19 MAY—4:31 A.M.
The storm had passed. The cloud cover was breaking up. The wind was nonexistent. And to the east, over a low peak, the sun was still an hour away from making an appearance; however, a pre-dawn glow had begun to light up the mountainside.
Standing outside on the front porch, in a fluffy snow drift almost up to her knees, her left hand on Sophia’s left hind quarter, Devlin scanned the landscape where the trees met up with the opposite side of the seventy-foot expanse of virgin snow between the cabin and the tree line.
On her left, facing away from her, the horse whinnied and rocked its head for the third time in the last minute while stepping backward and forward.
The U.S. Marshal patted the animal and spoke in a soothing tone. “Whoa. Whoa. Easy, girl. What is it?” Devlin squinted at the woods. “What’s got you spooked?”
Eight hours ago, having finished their chores, Devlin and Randall had crawled into the wide sleeping bag with their clothes on and shoes and socks off. Back-to-back, lying on their sides, they had quickly fallen asleep, their cheeks reflecting the dancing flames of the warm fire.
Two minutes ago, after having heard Sophia clomping around on the porch for the previous three minutes, Devlin had quietly slipped out of the cozy covering, donned footwear, gloves, a hat, and her winter jacket before grabbing the Henry Big Boy and stepping outside to see why the horse was so excited.
On Devlin’s one o’clock, shadows moved.
She focused on the location.
On her ten o’clock, more movement.
She whipped her head in that direction to make out two encroaching black outlines.
Sophia let out a louder, longer cry then stomped her hooves.
After giving the nervous horse a comforting two-beat pat on the rump, Devlin cupped the rifle’s forend in her left palm and slipped the last three fingers of her right hand inside the lever loop. Her eyes darting from one silhouette to another, she held the weapon crosswise in front of her belly button.
Sophia tramped in place on the porch then jerked her head away from the railing that kept her from bolting.
Three more shadowy figures emerged from the trees on the right.
Now seeing several pairs of glowing dots, Devlin shouldered the 45 Colt while thumbing back the hammer. “Noah!”
A single growl came from her ten o’clock before a one-hundred-eighty-degree arc of low growls filled the calm morning air.
She raised the rifle’s muzzle toward her ten o’clock and applied four pounds of weight to the long gun’s trigger.
The hammer fell.
The Henry roared.
Something yelped.
Devlin ran the lever forward and backward and pressed the trigger.
A fireball shot out of the muzzle.
Sophia reared up on her hind legs and came down.
Devlin worked the lever.
His pistol in hand, barreling out of the cabin, Randall put on the brakes to keep from knocking her off the porch. His left foot slipped out from under him, and he landed on his right knee, coming eye to eye with a charging gray-and-white wolf. He fired three rounds from his Walther PPQ45.
The animal took a few more strides then collapsed at the base of the steps.
The Big Boy barked out one round after another, metal scraping against metal in between blasts.
Randall spied a blurry figure on his two o’clock and let loose with a volley of shots.
The animal went down.
Devlin: “Reloading. Cover me.”
He rose up on her one o’clock, put his back to her, and fired at three different shapes in the near distance.
The slide on the Walther locked back.
He reached for a spare magazine on his left hip. Having stepped into boots and grabbed only his pistol, he gripped at nothingness on his belt. “Damn it. I’m all out.”
Devlin slid a cartridge into the magazine tube then chambered the round while bringing the gun on target. “I’m up and running.” She fired.
A yap came from a few feet away.
She ran the lever and pressed the trigger before repeating the process two more times.
Another yap.
Catching sight of an incoming white and gray mass out of the corner of his right eye, Randall made a right-ninety pivot, got up a head of steam, and met the beast head-on halfway down the porch decking. A hundred pounds heavier, the deputy marshal clamped both hands around the wolf’s throat and drove the predator into the snow.
The wolf struggled, flailing its legs while trying to sink its teeth into human flesh.
Randall squeezed harder and bore down before reaching into an outer pocket with his left hand and retrieving a folding knife.
Devlin fired her lever action rifle. “I’m out again. Reloading.”
He flicked open the Cold Steel Recon 1 Tanto’s locking blade and stabbed the wolf multiple times in the stomach before...
The animal yapped.
...he took a reverse grip on the cutting tool and slammed the four-inch blade into the beast’s left ear.
The creature’s body stopped writhing.
Randall hopped up and bolted away to stand in front of the reloading woman, his head making a continuous back-and-forth 180-degree arc, his eyes scanning for threats.
Devlin jammed a third round into the pistol-caliber carbine, “I’m back up,” then operated the lever while shouldering the PCC. “Watch yourself.”
He sidestepped right, “I got right flank,” and stared in that direction.
Three seconds elapsed.
Devlin swung the Henry back and forth several times. “Clear over here.”
“I got nothing my way.”
She took advantage of the lull and thumbed into the tube the last two cartridges from the buttstock ammo carrier.
His head bobbing up and down, Randall mentally counted the carcasses. “That must’ve been a mega pack. I see eleven out there and,” he tilted his head to the right, “the one over here makes an even dozen. Plus, I know I saw at least four disappear into the woods on the right.”
“I saw another four escape my way. Here.” She held out the rifle. “There’s...”
He claimed the lever gun.
“...a box of ammo for that in a pouch on the saddle scabbard. You get Sophia ready, and I’ll pack everything up and douse the fire.” Devlin squinted at the darkness. “I want to be out of here in two minutes.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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