“THE networks say he’s flying out to St Louis first thing tomorrow to visit Taylor’s widow,” said Niki, her voice raised so Ed could hear her in the bathroom.
He came out, looping his bow tie. “Perfect timing,” he said, nudging her elbow. “To dinner?”
“Last supper?”
62
THE SNOW SUCKED the heat out of both bodies, gorging on the blood from their gaping wounds, turning itself into a stinking red slush. The two combatants were waning.
Gretel’s blunder had been shooting for Isabel’s neck. As the growling animal hurled herself up and her wild eyes met Isabel’s square on, she sensed this mad woman was no easy victim.
Isabel’s blood surged, roping her thick neck vein so it seemed to slash across her scar to make the sign of the cross that the ancients would wield to ward off evil. Gretel didn’t know about such things, but she should have paid more attention to the shovel that Isabel had hoisted high, before she heaved it down, crunching it into the wolf’s snarling maw. Gretel had pitched onto her back and immediately rolled, coming back for more, howling, almost losing her footing in her slippery charge. Isabel swept the spade wide and almost knocked her aside but Gretel managed to duck it, and gripped her fangs into Isabel’s already weak arm. Jerking her head from side to side, she forced the weapon out of Isabel’s hand before ripping into her limb.
With Gretel hanging off her arm and dragging her to the ground, Isabel clenched her fingers round the jagged bottle neck. She screamed a long gurgling shriek and heaved it down, straight into Gretel’s eye socket, and twisted with all her fading might. She twisted again, but this time her own head exploded in pain, from her wounds and the memories she would rather have forgotten.
Both fell backwards, away from each other. The wolf thudded into the snow and her head thrashed around as she convulsed, trying to cast the glass out of her eye. Isabel tripped on a rock and her right leg twisted under her.
ANDY backed his flat-top out of his garage so he and Paul had more room to heft the snowmobile and the ATV up onto the tray. After lashing them down securely, Andy threw in the first-aid kit and a stretcher sled and they spun off. It was ten minutes of rumbling and bumping over rocks and roots and it was only after they’d passed three No Vehicular Access signs that Paul spoke, lifting his voice above the racket, “Bein’ a ranger’s got some privileges, huh?”
“Gotta save my wolf, man,” Andy yelled. “Those’re my signs, anyhow. Don’t apply to me.”
Half a mile higher up, their lights flashed on a No Vehicles. No Camping. No Fires sign. Paul said nothing. He was monitoring the GPS and Andy thrashed the pedals, concentrating hard in the dark, it being no mean feat trying to steer clear of ditching the truck or smashing it into the sudden succession of trees or rocks that kept materialising out of the blackness.
It took them forty minutes to reach Lambert’s Crossing which, by necessity, was the end of the line for the flat-top. By GPS calculations, they had to cover two more miles to reach Gretel, but the pair could see the cover here was too patchy for the snowmobile. Andy hauled on the handbrake and the two men jumped out and bounced the fat-tyred ATV down onto the dirt. Andy strapped the stretcher sled and first-aid kit to the back; they hopped on and he revved off. Paul had charge of the tracker and the battery-powered spotlight but he couldn’t grip onto Andy and operate the two devices at the same time.
“Stop,” Paul shouted into Andy’s ear.
He screeched to a halt. “What?”
Paul needed to rearrange himself. He slipped the GPS strap around the front of Andy’s throat and over so it rested down his back and he could see it from behind. With one hand free to hold the spotlight and one to grip Andy, Paul was set. “Go!”
THE two miles were tough. Andy’s tracker map was basic, lacking the detail of Isabel’s but at least it was working. Fifteen minutes for two miles. Bluffs and cliffs and fallen trees blocked them. Repeatedly, they had to stop for frozen-over creeks to check for weight carry. By the time they got close to the clearing, Gretel’s heart rate was almost flat-lining.
“Over there,” screamed Paul.
Andy wrenched the throttle forward and they flew up and into the clearing, bouncing down about ten feet from the fallen wolf, but when he slammed on the brakes, Paul almost flew over Andy’s shoulder. He managed to grip and stay on, though the spotlight flew into a tree and sputtered out.