Etched in Bone

CHAPTER 27

Thaisday, Messis 23

Snapping out of a light sleep, Meg tried to rub the crusties out of the corners of her eyes without rubbing dirt into her eyes. Had she really heard sirens? The sound carried, but it still meant that, maybe, she wasn’t that far from a road that was patrolled.

Of course, not being able to walk meant “not that far” was still too far.

She looked around again. Maybe there was a fallen branch that she could use like a crutch. Or something within reach that she could wrap around the injured ankle.

She looked everywhere—except at the body lying a couple of feet away from her.

Burke pulled onto the left-hand shoulder a few yards in front of the brown car and the police car parked behind it. The officer leaning against the side of the patrol car wore captain’s bars and had a look Burke recognized—tough, experienced, and with enough knowledge of what was, no doubt, watching them from the woods to appreciate the danger they were all in at this moment.

“Mr. Wolfgard . . .” Burke didn’t bother to say more, because Simon was already scrambling to get out of the car, shifting his front paws enough to have fingers that could pull at the door handle and snarling in frustration when the door wouldn’t open.

Burke released the door locks. The moment Simon was outside and no longer interested in them, Burke said quietly to O’Sullivan, “Do what you can to keep Monty up here on the road.” Then he pushed out of the car, glancing back at the Lakeside patrol car.

Kowalski didn’t bother to pull over to the shoulder of the road. With two Wolves going nuts in the backseat, he just stopped the car, jumped out, and opened a door for them.

Nathan and Blair rushed to join Simon, who was busily sniffing around the brown car. While the local police captain watched, not daring to move closer or move back, they got the doors opened and their large bodies stretched across the seats. They sniffed everything, trying to find the scent they were looking for.

Simon clawed at the trunk, leaving scratches in the paint until Kowalski hurried over and opened the trunk. Suddenly all three Wolves were pushing their heads and shoulders into the trunk, sniffing and sniffing before they left the car and spread out across the road.

And not one of them even looked toward what lay in the center of a square made of yellow crime scene tape and tall garden stakes.

Burke raised a hand and strode toward the other captain. As he came past the brown car, he saw another police officer searching the grass between the tape and the trees.

“Captain Miller?”

The officer nodded. “Are you Burke?”

Burke nodded in turn, then looked at the two objects that had been placed on a pile of shredded clothing.

“Jimmy?” Montgomery’s voice.

“Lieutenant!” Kowalski shouted.

Burke didn’t hesitate. He body blocked Monty, pushing him back while Kowalski and O’Sullivan grabbed Monty’s arms.

“Jimmy!”

Hearing the anguish in Monty’s voice, Burke felt pity for the man. Monty must have considered the possibility that they wouldn’t find Cyrus alive, but nothing could have prepared him to see this.

“Monty, I’ll handle this,” Burke said. “Wait by the car. Do you hear me, Lieutenant?”

A blank-eyed moment. Then Monty took a deep breath and said, “Yes, sir.”

Burke glanced at O’Sullivan, who nodded and said, “Come on, Monty.”

He watched Kowalski, who was watching the Wolves and frowning. Then he turned to Captain Miller.

“Your lieutenant knew this man?” Miller asked.

“His brother.”

Miller paled. “Gods above and below. I’m sorry he had to see this.”

“So am I.” He walked into the grass until he stood beside the crime scene tape and could get a good look at what the unseen residents of the wild country had left behind.

He’d seen this a couple of times before when he’d been posted to human villages in the wild country, but in those cases, enough of the bodies had been left behind for the medical examiner to do an autopsy and run some tests. When the results came in, he remembered seeing tough, experienced cops vomit when they learned one particular detail about the Others’ form of justice.

And he remembered what human action had triggered this degree of savagery.

“What’s your procedure when this happens?” he asked Miller.

“We don’t have one,” Miller replied. “Out here, we either find the person alive or we don’t find them at all. Unless the person was killed by another human. We’ve had body dumps along this road over the years. Domestic disputes that turned fatal most of the time. When that happened, we usually found the woman—and the car. We rarely found the man. Not even this much.”

“This wasn’t domestic,” Burke said, confirming whatever Miller had heard about the manhunt. “This was a kidnapping.” As he pointed to one object lying on the shredded clothes, he choked on the rising fear that they might be too late. “The silver folding razor belonged to the young woman.”

“Is she one of those girls?”

He nodded.

Miller looked toward the road and the Wolves who had returned to the brown car, sniffing and searching before they headed down the road in the opposite direction.

“Friend of theirs?” Miller asked.

Burke nodded again.

“We didn’t find anything to indicate there was another person out here.” Too much knowledge in Miller’s eyes. “This is a few miles west of where the truck driver called in the position where he’d seen a young woman and this car. She may have been lucky enough to get away from her kidnapper, but it takes more than luck to get away from them.”

He knew that. Meg Corbyn had a better chance of surviving in the wild country than anyone he’d ever met—if she wasn’t having a psychotic episode because of the cuts Cyrus Montgomery made.

“Did anyone search the area where the truck driver saw her?” Burke asked.

“Don’t know. That’s just beyond my jurisdiction. I called the captain who handles that part of the road. He could have searchers out there now . . .”

“Or he could still be waiting for permission to send men into the wild country.” Not always an easy thing to receive—and never a guarantee of safety for the humans going in. He understood a leader’s caution. He also knew he would have gone in without permission, taking with him whatever help was offered.

He spotted Kowalski slowly walking toward them and turned to Miller. “Can you get me the exact position?”

The truck driver who called it in had included the number on the closest milepost. He would be able to start his own search close enough to Meg’s last known position for the Wolves to pick up her scent.

“Didn’t you . . . ?” Miller noticed Kowalski and nodded understanding. “Will do.” He walked away.

Kowalski came up beside Burke and stared at the second object that had been placed on the shredded clothes: Cyrus Montgomery’s lower jaw.

“The Wolves can’t find Meg’s scent,” Kowalski said. “Wherever she is, she didn’t leave the car anywhere around here. Nobody is shifting to human form to talk to me, but my impression is they didn’t find her scent in the car; just in the trunk.” He hesitated. “Captain, there’s blood in the trunk. I don’t think it’s enough to be life-threatening, at least for any of us, but it struck me as being more than usual for one of Meg’s cuts.”

That was disturbing but not surprising. Very few people would know how to properly cut a cassandra sangue to avoid her suffering physical or mental problems, and Cyrus Montgomery wasn’t one of them. Even if he had known, Burke doubted Cyrus would have cared.

“The Wolves may not realize that we’re miles from the spot where Meg escaped from Cyrus. Go up and tell them so they understand why they can’t pick up her scent. As soon as Captain Miller confirms the location, you and the lieutenant pack up the Wolves and get over there to start the search.”

“Yes, sir.” Kowalski didn’t move, just stared at the jaw.

“Don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer,” Burke said quietly.

Monty had an ingrained courtesy and courage that had opened a door, allowing some humans to communicate with the terra indigene. Karl Kowalski had the grit to see the truth about what was on the other side of that door and still walk through it.

But did he have enough grit?

“Was he dead when they ripped off his jaw?” Kowalski asked.

Burke took a deep breath and blew it out. “No.”

So thirsty. And scared that Simon wouldn’t find her. The terra indigene weren’t the only wild things out here. And unlike the terra indigene who knew she wasn’t prey, other wild things might decide she looked, and smelled, pretty tasty.

She couldn’t run. Even if both legs worked, she’d never outrun predators who were used to chasing their dinners.

She didn’t have much strength or courage left, but she had enough for one more bit of defiance.

“Arroo!” Meg howled. “Arroo!”

I am here. I am here!

Then she noticed the odd silence.

They circled the small bowl of land, trying to decide what they were seeing.

Looked human but didn’t smell human. Didn’t smell like prey. Smelled . . . intriguing.

“Arroo!” it howled. “Arroo!”

Tiny voice. Puppy howl. All puffed up and challenging.

And hurt. Hind leg didn’t work right.

“Arroo!” it howled again. “Arroo!”

Tiny voice. Puppy howl. But brave to challenge them, to warn them off.

Was this the howling not-Wolf?

They circled the small bowl of land and considered the messages that had rippled under the skin of the world, that had been a scent in the air and a taste in the water.

It was not a Wolf, it was not prey, and it was howling.

Crows had told them there were Wolves in their territory, searching along the road. Was the not-Wolf howling for its mate? Tiny howl. Wouldn’t be heard.

One of them stayed to watch the not-Wolf. The others moved silently along the game trails, traveling far enough to ensure that they would be heard.

Then one of them howled.

Simon staggered into the middle of the road and stopped moving.

Meg was gone? Really gone?

He was supposed to find her. There was supposed to be a trail for him to follow.

But Meg’s scent wasn’t on the road or the grass, wasn’t anywhere except in the trunk of the car. Without her scent, he didn’t know where that Cyrus had left her.

Had no way to find her.

Lifting his muzzle, Simon howled the Song of Sorrow, joined by Blair and Nathan.

Then he stopped howling as a thought occurred to him. Nothing Meg had seen had indicated that he would lose her forever. She had escaped from that Cyrus and run into the wild country where a human couldn’t follow her. She would run until she found the place in the woods that had the grave and the cold hand—the place she had seen in the prophecy dream. She would get there and wait for him. So his Meg wasn’t gone; she was just lost until he found her.

If the humans couldn’t help him find Meg, the terra indigene who lived around here could—and would.

When he howled again, it was a Song of Battle. And it was answered.

Monty leaned against the patrol car, blinking away tears as he listened to Simon’s heartbroken howl.

Jimmy had done this to Simon, to all of them. Just another scheme that might have consequences for everyone but Jimmy. Except this time he had miscalculated and had paid dearly. Would his wife and children grieve, or would they secretly be relieved that he wasn’t coming back?

Gods, what a thing to wonder about a brother.

Monty wiped away the tears. This wasn’t the time for him to grieve or wonder. Meg Corbyn was still out there, somewhere.

He pushed away from the car and noticed how O’Sullivan immediately turned toward him. The ITF agent didn’t need to worry; he wasn’t going to try to see what had been left inside the crime scene tape. Not again.

Kowalski hurried over to join him.

“What’s our status?” he asked, taking in the Wolves’ body language as Nathan and Blair stood with Simon, howling: defeat.

“Captain Miller gave me the exact location where Meg escaped from Cyrus,” Kowalski said. “Sounds like a few men started at that point and searched along the edge of the woods for a couple of miles in both directions. So far, there’s been no sign of her.”

“How far could she travel?”

Kowalski snorted. “You’ve never played chase with the Wolves. Uninjured, I think Meg could cover some distance.”

And if that distance took her deeper into the wild country, they had no chance of finding her because there was no mercy in the wild country, no safety in the dark—even when the dark was the shade and shadows of the woods. The men who patrolled these roads knew that, and while a commander might risk his men if they had a solid location and were going in to rescue someone, no one would send in men to search for a body.

Simon howled again, but it sounded different now.

“Lieutenant, I have to tell the Wolves . . .”

“ARROOOOO!”

The Wolves froze. Burke and the local police officers scrambled onto the road.

“ARROOOOO!”

Based on the deep voice, whatever was out there was huge.

“Arroo!” Simon replied. “Arrrrrooooo!” He turned east, running past them as he headed down the road in the direction of the howl. Blair followed him.

“Nathan, wait!” Monty said when the other enforcer started to follow Simon. “What is it?”

The Wolf bristled with impatience, but Nathan shifted to a mostly human form. “The Elders found something.”

“Meg?”

“They’re not sure. It might be the not-Wolf.” He shifted back to Wolf.

“Wait.” Monty held up a hand. “Let us go with you as far as we can.”

Nathan growled. Not a welcoming sound.

“We have water,” Kowalski said. “And food. And a first-aid kit. When you find Meg, she’ll need all those things. It will be easier to carry them in the car.”

Nathan stopped growling. Monty decided that was as much agreement as they would get. Apparently Kowalski thought the same thing because he was behind the wheel of the patrol car in seconds.

Monty pulled open the passenger door, then stopped and looked at Burke.

“Go,” Burke said. “O’Sullivan and I will handle things here. Good luck, Lieutenant.”

Monty dove into the passenger seat. Kowalski had the car rolling before Monty closed the door.

The Wolves ran, and the patrol car stayed close enough to see them but far enough back to maneuver around anything unexpected.

Then Simon caught a scent—fresh enough and so familiar.

He stopped, explored the shoulder of the road. Followed the scent across the road and into the trees on the other side.

The patrol car pulled up. “Wait!” Montgomery shouted.

He hesitated, but the need to find his Meg was stronger.

Nathan told Simon and Blair.

That much decided, Simon waited just long enough for Blair to join him. Then they headed into the woods, following Meg’s scent on the game trail.

Simon said when they reached the fork. He lifted a leg and marked a tree for Nathan to find.

Blair said, also marking the tree.

They followed the game trail, followed the scent, moving at a steady pace that wouldn’t leave Nathan and the police pack too far behind.

Blair growled, sniffing some leaves.

Just drops from a small wound, but for Meg, there was no such thing as a small wound.

They kept moving, following the game trail and the blood trail.

Then Simon stopped, his ears pricked. Was it . . . ?

“Arroo!”

They were barely in range of that howl, but it filled him with joy. “Arroo!”

“Arroo! Arroo!”

Found you. He ran toward the sound.

The odd silence wasn’t quite so silent anymore, and Meg felt very grumpy about that—but not quite grumpy enough to tell an Elder that it wasn’t polite to laugh at someone else’s howl just because it wasn’t . . . whatever.

“Arroo!” Practice makes perfect. Miss Twyla had said that. She hadn’t said it about howling, but she had said it. In fact, she’d said a few other things about howling when Lizzy and the other children had been trying to see who could howl the loudest, but they didn’t apply to Meg.

She looked out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t see the Elder, but she sensed that something large had settled just above one end of the small bowl of land. It hadn’t tried to communicate with her, but maybe its presence would attract some of the Crowgard and she could ask one of them to take a message to Lakeside.

Meanwhile, she was still tired and thirsty, and her ankle hurt. But that presence, while not benign, didn’t feel threatening either. At least she wasn’t alone.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath . . . and howled. “Arroo!”

Moments later she heard “Arroo!”

“Simon,” she whispered. “Arroo! Arroo!”

She waited, hardly daring to breathe. She didn’t wait long before a big Wolf came over the lip and leaped into the small bowl of land.

“Simon!” She threw her arms around him and held on, shaking. Then she felt skin instead of fur, and strong arms wrapped around her as Simon pressed his face against hers.

“Meg.” His voice shook. His body trembled. “Meg.”

“I knew you’d find me.” She squealed when something licked her ankle. Something that wasn’t Simon.

“Blair says you’re hurt.”

Meg pulled back enough to see Simon’s face. “He can tell that by licking my ankle?”

A deep growl near her hip discouraged her from saying anything sassy. She thought of telling Blair that there was an Elder nearby, but she figured he already knew that—and would nip her anyway.

“I tripped and hurt my ankle—and found . . .” She turned her head just enough to indicate a direction without actually looking at the body.

Blair moved away to inspect the body. Simon just hugged her.

“There’s an Elder here,” she whispered in his ear.

“I know,” he whispered back.

“It laughed at me when I howled to tell you I was here.”

She could feel his smile.

Then Nathan was there, practically stepping on her as he sniffed and licked.

“Okay for us to come down?” Monty asked.

Meg looked up and saw Monty and Kowalski.

“Come down,” Simon said.

They moved more carefully than the Wolves, their shoes slipping on old leaves as they made their way down to her.

Kowalski knelt in front of her, opened the daypack he carried, and produced a bottle of water. He opened it and held it out. “I have some food too, but we’ll start with the water. Drink slow. Small sips. Okay?”

So thirsty, but she obeyed.

“Her ankle is hurt.” Simon helped her move her leg to a position where Kowalski could look at it.

Apparently look didn’t mean touch, because Simon snarled and his canines lengthened to Wolf size.

“Have to touch to tell what’s wrong,” Kowalski said, looking at Simon.

The snarling quieted but didn’t stop—and got quite a bit nastier and louder when Karl’s prodding made her yip.

Kowalski opened the first-aid kit. “I’m pretty sure it’s sprained, not broken. Got an elastic bandage in here. We can wrap the ankle to give it some support until we can get Meg home for a proper checkup.” He pulled out other things and handed them to Simon. “You can clean the cuts on her arm, then put some of the antibiotic ointment on them and wrap them. We’ll need to watch them for infection since I don’t think the cuts were made under the most sanitary conditions.”

Not wanting Simon to think about why that had happened, Meg held out her left hand. “A bush attacked me when I was running.”

Since she couldn’t say when the cut was made, she couldn’t point out the bush for him to bite—although she didn’t doubt that, if he really wanted to, Simon could find the exact bush by sniffing out the tiny chunk of skin she’d left behind.

The bush bite calmed him a little, probably because it sounded ridiculous. Simon cleaned the cuts, grumbled about the stinky medicine, and used an unreasonable amount of gauze to wrap her arm and hand while Kowalski wrapped an elastic bandage around her ankle.

“Meg?” Lieutenant Montgomery crouched beside her.

It wasn’t your fault, she thought.

He gave her bandaged arm an odd look as he held up a slim brown wallet. “While you were running through the woods, did you wonder about finding a doctor for your arm?”

“I wasn’t always running through the woods. I was, but . . . Visions become strange when the cuts are too close,” she said. “I couldn’t tell what I was thinking from what I was seeing. Why?”

Monty studied her. “Some of the doctors on the governor’s task force were reported as missing. I think you found one of them.”