Page 59 of Alpha Hunt

New shipment?

Are more pack members coming in…or did they get their hands on the wolf Barrett mentioned? Again, I’m left with a vision of Casey going out this morning.

They couldn’t have found her. It’s implausible. But if these guys have a connection with Leadmills, it’ll be no secret to them that Steel Lakes is sitting smack bang in the middle of their operating zone.

Have they been keeping tabs on us?

I watch as the men in the enclosure cautiously circle the beast. It thrashes at them violently, which earns it several more jabs with the prod. Once they have it subdued, they haul it toward the entrance to the enclosure. Shoving it through the gate, three of them get out of the way while the remaining one reaches for a catch on the chain and releases it. He slams the gate shut and backs away.

For a moment, the wolf doesn’t move. Then it shakes its head, and the chains fall free. It seems confused, and then it realizes it’s free. Suddenly, it spins and hits the gate with such force that I can almost feel the vibration of it. There’s raucous laughter as one of the men squawks in alarm.

“Piss yourself, buddy?” one of his companions shouts. There’s muttering and cursing, and they finally move away. I keep watching the wolf. It paces along the fence for a while before turning to face the interior of the enclosure. Trotting forward, it lowers its head, sniffing at the floor. It does this for a few minutes. Trotting, pacing, taking in the air.

It’s during one of these moments that it turns and faces my direction. I freeze as gleaming yellow eyes fix on my position. I have no doubt that it’s scented me, but there’s still nothing I can read from it aside from an overwhelming sense of wildness.

Turning away, it continues its agitated exploration of the enclosure. It’s a small space. Barely big enough for it to stretch its legs – which I’m guessing is the purpose of this exercise. The fuckers are letting it out to stretch…for fifteen fucking minutes. I find myself growling again. I stop short when there’s another shout from the men, and they return. At the sight of them, the wolf charges the gate. Its headlong rush is stopped short as one of the men raises a rifle.

Horror floods me as he squeezes the trigger. It’s almost a relief when I see the bright pink tailpiece of a tranquilizer dart protruding from the animal’s shoulder. It spins, its head swinging, trying to snap at the dart in spite of being muzzled. It does this for a couple of minutes before it seems to sway on its feet. Another couple of minutes go by, and it’s shaking its head. Finally, it’s legs begin to buckle. It goes down.

The guy in charge glances at his wristwatch. “Give it another minute,” he says. “There’s enough in that dose to take down a couple of elephants, but you never know.”

A minute later, one of the men goes in. He pokes the unmoving wolf with the toe of his boot. “Looks done.”

I watch as they chain the animal and drag it out. Then, I stay motionless as they repeat the entire procedure two more times. That’s all I can take. I’m sick to my stomach. Despite the risk of exposure, I crawl from my hiding place and get the hell out of there, slithering on my belly and hoping the commotion of moving the wolves will keep their attention away from me.

By the time I get beyond the line of foliage that shrouded the enclosure, I’m panting – horror and disgust fill me in equal measure. I’m half-tempted to go back there and take them all out. It would be pointless. There’s no telling how many are inside or how heavily they’re armed. That tranq dart had taken the wolf down pretty effectively.

The need to do something burns within me. Moving along the line of the fence, I try to pick up a sign that Barrett might be around. I don’t get anything, but my attention is drawn as I see a pair of headlights coming down the narrow, winding road to the center. It’s accompanied by the rumble of a truck engine.

As I watch, I pick out the shape of a box truck emerging from the darkness. It only takes me an instant to be certain that it’s the type the truck mechanic had told me about when I spoke to him at the yard. Big enough to move heavy cargo, compact enough to make it down this road. And refrigerated…to keep them docile. My brow furrows as it draws nearer. There’s something about it.

Something…

That’s when it hits me. A scent. A scent that’s unmistakable. Wired into my cells.

Casey!

My mate. I can smell her. And it’s coming from that truck.

No!

Without thinking, I bound forward and start loping in the direction it’s traveling in. It turns a corner around the main building, and I hear the engine die. Doors open and shut. There are voices. They’re not saying anything of significance. Passing the time of day. I use the darkness to hide my movement as I pad closer. I should be more careful, but I can’t help myself; I have to get to her.

The voices fade away, and there’s silence. Taking in a breath, I creep around the corner and see the truck standing with its back doors hanging open. It’s hard to see into the dark recesses, so I make my way closer. The scent grows stronger.

She’s in there!

At least, I think she is…because I’m not picking up her thoughts. But things have been so foggy here that it’s possible my senses are off. Taking a quick look around to make sure the coast is clear, I bound to the cargo box of the truck and spring into it. The sight that greets me leaves my head spinning with confusion. The space is empty, aside from a heap of something at the far end. As I tread closer, I pick up a glint of yellow. Lemon yellow. It’s a lemon yellow sweater, and the scent I’m picking up is coming from it.

Understanding dawns. It’s Casey’s sweater, the one I pulled from her shoulders in the Greased Nipple the first day we visited Sweetwaters.

Fuck! It’s a trap!

I’m already spinning around as the realization hits me like a shock wave. But it’s too late. The doors slam shut. I hear the sound of a heavy bar being locked in place.

I fling myself at the door with such force it buckles the steel. It bends but doesn’t give. There are voices from outside again. Calling instructions. Something bangs against the truck, and then boots thump onto the roof. Someone is running overhead. A small trapdoor opens above me and I’m staring into the bright light of a torch.

“Jesus, look at the size of him!”

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