Red Sniper

Vaccaro tumbled out after him, but saw Cole’s savage face and took a step back, half afraid that Cole might stab him. He gulped and leveled a pistol at one of the gray forms whirling around them, but Cole grabbed his arm.

“No guns!” he shouted, loud enough to be heard by everyone. “If we start shooting, the Russians will know where we are.”

“Goddammit, Cole! How are we supposed to fight off these wolves?”

“Like this,” Cole said. He ran forward at a crouch, right at the big coal-colored wolf that had its head buried in the shelter from which Inna’s screams emanated. He rammed a knee into the wolf’s shoulder, pinning it down, and drove his knife into the wolf’s belly. The beast snarled and twisted its head, trying to get at Cole, but he put more weight on the wolf and plunged his knife in again, hilt deep. The wolf yelped and with a new surge of power shook Cole off, snapping at him, then disappeared into the trees, trailing blood.

Nearby, Samson had emerged from his own shelter and stood head down, like a big, raging bull. Two wolves launched themselves at Samson. The first fell away when he struck it in the head with a full canteen swung at the end of a webbed belt, but the second wolf latched itself onto the big man’s leg.

This second wolf was the alpha female, so opposite in coloring to her mate that she was nearly the color of the snow, except for a ridge of gray that ran the length of her back. She had jaws like a vise and she bit down until Samson felt her teeth grate his shin bone. He hit her with the canteen, again and again, until the wolf gave a final shake of her head, tearing out a chunk of flesh the size of a fist, and raced off into the trees.

In moments, the awful attack was over, the wolves having discovered that these visitors to their woods were not such easy prey. The wolves disappeared into the trees, leaving only blood-stained snow and frightened humans behind.

They took stock, nursing their wounds. Inna and Harry emerged from the shelter, tugging on clothes. Ramsey followed soon after. Even after hours of sleep, he could barely stand.

“Are you hurt?” Cole asked them.

Harry shook his head. “Scared the hell out of us, but the worst that happened is that the wolf chewed a hole in our blanket. Look at you—Jesus, Cole, you’re bleeding.”

Cole touched the place where the alpha male’s teeth had raked him. “It ain’t deep. I just hope that damn wolf don’t have rabies.”

Samson came hobbling over. He had gotten the worst of the attack. He leg bled freely where the wolves had ravaged it. Seeing the blood and torn flesh, Inna attempted to choke back the sound of dismay in her throat, then set to work binding up the wounds.

Cole looked around. “Where’s Vaska at?”

In the aftermath of the fray, they had forgotten about the Russian hunter. They found him kneeling in the snow beside his laika. Buka lay motionless, his throat and side torn. Nearby was the body of a wolf.

Cole felt a chill in spite of himself—even in death, the wolf looked menacing. The beast’s mouth gaped open, revealing strong, sharp teeth. Even Vaska’s tough laika had been no match for it. A wolf that big could easily have dragged Inna from the shelter. It must have weighed almost as much as Cole.

Beside him, Vaccaro gave an appreciative whistle. “Look at the size of that motherfucker.”

“Vaska, are you hurt?” Cole asked.

“No,” he said without looking up. With a bloody hand, he stroked the ruff of the dog. “When the wolf went for me, Buka fought him. He was a good dog.”

A tear streaked the leathery face of the Russian hunter.

Honaker appeared, standing apart from the group, his weapon half raised toward the others. Something about the way he was looking at them made the hair on the back of Cole’s neck stand at attention. He suddenly felt naked—not because he was only wearing a blanket across his shoulders, but because his rifle was still in the shelter. Again, Cole wondered why he felt that Honaker was trying to get the drop on them. It didn’t make sense—they were all on the same team here.

Then Honaker looked off into the shadows. “Maybe we should risk building a fire,” he said. “We don’t want those damn wolves coming back.”

“Maybe a small fire,” Cole agreed. It was a risk, but they had all seen the size of the dead wolf. “We can warm up, dry out, and keep the goddamn wolves away until first light.”

“What about the Russians?” Vaccaro asked. “What if they see the fire?”

“You want a two-legged problem or a four-legged problem? Take your pick.”

Vaccaro’s eyes went to the dark trees surrounding them. Dawn was still hours far away. “Let’s build that fire.”

• • •

Cole had a fire burning within a few minutes, having scrounged dry wood from deep within a windfall. The shelters were abandoned in favor of crowding around the fire, not so much for the meager warmth it offered, but for the circle of light it cast. None of them liked the idea of going beyond the firelight, where a wolf might be lurking in the shadows.