. She didn’t try to keep up with him, choosing instead to focus on the difference between a wall of trees and a rolling meadow. The swales made it impossible for her to see everything, but from where she stood it all seemed peaceful.

At least it did until she again concentrated on Banshee. He’d advanced in his slow, deliberate way to a madrone thicket to the right of the meadow and was standing in deep shadow staring at something.

As she approached, she heard a sound that made her think something was striking the ground. The dull thumps lacked rhythm. Banshee whined and sank down. Wishing she was doing anything else, she nevertheless continued to close the distance between them. When she was steps from her companion, her heart tightened.

He’d found a downed cow elk.

A hand to her mouth, Mia stared at the large creature lying on her side. The elk’s legs occasionally thrashed, hooves digging into dirt. Her sides heaved. She stared at Banshee, but didn’t appear aware that a human was around. Bright red blood stained the shoulder area.

“Bastard,” Mia muttered. “You damn bastard.”

Whoever had shot the maybe five hundred pound, light brown cow had left his victim to die. A thrill kill. Murder for murder’s sake. Worse than that because the elk was still suffering.

Furious and still feeling vulnerable, Mia wrapped her arms around her middle and took in the setting. She couldn’t see the logging road from here, which meant that if the poacher had used it to get here, he’d left his vehicle behind. She’d been far enough away when she’d heard the shots she wouldn’t have known whether the so-called hunter had taken off or was still around.

Hopefully gone. Hopefully without his rifle trained on her.

No, the damn poacher wouldn’t add murder to his crime.

Maybe.

The cow’s hind legs jerked, drawing her attention to that part of the exquisite, but useless body. When she spotted engorged udders, her stomach roiled. “You miserable excuse for a human being,” she whispered. “I’d shoot you if I could. Let you know what slowly dying feels like.”

Banshee whined and stared up at her.

“I know,” she whispered. Instead of trying to finish what she’d intended to tell her companion, she drew her utilitarian knife out of the sheath at her waist with a shaking hand. “I don’t want to do this,” she whispered. “It’s the last.” She didn’t try to explain to Banshee that she’d decided not to use her Ruger to finish what someone else should have because she didn’t want to telegraph her presence. Thankfully, she’d armed herself before leaving her property. She hadn’t expected to need to use her weapons. They were simply insurance.

When Banshee stopped whining, she took his silence as approval of what she was about to do. Anything to make the horrible act right in her mind.

Hating herself, she approached the prone cow from behind so hopefully the animal wouldn’t have to deal with more trauma than she already was. Teeth clenched, Mia knelt behind the elk’s head. For too long she couldn’t force herself to move. Then her uncle’s words echoed in her.

“Sometimes you’ll have to do things you don’t want to. Don’t hide from this. Get it done.”

At the time, Uncle George had been talking about hunting deer and moose because they lived off the land, but his wisdom had carried over to a lot of things—like now.

Teeth still clenched and head throbbing, she took hold of as much of the skin at the cow’s neck as she could, held her breath, and sliced through the artery there. Crimson exploded. The elk shuddered. Her legs locked. Fighting a whimper, Mia placed a hand over the cow’s eyes and watched the exquisite animal bleed out. When all movement stopped, she wiped her knife on the ground and put it away. Eyes burning, she stroked the inert form then stood and stepped back.  

If it was hunting season and she had an elk tag, she would have been tempted to take the meat—not that she had any way of carrying it home. Doing so would have been a sign of respect, a way of thanking the cow for her sacrifice.

She’d always drawn a firm line when it came to playing by nature’s rules. Someone had shot this creature simply because he could. Maybe the state’s wildlife officers could determine which rifle the bullets had come from and make a charge stick, but for that to happen, she had to bring an officer here. Share what should be a peaceful place with a man who might only see a crime scene. Who might fault her for slitting the elk’s throat, even accuse her of being the poacher.

No choice. She couldn’t let this wrong go unprosecuted.

Although she was pretty sure what she’d find, she pulled her smart phone out of her pocket. No Service it read.

Alone. Except for Banshee, the dead elk and the unseen calf, she was alone here.

Hopefully.

Steeling herself against the thought, along with the reminder that surely Banshee would let her know if another human was still here, she engaged the phone’s camera and took several pictures, including a close-up of the milk-filled bag.

“Where’s the calf?” she asked Banshee. Truth was she didn’t want to see the orphan. The Ruger at her waist would do the job if she could get close enough to be assured of a clean shot. However, the poacher, if he was still around, would hear.

What did she mean, if she could get close to the calf? All she had to do was back away from the cow and wait for its baby to approach.

“I hate this,” she told Banshee. She reluctantly touched the gun holster on her hip. “It’s the last thing I’d do if I had a choice, but I can’t let it starve.”

Banshee sniffed the carcass. She wished death was as simple for her. Wished emotion didn’t keep getting in the way.

But it did.

“Over there.” She pointed at a thicket about a hundred yards from where they were. “We’ll wait there.”

Judging by how Banshee slowly trailed after her, he’d rather have remained near the carcass so he could continue his examination. Banshee had been about three months old when she’d found him at the county humane society facility. He’d been dropped off at night, which meant the staff had no information on him. The already powerful puppy had been playful, but reserved—something she’d suspected would turn off a lot of potential owners. However, he’d had her from the moment he fixed his black eyes on her. We’ll do well together, his expression had said.

Banshee had been right about them being suited for each other. She hadn’t trained him so much as adapting her expectations to his personality. For his part, Banshee understood she was comfortable in her own skin and didn’t need much in the way of human companionship. He’d grasped that she needed him to patrol the fifty acres where she raised the Christmas trees that provided her with a living. He might see the Douglas and Noble firs as nothing more than reasons for him to lift his leg, but they meant something to her and that was good enough for him.

When she reached the thicket, she selected a tree that would support her back while giving her a clear view of the dead elk. Someone could get close to here in a four-wheel drive, but a trail bike or quad took up less space on the overgrown and eroded logging road. If the shooter had used a bike, he’d had no intention of taking any of the meat with him and there was no rack to show off.

In the three years she’d been living on the coast, she’d met fellow outdoors enthusiasts, including a number of hunters, her former employee, and more, Ram. Much as she’d like to believe none of them were capable of wanton killing, she knew better. One thing Ram had going for him, as far as she knew, he didn’t shoot just to shoot. He took pride in making use of every ounce of meat he could haul out of the woods and insisted that his clients—he earned extra money as a hunting guide—played by the rules. His friends were hunters, but she hadn’t gotten to know any of them well enough to decide whether any were capable of doing what she’d just witnessed. Of course the killer—or killers—might not have been local.

Life wasn’t fair. She knew that as well as the next person, better than some.

“Take it easy,” she told Banshee who had his head up and was sniffing the air. “You’ve smelled blood before.”

He swung his big head toward her.

“What is it?” She again fingered her Glock.

Banshee went back to smelling. His mouth parted and he started sucking in air so rapidly his jowls trembled. That, she knew, was how Banshee dealt with tension.

“We aren’t alone?” she asked, even though she’d already suspected they weren’t. A frightened and lonely calf wouldn’t make her dog act this way. She wanted to ask Banshee for an explanation, but unfortunately, there were limitations to their ability to communicate.

She stood on legs that didn’t want to be doing this, pulled out her pistol and gripped it with both hands. The weapon settled her nerves and reminded her of the countless times she and the man who’d raised her had gone target practicing or hunting.

“Human or animal?” she whispered. “It’s too early for scavengers.”

Instead of showing interest in what she’d said, Banshee started walking stiff-legged into the sunlight. He put some twenty feet between them, then dug his nails into the ground and swung his head to the left. He relaxed a little then tensed. Realizing he was trying to keep an eye on two things at once, she shielded her eyes with her, now free, left hand and tried to make out what had caught his attention. Banshee appeared less tense when he was studying the dead elk, so she focused on the other direction. Unfortunately, the trees at that end of the meadow were so tall they cast impenetrable shadows.

Who is it? she wanted to call out, but years of caution held her back. She made no attempt to hide her weapon. If someone was watching her, she wanted that person, or persons, to know she was armed. Of course a rifle could cut her down before she knew she’d been shot.

Banshee started chuffing, his signal that he was excited. Reluctantly turning from the densest shade, she again focused on the kill site. A few seconds later, she caught movement in some bushes beyond the elk. A still-spindly-legged elk calf was inching toward its dead mother. Its mouth hung open and its head bobbed.

Her throat tight, Mia studied the awkward-graceful youngster. She longed to hug it. If she could find a way to get it down off the mountain and onto her property, she’d raise it. She’d have to make sure no one knew what she was doing, because wildlife officers would take it from her. Damn it, she wasn’t some ignorant fool. If anything, she knew more about nature’s creatures than they did. The last thing she wanted was some wildlife cop lecturing her.

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t save this baby.

Despite the thought, a chill of excitement and disbelief ran through her as she noted how pale the calf’s coat was. Instead of tan like every other calf she’d seen, this one was more of a cream or off-white. Could it be albino?

When this was over, she’d get in touch with her friend Niko Fox and ask the young Tillamook Native American if there was anything in her people’s legends about white elk. Niko would know, if anyone did, and if she didn’t, she’d find out.

Banshee stopped chuffing and switched to a low growl. She followed his line of sight. The dog’s quivering tail and raised hackles were unnerving enough. His exposed fangs made things even more alarming.

Not a human. He’d never acted like this around one.  

“I don’t think there are any wolves around here,” she said. “And a cougar’s not going to attack.”

Her attempt at logic made no impact on Banshee. He’d run cougars, wild dogs and coyotes off her property, so his disinclination to confront whatever was out there made her uneasy. She was in the middle of nowhere, alone except for a strong, brave dog. Much as she loved the wilderness, and she did in ways that sometimes scared her, her environment didn’t care. This wild country simply was. It gave and sometimes took. Sheltered and exposed.

“Maybe whatever it is will go away. We’ll wait it out. I’ll do what I have to and then we’ll take off for home.”

The word home momentarily quieted Banshee’s growls. Then, as the deep rumbling resumed, she pointed with her foot, indicating she wanted him to start toward whatever held his attention. Instead of obeying, he remained in place. She’d be crazy not to heed his wordless warning. At the same time, she struggled to find a meaning for his behavior. Banshee had never been afraid. It wasn’t in his DNA.

Not much frightened her, either.

“A wolverine? Bigfoot maybe?”

Her attempt at humor fell on deaf ears, hers included. At least she’d given herself a momentary distraction, and when she again gave her surroundings her full attention, she realized she’d made a decision. Standing here with her stomach tied in a knot wasn’t going to accomplish anything.

“Please come with me,” she asked the dog. “Between the two of us maybe we can scare off whoever it is.” She gave weight to her comment by starting toward wherever it waited.

Even though Banshee didn’t immediately fall in step, Mia’s attention slid to the calf. The nearly white creature had reached its mother and was nosing the body. A thin bleating sound warred with the breeze and her pounding heart.

Because it wouldn’t run off, she didn’t yet have to kill the sweet little thing. It could continue to live while she—

Banshee barked. The sharp, deep cry slammed her nervous system. She followed Banshee’s stare. A large, lean four-legged form had left its dark hiding place and was heading into the open toward the two elk. For a moment Mia’s mind refused to process what she was seeing. Then she realized she’d spotted a dog. It was even more muscular than Banshee and maybe a foot taller with an oversized head and small, constantly moving ears. Ash-gray with a short coat, it made her think of a ghost. Like Banshee, the gray appeared to be in its prime.

It barely acknowledged her existence.

The four-legged stranger continued its slow, almost casual walk toward the still-unsuspecting calf. She wouldn’t be surprised if it weighed a hundred and fifty pounds. If it was feral, wouldn’t it appear undernourished? Instead, it was well-fed with a glossy coat and large, sharp white teeth. She clutched her weapon so tightly her fingers threatened to cramp. She couldn’t make herself aim.

As if aware that she was trying to wrap her mind around its existence, the gray stopped and turned toward her. Human and canine gazes met. Banshee growled, but Mia couldn’t take her attention off the massive newcomer. It had to be her imagination. Just the same, she swore that intelligence rested behind the steady stare.

Accept me, the gray seemed to be saying. Know I’m real.

This was no runaway, no abandoned family pet. It was comfortable in its surroundings.

After how long she didn’t know, the gray swung away from her and resumed its slow and deliberate stalk toward the calf. Much as she longed to warn the calf, she didn’t because the gray might soon do what she wasn’t sure she was capable of.

Was it possible? Could the gray have insight into the calf’s bleak future?

Even though a part of her protested what she was doing, she put the Glock away, again dug out her smart phone, and took a couple of pictures. She wasn’t sure what would show from this distance, but she needed proof of the gray’s existence if just for herself.

The near-white calf jumped, whirled away from its mother’s body, and raced back toward the trees. For several seconds, the gray didn’t react. Then it gathered its legs, lowered its head and charged. All too soon it caught up with the calf and slammed into the weaker animal, knocking it to the ground.

Before the calf could regain its footing, the gray closed its jaws around the calf’s muzzle and forced its head back toward its spine. Both creatures strained, struggled. One was determined to kill, the other desperate to live. Then Mia heard the elk’s neck snap.

“No!” she sobbed even though it was what needed to happen. “Oh, no.”

Banshee whimpered and pressed against her leg. The gray stood over the still-twitching body as if absorbing proof that it had accomplished its task. Her hands shaking, Mia took more pictures. Then, concerned that the shots wouldn’t show enough if she didn’t get closer, she again withdrew her weapon and forced herself to walk toward the dead calf and gray. Logic screamed at her to get the hell out of there, but it was as if the four-legged killer had stolen her will. Besides, she’d spent years isolated from most human beings, becoming brave in ways she seldom contemplated. Today her self-reliance sustained her.

She tried to engage the smart phone’s zoom feature with one hand, but wasn’t sure she’d done it right. Having Banshee next to her helped, and now that the gray had accomplished its deadly task, it seemed unconcerned with what was going on around it. If she was as much a predator as it was, she wouldn’t be worried, either.

She’d nearly convinced herself that some link existed between her and the gray when the creature backed away from its kill and faced the forest beyond the meadow. Banshee started growling again, a questioning, confused sound. As the gray exposed its fangs, she took two more pictures. Her gaze scraped over the gray, noted heavy balls between its legs.

Another dog stepped into the sunlight. She had no way of knowing how long this one had been there. What she did perceive was that the big gray didn’t trust the newcomer.

She’d been wrong to call the newcomer a dog. As it approached the gray, she wondered if she was looking at a wolf. It wasn’t as tall as the gray, but everything about it screamed predator. The gray had been confident, but the wolf was even more so. It glided more than walked and its fangs were larger.

This creature wasn’t pure wolf. Like with Banshee, the animal was a mix. She couldn’t say what all was included in that mix and, right now, it didn’t matter.

But later.

Ignoring Banshee’s constant growl and determined to take more pictures, she recklessly closed some of the distance between herself and the wolf. Thank goodness for childhood lessons. Her shaking wasn’t as intense as it had been, but she was a long way from calm.

This wasn’t like last spring when she’d come across a newborn fawn. The little one had been standing in the middle of her Noble firs. Instead of chasing it off so it wouldn’t nibble at the new growth, she’d let the baby’s glittering black eyes draw her in. It had cocked its head and flared its nostrils as if trying to make sense of this two-legged thing. While keeping an eye out for its protective and, potentially dangerous, mother, Mia had whispered sweet nothings. Obviously, Mama hadn’t had time to teach her newborn not to trust strangers. Mia had slowly approached. Instead of turning tail and running, the baby had started toward her.

A cool, moist nose had touched her outstretched hand followed by a slurp with a wet, strong tongue. Mia hadn’t tried to blink back her tears as she’d thanked the gods of nature for this precious moment.

Then she’d sensed a new presence. Still, she’d kept the connection with the fawn going longer than she should have before reluctantly stamping her foot and yelling.

As the startled fawn scampered toward its mother, Mia had taken off in the opposite direction. The doe had glared and tossed her head, but fortunately hadn’t charged.

There’d be no connection between her and the two canines today. A wrong move on the part of the gray or wolf and she’d be forced to kill them.

Hoping she wouldn’t have to do that, she took more pictures. The wolf acknowledged her, but just barely. She was certain it saw the dead calf as food. The creature was a hunter, a killer.

No, not a killer, a product of its genetics.

Caution and logic screamed she should get the hell out of here, so why was she snapping shots of the wolf’s progress? In the back of her mind, she knew she was doing this so she could share the experience, but that wasn’t as important as recording the impossible, making it real for herself.

The gray gave no indication of how it might react when the wolf got within reach. She sensed they knew each other. Changing her focus, she took several more pictures of the gray. Hopefully, the shots of both animals would come out. Maybe a vet or dog expert could shed some light on the nuance of their relationship.

Only about ten feet remained between the two when the wolf drew back its lips and gave her a view of fangs designed for one thing. Much as she longed to prevent the calf from being torn apart, she would never dispute nature’s law. At least, thanks to what the gray had done, the calf wouldn’t be privy to its ultimate fate.

A long growl from the gray forced her attention back to it. As the dog positioned itself between the wolf and the small carcass, she recorded the silent challenge. The wolf was built for battle, but the larger gray was refusing to give way. The two stared at each other. From this distance, she couldn’t read either animal’s expression but that didn’t stop the intensity from reaching her.

The wolf was determined to feed. The gray was willing to risk its life to prevent that from happening. Either blood would be shed or one of them would give way.

Long seconds passed. Finally, the wolf closed its mouth and backed away. The gray watched the other’s every move.

When the wolf started toward the dead cow elk, Mia knew she’d just witnessed something vital, but beyond her comprehension.

After reaching the cow, the wolf circled it while smelling every inch of the downed animal. It lingered at the sliced throat, making her wonder if she’d left her human scent in with that of blood. At length, the wolf made his peace with what his senses were telling him and shoved his muzzle between the elk’s hind legs. She didn’t need to see to know he was preparing to gut the dead animal.

Instead of running the wolf off, the gray joined him. She took several long-distance shots of the two feeding off the fresh kill, re-sheathed her gun, and took hold of Banshee by his scruff.

“Let’s go,” she whispered. “Leave while they’re busy.”

Banshee obviously had no objections to her suggestion. Even as she contemplated putting away her camera phone she fought the desire to stay and watch today play itself out.

Maybe the gray and the wolf were part of a pack. More predators would join them and there’d be a feeding frenzy. She’d be performing a public service by letting area residents know what existed in the forest.

The forest.

A bull elk emerged from the shadows, heading toward the now-abandoned calf. Fresh disbelief gripped her, and the camera phone nearly slipped from her fingers. He was massive, with a rack so big she wondered if he had trouble holding up his head. He walked like the lord of the mountain would, every step firm and sure. The gray and wolf had stopped eating and were watching the potent animal.

The snow-white animal.

Not real. Even more impossible than the gray and wolf.

A moan pressed against her lips as she forced herself to hold up the camera phone. She took a picture followed by another then another as the bull positioned himself over the pale, dead calf and lowered his great head. He licked the small, still face.

“Oh my god,” Mia whispered as she took another picture. Her vision blurred.

Smoke waited until the bull elk had left the dead calf and faded into the shadows before she left where she’d been watching. Her mate and brother backed away from their meal when she approached, leaving Smoke to select what she wanted to eat. Only a few months ago she wouldn’t have known how to deal with the fresh kill but her mate had shown her brother and her how to survive now that the siblings no longer dared live with the human who’d fed and cared for them from puppyhood.

She’d been the first to notice the female human and the human’s dog companion and had remained hidden with her two puppies. Not only was her brother, Gun, taller and stronger than her, but today the source had spoken to him, telling Gun he couldn’t depend on the woman to do what had to be done. Gun needed to deal with the orphan calf. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the source ordering Gun to kill the calf instead of having her do it. One thing she did understand—Gun had stopped her mate Lobo from feeding on the calf, because that’s what the source wanted.

After filling her belly, Smoke barked to let her cubs know she wanted them to join her. The male appeared first, his longer legs easily carrying him over the terrain. When he approached Lobo, he dropped to his belly and rolled over in a sign of submission. Lobo straddled his son’s body and took the pup’s muzzle into his mouth. Then Lobo did the same with their daughter. The interplay between father and daughter was more playful than the one between father and son. It didn’t matter to Lobo that his son was still sexually immature, he was already impressing on him that he was expected to remain subservient to his sire.

In a dim way Smoke understood that, eventually, the young male would challenge the older one, but not until Lobo had taught his son everything the youngster needed to know to survive. Already, Lobo was showing his children hunting techniques Smoke and Gun had never imagined. Maybe it was seeing her other brother, Stone, die at the hands of armed humans, maybe it was Lobo’s ingrained caution. Whichever it was, Smoke barely remembered when she had trusted humans. These days, Lobo’s instinct for survival and the source’s commands were everything.

That and her two pups and the elk.

Smoke watched as her pups tore hunks of meat off the carcass. Unless the humans who’d shot the elk and the woman who’d shown up shortly after returned, her family would have enough to feed on for several days.

Here was safe, she’d tried to tell Lobo, who preferred to be on the move. There was plenty for them to eat on this mountain, and he had much to teach his children. Besides, soon her body would be ready for his sperm again. As he’d done the first time she’d been pregnant, he’d make sure she had enough to eat and a safe place to sleep. He’d watch her give birth.

Instead of returning to the others so she could lick Lobo’s muzzle, she gave in to another need. This one took her to the last place where the human female had stood. At first, the dog scent distracted her. Then she sat and pressed her nose against where the human scent was strongest. It reminded her of something good, moments when a woman had touched her. Another memory surfaced, that of an older man whose smell was similar to the woman’s.

Both the old man and young woman had been gentle and kind. Smoke missed that. She also missed no longer being able to sleep on a bed and drinking clean water and eating regularly.

Maybe she would follow the woman whose scent had triggered those memories. Teach her pups that not all humans needed to be avoided.

“Don’t!” the source warned. “Always do what I tell you. Don’t allow your mate to feed off the sacred white calf. Revere the great and even more sacred bull elk.

“And if possible, make the human killer pay for what he did.”