He Who Fears The Wolf

CHAPTER 20

Morgan woke up, rubbed his eyes in confusion. Kannick was asleep next to him, his head tilted forward, pressing his double chin down and making it spread out against his chest in an indescribable mass of skin and fat. He stretched out his stiff legs and put his hand to his head. His nose wasn't aching as much; it felt almost completely numb. Maybe it was dead already. Soon it would come loose and fall off like a piece of rotten fruit.

Kannick opened his eyes. He noticed the bluish light outside.

"It's evening," Morgan whispered.

"I have to go home," Kannick said alarmed. "They'll be looking for me!"

Morgan glanced over at Errki, hoping to catch sight of the gun. It was stuck inside the waistband of his trousers. He stood up slowly, swaying a bit to get his balance, and then he walked over to the wardrobe. He stood there a moment, thinking, and bent down. It was dark in the corner. He put one leg on either side of the sleeping body and hesitantly placed a fumbling hand at Errki's waist. Suddenly he slipped in something wet and sticky and toppled over. In two seconds he was back on his feet, with a puzzled look on his face.

"Fucking hell!"

Kannick gave a start and blinked. "What's going on?"

"There's blood everywhere! He's bleeding like anything!"

Kannick felt a cold terror creep across his shoulders.

"Errki!" Morgan screamed, lurching back. "He's bled to death. He's cold!"

"No!" The scream was shrill and hoarse. Kannick clambered to his feet but immediately had to lean against the wall.

"He's dead!"

As if in a nightmare Kannick watched Morgan slowly turn around and stare at him. "Do you realise what you've done? You killed Errki with your bow. Damn it all, Kannick!"

Kannick shook his head. A sound came from his lips, like a shriek that dissolved before it was fully formed.

"I only hit him in the leg."

"You must have hit a vein in his groin. Maybe an artery."

Morgan moved back further, keeping his eyes fixed on Kannick. "I've had enough of this. I'm getting out of this madhouse!"

He swayed violently. He needed the gun, but to get it he would have to touch the cold body, maybe even get blood on his hands.

"You've got to help me!"

Kannick was clinging to the wooden wall. He started to cry. "I didn't mean to! He opened the door, and I couldn't help it. You have to tell them what happened. Nobody else saw it!"

Morgan paused, moved by the sight of the fat, desperate boy. He swallowed hard, cast another glance at Errki's body, and sank down on to the floor. "Things were bad enough for me without this. I robbed a bank and took a hostage. I'll get a stiff sentence."

"We could dump the body in the lake. We can say that he escaped!" Kannick was wringing his hands. "I didn't mean to do it. It was an accident! Let's dump him in the lake!"

"All you have to do is tell the truth to the police. But I've got to get out of here."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. He was trying to pull himself together sufficiently to think of a way out.

Sobs bubbled out of Kannick, a river of tears, his face the picture of despair.

"If won't help to dump him in the lake," Morgan said urgently. "There's blood all over the place in here. A whole pool of it."

"We can put the wardrobe over it."

"That won't help."

"Please!"

"They're looking for us. They could be here any minute. We don't have time. And we can't carry him down to the water without getting covered in blood. It's no use, Kannick. Besides, you're too young to end up in prison. You'll get off. Just like Errki would for murdering that old woman, because he's nuts. But I," he yelled, pounding his fists in fury on the floor, "I'm not going to get off. I don't have any damned excuse!"

He groaned and yanked at his hair, trying to remember how the day had begun. It struck him how unbelievably long it had been. It felt like an entire lifetime. A terrible feeling of paralysis overwhelmed him. His brain refused to function. It was that fucking whisky. Kannick was stretched out on the floor, gasping.

"There's a steep slope behind the house," he sobbed. "Maybe he would roll downhill all by himself."

"Jesus Christ. I can't take any more of this!"

Kannick stood up, walked across the room, and began shaking Morgan vigorously. "You have to. You have to!"

"No, I don't."

"We'll do it together. And then we'll take off. We have to! Nobody is going to miss him."

"You're wrong," Morgan said quietly. Surprised, he realised how true this was as soon as he said it.

He peered out the window, sobbing. The landscape off in the distance looked hazy. He had to get away, or go crazy, like Errki. He would start rambling right now, if he allowed himself to. He could feel it: how he could sink down and leave the world behind. How he could look in astonishment at people talking, unable to understand what they said. But he wouldn't care. He would just let them carry on. It's not my concern. This society is fucked. There are too many things to think about. Like the blackmailer waiting in prison. Like the fat, unhappy boy standing in front of him.

"We've got to do it," Kannick screamed.

Morgan let his head fall on to his chest. He could hear Kannick gasping, and something else, off in the distance, something that was getting closer. Dogs barking, far away.

"It's too late," he groaned. "They're coming."

Sejer studied the map.

"We're getting near the old homestead sites." He squinted and pointed. "I'll bet they're hiding out in one of those old houses over there."

"What are we going to do when we find them?" Skarre asked.

Sejer looked at each man in turn. "I don't think we should do anything dramatic. I suggest we stop a good distance away and give a good shout, making it clear how many men we are and that we're armed."

"But what if he comes out with the hostage in front of him, holding a gun to his temple?"

"Then we let him go. He won't get far. We're five against two."

Skarre wiped the sweat from his face.

"Nobody draws his gun," Sejer said. "I don't want to end up having to carry one of you home in this damned heat. When it's all over, we're going to have to explain every minute. In writing. Truthfully, and with a clear conscience. Nobody even looks at his gun without my say-so. If I change my mind, I'll let you know."

He started walking, and the others huffed and puffed after him. They had complete confidence in him, if sometimes they thought him a little overcautious. Assignments like this were rare. Not that they really wanted to be here, in this sweltering forest, but the taste of adrenalin was sweet.

"I think Himmerik Lake must be down there," Sejer said, pointing. "It's close, according to the map, although I can't see it from here. I bet you a round of beer that the dogs head in that direction."

"I can't see any buildings." Ellmann shaded his eyes with his hand, and peered at the dense grove of trees ahead of them.

"Maybe beyond those trees over there. At least they won't be able to see us."

They kept going. The dogs raced ahead, straight towards the grove. Now and then Skarre looked up at the sky, hoping that the good Lord was keeping an eye on them. There was something menacing about the quiet woods. There was a sense of foreboding about the silence, as if it were gathering force for a vicious storm. But there were no clouds, only a faint haze above the trees. Steadily and relentlessly the ground was being sapped of all moisture; it rose up and settled like a milky mist over the landscape. Maybe the two men were waiting for them at an open window, with weapons ready. Or maybe they had gone over the ridge long ago. The grove of trees slowly came closer. No dwelling in sight.

They decided to use Zeb to listen out. Ellmann called him in and the men stood and watched the big black dog. His great head swung from side to side, his ears turned like antennae, quivering a little. Suddenly they pricked up, and Zeb pointed his head towards the trees. His ears stood straight up, and he stood as if aiming at a place they themselves couldn't see. In his mind's eye Ellmann drew a line from the dog's ears into the woodland.

"There's someone in there," he whispered.

Sejer went to investigate. Zeb tried to follow, but was held back with a yank on his leash, which made him utter a sharp yap. Sejer's hair shone like silver against the green as he walked forward. The seconds ticked by. Skarre was sweating. The men stroked their dogs. Sejer kept going. Just as he reached the thicket he veered to the left and stepped into the undergrowth at the edge. He tried to make his body relax. He could make out something in the trees now, something darker and denser. He put one hand on his gun. The leather holster felt hot to the touch. Soon the trees began to thin out, giving way to a clearing ahead, and in the clearing was a house. Dark and heavy. A log cabin. He stared at the windows. They were all broken. There was no-one in sight. He crouched down in the grass, certain that he couldn't be seen from any of the windows. Of course they might still be inside, even though it was quiet as the grave. Maybe they were sleeping or resting. Maybe they were waiting for him. Grass was growing on the roof of the house, dry and sun-scorched. The windows were small, with mullions, and didn't let in much light. It was probably nice and cool inside. He could sense that someone was there, but still didn't hear a sound. Standing up and walking to the door seemed unthinkable. They might jump up and start firing in blind terror. He stayed where he was. A pine cone would make a dull thud if he threw it against the wooden wall, and might be enough to make one of the men come to a window to investigate. He searched under a dry pine tree and found a big cone. Maybe he should aim for the door. If anyone was there, they'd hear it. He could see a dark, brownish-red patch on the stone steps. It looked like blood. He frowned. Was someone injured? He raised his arm and threw the pine cone. It made a small tap. Quickly he sank back down to a crouch. Nothing happened. He gave himself a full minute. The seconds ticked by. It was hard to crouch wearing overalls that were barely long enough in the legs. The minute passed. He turned around and crept back.

"I'm going into the house."

Skarre gave him a worried look. "I don't think they're in there. It seems too quiet."

"Zeb heard something," Ellmann said.

Sejer and Skarre walked back to the cabin while the others stayed with the dogs. Sejer gave the door a shove.

"Hello! Police. Is anyone there?"

No-one answered. Everything was quiet. He didn't expect the bank robber to storm out and shoot him. That wasn't how he was going to die. Besides, the house seemed completely deserted. He peeked inside the living room. Caught sight of a green sofa, an old wardrobe, and, of all things, a grey case. He took a few more steps, and whispered over his shoulder to Skarre, "They've been here."

For a moment he stood in the middle of the dusty floor and looked around the room, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. Then he noticed the figure in the corner. A gaunt man with dark clothes and black hair. He was half-sitting and half-lying, his head leaning against the wardrobe. It looked very uncomfortable. Sejer was no longer thinking about his own safety, about whether someone might come rushing out at him. He walked across the room and knelt down beside the lifeless man. The first thing that struck him was how small he was. Thin and delicate and lacking any sign of strength. His eyes were closed, his face ghostly pale. He looked like a badly undernourished child, with a tangle of black hair reaching to his shoulders.

"Errki," Sejer whispered.

The body was lying in a pool of blood. He felt for a pulse in the thin neck, but found none. It was hard to tell where the wound was, probably he had been hit somewhere in the abdomen. There was still a little warmth left in the body. Sejer was about to stand up when he heard a sound. He thought at first that it was Skarre, but suddenly something dark slid into his field of vision. He heard an ugly creaking noise. The wardrobe door swung slowly open on its squeaking hinges. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He took a big breath. The creaking stopped, there was no-one there. He couldn't see inside the wardrobe from where he was sitting, but no-one could be inside. The bank robber wouldn't shoot his hostage and then hide inside an old wardrobe. He must have got away. The door had swung open, but only because Sejer had walked across the floor and shaken the floorboards. He moved back and took a few steps, then stared inside the wardrobe. There was a flash of metal.

The weapon was shaking violently. Sejer gasped in surprise and went to reach for his own gun, but changed his mind. He stared in bewilderment at the creature standing there gaping back at him, at the terror in the pale face, at the raised gun. Inside the wardrobe stood Kannick. Sejer didn't understand it. He stared at the gun and the way the boy was holding it.

No mistakes, now. Steady, very steady. The boy is at breaking point and has to be unpredictable. Stay calm, keep your voice calm too. Don't show you're afraid.

"I didn't mean to do it!" Kannick screeched. His voice cut through the silence and made Sejer jump, even though he was prepared for it. "He got in the way! You can ask Morgan!"

He was aiming at Sejer's chest and would certainly hit him. If he were able to fire.

Sejer let his hands fall. "It's not cocked, Kannick." And then he added, "Who's Morgan?"

Kannick stared in surprise at the pistol. Confused, he began fumbling with the safety catch, but his fingers were numb with fright and refused to obey. At last he managed to do it. But Sejer had pulled out his own gun, and behind him stood a curly haired man, also holding a raised gun.

"He's in the bedroom," Kannick sniffled. And with that he dropped the pistol to the floor, bent double, and began to vomit again and again. He was still inside the wardrobe, vomiting over the rotting planks. Stew and whisky, everything poured out. He leaned against the wardrobe and let it happen. Sejer waited until he was done. Then he kicked the pistol behind him to where Skarre was, and went off to find the bedroom.

Morgan had been standing behind the door, waiting. Now he made for the woods, using what little remaining strength he had to race across the yard towards the trees. Ellmann saw the blond hair and colourful shorts from his hiding place. The poor man didn't have a chance.

The officer leaned down, patted the big dog's head, and whispered in his ear, "Zeb. Attack!"

The animal leaped up and raced in pursuit like a furry bolt of lightning. Morgan was running. He didn't hear the dog come chasing after him, or anyone shouting. In fact, he heard only his own crashing feet. He ran, but all his strength was drained in an instant. Zeb saw the white hands and aimed for the left one. There was nothing aggressive about what the dog was about to do; it was years of training and a clear command, nothing more. Morgan stopped and gasped for breath. His knees were about to buckle under him. He had to check to see if anyone was after him. At that moment he stumbled and landed on his stomach. He rolled over and sat on his behind in the grass. Terrified, he stared at what was coming towards him. A black animal with gleaming jaws, his red tongue, the yellow teeth. The dog crouched down, preparing to jump. The white hands that he had been aiming for were gone. All he saw now was the red face, and in the middle of it, the yellow cloth. A perfect target. With one mighty leap he rushed forward and snapped his jaws. Morgan gave a heart-rending shriek. When the men reached him, he was sitting there, sobbing, with his face buried in his hands. Sejer paused for a moment to listen. The whimpering held a clear element of relief.