Roan

The sound of a gunshot freezes Shadow and me.

A handgun. I know the sound of a nine millimeter, and those aren’t used for hunting anything but humans. It’s maybe a mile away, close to the Haven. That can’t be anything good.

I don’t want Shadow running into a situation and getting shot; people see a wolf and fire first, ask questions later. I touch my thigh for him to stay close as I pull my Colt and the Buck knife. Loping, on full alert, my weapons ready, I move silently through the woods toward the sound of the shot.

Lucy couldn’t be involved with that gunshot, could she?

No. She’d be back inside the Haven by now, and if it were another member of the family, they wouldn’t be using a handgun unless they were chasing off an intruder. The Scorching has unleashed evil people to do as they please.

As I run, I spot Lucy’s catch, the dead quail, lying broken and bloody beside the path.

This is about Lucy somehow. I don’t know how I know it, but I do. Sweat breaks out as I run faster, moccasin-clad footfalls almost silent in the dense brush.

When I see her fallen rifle next to a large stump, I know for sure.

Someone has taken Lucy.

I force myself to stop, straining my senses, scanning the empty forest. Shadow whines, sensing my anxiety.

No unusual sounds.

I drop my backpack and bend slowly to pick up her rifle, tracking around the stump. I can feel her pain emanating off it. This is where she stopped to cry her eyes out before going back home. This is why she was still out here and not safe inside.

This is how they caught her.

My fault.

Further down the path, I find the marks of struggle. I recreate what happened: she ran into the brush, men came at her from different directions. She got away into splintered, disturbed underbrush. Someone caught her there. Blood on the leaves, and a bullet hole in a tree at head height—the shot I heard.

I have to hurry or they’ll get away, but if I go too fast, I’ll miss the signs and lose her, wasting time she doesn’t have.

Heavy scuff marks. This is where she was captured.

I drop to my haunches, reading the ground, and pick up the wire game loop. One end of the sharp wire is bloody.

Lucy left the wire for me to find. She’s counting on me.

I wish I could sprint after her, but there’s no path here, and at least three men have her. For some reason, there’s no sign of Pinocchio…

Beyond where they took her, one set of prints sinks heavier in the soft forest mulch. Someone’s carrying her. My Lucy wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Adrenaline pumps through me so hard I can’t focus, and I lose the trail, running. I have to backtrack and find it again.

Shadow’s not a scent dog, but he picks up on what I’m doing, and he hears or smells something I cannot. He whines to get my attention and when I nod my head, he streaks into the trees. I follow at an all-out run.

Shadow pauses for me to catch up periodically. We must be gaining. They can’t be that far ahead—but suddenly the trees are broken by the ribbon of road that passes the Haven, and Shadow stops on the dirt and gravel track.

The wolf lifts his head, smelling, drops it to trot back and forth. He’s lost the scent.

Shadow’s so elemental in his gray, white, and brown coat, as if the earth and sky formed into this long-legged, lethal animal built for speed and killing. But he can’t find them. He circles back and forth, whining.

I spot tire tracks in the soft mud of the shoulder. A big vehicle, Jeep or truck by the depth of the tread—and they reversed back onto the road.

Whoever got Lucy is gone.

Shadow sits down on his haunches, tips back his head, and howls. Unearthly. Deadly. Mournful. A sound like grief and revenge in one voice.

He speaks for me. My woman has been taken.

I should have made sure she got back safe, I knew she was distraught.

I won’t rest until I get her back.

I turn and run back into the forest, heading straight for the Haven’s back door.