Part 2
The second cry came from uphill, thin and uneven beneath the sleet.
Ethan followed it with his eyes until he found a narrow trail of prints leading away from the trapped wolf. The tracks were small, but not all of them belonged to the pup beside her. Several sets crossed one another in the mud, disappearing beneath the roots of a fallen spruce.
“There are more,” he told Maya.
“How far?”
“Maybe eighty yards.”
“Do not lose sight of the mother.”
“Runoff is going down that slope. If the den is under those roots, it may be filling.”
Another cry rose from the hillside. This one stopped abruptly.
Ethan moved the kennel closer to the tarp and opened the door. The visible pup tried to retreat beneath its mother’s neck, but the wolf shifted weakly and exposed it again. Using a blanket as a soft barrier, Ethan guided the pup toward the kennel without touching it directly.
It backed inside, still watching him.
He closed the door and positioned the kennel where the mother could smell and see it.
Then he climbed.
The opening beneath the spruce roots was barely wider than his shoulders. Rainwater ran over the tangled earth and collected along one edge of the hollow. Ethan lay on his stomach and shone a flashlight inside.
Three pairs of eyes reflected the beam.
Two pups huddled against the rear wall. The third lay partly in the runoff, its head resting on a stone.
Ethan reached in with a towel. The nearest pup snapped at it with tiny teeth, then tumbled forward when he drew the fabric toward him. He placed it in a second ventilated carrier, followed by the next.
The last pup did not resist.
It was colder than the others and frighteningly still. Ethan tucked it inside his jacket against the layers beneath, keeping its nose clear, and started down the slope.
Maya’s ATV reached the logging road less than ten minutes later. A state wildlife officer named Luke Avery followed on a second machine, towing a narrow rescue trailer.
Maya removed her helmet before the engine had fully stopped. She was in her early forties, compact and quick, with rain running from the brim of her cap.
“You opened the trap,” she said.
“I did.”
“We’ll discuss that after I confirm you still have all your fingers.”
She checked the pup inside his jacket first, then prepared to sedate the mother from a safe distance. Luke kept Ethan behind the utility sled while Maya administered the drug. The wolf tried to rise once, swayed and settled back over the mud.
When Maya finally touched her, her movements were fast and practiced. She checked the leg, started fluids and wrapped the wolf in insulated blankets before the three of them lifted her onto a transport stretcher.
The pups were placed together in a warmed carrier. The weakest gave a small cough when Maya rubbed it with a towel.
“That’s something,” she said.
“Is it enough?”
“It has to be for now.”
As Luke secured the transport boxes, Maya cut away part of the matted fur around the wolf’s neck. Beneath it, Ethan saw a wide, weathered research collar.
Maya wiped mud from a metal plate and read the stamped number.
“F-two-fourteen,” she said.
Her face changed.
“What is it?” Ethan asked.
Maya took a handheld scanner from her pack and passed it over the collar. The screen blinked, searched and finally displayed an old identification record.
She stared at it long enough that Luke stopped tightening a strap.
“Maya?”
She turned the screen toward Ethan.
“This wolf disappeared from our tracking system fourteen months ago,” she said. “According to the file, F-214 was presumed dead…”
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