Operation: Yukon

- 5 -

The sheriff had her rifle in hand even before the rest of us reacted.

“They did this before,” she said. “The door held… that time.”

I wasn’t at all sure that was going to remain the case. The station rang like a struck bell, almost as if a heavy vehicle…a pickup truck maybe… was battering the door instead of anything living and breathing.

“They did that at the station too,” Watkins said at my back. “They’ll get in. They always get in.”

“Aye,” I replied, raising my weapon. “I saw that movie too.”

Wilko, Jennings, Davies, the captain, the sheriff and me along with them moved without any orders to form a line ten feet inside the door, standing there with our weapons aimed at the doorway. Whatever was out there continued to bang and batter away at the outside. The door shook and rattled, dislodging dust around the frame. But it held.

Somewhere outside, a beast howled in frustration.

“Maybe it just wants a biscuit,” Davies said, deadpan.

“Have you got any, like?” Wilko replied. “I’m bloody starving here.”

“Steady, lads,” I said. “Remember, short, controlled bursts.”

Sheriff Sue laughed.

“Now that one I have seen.”

The banging and bashing stopped, as if it had heard us and was listening.

“Little pigs, little pigs, let me come in,” Davies said.

“Not on your fucking nelly,” I replied.

When there was no further attack on the door for several minutes, I had the men stand down and dispatched Wilko to get some more coffee on. I went back to check on our patient. Watkins was still eyeing the door warily.

“Can I bother you for another cigarette? While your doctor is looking the other way?”

“I’ll join you,” I replied.

We sucked smoke in silence for a minute. When he started to speak it was more as if he was reminding himself of something, so I didn’t butt in, just let him ramble, hoping I’d learn something that might be to our advantage.

“They won’t give up, you know? They never give up; it’s been bred into them, hard wired. That bloody fool Masterton thought they were just big puppies and treated them like pets but there was never one of them that wasn’t more than ready to bite the hand that fed it. Now, even I, who has hardly a sentimental bone in his body, will admit that when they were just born they were cute little buggers, playful even. But as soon as they were weaned, they began establishing order among themselves and the biggest of them began dominating and taking charge. After a month we had to reinforce the cages. The big bugger—Masterton, unimaginatively called him Fenris—had the rest of them trying to chew their way out and they obeyed him, even as their teeth cracked and split and blood ran from torn lips and mashed gums. We had to shoot two of the livelier ones that time.

“It wasn’t long after that Masteron got mauled. He got caught in the cage with them during feeding time and the big one ambushed him from behind. Damn near tore his scalp off and took a bite the size of his fist out of his thigh. He couldn’t walk for a fortnight and if he’d lived would be using a cane for the rest of his life. But even then the daft bugger was making excuses for them, saying it was just in their nature.

“But the rest of us prevailed in the discussion, thank the Lord. We had the pack moved outside the station to a small wooded area enclosed by high security fencing that we had to get shipped in especially for the job. The pencil pushers in Whitehall raised a hell of a stink at the cost of it all of course, but we got what we needed eventually once Masterton showed that the wolves could indeed be trained. Even that was a con job though; the one that latched on to him and got him the best results was the runt of the litter and he raised it in isolation from the others.

“And it turned out that his wee pet was the first casualty. Two nights ago it was. The alarm went off while most of us were asleep and by the time anybody thought to do anything about it, it was too late; the pack got out and they went hunting.

“Almost first thing they targeted was Masterton’s pet project as if it affronted them; I watched on CCTV as they tore the pup to pieces then started in on Masterton when he tried to intervene. I believe I shall hear his screams until the day I die. Then they turned their attention to the rest of us. When they forced their way into the lab, I knew it was time to get the fuck out of there.”

“And how did you manage that?”

“I made for the Skidoo garage and high-tailed it out of there with the buggers snapping at my arse.”

He went quiet again. I could read between the lines though; there was still plenty he wasn’t telling us but Wilko arrived with hot coffee at that point and I took mine over to the machine to have a word with the cap about what I’d just heard.

The sheriff listened in as I told the man’s story.

“Do you think he fled and just left everybody behind?”

“I think that’s exactly what he did,” I said. “And there’s more he’s not telling us. Who knows what we’ll find up there?”

“We really need to get to yon station and see for ourselves,” the cap said.

“And I’ll be coming along for the ride,” the sheriff added.

“You’ll have your own people to look after.”

“Once they’re all on your choppers I think they’ll be okay. But I won’t be leaving with them. I’m coming with you.”

“We’ll see about that,” the cap replied.

“Yes, we will.”

And again I reminded myself never to play her at cards; she was fierce. I was about to playfully tease her on that very matter when Davies called out from near the main door.

“They’re back and I think they’re up to something,” he called out.

We all went to investigate.

Have you ever heard a dog trying to get to a rabbit that’s hidden itself under a garden shed? There’s the sound of frantic scratching and digging, huffs of frustration, and, if the wood is good and strong, the unmistakable screech of teeth and nails being tested. That’s what this was like. It sounded like there were three, maybe four of them at it.

And we were the rabbits in this scenario.

“They’re trying to get under us,” Jennings said.

“No shit, Sherlock?” I replied and turned to the sheriff.

“Can they do that?”

She shook her head and stamped her feet.

“Concrete, six inches deep. I was here when it was poured. We built this place to survive just about anything.”

“But is there anything below that?”

“There’s a basement, sure. But the door into it is outside at the back. There’s no way for them to get up to us. Trust me.”

It made having to listen to the noise a bit easier, but not much. The bastards appeared to be determined in their efforts. The locals were getting skittish, some of the younger ones clearly unsettled by this new attack.

“Can’t you do something, Sheriff?” one of the men asked. “It feels like we’re rats in a trap here.”

Sheriff Sue turned to the cap.

“That’s how I feel too. I’d like to take the fight to these bastards, but I’ll need your firepower. Are you game?”

“Ready when you are, Sheriff. Just give the word.”

She thought about it for a few seconds.

“Three of us should be enough to get the job done. Any more and we’ll just get in each other’s way. We go out the back door and if it’s all clear, round the side. Then the plan’s simple—we take down as many of them as we can and if they manage to mount an attack, we beat a fighting retreat back in here to safety.”

“A commando raid. I like it,” I said and got the thin smile again.

“I don’t. But if we can thin the pack now there’ll be fewer to have to deal with later if we’re forced out into the open.”

“You up for it, Sergeant?” the cap said. “If not, just say and I’ll go, but you look like a bit of action wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Oh, I’m definitely up for it, Cap,” I replied. “I’ll take Wilko. Get some fresh coffee on, we’ll be right back.”

Jennings looked like he’d taken being excluded as a personal affront but I couldn’t help that; Wilko was a known quantity, Jennings wasn’t yet, it was as simple a decision as that. I just didn’t have time to spare to explain it to him. I turned to the sheriff.

“Lead on, Sheriff Sue. We’ve got your back.”

Wilko was by my side as we followed her to the rear of the fire station.