of vision.
A timber wolf.
It wasnât alone. The pack had been following them for almost an hour. This one was closer than the others had been, though. They were getting braver.
Mike picked up speed, walking with a purpose that showed strength and betrayed none of his exhaustion, relieved when Tessa pushed harder, too, and kept up with him. They could not afford to appear weak.
âHow many?â she asked from behind.
He should have known she would notice. âA dozen. Maybe as much as twenty.â The wolves would not yet come out into the open, but soon. They were getting impatient.
The winter light wasnât much, and the pines blocked most of it. He was hoping for a better place to fight them than this patch of woods. He had precious few bullets left, none that he could afford to waste.
The walking wasnât hard, the snow good and frozen, plenty of support for the snowshoes. They had to go around trees and bushes and boulders here and there, but that was all part of the terrain, part of what made this land beautiful. If not for the wind and the wolves, their passage could have been pleasant.
He glanced at a set of day-old tracks that converged with theirs.
âSnowshoe rabbit,â Tessa said.
He looked around, and although he couldnât see a single wolf now, he sensed them. They were still there, stalking, hunting. He had hoped they would lose interest eventually, or get distracted by the scent of another prey. They had likely seen men before, were afraid of the gun, or they would have attacked already. He pushed on.
âWe canât keep up this pace for long.â
âI know,â he said.
He was starting to sweat, too, the curse of any prolonged exertion when a person was wearing as much clothing as they were. Heâd borrowed a parka from the cabin that was thicker and heavier than his own, wanting to blend in should someone spot them, trying to avoid being seen in something that was clearly military issue. This coat, unfortunately, was not made of special fibers that wicked moisture away from the body. Damp undergarments could kill a man in this weather as fast as any pack of wolves. They drew heat from the skin.
Mike strained his eyes to see ahead. Soon they would have to stop, set a fire and get dry. But not yet. They were in a bad spot where they would be easily surrounded and attacked before the fire grew large enough to protect them.
His shoulders relaxed when he finally glimpsed a lighter spot through the trees ahead, some kind of open area, either a meadow or the end of the woods. They had to reach that.
A good twenty minutes passed before they finally made it, stopping at the edge of the open snowfield that stretched in front of them. He spotted a large brown shape a hundred yards ahead and squinted. It was a bull moose, his breath a frozen cloud in the air above him. The animal had pawed the snow off theground in a windswept spot and was grazing on the frozen tundra grass.
Mike lifted his hand in warning for Tessa, but he didnât have to. She was already squatting in the cover of a leafless berry bush.
The wind blew from the direction of the moose. Good. Maybe it would give the wolves something else to think about.
He waited, shivering. They would have to start a fire soon. The predators would have smelled the bull by now. What were they waiting for?
He looked at the formidable double rack the animal sported. Perhaps the wolves thought their chances were better with the humans. Seemed a safe assumption on the face of things, two scrawny humans as opposed to a bull moose in his full power. He would just have to stack the odds in their own favor again.
The bull lifted his head and looked in their direction.
Mike lifted his rifle and took aim. The sound of the discharged weapon echoed through the plain, tearing the silence. The moose stood still for a moment then shuddered, but did not fall.
Did he miss? Mike glanced at the gun. The cold shouldnât
A timber wolf.
It wasnât alone. The pack had been following them for almost an hour. This one was closer than the others had been, though. They were getting braver.
Mike picked up speed, walking with a purpose that showed strength and betrayed none of his exhaustion, relieved when Tessa pushed harder, too, and kept up with him. They could not afford to appear weak.
âHow many?â she asked from behind.
He should have known she would notice. âA dozen. Maybe as much as twenty.â The wolves would not yet come out into the open, but soon. They were getting impatient.
The winter light wasnât much, and the pines blocked most of it. He was hoping for a better place to fight them than this patch of woods. He had precious few bullets left, none that he could afford to waste.
The walking wasnât hard, the snow good and frozen, plenty of support for the snowshoes. They had to go around trees and bushes and boulders here and there, but that was all part of the terrain, part of what made this land beautiful. If not for the wind and the wolves, their passage could have been pleasant.
He glanced at a set of day-old tracks that converged with theirs.
âSnowshoe rabbit,â Tessa said.
He looked around, and although he couldnât see a single wolf now, he sensed them. They were still there, stalking, hunting. He had hoped they would lose interest eventually, or get distracted by the scent of another prey. They had likely seen men before, were afraid of the gun, or they would have attacked already. He pushed on.
âWe canât keep up this pace for long.â
âI know,â he said.
He was starting to sweat, too, the curse of any prolonged exertion when a person was wearing as much clothing as they were. Heâd borrowed a parka from the cabin that was thicker and heavier than his own, wanting to blend in should someone spot them, trying to avoid being seen in something that was clearly military issue. This coat, unfortunately, was not made of special fibers that wicked moisture away from the body. Damp undergarments could kill a man in this weather as fast as any pack of wolves. They drew heat from the skin.
Mike strained his eyes to see ahead. Soon they would have to stop, set a fire and get dry. But not yet. They were in a bad spot where they would be easily surrounded and attacked before the fire grew large enough to protect them.
His shoulders relaxed when he finally glimpsed a lighter spot through the trees ahead, some kind of open area, either a meadow or the end of the woods. They had to reach that.
A good twenty minutes passed before they finally made it, stopping at the edge of the open snowfield that stretched in front of them. He spotted a large brown shape a hundred yards ahead and squinted. It was a bull moose, his breath a frozen cloud in the air above him. The animal had pawed the snow off theground in a windswept spot and was grazing on the frozen tundra grass.
Mike lifted his hand in warning for Tessa, but he didnât have to. She was already squatting in the cover of a leafless berry bush.
The wind blew from the direction of the moose. Good. Maybe it would give the wolves something else to think about.
He waited, shivering. They would have to start a fire soon. The predators would have smelled the bull by now. What were they waiting for?
He looked at the formidable double rack the animal sported. Perhaps the wolves thought their chances were better with the humans. Seemed a safe assumption on the face of things, two scrawny humans as opposed to a bull moose in his full power. He would just have to stack the odds in their own favor again.
The bull lifted his head and looked in their direction.
Mike lifted his rifle and took aim. The sound of the discharged weapon echoed through the plain, tearing the silence. The moose stood still for a moment then shuddered, but did not fall.
Did he miss? Mike glanced at the gun. The cold shouldnât
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