A full-grown Eurasian wolf was more than one hundred and fifty pounds of gristle and sinew, fur and fang. In mid-winter, it would not have been unusual for the hungry wolves to haunt the fringes of the remote villages, hoping for easy prey, whether it was a stray goat or a wandering child. But it was only autumn, and this was the first real snow.
These wolves had grown bold. Aggressive even. The only explanation was that the long war had left a deficit of hunters, allowing the wolves to grow bolder than normal. They had forgotten their natural fear of humans.
No wonder. What did they have to fear from the humans they encountered? Some of the packs ran to thirty or forty wolves. Fortunately for Inna and the others, this was a smaller pack of a dozen animals, led by an alpha male whose rough coat was the color of dusty coal.
It was this big male that had thrust his head into the shelter. Inna's scream did not deter him. With a growl, he fastened his teeth on the blanket twisted around her feet and tried to drag her through the opening in the shelter. Only the fact that Harry shared the blanket with her kept the wolf from being successful.
Inna screamed again, and this time Harry finally woke from his slumber.
"What?" he shouted, still groggy from the aftermath of hypothermia and Inna's efforts to warm him to the core. “What is it?"
"Wolf!"
Harry sat up, instantly awake. He found himself in a living nightmare, confronted by a snarling wolf. The space was too confined to use any sort of weapon; in any case, his pistol was somewhere outside with his wet clothes. He punched the wolf, but the blow was not well aimed and bounced harmlessly off the shovel-sized head. The wolf did not let go. Harry hit him again.
By now, Inna's screams had awakened the others. Cole slipped from his shelter, shirtless in the cold, his lean muscles corded like rawhide across his arms and shoulders. His only weapon was a hunting knife. A gray shape rushed him and Cole's knife flashed; the wolf yelped and fell away. Cole's lips pulled away from his teeth, contorted in a snarl that made him seem just as vicious as one of the attacking wolves.
Vaccaro tumbled out after him, but saw Cole's savage face and took a step back, half afraid that Cole might stab him. He gulped and leveled a pistol at one of the gray forms whirling around them, but Cole grabbed his arm.
"No guns!" he shouted, loud enough to be heard by everyone. "If we start shooting, the Russians will know where we are."
"Goddammit, Cole! How are we supposed to fight off these wolves?"
"Like this," Cole said. He ran forward at a crouch, right at the big coal-colored wolf that had its head buried in the shelter from which Inna's screams emanated. He rammed a knee into the wolf's shoulder, pinning it down, and drove his knife into the wolf's belly. The beast snarled and twisted its head, trying to get at Cole, but he put more weight on the wolf and plunged his knife in again, hilt deep. The wolf yelped and with a new surge of power shook Cole off, snapping at him, then disappeared into the trees, trailing blood.
Nearby, Samson had emerged from his own shelter and stood head down, like a big, raging bull. Two wolves launched themselves at Samson. The first fell away when he struck it in the head with a full canteen swung at the end of a webbed belt, but the second wolf latched itself onto the big man's leg.
This second wolf was the alpha female, so opposite in coloring to her mate that she was nearly the color of the snow, except for a ridge of gray that ran the length of her back. She had jaws like a vise and she bit down until Samson felt her teeth grate his shin bone. He hit her with the canteen, again and again, until the wolf gave a final shake of her head, tearing out a chunk of flesh the size of a fist, and raced off into the trees.
In moments, the awful attack was over, the wolves having discovered that these visitors to their woods were not such easy prey. The wolves disappeared into the trees, leaving only blood-stained snow and frightened humans behind.
They took stock, nursing their wounds. Inna and Harry emerged from the shelter, tugging on clothes. Ramsey followed soon after. Even after hours of sleep, he could barely stand.
"Are you hurt?" Cole asked them.
Harry shook his head. "Scared the hell out of us, but the worst that happened is that the wolf chewed a hole in our blanket. Look at you — Jesus, Cole, you're bleeding."
Cole touched the place where the alpha male's teeth had raked him. "It ain't deep. I just hope that damn wolf don’t have rabies."
Samson came hobbling over. He had gotten the worst of the attack. He leg bled freely where the wolves had ravaged it. Seeing the blood and torn flesh, Inna attempted to choke back the sound of dismay in her throat, then set to work binding up the wounds.
Cole looked around. "Where's Vaska at?"
In the aftermath of the fray, they had forgotten about the Russian hunter. They found him kneeling in the snow beside his laika. Buka lay motionless, his throat and side torn. Nearby was the body of a wolf.
Cole felt a chill in spite of himself — even in death, the wolf looked menacing. The beast’s mouth gaped open, revealing strong, sharp teeth. Even Vaska’s tough laika had been no match for it. A wolf that big could easily have dragged Inna from the shelter. It must have weighed almost as much as Cole.
Beside him, Vaccaro gave an appreciative whistle. "Look at the size of that motherfucker."
"Vaska, are you hurt?” Cole asked.
"No," he said without looking up. With a bloody hand, he stroked the ruff of the dog. "When the wolf went for me, Buka fought him. He was a good dog."
A tear streaked the leathery face of the Russian hunter.
Honaker appeared, standing apart from the group, his weapon half raised toward the others. Something about the way he was looking at them made the hair on the back of Cole's neck stand at attention. He suddenly felt naked — not because he was only wearing a blanket across his shoulders, but because his rifle was still in the shelter. Again, Cole wondered why he felt that Honaker was trying to get the drop on them. It didn’t make sense — they were all on the same team here.
Then Honaker looked off into the shadows. "Maybe we should risk building a fire," he said. "We don't want those damn wolves coming back."
"Maybe a small fire," Cole agreed. It was a risk, but they had all seen the size of the dead wolf. “We can warm up, dry out, and keep the goddamn wolves away until first light."
"What about the Russians?" Vaccaro asked. "What if they see the fire?"
“You want a two-legged problem or a four-legged problem? Take your pick.”
Vaccaro’s eyes went to the dark trees surrounding them. Dawn was still hours far away. “Let’s build that fire.”
Cole had a fire burning within a few minutes, having scrounged dry wood from deep within a windfall. The shelters were abandoned in favor of crowding around the fire, not so much for the meager warmth it offered, but for the circle of light it cast. None of them liked the idea of going beyond the firelight, where a wolf might be lurking in the shadows.
It was also the perfect time to eat an early breakfast, but Honaker had some bad news for them.
"There's a problem with the rations," Honaker announced, once they were all gathered about the fire.
"What problem?"
"The food is gone. I had everything in my rucksack, and now it's gone. A wolf must have dragged it off."
"Maybe you dropped it back at the bog," Inna said.
“To hell if I know," Honaker said. "All I’m sure of is that our food is gone."
"We could go look for it," she suggested.
"What's this we business?" Honaker snapped. "I'm not going anywhere until it gets light. Those wolves would like nothing better than to turn us into food."
They had to admit that Honaker had a point. Nobody blamed him for the loss of the rations — Whitlock’s near drowning, followed by the wolf attack, had created utter chaos. It would have been easy enough to lose the rations.
They took stock of what they carried in their pockets. Vaccaro had a chocolate bar, Inna had a handful of foil-wrapped beef bouillon cubes, and Vaska had a pouch filled with jerky. Everybody had a few cigarettes or sticks of gum. It was all enough to stave off hunger for a few hours. Nobody had any real food.
"Damn, but I'm hungry," Vaccaro said. "Do you think roasted wolf is any good?"
Cole shrugged. "I could skin it out and—"
Vaccaro raised a hand. "I'm joking, Hillbilly. I'm not going to eat a wolf."
“It would be damn stringy, anyhow. Maybe we can do better than wolf meat." Cole looked over at Vaska, who nodded. The Russian understood just what Cole had in mind.
For the next couple of hours, they dozed, keeping one eye on the shadows beyond the fire. Near daybreak, when there began to be enough light to navigate the woods, Cole and Vaska moved into the trees to set snares.
A snare was the simplest of traps. A loop of thin wire was draped across a rabbit trail, with one end tied to a sapling. Even during the snow, rabbits had left a few tracks. When the unsuspecting rabbit ran its head through the loop, its struggle to get away tightened the noose. Within minutes, they had four snares set around the woods near the camp.
Cole wasn't satisfied with the possibility of a few rabbits. Looking around, he spotted a windfall log that had caught against another tree so that it hung a few feet above the ground.
"Vaska, what do you say we try to catch something bigger?”
“What, like a deer?”
“Like a Russian.”
Cole explained what he had in mind. A deadfall trap.
If a snare was simple, a deadfall was only slightly more complex. Vaska built them all the time to trap sables in the north country. The deadfall they built now was intended for larger prey. Vaska took a stick four feet long and cut it to a flat point, like the tip of a screwdriver. He then cut a notch in another stick that ended in a fork.
They recruited Vaccaro to help pull the windfall log free and lift the one end high over their heads while Vaska carried out the delicate act of supporting the log using the two sticks — one end of the stick with the screwdriver point was on the ground, the point itself jammed into the notched stick, which at the forked end supported the log. The tip of the notched stick extended downward a few inches, and Cole baited it with an empty cigarette pack. Then he disguised their handiwork with a few well-placed branches. It was good enough to fool someone careless.
The trio stepped back to admire their handiwork. Vaska was grinning for the first time since the wolves had killed his dog.
"Whoever grabs that cigarette pack is going to end up with one hell of a headache," Vaccaro said, looking at the log overhead. At the slightest touch, it would come crashing down.
"With any luck, it might take out one of these Russians and even the odds for us," Cole said.
They moved back to the campfire, hoping that the rabbits would soon be stirring to forage in the new snow. After an hour, they checked the snares, but came up empty.
"I reckon it's chewing gum and cigarettes for breakfast," Cole said.
When they returned, the campfire was only smoldering now that the others were preparing to leave. Cole looked around the group. Samson was limping. Ramsey was being propped up by Whitlock, who looked rejuvenated for a man who had only recently escaped being both drowned and frozen. Inna must have been a mighty fine nurse.
The morning light usually meant that they were greeted by the sound of pursuing dogs. This morning, there was only silence.
"Maybe the Russians gave up," Vaccaro said.
"Barkov does not give up," Inna said.
"Then what happened to their dogs?"
"The same thing that happened to our dog. Wolves."
Although it was some relief not to hear the dogs on their trail, it was also disconcerting. In a way, the dogs had helped them keep tabs on their pursuers. The Russians could be miles away — or else creeping up on them.
"Better get a move on," Cole said. His belly clenched in hunger, but there was no choice but to ignore it. He had a sudden recollection of the many hungry nights he had spent as a boy in Gashey's Creek, where he had learned to ignore the rumblings of an empty belly.
Food was more than mere comfort; out here, it was fuel. They still had many miles to go. If there was time later, he might try to circle back and check Vaska's snares.
“Maybe there’s a diner up ahead,” Vaccaro said.
”Short of that, the best we can hope for now is to get across that border as fast as possible,” Cole said.