Part 2
For one terrible moment, the pup did not move.
It lay on the tarp in a wet, dark curl, smaller than Evan’s two gloved hands together. Snow landed on its back and melted at once. The mother strained toward it, but her injured leg trapped her at a bad angle, and the sound she made was not a threat anymore. It was need, raw and unmistakable.
Evan stripped off one glove with his teeth. The cold bit into his bare fingers immediately, but he folded the wool liner around the pup and rubbed just enough to clear its nose and mouth. The tiny body twitched. Its mouth opened, and a thin, outraged cry slipped into the storm.
The she-wolf lifted her head.
“I’ve got him,” Evan whispered. “I’ve got him.”
He set the pup where she could reach it. Her tongue moved over its face with rough, desperate care, and Evan had to look away for half a breath. Not because it was gentle. Because it was fierce. Trapped, bleeding, and nearly spent, she still knew what was hers.
The dark male remained on the road. Boone stood so close to Evan that the dog’s shoulder brushed his knee. The old dog was not growling now. He watched the male wolf with a discipline so complete it seemed to hurt.
Evan forced his glove back on and tried the radio again. “Hollow Creek Wildlife Center, Mercer on emergency channel. Dr. Ortiz, if you can hear me, I need guidance.”
The radio crackled hard enough to make him wince.
“—van? Say again.”
Relief nearly weakened his legs. “Lena, I’ve got an adult female gray wolf caught in steel. Muzzle snare removed. She’s in labor. One live pup on the ground. I’m alone on Black Spruce Ridge.”
A long burst of static swallowed whatever Dr. Lena Ortiz said first. When her voice returned, it was tight and sharp.
“Do not sedate her. Not in labor, not without weight, not in that cold. Keep the pup warm, control bleeding if you can, and get her here only if you can do it without killing yourself.”
“That last condition is getting complicated.”
“What does that mean?”
Evan looked toward the road. The male wolf had not moved away from the snowmobile. Snow gathered along his back and ears. He stared past Evan, toward the wash, toward the mother and the pup.
“The pack is here,” Evan said.
The radio went quiet.
“How many?” Lena asked.
“Four visible. Likely more in the trees.”
“Evan.”
“I know.”
“No, listen. Do not challenge them. Don’t stare. Don’t wave your arms. Keep your body sideways. They haven’t rushed you, which means you still have a chance to keep this from becoming worse. Can you free the trap?”
“I’m going to try.”
“That is not a yes.”
“It’s the only answer I’ve got.”
Evan took the bolt cutters from the kit and shifted toward the steel trap. The jaws had closed high on the lower leg. Old equipment, illegal in that set, strong enough to crush tissue and stubborn enough to make a man hate the hands that placed it. He slid a short length of rope through the spring lever, braced it with his boot, and worked slowly.
Every small movement made the wolf flinch. She watched his hands, not his face. That was good. His hands were where the danger was.
The trap opened a fraction.
The wolf’s leg came free with a wet, ugly sound.
She tried to pull away and nearly rolled onto the pup. Evan caught the edge of the tarp and steadied her without grabbing. Boone took one step forward, then stopped when Evan whispered his name.
“Good boy,” Evan said. “Stay with me.”
He packed gauze loosely around the wound and wrapped it just enough to slow the bleeding. Field treatment, nothing more. Out here the goal was not healing. The goal was time.
When he reached under the wolf’s shoulder to slide the thermal blanket farther beneath her, his fingers struck something hard.
At first he thought it was another loop of wire. He angled the flashlight closer and pushed aside the thick fur at her neck. Orange plastic flashed beneath blood and ice. A collar, wide and cracked near the transmitter box.
Not a hunting collar.
A wildlife tracking collar.
Evan wiped the side with his thumb. Black numbers showed through the frost.
F-14.
He pressed the radio button. “Lena. She’s collared. Orange unit, marking F-14.”
Static snapped back.
When Lena answered, her voice had changed. “Say that again.”
“F-14.”
“That’s one of ours,” she said. “She’s from the Ash Hollow study.”
Evan looked down at the collar again. The casing had not split from age or impact. The plastic edge was too clean. The antenna wire had been sliced and tucked beneath the strap, as if someone had wanted the signal dead before anyone came looking.
“Lena,” he said, “the transmitter didn’t break.”
“What are you seeing?”
“A blade cut.”
The she-wolf lowered her muzzle over the pup, slower now. Her head wavered with the effort.
Evan stared at the severed wire, then at the illegal trap, then at the waiting shapes in the trees. This was no longer just a rescue. Someone had known exactly what she was and had still left her in the snow.
Lena’s answer came through the radio in a thin, frightened line. – “Then whoever set that trap wasn’t trying to catch a wolf,” she said. “They were trying to erase one…”
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