Breeds (9 page)

“You gentlemen wouldn’t have seen any roaming dogs, would you?”

“Roaming dogs?” Shea asked. “Problem up here is missing dogs.”

“Flossie’s German Shepherd’s been gone for some time now,” Sammy added.

“We’re looking into that, actually.”

Flossie had a diamond-shaped face, almost blemish free, except for a few lines about her eyes. No makeup. Brown hair, cut short. Fair to look upon, though certainly no beauty, Harry thought. Not by any means. But he’d heard a little about Officer Sheard. The woman was militant enough for Harry to mind his manners, and he hoped Sammy would as well.

“We’d appreciate the public’s cooperation on both matters,” Sheard said, grimacing in the growing wind.

“Haven’t heard of anything,” Harry reported.

Sammy shook his head. “Haven’t
seen
anything.”

“See any strays around here?” Sheard asked, squinting and showing near perfect teeth.

“Not recently, no,” Harry said. Sammy rattled his head once again.

Sheard inspected one face and then the other. “You know where Ross Kelly lives?”

The old-timers stiffened in their winter snowsuits as if goosed. Harry then pointed ahead, across the junction. At the top of the hill where the mailboxes stood. Coming out of an old road that might have been cleared by snow scoop and shovel, walked a figure decked out in winter gear. A stocking cap covered its face.

As if sensing his name, Ross raised his arm and waved.

“There he is, officer,” Harry said, glad to know he wasn’t turning the man in. He liked the Kelly youngster.

Sheard saw him and for a moment didn’t say or do anything.

“Thank you for your time. You guys stay out of the storm,” Sheard finally said, leaving the window open as the cruiser crackled over the snow-crusted road, towards a waiting Kelly. Harry Shea and Sammy Walsh stayed in place, watching the car approach Ross like a great white sizing up its prey. The young man bent over at the window for a moment and then climbed into the passenger side.

“Stay out of the storm,” Harry repeated with contempt, stirring Sammy from his gawking. “She think we are? Couple of pussies?”

The cruiser halted alongside Ross, lining him up with the open passenger-side window. He leaned over, smelled an interior steeped in coffee. It surprised him to see a woman at the wheel, but not terribly so. His second reaction was that she wasn’t half-bad looking.

“Morning,” she said with a friendly frown. “Ross Kelly?”

“Yeaup. That’s me.”

“I’m Constable Sheard. We talked on the phone last night.”

“Officer.”

Her brown eyes studied him for a moment. “Climb aboard.”

Ross complied, anxious to please. “Never been in a cruiser before.”

“Well, lucky you. You’ve been a good boy then.”

“Or just never been caught.”

Sheard didn’t smile at that, and Ross figured he’d better clarify. “That was a joke.”

“You going to show me where you saw those tracks?” All business. Not that he should have expected otherwise. Ross started to feel uncomfortable.

“Yes,” he answered.

“We’re a little short-staffed these days. The reason why I’m late getting out here.”

“Well, thanks for taking the time. Storm’s coming.”

“A storm doesn’t stop us. Doesn’t stop the job.”

Officer Sheard took her foot off the brake and rolled up a small incline, driving out the washboard of a road that led into Upper Amherst Cove. She stayed well within the limit, and Ross tried not to be too nosy by sizing up the interior of the vehicle.

“So you found these tracks, yesterday?”

“Yes.” They passed thick timberline on either side of the road, proud fir trees older than either occupant. On the right was a path hidden under about two feet of snow that led to a large vegetable garden Ross’s grandparents once tended to for potatoes and carrots.

“Well, the purpose of this little jaunt is just to see exactly where you found them. I’ll take it from there.”

“Be all covered up by now.”

“I know that. I repeat. The purpose of this little jaunt is to see exactly where you found them.”

Ross glanced over at the police officer, noted her emotionless profile. A fence of dark green and white sped by the driver’s side window. Then the car dipped as it went down the sharp incline of the other side of the ridge. When he was a boy, Ross dreaded riding his bike over that frightening strip of road, which felt a few degrees short of a rollercoaster’s initial drop.

The car drove by the driveway that led to old man Borland’s house, just barely noted through the natural growth crowding over it and forming a tunnel of boughs. Unspoiled snow piled as high as a person’s knees would give a workout to the fisherman, if he ever decided to shovel his way out. Ross hadn’t seen the old mariner in a while, and a part of him thought it might be best to check in on him on the way back. Just to make certain Borland hadn’t collapsed in his kitchen.

Breadbox Pond went by, a broad platter of water that stretched away from the road. Strengthening winds blew a white veil across the ice, hiding everything from fifty feet in. The snow was coming down fast.

“Going to get messy later on,” Ross said.

“Mmhmm,” Sheard acknowledged.

“Y’know, I tried out for the Mounties once.”

No response.

“Didn’t get anywhere. Eyes failed me.”

“Probably for the best,” Sheard stated, slowing the car down at a stop sign, where the road linked up with the Discover Trail Highway. Ross thought about her response, decided he’d stay quiet for the rest of the ride. He pointed to the right and she drove on, the silence broken periodically by humming radio chatter.

Five minutes later, they pulled over just up a straight strip of wet road, across from the wire mesh fence surrounding the Department of Highway depot. Orange highway plows and loaders stood before the green cone of the salt house, almost invisible behind the falling snow.

Sheard put the car in park, switched it off, and got out without a word. Ross sat in the seat for a moment before following. Cold air smacked his face as he swung the door open, jolting him awake.

“Here?” Sheard waved a hand, divining the spot.

“Yeah, this is it,” Ross said, pointing to the hills. “I was coming down off there yesterday when I found them. Straight on in, through the brush, they carried on. No hope of finding them now, though.”

Sheard studied the hill, then the sides of the road, and finally the tree line and fanged stream, all with an investigative air. She stood in a black winter coat, only a few fingers shorter, and Ross glanced away before she got the idea that he was sizing her up. He
was
, but he didn’t want
her
to know that.

“Could’ve been a person short taken,” Sheard finally declared, more to herself than to Ross. That thought occurred to him last night, just before he decided to call the cops, but to run all the way in there, barefoot, to take a leak?

“Or someone’s idea of a joke.” She rolled her shoulders.

Not his, however, but Ross kept that to himself and waited, wondering what the Mountie was going to do here, taking whatever the cold had to give. Winter clothing protected everything except his face. His stocking cap could be pulled down into a ski mask, but he didn’t feel comfortable doing that in front of Officer Sheard for some mysterious reason.

“Well, thank you for taking the time,” Sheard said, half-facing him, and only then for a quick two seconds. “I’ll make my report and keep an ear to the ground. You say you found them yesterday afternoon?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, we’ve had no calls for missing people. Not yet, anyway. Probably something silly. Like a dare. I’ll give you a ride back.”

She walked back to her door, but Ross felt that vibe of unease once more. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just hoof it back in.”

Sheard paused. The wind picked up, driving a tattered sheet of white between them. “You sure?”

Ross nodded, only glancing in her direction. “Thanks for your time, Officer.”

“Suit yourself. And you’re welcome.”

She climbed into the car. The parking lights flared to red life, and she wasted no time pulling away, driving back towards Amherst Cove, probably on her way back to Bonavista. Ross stood on the heaped-up shoulder of the road, a dark figure against the thickening wall of white, and watched the cruiser until it disappeared into a haze.

A hike back home would satisfy his need for the outdoors, and the physical activity would burn away the awkward interaction with Officer Sheard. He’d keep mostly to the road, take his time, maybe even venture into the bush a little ways. The two kilometers would be good exercise and he’d be back home just before the shit hit the fan with the approaching blizzard. Maybe he’d even stop in and see what Alvin was up to.

Ross Kelly slapped his thermal gloves together, making them fit snug, and took a deep breath. Two klicks was a walk in the park for him.

He got moving.

Perry informed Kirk and Morris that the other passengers had canceled on him, so it would be just the pair of them traveling to Bonavista. That suited the two men just fine, and upon boarding the van, Morris went straight to the rear and made himself comfortable. Kirk tossed in his bag and stretched out in the middle row, leaning his head against the cool glass and listening to grains of wind-blown ice pellets pepper the window. The movement of the taxi quickly lulled Kirk into a restless semblance of sleep, where every bump caused his eyes to open and check on things, before squeezing shut once more. Perry hunched over the steering wheel, the dull beat of the wipers as calming as a heartbeat at rest. A clap of metal jolted Kirk awake and he stared at the empty driver’s seat a second before realizing the van had stopped at some roadside service station. He settled back, wary of the thickening snow blanketing the windshield. When Perry returned, he briefly checked on his passengers before starting up the engine and pulling out into traffic. Even though a blizzard was about to smash into the island, people still dared Mother Nature.

Kirk stared ahead with two eyes that felt like dried-out teabags. Soft music spilled from the radio. The snow fell harder, at times reminding him of a feather pillow exploding against the windshield. And in his left ear, the one closest to the glass, the wind groaned like an animal speared through the gut, bleeding out, yet refusing to pass on. It followed Kirk into that state just below consciousness and a toe dip away from sleep.

Morris snored all the way.

Hours later, Kirk woke up and knew he wouldn’t sleep any more this day. He straightened up in his seat and wiped away the steam on the glass. White landscape flashed by, broken by sheer rock cuts, hunched over trees, and frozen humps of hills. Grim cloud cover masked the sky and every now and again a gust would strike the moving van and make its shell quiver. Kirk didn’t like the mood, didn’t like the growing fury of the storm, and each blast of wind hammered home a rising unease. For comfort, he unlocked his suitcase and felt under his change of clothing for the Bowie. He kept his hands concealed just in case the driver glanced back, and drew the weapon from its decorative traveling case.

He leaned forward and slipped its sheath down the back of his jeans, secured it, and leaned back. The blade pressed across his lower spine, but it comforted him. Of all the lore and superstitions, silver was but one of
three
ways to kill a werewolf, and the one most commonly known amongst the human populace. Fire was another.

Kirk didn’t want to think about the third.

He glanced over his shoulder at Morris, noted how his companion’s black eyes smoldered in his skull. Morris sensed it, too.

They were nearing the end of the road.

Minutes later, the van coasted to a stop. Perry opened his door and jumped out, allowing a breeze to slash through the warm air inside and bring Kirk to full alert. Perry headed around the van and opened the passenger doors from the outside.

“That’ll be sixty apiece,” Perry informed them, standing on the side of a road and a sign that had been brushed clean. It read
Upper Amherst Cove
, and an arrow pointed the way. Kirk reached for his wallet and counted out the bills, paying Morris’s way as he got out of the van. The vehicle seemed to rise an inch when the larger man stepped onto land.

“Here’s me card.” Perry held it out. “If’n ye need a ride back in, okay?”

“Where’s Amherst Cove?”

Perry turned and pointed. “See that turnoff there? Just off the main road? Go on up there and keep walking. Head up the hill that’ll feel like a mountain. The roads are getting slick and I doubt I’ll be able to get up them anyway.”

Kirk listened as he eyed the turnoff. He’d gotten directions from the Elders to get off at this very place, and walk the rest of the way in. The last phone call they’d received from their warden instructed them to get off in Amherst Cove, talk to some locals and obtain directions, and then backtrack to this spot. Borland lived close by, past a graveyard, and behind a pond. A cabin lurked beyond the pond, and that’s where Kirk’s orders said to go.

Kirk nodded his thanks and stepped away from the van. Perry closed the doors and looked to the heavens. The wind blew harder here than the city, like the breath of a charging avalanche.

“She’s gettin’ dirty, b’y,” Perry exclaimed. “Best get on wherever ye be gettin’. I’ll be lucky now to get home in one piece.”

With that, he nodded and walked around the front of the van. Kirk watched him for a moment before turning and looking back at the pavement. The van’s tracks in the gathered snow appeared an inch deep already, and no other vehicle had passed this way. He reckoned they were in some serious back country. The surrounding hills and forest cowered under the white sheet piling onto them, and a savage chill tightened his face and burned his fingers.

Perry pulled away, tooted once, and soon vanished in a whorl of snow and exhaust. The growing wind swallowed up the sound of the engine, as if the blizzard had gulped the van down. Kirk squinted at Morris, whose head and shoulders were already dusted in snow. Morris met his gaze for a second before hefting his suitcase, and walked headlong into the wind.