Operation: Yukon

- 8 -

I was still getting my rifle aimed when the wolf turned its back on me. I saw its muscles tense and bunch, saw clearly that it was most definitely a male, then even as I let off a shot it leaped. My aim was off; I couldn’t chance hitting the sheriff and my shot went off and away uselessly into the storm. Everything seemed to slow down. The beast sailed through the air with an exaggerated hang like a long jumper in slow-mo. The sheriff was still trying to get her own weapon raised but was going to be too late and I’d already broken into a run that I knew was going to be no bloody use at all in helping her.

I ran anyway, my weapon raised, hoping for a shot. I was three paces in when I remembered the wee black box, five paces in before I managed to get it out of my jacket pocket. The beast landed paws first on the sheriff’s chest, knocking her back against the grille of the fire truck. She got her rifle up double handed in front of her and the wolf bit down hard on the stock; if it had been her arm, she would have lost a hand at the wrist.

I pushed down on the red button.

The result was instantaneous.

The wolf leapt as if electrocuted, all four limbs spasming in a grotesque dance before it shook itself as if shedding water and turned to stare in my direction. It had no thought now of attack. Its tail went down, tucked under the back legs and it crawled away on its belly as well as it was able, eyes down, not looking at us, the classic submissive dog posture. Within seconds it was lost in the snow.

“Well, that works,” I said as I helped the sheriff stand up straight. She didn’t answer; she was looking at the stock of her rifle and the deep teeth marks embedded there.

“I hope it never has to again,” she said. “We should get the flock out of here.”

It was only then I thought to look for Jennings. Far from backing us up he was still standing in the doorway of the firehall. He didn’t even have his weapon raised and was just staring blankly, slack-jawed into the snow in the direction the wolf had taken. He looked exactly like a lad who had just pished down his trouser leg in fright. A phrase came to mind from yon animated movie about the rabbits; Jennings had gone ‘frit’.

I didn’t have time to deal with him then; we had an evacuation to complete and that had to come first. Thankfully, the remaining townspeople all fitted into the rear cabin of the truck. I put Jennings in there too and told him he was in charge of Watkins but I’m not sure he heard me. At least I knew he was safely locked away in back when I joined the cap and the sheriff up front.

“Wagon’s roll,” the sheriff said and took us round to the front of the station. Seconds later we were following the lead truck along the main road leading into the town center.

The old lad in front of us wasn’t taking any chances. We crept along at barely walking pace. Our headlights lit up nothing apart from the rear of the other truck and there was only darkness and falling snow on either side.

“So the lads’ wee radio idea worked then?” the cap said to my right. I was wedged tight between him and the sheriff in the driver’s seat. I badly wanted a smoke but had one hand on my rifle and the other on the red button.

“Worked a treat, Cap,” I said. “Sent the wee dug off wi’ its tail covering its bollocks.”

“Careful, lad,” the cap replied. “Don’t get too cocky.”

“Who, me?” I answered, and it was the sheriff who laughed.

“Thanks for saving my skin, anyway,” she said. “I owe you one.”

“A beer and a burger would do fine just about now,” I replied.

“We passed the diner, just back there,” she said, deadpan. “I don’t think it’s open tonight.”

We arrived at the supermarket parking area with no further calumny just a few minutes later, pulling up beside the other truck close to the side of the building. The sheriff left the engine running and the lights on. They showed only snow and darkness ahead of us.

“How long?” she asked the cap.

“Twenty minutes maybe,” he replied. “Depends on the weather in the area and how it is above this shit.”

“So we sit tight in the meantime?”

“We sit tight,” the cap replied. “Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em.”

I lit up for all three of us and passed the smokes around. The sheriff cracked one of the windows enough to let smoke out and not too much of the cold in. It also let in a mournful wail that carried loud and clear in the night above what remained of the wind. It had a choral, almost electronic tone to it, reminding me of my misspent youth and nights spent in dark rooms smoking pot and listening to someone’s dad’s aged prog-rock albums. A chill settled in my spine at the sound.

“How many are there?” the cap asked. “Do you know?”

The sheriff shrugged.

“Given how many we’ve put done so far? Twenty? Maybe more. Your man in the back is the only one who knows for sure but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

The cap spoke up, almost as if talking to himself.

“We’ll not ken much more until we get up to the research station and find out what the fuck was really going on up there. But first things first; let’s get the civilians out to safety first then we’ll go see what’s what.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” the sheriff replied. “Just remember, I’m tagging along. Somebody’s been fucking with my town, and I don’t like it one bit.”

We’d only just finished the smokes when there was a new sound about the wind, the familiar chug and roar of approaching choppers.

“Showtime,” the cap said. “We play this nice and slow. We empty the other truck first while we cover them then Davies and Wilko can cover us while we get the second load out and away. If anything shows up, Wiggo here will get to play with the big red button again and if that doesn’t work we blow any fucker away that tries to mess with us. The choppers will be locked and loaded too. We’ll have enough weapons to keep the road plowed for us.”

It started well enough. Two big transport choppers landed, each with two guys loaded to the gunnels with firepower in the doorways. The first truck drove over and Wilko and Davies got it emptied out pronto into the first chopper before driving it back to our position. We waited until that first chopper lifted away then the sheriff took our truck out as close as we dared to get to the rotors, the cap and I slipped out, we got the back cabin door open… and the pack chose that moment to launch an attack.

They came from three different locations at once, at least a dozen of them, both from the front and the rear of the fire truck and most surprisingly from under the rotors from the far side of the chopper as if the prospect of decapitation didn’t faze them in the slightest. The guys in the chopper doorway were too surprised to even react but the sheriff was first to get her rifle raised, with the cap and I just behind her. I got off two rounds that damned near took the head off a big gray then went for the red panic button.

And it worked wonders yet again. One of the wolves reared up in shock, almost onto its back legs. That only served to take it high enough for the rotors to do their work. White snow went red, the now mostly headless body fell to the ground and a fine mist of blood hung in the air while the remainder of the pack slunk away. I’d shot my bolt though; the radio set went warm in my hand and began to smoke then smoulder. I dropped it to my feet and checked our perimeter. There was no sign of any fresh attack, and four dead wolves lay around us, steaming in the cold air and staining the snow with their blood and guts. I looked up to the doorway to see Jennings there, his gaze fixed on the dead beasts. His rifle was still slung over his shoulder; he hadn’t made any attempt to fire it.

I didn’t have time to bawl him out. The next few minutes were a frantic rush to get the townspeople into the chopper. Watkins, hobbling badly, tried to get aboard with them but the captain pulled him back.

“Not you. We’ll need you at the station,” he shouted to be heard above the rotors

Even then Watkins tried to pull away but the cap had him in a tight grip.

I turned to where Jennings stood beside Davies and Wilko.

“What about you, lad? You want to fuck off hame to your mammy?”

At least I got a response from him this time, even if it was only a slow shake of the head; he still couldn’t take his gaze from the dead wolf under the rotors.

I gave him another ten seconds, then gave the sheriff the sign to reverse the truck away from the chopper. A minute later it rose away from us leaving the squad members, Watkins, and the sheriff herself alone in a suddenly quiet supermarket car park.

I took the time to bend over the dead wolves and dig the wee black boxes out of their spines. I wiped them off and tossed them to Davies.

“There you go, laddie, another science project for you when you get the time. Let’s see if we can do the same trick more than once.”

We backed the fire trucks away from the still-steaming bodies of the wolves and gathered in a huddle in the back cabin of one of them for a confab. I lit a smoke and let the cap lay out the plan. It was a simple enough one that even Jennings in his shocked state seemed able to follow.

The cap addressed the sheriff first.

“How’s the track to the station? Will these trucks get us there?”

She nodded.

“Easily I should think; even if there’s a few drifts these things are built to just roll through it. And they’re built like tanks, as you’ve seen. A wolf attack, even a bigger sucker than the ones we’ve seen so far, should just bounce off them.

“Good. We’ll take them both,” he said. He turned to me.

“Wiggo, you go up front with the sheriff here and Watkins. I’ll bring the other one up behind with Wilko and Davies. We’ll pick up the rest of our kit from the SUV then be on our way.”

“And Jennings?” I asked softly.

The cap looked grim. Jennings himself didn’t seem to be paying much attention.

“He can go in the back cabin.”

We set off as soon as we’d finished our smokes.