Page 74 of Following Their Heart

In my bag is a tablet that connects to Jud’s office equipment using Wi-Fi. I’m way too far out to take advantage of that signal. Still, I pull up the network link to Jud’s PC. I will the network to work out here, and just like that, I’m connected. The Wi-Fi signal shows full-strength.

“Cool.”

Navigating into Jud’s computer from my tablet, I open the program he uses to monitor the trail cams. Dragging my finger up the tablet, I scroll to the camera I’m at right now. The feed shows me standing there, staring down at my tablet.

I grin and wave at the camera. There are no outward signs the thing is working, since the point of the units is to record without being noticed, so there’s no glowing red dot or anything like that. But on my tablet, I see myself waving.

The trail cam is not only recording, but it’s also transmitting the video signal to the mainframe at the lodge. All without a power source.

Son of a bitch. That’s nifty.

I wonder if I can keep it recording as I move to the next trail cam. Like, will I have to keep thinking about it, or is there a limit to how far I can get and keep it recording? Pocketing the unnecessary battery, I head out to run more experiments. And to forget about Rev and Brawn for a while.

Chapter 28

Cora

Dinty Moore beef stewand bags of chips. That’s the ultra-creative lunch I’m putting together for the guys. The cans are the huge kind, and I open three of them using the crank-style can opener attached to the countertop.

Do I have time to thaw a couple cans of biscuits from the freezer? Maybe if I soak them in water. Cool water, Shep taught me, never hot. Hot will risk spoiling the product. I fill one basin of the sink a quarter of the way and toss in four cans of biscuits. Might as well try. If they’re not thawed enough to bake by lunch time, I can always serve them for dinner.

Now to plan dinner. I head to the refrigerator to see what leftovers need to be used up, but a sudden racket of screeching and banging stops me in my tracks. It sounds like a hurricane filled with screaming banshees is bearing down on the lodge.

“What the?” I crack open the door at the back of the kitchen that leads through the screened-in mudroom to the outdoors. I’m cautious because the racket is still happening. But what I see when I peek out is so surprising, I throw the door open to stare.

The pile of dead birds around the lodge is taking flight. Or rather, the individual birds in the pile are taking flight. Likeallof them.

There are so many that a dark, flapping cloud casts the kitchen into darkness. With the door open, the screeching is deafening. My protective instinct yells at me to shut to door against the chaos, but I can’t bring myself to do it. This is too crazy.

The birds are alive!

They were dead, and now they’re alive!

How is this possible?

A few birds fall from the churning, rising cloud, flopping to the ground with broken wings or legs. My heart aches for them, but I suppose having broken appendages is better than being dead. Maybe Doc can help them.

Doc! He’s out there with Grim! They were supposed to be disposing of the dead birds. I hope they’re okay! I squint, trying to see them through the bird-cloud, but I can’t make out any people shapes.

I shut the door and run to the common room. Out the widows, I see birds flapping for all they’re worth. On first glance, I don’t see Doc and Grim. But I’m not giving up. If my men are in trouble, I’ll brave those birds to get to them.

I throw open the front door. That was a mistake. A hawk with brown and tan wings crashes into my chest, knocking the wind out of me.

“Ouch!”

It reels back, talons flashing, and takes off into the rafters of the room.

Ignoring the pain—and the hawk in our house—I keep looking for Doc and Grim. The cloud of birds is thinning, but a glance at the sky shows it thick with flapping wings and streamlined bodies. They’re blocking out the sun like a storm cloud. I turn my attention to the grounds around the lodge.

There! I see them. Doc is shielding his eyes, and Grim has his hands clasped over his ears. Both are ducking and standing well back from the birds. I see blood on their hands and faces.

“Doc!” I yell through the cloud of resurrected birds. “Grim!” I run outside, arm cocked protectively over my head. A few birds glance off me, but none hit me with the force of that hawk. When I reach them, they’re both…smiling?

“Are you okay?” I ask them, panting and looking from one to the other. Both have gashes on their faces. Doc’s hands are covered in blood. The sleeve of his shirt is torn to shreds and soaked with blood, as if he used that arm to shield himself. Grim seems to have fared better because of his layers, but he has some wounds on his face that look like they need stitches.

Grim gathers me to him and tucks me under his chin. “What are you doing? It’s too dangerous out here!”

“You’re hurt!” I crane my neck to find Doc. “You’re both hurt!”

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