Ryker turned to the copse of trees leading down into the valley to the west, behind which the sun had disappeared a couple of hours ago. Henrik followed his line of sight.
‘What is it?’ Henrik asked.
Ryker didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on a spot in the trees. Henrik had heard the sound too. He expected a figure to come into view, perhaps more than one, but then he averted his eyes downward to the low, moving shape, slinking slowly, prowling.
Not a person. A lone animal. Wolf?
Its bright eyes glinted in the moonlight, its shoulder blades protruding above its dipped head as it sniffed the air and padded toward them, one cautious step at a time.
Ryker rose to his feet.
‘Stand up,’ he said to Henrik. ‘Don’t panic. Make yourself tall. Keep eye contact with it. Wolves don’t like fire. If we stand our ground here, it’ll move on soon enough.’
Henrik noticed Ryker dig his hand into the side pocket of his trousers. For his knife?
Henrik knew Ryker was as tough as anyone he’d ever met. But this wasn’t his natural habitat.
‘A lone wolf is threat enough,’ Ryker whispered, ‘but it’s equally possible this one has simply moved ahead of its friends, and before long we’ll have a whole pack circling us.’
‘So what?’ Henrik said. ‘You’re going to gut it?’
Ryker shot him an angry glare. For what? Speaking too loudly? Or his choice of words?
The animal kept coming forward, one slow, deliberate step at a time. Henrik shuffled next to Ryker and the wolf raised its head a little, the brown and gray fur on its neck bristling before its gums parted to reveal its sharp teeth. A rumbling growl caused its gums to vibrate.
‘Henrik,’ Ryker said in warning. ‘I said, don’t move.’
But Henrik stooped down to his rucksack.
‘What are you doing?’ Ryker said, stern but clearly trying to sound calm in order to not panic the animal. But Henrik knew Ryker had read this wrong.
Henrik moved slowly but deliberately, opening the rucksack, pulling out a packet of jerky.
‘Henrik—’
‘It’s okay. I know what I’m doing.’
He stood tall again. Took a couple of steps away from the fire, closer to the animal. He sensed Ryker shuffle behind him, as though about to reach forward to grab him and haul him back, then…
‘It’s not a wolf,’ Henrik said, hoping to calm his companion before he did something stupid. ‘The colorings are wrong. Its snout isn’t long enough. It’s too big, as well. It’s a hybrid. A wolf-dog, I think.’
Henrik slowly crouched as the wolf-dog renewed its growl. Then Henrik tossed a bit of meat its way. The growling stopped and the animal sniffed, its glistening nose twitching before it took a cautious step to the morsel. It chomped at the snow, taking the meat in its mouth, then looked up at Henrik expectantly, sniffing away.
‘This one’s got a sled dog of some kind in it, I think.’
Ryker didn’t respond as he stared at the animal.
‘Most often wolf-dogs come about when a stray dog meets a young male wolf. A loner. With a pack, the others would most likely attack and kill the stray. But a lone male? He just wants to mate. And far easier to do that with the stray than to attack an alpha for a female. It’s still an unusual situation, but it does happen.’
Henrik glanced over his shoulder at Ryker who still hadn’t moved from the spot by the fire. His fingers remained wrapped around the handle of the knife that hung by his side.
‘That doesn’t mean it isn’t a wild animal still,’ Ryker said.
‘No,’ Henrik said, turning back to the animal. ‘But it does mean it’s not as naturally wary of humans as a pure wolf would be.’
Henrik tossed another bit of meat and the wolf-dog once again sniffed the air before moving closer still to pick up the food. Only five yards separated Henrik and the animal, but then Henrik, still crouching, took a step back toward the fire. He didn’t want to get too close too soon. Ryker was right. This animal was wild. There was a chance it could be tamed, but it had to be on its terms. Too much too soon would scare it off or cause it to launch an attack, reacting to its own fear.
But Henrik wasn’t unused to these situations. He’d met a lone stray at home two years ago. Maverick, he’d called him. An adult dog. At that time Henrik had run away from his foster home and spent several nights at a time in the forests, only going to the town to get – steal – food when he couldn’t get enough from foraging or hunting. He and Maverick had made a good team. They’d spent months together. Each time Henrik had left for the town, he left Maverick in the same spot by an old boat shed. The dog was always right there when he returned, even if every time Henrik had a horrible doubt in his belly as he neared. Maverick had never once let him down. They walked, hunted, slept together.
Until one night three wolves appeared. Three very hungry wolves. Perhaps on his own Henrik could have fended them off with fire or noise or whatever, or perhaps that night would have been the end of him. But Maverick… He did what came naturally to him. He tried to protect Henrik, his leader. He did enough. Sacrificed his own life in the process.
Henrik hadn’t ever bonded with another being as much as he had with that dog. Well, except perhaps with Ryker…
He’d never told anyone a thing about Maverick. His existence was a secret – a comfort – that belonged solely to Henrik.
This wolf-dog in front of him had more than a passing resemblance to his lost friend.
‘You know, all domestic dogs originated from wolves,’ Henrik said.
‘I know that,’ Ryker responded.
‘And how do you think that happened?’ Henrik paused. Ryker looked at him as though not sure whether or not he was supposed to answer. ‘Thousands of years ago, wolves and humans learned to co-exist. Humans were dangerous to wolves, wolves dangerous to humans, but wolves also learned that humans were a good source of food. Not eating us – I mean, we could provide for them. They’re basic creatures, really. Survival is their number one aim. Humans could provide food, meaning the wolves didn’t have to hunt all the time. And wolves provided protection for humans.’
Ryker still said nothing. Henrik dropped another piece of meat right in front of him. The animal set its eyes on the food, unblinking, but didn’t make a move for it straightaway. It pushed its head forward a couple of times, as though testing how close it could get to the meat without actually moving. Then it made the bold decision, stepping forward and stooping down for the food. Henrik reached out and slid his hand across the dog’s neck and back. The dog flinched a little. Ryker did too, Henrik noticed, and he worried that Ryker might leap forward with the knife. He didn’t, and the animal simply looked back up, hungrily, as Henrik continued to slowly caress the dense fur.
‘And what happens when you run out of jerky?’ Ryker said, still sounding wary.
‘Either it’ll hang around to see what’s next, or it’ll retreat to the woods and carry on whatever it was doing.’
Henrik looked up at Ryker and smiled as he stroked the fur. Ryker looked… impressed.
‘You don’t like wolves?’ Henrik asked him.
‘I don’t have any experience with them.’
‘Most people don’t. You know why?’
‘Why?’
‘Because it was easier for humans to kill them than to live with them.’
Ryker didn’t say anything, but he looked less than convinced.
‘Wolves once roamed in every corner of Europe, but humans drove them out,’ Henrik continued, two hands on the dog now. ‘Not because they were a direct threat to us, but because they were a threat to our new-found farming skills. Easier to just kill them all, rather than to find other ways to protect our livestock.’
Ryker still didn’t respond. He crouched back down next to the fire, his eyes fixed on the wolf-dog as if entranced by the growing bond between it and Henrik, who fed the animal another piece of meat from his hand.
‘Many countries are now deliberately reintroducing wolves, to stop them from going extinct. Do you know how many we have in Norway?’
Ryker seemed to think about that, as though calculating how many could be spread over the vast, largely forested terrain, where wild animals, particularly those suited to the cold, could thrive.
‘How many?’ Ryker asked.
‘Around a hundred. That’s it. And many of those few packs roam between both Norway and Sweden. And you know what?’
‘What?’
‘Our government removed protections for the wolves not long ago. They actually want to actively reduce the numbers. Can you believe that? We only have a hundred and they want to kill some of those. It’s all driven by lazy, but very loud farmers.’
Henrik gave the animal the last bit of jerky and it sniffed around on the floor and in the air and around Henrik’s hand as though searching for more.
‘Can you imagine the outcry if a country in Africa said they wanted to cull lions to the point of extinction? Or tigers in Asia? Most people love those animals, even though they’re just as dangerous, perhaps more dangerous. But most people hate the idea of wolves living near them, even though they’ve probably never seen one. Like you.’
Ryker raised an eyebrow, as though not sure whether to be offended or not. Then as Henrik scrunched up the jerky wrapper the dog flinched and pulled from his grip, and stared back at the woods where it’d come from. Henrik tensed, wary of the sudden change in mood. He sensed Ryker renew his grip on the knife as he rose back to his feet. The wolf-dog growled. But not at Henrik, or even at Ryker.
At the woods.
Henrik whipped his eyes that way. A crunching sound. He half expected to see another animal appear from the trees – was this dog not a loner after all? But the wolf-dog moved into a defensive position, just like when it had first approached them. Two figures emerged from the trees. A man. A woman. The man had a handgun in his grip, pointing toward Henrik’s new friend.
‘Don’t move,’ he said, looking at the dog but his instruction clearly meant for Ryker and Henrik.
The dog bared its teeth as its growl intensified. Henrik straightened up.
‘I know you,’ he said, a deep frown on his face.
Ryker looked from Henrik to the man. The woman, by his side, had her hand resting on her hip. Another gun.
‘Yeah, you do,’ the man said.
‘Well, I damn well don’t,’ Ryker said. ‘What the hell is going on?’
His raised tone caught the attention of the wolf-dog, who glared at him, its growl dissipating, then…
‘Now!’ the woman shouted.
The dog bolted. The man opened fire. The dog yelped as it shot off over a rocky edge and out of sight.
‘No!’ Henrik screamed, racing toward the man who set off after the dog. The woman was about to move that way too.
Ryker went for her. She pulled out the gun as the man fired another shot, a split second before Henrik barreled into him. Not enough strength or weight behind the tackle to send the guy flying, but the man did stumble and his gun hand was pushed away as he pulled on the trigger again.
Ryker slammed into the woman before she could aim at anything. They landed in a heap in the snow, sending fluffy powder up into the air. Her gun came free. Ryker bounced back to his feet as the man grabbed Henrik by the throat and tossed him to the ground. He readjusted his gun, an angry snarl on his face as he swung the weapon toward Henrik’s head.
He didn’t get a chance to fire before Ryker dove into him, taking his legs around the knees. An explosion of snow erupted into the air as the two hefty bodies splatted down.
Ryker spun and pushed his weight back to his feet. Henrik writhed on the ground, disorientated. The man growled in anger as he searched in the snow for his weapon. The woman already had hers in her grip once more. Aiming for Ryker’s head…
The wolf-dog came from nowhere. Launched itself through the air, mouth open. It chomped down on the woman’s arm and she let out a blood-curdling scream and dropped her gun once more.
BANG. BANG.
The dog squealed and dropped to the floor. Henrik shouted out in anguish. Ryker raced forward, aiming to pick up her gun from the ground. The woman clutched her bleeding arm. The dog… It wasn’t finished yet. Survival mode. Pure desperation. It lunged for the woman, grabbed her around the neck. Pinned her.
The man fired again. Headshot. The dog collapsed as the woman, shouting and screaming, pulled herself free, not knowing whether to clutch her arm or the oozing wound on her neck.
‘Don’t,’ the man shouted out. At Ryker. Who was only a step away from the gun.
Beside the man, Henrik remained crouched, his feet planted, ready to pounce. Anger consumed him. Rage.
‘Neither of you move,’ the man added, swinging the gun from Ryker to Henrik as he edged to his friend who scuttled toward him for cover. She was badly injured. Too injured to fight. They were retreating. Would Ryker let them? Henrik certainly didn’t want them to get away.
The man and woman backstepped together, toward the trees. Ryker twitched, as though wanting to go for the gun, but a warning shot, the bullet blasting into the snow a few inches from his foot, made him stay put.
‘This isn’t over,’ Henrik snarled, glaring from the man to the heap of bloody fur.
‘Damn right it isn’t,’ the man said.
They continued to move back to the trees. Then, when they’d passed the first tree, they turned and ran.
Ryker dove for the gun. Lifted it up, pointing it toward the woods. He didn’t fire.
Henrik raced over to the dog. Lifted its sorry head. He closed his eyes in despair as he let go and the head slumped into the blood-soaked snow. Images and painful memories of Maverick’s end burned in his mind.
‘There’s a trail,’ Ryker said, indicating the blood in the snow. ‘We can follow them. We’ll find them.’
‘No,’ Henrik said, grimacing as he clutched his ankle. ‘We don’t need to. Not yet.’
‘Not yet?’ Ryker said. ‘Henrik, who were they?’
‘The woman, I don’t know. But I saw that man last night. At Monique Thibaud’s home.’
‘One of the guards?’
Henrik nodded. ‘They followed us here. To kill us.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Exactly.’
Both of them fell silent for a few seconds.
‘Still want to walk away from this?’ Henrik asked as he tried to keep his anger bottled.
‘We don’t even know what this is,’ Ryker said.
‘No. We don’t,’ Henrik said. ‘But perhaps they do.’
Ryker kept quiet as he thought.
‘So?’ Henrik prompted. ‘You want us to walk away now?’
Ryker looked from Henrik down to the dog in the snow.
‘Not a chance,’ he said.