CHAPTER 44
“Did it see you?” asked Beck as the wolf stared straight into my lens.
“I think so. I mean, it sure saw my camera!”
“When encountering a wolf,” said Beck, reciting some memorized survival guide, “you don’t want the wolf to see you.”
“Too late.”
“Okay. Where there’s one wolf, there’s usually two or three more.”
I swung my camera left, then right. “Four. I count four.”
“Quit looking at them!”
“How else can I count them?”
Beck dropped her eyes and started backing up. “Back away slowly, Bick. Avoid eye contact. Wolves see eye contact as a challenge.”
“Who would want to challenge a wolf?” I said, staring down at my feet as I shuffled backward.
“Other wolves.”
“Don’t they know the no-eye-contact rule?”
“Bick?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
I tried that. For maybe ten seconds.
“Should we run?” I asked.
“No. Wolves run faster.”
“Just keep them in front of you, Bick,” coached Beck. “If we show them our backs, their predatory instincts will kick in.”
“And by predatory, you mean ‘surviving by eating others,’ correct?”
“Yes, Bick.”
“Just checking.”
“This really isn’t the best time for a vocab drill, bro.”
“Oh, I don’t know. If we’re going to die, I’d like to die a little smarter.”
Beck and I moved back two steps. The wolves prowled forward two paces.
“If only we had some meat,” said Beck, “we could probably distract them and get away.”
“Like bacon, salami, and sausages?”
“Exactly. That would be a miracle.”
I patted my bulging (and somewhat smelly) pocket. “Actually, I’ve got some.”
“What?”
“From breakfast. I thought I might want a snack later on—”
“Throw it, Bick!” Beck muttered as the wolves began circling us. “As hard and as far as you can.”
“Well… then what are we going to do for a snack?”
One of the wolves closed in.
Beck eyed it nervously. “Toss it or I’ll throw you to the wolves!”
“What? You wouldn’t really—”
“Throw it! Now!” she screamed.
I stuffed my hand into my parka pocket and squished all the slimy bacon, salami, and sausages together into one ginormous meatball.
Then I reared back and hurled it as far as I could.
The sound of their scrabbling paws churning through the snow and ice scared a caribou behind a drift. It bolted out and hightailed it across the icy plain.
The swiftest wolf fielded my meatball and gobbled it down in one gulp. Then he and his three buddies took off after the fleeing reindeer. I was sort of hoping it was one of Santa’s so it could lift off the ground and fly to safety.
“Come on,” said Beck. “Now we run!”
We tore across the ice as fast as we could, heading for the research station.
I saw something glinting in the sun.
“Wait! Hold up.”
Beck and I went over to inspect the object. It was an empty steel cage. I sniffed the inside… it smelled like wet dogs. Or, more likely, wet wolves.
“Someone shipped these wolves up here!” I said.
“No wonder Zolin’s two goons disappeared. They decided to let the wolves do their dirty work.”
Beck saw something and used her boot to scrape away some icy snow from the base of the cage.
“It looks like some sort of shipping tag,” she said, dropping to her knees to dig through the snow with her mittens. She showed me the tag.
It had a big Russian 3 printed on it.
Except it wasn’t a 3.
It was a Z.
“Zolin!” I said.
Beck nodded. “Guess this explains why his dogs are wolfhounds!”