Page 15 of Tracking the Alpha
“Your general appears to not care he’s getting people killed.”
“He is also simply following orders.”
Such a terrible reply and the last thing she learned, as the major proceeded to ignore her for the rest of the flight to the airfield. The plane, fat-bellied and gray, waited with its ass-end wide open for them on the tarmac. Tanis hesitated before stepping onto the ramp, resulting in a hard shove from a soldier and a growled, “Get inside and strap in.”
Would they shoot her if she ran? Given the callous disregard for the lives fed to this escaped wolf, most likely.
With a sigh, she entered the belly of the aircraft, the center of it empty. Along its walls, benches with harnesses. As she strapped herself in, she cast a last longing glance outside and tried to not flinch when the door closed. The rumble and vibration as the plane began to move tightened her throat. Her belly dropped when the plane lifted from the ground, and she leaned her head back, eyes closed, trying to remain calm.
She failed. Agitation churned inside because she had the feeling she’d never see home again.
Chapter Four
It had been weeks since Barrett had escaped. Days and nights of running through the forest, drinking from streams, tracking prey, and eating it.
Raw.
He’d long gotten over the squeamishness of his new diet. Had to, seeing as how he was a fucking wolf.
Davidson hadn’t been kidding about the treatments changing him. Barrett was indeed stronger, faster, with a sense of smell that had him sniffing out threats—and dinner—hundreds of yards away. Hearing things even farther. The enhancement of his senses had been difficult to handle at first. So much sensory bombardment, but gradually, he’d learned how to push aspects of it into the background, figured out how to filter the important from the rest. He had no choice but to adapt, since living as a giant dog seemed to be his fate.
Not ideal, but life could be worse. He could be still a prisoner in that military facility, being experimented on by Davidson and his sycophants. If he wasn’t careful, though, that might still be his fate. The general hadn’t taken Barrett’s departure with grace. The man had been sending out teams with the sole task of capturing him—not killing, as Barrett initially feared. The first few squads had been armed with tranquilizers and netting. Noisy fuckers, who tromped through the woods giving away their location. Smelly bastards who couldn’t hide, not from Barrett’s keen nose.
He'd stuck to maiming the first group, aware they didn’t hunt him out of cruelty but because they obeyed orders. Barrett understood and respected that. A soldier’s sole duty was to follow the commands of their superior. However, despite literally hamstringing and gravely injuring the first batch—to the point they required hospitalization and extensive reconstructive surgery—the general sent more soldiers, this time armed with guns. Not a good idea given their nervous demeanor. Listening to them chatter, Barrett overheard them talking about what he’d done to the first group. How they planned to disobey the general and would shoot to kill.
Barrett took them out first.
He also eliminated the next group.
The general changed tactics after that and sent out civilian hunters next, men who proved a little more cunning. They spritzed themselves with urine to mask their scent. Hid in tree boughs under which they’d placed bait in the form of juicy—and delicious-smelling—rabbits.
Clever and most likely effective with a regular wolf, but Barrett couldn’t be so easily fooled.
He waited until that first hunter crept down from his perch before he pounced. Feeling somewhat sorry for the unknowing civilian, he only chomped his arm and then hid to watch what happened next. The guy pulled out a walkie-talkie and in an incoherent babble called for help.
The last thing he ever did. The soldiers that came to his call had no stretcher or first aid kit, just an order to execute. The general wasn’t allowing any loose ends.
Knowing that, Barrett didn’t bother being as merciful with the next hunter or the one after. Why bother risking himself knowing the general’s lackeys would eliminate any failures?
Speaking of failures, while Barrett might be free, the others under his command, his brothers and sisters in the proverbial trenches, weren’t. Freeing them was the only thing that kept Barrett from fleeing the area. How could he leave them?
He couldn’t, even as he had no idea how to help them escape. There’d been one full moon since his escape, and he’d chosen that night to roam as close as he dared to the fenced-in facility, close enough he could have scented them in the courtyard where the general usually tethered them. Only it appeared Barrett’s escape had caused some changes.
No one ended up staked outside under the moon, but even worse, Barrett had no idea which of his companions still lived. Had any of them succumbed like Gage?
The not knowing had him howling to the sky, a long mournful cry with no reply, leaving him feeling more alone than ever.
Maybe he should just let himself be captured. What was the point of freedom if everyone else remained a prisoner?
He’d give it until the next full moon. Wait a few more days and see if the general resumed the outdoor test.
But first, it appeared he had a new hunter to contend with, one wilier than those who came before. They actually managed to get within a few hundred yards of him before he got a clue.
Not a scent, nay, this person hadn’t used some old rancid, factory-produced piss to hide their aroma. The freshness of fox pee indicated it came directly from the source. Barrett didn’t hear them either, their steps so light they didn’t crunch any leaves or crack any twigs. What gave them away? Davidson barking on the walkie-talkie.
“Report.”
The abrupt command led to an annoyed reply in a very feminine tone. “Fuck off. I’m working.” Then a click as she turned off the device and muttered, “Idiot.” Followed by a sigh. “Guess I’ll have to start over.”
