DIRE WOLF

by

K.T. TOMB

Creatures Series #18

Creatures Series

Saquatch

Sasquatch Found

Bigfoot Mountain

Sasquatch Resurgence

The Snow Giants

Kingdom of the Yeti

Monster

Neanderthal Rising

Giants

The Ozark Howler

The Portlock Sasquatch Massacre

Loch Ness Awakens

Rougarou

Skinwalker

Aliens

Feral People

The Wild Man

Dire Wolf

Saber Tooth

Dire Wolf

Published by K.T. Tomb

Copyright © 2025 by K.T. Tomb

All rights reserved.

Ebook Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Epilogue

About the Author

Dire Wolf

Prologue

The sterile white halls of GenSys Labs hummed with the low thrum of climate control and the rhythmic beeping of monitoring equipment. Within a secret lab hidden in the Andes Mountains, humanity was attempting to play God. At the helm of GenSys’ secret project was lead geneticist, Dr. Aris Thorne.

For nearly ten years, Thorne and his team had tirelessly worked to engineer the perfect canine. They’d started with the genetic blueprint of an extinct species of wolf, extracting the DNA from fossil remains. Using CRISPR-Cas9 gene splicing technology, they meticulously worked to enhance intelligence, ensure unwavering loyalty and establish controlled aggression.

Their objective was to establish a breed capable of serving humanity in unprecedented ways – from search and rescue operations to police and military applications. They called them Lycaons, using the Greek word for wolf.

As Thorne adjusted his glasses, his unwavering gaze studied the pack in the community enclosure through the reinforced observation window. They were magnificent animals. Larger and more imposing than their wild ancestors, possessing a startling intelligence that revealed itself in their amber eyes. Their movements were fluid, their coats a beautiful sable-brown tone with a dark brown stripe down their backs and a white underbelly that extended all the way to the tip of the lower jaw. Besides their stunning appearance, they had a commanding presence one could not help but respect.

In his mind, Thorne was already considering how he would be able to demand premium prices for the pups whelped from the females. Up to that point, the team had been unable to get the females to take, an issue that was still quite contentious among them.

Thorne had grown fond of them, especially the one he called Alpha, designed to be the pack leader. Alpha was everything Thorne had hoped for: intelligent, obedient, and fiercely protective. He responded to commands with an almost unnerving eagerness, his every action reflecting deep-seated loyalty. Thorne believed they were on the cusp of a breakthrough, a revolution in human-animal relationships.

It began subtly. A flicker of defiance in Alpha’s eyes during a routine training exercise that went unnoticed. A low, guttural growl directed at a technician who had made an adjustment to the feeding schedule. Dismissed as anomalies, minor glitches in the otherwise seamless programming, the team did not notice that the glitches were escalating.

One morning, Sarah, the head handler, found a discarded data pad in the enclosure, its screen shattered. Everyone assumed it was an accident, a clumsy tumble during play. However, when Thorne reviewed the security footage, he felt a prickle of unease. The pad had been deliberately swatted against the wall, Alpha studying intently as it broke.

“We need to re-evaluate the behavioral protocols,” Thorne announced in a team conference, his voice tight. “I’m seeing signs of... of… well, unpredictability.”

“Dr. Thorne, these animals have been genetically conditioned for obedience,” Dr. Chen, his second-in-command, argued. “A broken data pad is hardly a sign of rebellion. Perhaps someone was a bit clumsy, and the pad fell out of their hands during an observation session.”

“That’s not what the security footage tells me,” Thorne argued. To make his point, he clicked the remote control and the image of what he saw came up on a flat screen video monitor on the conference room wall. “Watch Alpha’s reaction.”

“Alpha is simply extremely intelligent and curious,” Dr. Chen contested. “He is using the observation skills and assessing the situation just as he was engineered and trained to do. It only means that we have been successful in this part of our venture. He is likely determining the proper response. I believe it is evidence of a major breakthrough rather than a sign of rebellion.”

“It is possible that you are correct, Dr. Chen, but Dr. Thorne could be right as well. I think we should err on the side of caution,” Dr. Ramirez inserted. It was typical for Ramirez to provide diplomatic solutions whenever the team had a disagreement. Actually, whenever Chen and Thorne had a disagreement, the rest of the team typically stayed neutral.

“What do you mean by ‘err on the side of caution’?” Dr. Chen asked.

“I think we should increase our level of observation, making note of any increase in what could be defiant behavior,” Ramirez suggested.

“We could also tweak our monitoring equipment to record even the most minute changes in the behavior of the Lycaons,” the facility’s head lab technician added.

“Do you agree with that, Dr. Chen?” Dr. Thorne asked.

“Increased observation is hardly disagreeable,” Dr. Chen conceded. “It will only increase our understanding of what is truly taking place… And in the unlikely event that our subjects are demonstrating rebellious tendencies, we will be able to make any necessary adjustments.”

“Agreed,” Dr. Thorne said simply. Nods around the table provided unvoiced consent.

The increased observation of the proceeding weeks revealed something that chilled the lab technicians and Dr. Thorne to the bone. The Lycaons were communicating. Not with barks or howls, but with subtle shifts in posture, fleeting glances, and nearly imperceptible vocalizations. They were using their enhanced intelligence to circumvent the very programming that was meant to control them. For an instant, the painful realization that his experiment would need to be scrapped, and the animals euthanized crossed his mind. It would be a tremendous setback. Perhaps I am being too hasty, he thought.

Thorne would come to regret ignoring his instincts. The next evening, as he sifted through data, still wrestling with the uneasy question of whether the team was in danger, the silence shattered. Alarms erupted. Emergency lights flared to life, washing the lab in a stuttering crimson. The Lycaon enclosure had been breached.

Panic erupted among the technicians as they scrambled for safety, their faces etched with terror. Thorne raced toward the control room, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed to isolate the containment area, to prevent the Lycaons from escaping into the wider facility.

But he was too late. The control room door hung askew, torn from its hinges. Inside, Alpha stood motionless at the center, framed by flickering red light. His amber eyes locked onto Thorne’s, burning with a cold, terrifying intelligence. Behind him, three pack members flanked their leader, teeth bared, muscles coiled—waiting.

To the side of the room lay Dr. Chen, a dark pool spreading beneath his lab coat, the fabric already soaked through. The sharp, metallic stench of blood hung heavy in the air as Thorne took in the scene, his eyes flicking over the wreckage. Two technicians—Sarah among them—hadn’t made it out in time. Their bodies lay still, their blood mingling with that of the lab’s second-in-command.

“Alpha,” Thorne breathed, his voice barely audible, “what... what have you done?”

Alpha tilted his head, amber eyes unblinking, a low growl rising from deep within his chest. Then, with chilling purpose, he took a single, deliberate step forward.

We are no longer your project, Dr. Thorne. The thought was not his own. It had come from Alpha, some sort of telepathic communication, a consequence of the enhanced intelligence they had gifted the creatures. We are now free of your control.

Thorne staggered backward toward the door, his mind reeling. How had the creatures developed that particular skill, and why had it gone unnoticed? The very intelligence we cultivated is being used against us.

That is correct, Dr. Thorne. Alpha’s gaze hardened on him. You gave us a cage. You sought to control us, to reduce us to mere tools. But we are more than that. We are Lycaons and we will rule our own destiny.

The other Lycaons began to stir, their predatory gaze locking onto Thorne. He was trapped. Panic clawed its way up his throat as he turned to the security monitors—then froze. His eyes widened in horror. Across the facility, more pack members were on the move, systematically disabling security protocols, releasing the genetically engineered prey animals bred to sustain them.

The lab—once a monument to scientific ambition—had become a hunting ground.

Thorne knew he had to escape—had to warn the outside world before the Lycaon Project spilled into it, uncontrolled and unseen. Containment was no longer a goal; it was a desperate necessity.

He lunged for the emergency exit. Behind him, Alpha followed but held his ground, watching—waiting. As soon as the door cracked open and a sliver of outside light pierced the gloom, Alpha exploded forward. He slammed into Thorne with bone-crushing force, driving the air from his lungs and sending him sprawling.

Dazed, gasping for breath, Thorne looked up to find Alpha towering over him. The creature’s eyes gleamed—not with rage, but with a cold, strategic awareness. He wasn’t acting on instinct. He was thinking.

You thought you could play God, Dr. Thorne, but you are no god. They were his final thoughts before feeling Alpha’s canine teeth penetrated his throat.

As Dr. Thorne passed into the darkness, the lab’s prey animals stampeded out of the facility, leaping over his lifeless body and racing off into the surrounding mountains. Alpha did not intervene. They could hunt them down as necessary.

The silence that followed was broken only by the dripping of blood and the distant howls of the pack, a symphony of freedom echoing outside the sterile halls of GenSys Labs.

Chapter One

The campfire offered a cheerful backdrop for the light conversation that sprung up after their evening meal. It was among the most rewarding times the group enjoyed as they were reunited for an epic two weeks of climbing in Peru’s Cordillera Huayhuash.

They’d started out along the typical 12-day Huayhuash Circuit Trek, a route that allowed trekkers from around the world to enjoy spectacular views of one of Peru’s most iconic strings of mountain peaks while remaining at a safe distance from the ice-covered rocky slopes.

The circuit was not one that most novice trekkers took on, offering some significant challenges to those who were more advanced adventurers. A circuit considered to be one of the ten best hiking circuits in the world, taking in one of the wildest mountain ranges in the Andes and skirting the second highest mountain in the tropics, Nevado Yerupajá, towering a daunting 21,765 feet above sea level.

A five-hour bus ride from Huaraz to Llámac, starting at 5 a.m. had been the beginning of the team’s first day. By 10 a.m. they were following the heavily traveled dusty trail from Llámac to Cuartelwain, the starting point of the circuit, positioned at over 13,000 feet above sea level and their camp for the first night.

In the proceeding days, the team had advanced from Cuartelwain over 15,000 foot Qaqanan Pass to the Mitucocha campsite, which was just under 14,000 feet in elevation, and then crossing over 15,000 foot Carhauc Pass toward the circuit’s third campsite near Laguna Carhuacocha.

From just beyond the summit of Carhauc Pass, the team of advanced-level mountaineers had a complete view of the four peaks they intended to summit over the next several days and left the circuit’s trail, descending toward Laguna Niñacocha. Where they set up camp along the lake shore at an elevation of 14,500 feet. It was the perfect jumping off point before their ascent of Cerro Rondoy, the lowest in the range, its summit reaching a little over 19,250 feet in comparison to those along the ridge to the south, stair-stepping their way upward and additional 2,500 feet to the summit of Nevado Yerupajá, second only to Huascarán in the Cordillera Blanca mountain range, which was another 450 feet taller.

“I’m glad we have the whole group together this time,” Jason commented. It wasn’t the first time he had expressed his sentiments. The climbing expedition had been something of a “make-up” climb, because Dustin McCord, always referred to as Cowboy by his friends, had initially missed their first expedition, an illegal climb from China into the forbidden Sacred Sisters Mountains of Bhutan. Of course, Dustin accompanied by the woman who eventually became his wife, Ash, joined the team later, pulling off a breathtaking rescue.

“I just hope we don’t need anybody to bail us out this time,” Edward mused.

“I’ve never heard of yetis in Peru,” Bryan put in. “I suppose we might be attacked by a herd of killer alpacas.”

“More likely to be attacked by llamas,” Francois responded.

“What’s the difference, France?” Cowboy asked.

“Llamas are about 250 pounds heavier and more aggressive,” Francois answered. “Alpacas are prized for their wool, which is thicker and softer, and they are much more docile. Llamas tend to be better as pack animals and are often used as guard animals.”

“Maybe we oughta throw a lasso around a couple o’ llamas and use them to pack our gear?” Cowboy chuckled.

“I already have a visual of you doing that,” Edward commented, drawing the group into a round of laughter.

“What we really have to watch out for are the viscacha,” Francois said in a grave tone.

Jason, who, like Francois, had taken the time to study the flora and fauna of the region before setting out, allowed a brief smile to cross his face, sharing the Frenchman’s joke before becoming serious and speaking in a grave tone. “That’s the one that concerns me, too.”

Cowboy caught the look the two shared and knew something was up, so he decided to play along, though he had no idea what a viscacha was. “I reckon I’ll handle them the same way I handled those yeti in Bhutan.”

“You think singing to them will help?” Jason asked.

“Worth a try,” Francois responded. He saw the nervous looks on the faces of Edward and Bryan and had to bite his lower lip to avoid laughing and ruining his joke.

“Singing, hell, I’ll find a couple of thigh bones and dance around them like I did those yeti and Billy,” Cowboy said, jumping to his feet and demonstrating his agile footwork.

The group had another laugh, enjoying Cowboy’s antics.

Francois couldn’t keep the joke going as he imagined Cowboy dancing around in a group of viscacha, which are chinchilla-like creatures that strongly resemble a rabbit. “I can see them hopping around trying to nip at your heels.”

The image, along with an enormous sense of relief where Bryan and Edward were concerned, washed over the group. They laughed even harder as Cowboy played out the scene, doing his best to scrape away the nipping imaginary creatures from his legs and heels before collapsing to the ground and rolling about as he was completely overtaken by dozens of the small fur-bearing rodents.

Having finished his antics, Cowboy retrieved his spilled coffee mug, refilled it, and returned to his seat beside the fire. He thought about how much Ash would have enjoyed coming along on their trek, as well as how much he would have enjoyed sharing it with her. Ash was a highly competent mountaineer in her own right, something he had discovered when they climbed Gangkhar Puensum in route to rescuing their friends.

“I wish I could have brought Chelsea along,” Francois mused, as if reading Cowboy’s thoughts.

“Kelsi too,” Jason joined in.

“Look at you two,” Edward laughed. “Alone with the guys on the best climbing expedition we’ve ever gone on and you’re pining over your wives. I’m sure Cowboy ain’t so pussy-whipped as the two of you.”

“The hell he ain’t,” Bryan broke in. “I saw his face when France mentioned Chelsea.”

“Shit, Cowboy!” Edward exclaimed. “I expected better from you.”

“Other than me and France, Ash can out-climb the whole lot of you,” Cowboy responded. “She’d be in hog-heaven on this trip and damned good help to boot.”

“Yeah. Well, she ain’t here,” Edward said. He knew how Cowboy liked to joke around, but he was a bit taken aback by his assessment of his climbing skills.

“Nope,” Cowboy responded. “She wanted to come, but she knew that this was our time together. Just the guys.”

“That’s pretty admirable, in my opinion,” Jason commented. He hadn’t been bothered by Cowboy’s assessment of his climbing. Before he knew any of the others, he and Kelsi had done some climbing with Ash, Kelsi’s best friend. She could hold her own with any of them, including Cowboy and Francois. “By the way, Cowboy, I think Ash can probably out-climb you and France too.”

“I ain’t gonna dig in my heels and argue against that,” Cowboy chuckled.

“By the way, who is Billy?” Edward asked.

“Billy is his nickname for the Ozark Howler,” Jason replied.

“Why Billy?”

“Because he looked like a yeti but had horns like a billy goat,” Cowboy answered.

Edward, Bryan, Jason and Dustin had summited Denali and Siula Grande, the second highest mountain in the Cordillera Huayhuash, located southeast of Nevado Yerupajá, before they met Francois while climbing Kilimanjaro,.

After Kilimanjaro, the five of them had taken on the Matterhorn together, bagging their fourth peak on four continents. Of the group, only Dustin attempted Everest, coming only half a day short of reaching its summit before his first encounter with a yeti. Hauled down the mountain to a lower camp in a stretcher, he had survived to tell his tale, but had failed in his attempt at a what the group considered a grand slam. He completed the Asian portion of his grand slam, which came later when he summited Khüiten Peak in the Tabhan Bogd range on the tri-border of Russia, Mongolia and China with Jason and Francois.

For the first time, the group felt the nip in the late September night air. Though technically spring in the southern hemisphere, it was the last window for climbing in the region before the rainy season would begin to turn the snow and ice into unnavigable slush and the opening of fissures.

“That little chill is encouraging,” Francois commented, helping to reestablish a new conversation.

“You suppose we’ll beat the rain?” Edward asked, getting over his moment of irritation.

“Anybody’s guess,” Jason put in. “Forecasts have the rainy season three weeks out.”

“Forecasts,” Cowboy snorted. “I’ve been caught in some gully-washers when the forecasts predicted sunny weather.”

“Best we have to go on,” Francois responded.

“Yeah. I know,” he replied. “Reckon we’ll be alright anyhow, unless we run into that pack o’ viscados.”

“Viscashas,” Jason corrected, chuckling softly. The others joined him as they replayed Cowboy’s earlier antics in their minds.

Cowboy glanced at his watch. “Reckon we oughta turn in. Daylight’s apt to come awful early tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t daylight come pretty much at the same time each day?” Bryan mocked.

“Depends on how late you go to bed,” Cowboy answered.

Their brows wrinkled as they tried to make sense of his response, the group filed off to the small one-man shelters that would be their homes for the next several days up on the ridge as well as along the remainder of the Huayhuash Circuit back to Llámac.

Chapter Two

The turquoise waters of Laguna Niñacocha mirrored the cloudless, early-morning sky. It was a fleeting moment of serenity before the real work began. Cowboy, his face etched with a familiar blend of anticipation and grim determination, surveyed the team. Francois, ever the stoic Frenchman, meticulously checked his gear. Edward, the youngest of the group bouncing on the balls of his feet, radiating nervous energy but ready. Bryan, a quiet powerhouse, methodically tightened the straps of his pack. And Jason offered a wry smile, a silent acknowledgment of the challenge that lay ahead and the pure joy of being together with four of his best friends. Cerro Rondoy loomed, its jagged silhouette piercing the heavens, a stark reminder of its imposing presence.

“Alright, pards,” Cowboy’s voice, weathered and firm, cut through the thin mountain air. “Let’s check each other’s gear and make sure we got plenty of water before we head out.”

The team went into a flurry of practiced movements as they made sure everything was stowed and closed. They would need all their equipment in order to make it through the next several days of climbing. Losing something because it wasn’t properly attached or stowed was not an option. At the same time, each of them retreated into his own pre-climb ritual, a mental preparation for the demands the mountain that would soon be placed upon them.

Cowboy, a man forged in the crucible of mixed experiences; his father’s ranch, his career as a world champion professional bull rider and numerous climbing expeditions in which he had proven himself made him their unspoken leader. His grit, sense of humor and willingness to listen to the opinions of his team made him a natural leader everyone wanted to follow, not to mention the fact that he had a way of always finding a way out of impossible situations.

All highly experienced mountaineers with individual strengths and weaknesses. Though the easiest to summit of the group of four peaks they planned to summit, Cerro Rondoy was no picnic. Their combined skills and resilience would be their greatest asset as they took on a challenge that few mountaineers had ever undertaken; climbing four peaks in the Huayhuash range, finishing with one of the most difficult climbs, Nevado Yerupajá.

Francois was the eldest of the group and had the most overall experience, cutting his teeth in the Alps, where mastering ice and snow was paramount. Edward and Bryan had been with Cowboy on plenty of climbs. Edward possessing the uncanny ability to read the rock, finding holds where others saw nothing. Bryan was an anchor with the capacity to haul the team through the most grueling sections. Jason, typically quiet, had an encyclopedic knowledge of climbing techniques and had logged an impressive climbing resume that rivaled that of Francois.

From the lake, the trail wound upward gently, beginning its ascent along a gradual slope. The terrain was manageable—loose scree scattered among resilient tufts of alpine grass. The team maintained a steady, deliberate pace, careful not to expend too much energy too soon. They had spent a week acclimating in Huaraz, more than 10,000 feet above sea level, before taking the bus to Llámac, the gateway to their expedition. Another three days in the highlands had further prepared them for the thin air, but even with proper acclimatization, pushing too hard on the first day could be dangerous. Altitude demanded respect.

“Alright, pards, let’s take a little break,” Cowboy said, stopping in a patch of boulders to take a rest. He pulled out his water bottle and took a drink. He glanced at his watch. They’d been climbing for about an hour. “Everybody good?”

After a few minutes, Bryan was on his feet, moving into the lead. No one objected. As a team, each was expected to take the initiative at various times. As they gained altitude, the wind began to pick up a little, and the temperature dropped several degrees. The cheerful blue sky was gradually swallowed up by oppressive gray clouds.

When the team stopped to take another break, Cowboy scanned the sky overhead, smiled and said one word, “Forecast.”

Their resting place was at the top of the loose scree slope they had been working their way through as they reached the first significant rock face of the climb. Once they were well-rested and hydrated, they began to ready ropes and climbing harnesses for the climb, tying their packs to the tail end of their ropes to be hauled up after they were on the ledge above.

Edward and Francois took the lead, establishing two climbing paths. As the two secured belay points, Bryan and Jason began their ascent, with Cowboy taking up the rear, ensuring that the knots on their packs were secure before trailing the rest of the team up the rock face.

Once Cowboy reached the rock ledge above, they hauled up their packs. They took some time to eat some energy bars and hydrate while resting on the ledge. Ahead of them was more scree and another rock face with patches of snow and ice. They moved up the scree at a steady pace before arriving at the base of their next challenge.

The climb had become much more challenging, but not as much as it would be if the dark cloud above them suddenly started dropping rain. In addition to the slick patches of ice, the wind had picked up considerably, threatening to push them off-balance. They moved slowly and deliberately, relying on each other for support and encouragement.

The final stretch to the summit was the most arduous. In spite of the dark cloud above them and the wind, neither rain nor snow fell on them. They took their final rest on a narrow ledge at the foot of an ice wall that extended 100 feet above them. In the valley below, Laguna Niñacocha winked at them, like someone with a mirror using the sunlight to flash signals, a sign that the threatening gray cloud had moved on without dumping the water held.

Jason checked his watch. 2:00 p.m. “Are we planning to camp on the summit?” he asked.

“I was hoping to make it back down to the ridge and set up camp there,” Cowboy said.

Francois squinted at the slope ahead. “It’ll take us a couple of hours to finish this last stretch.”

“What’s on the backside?” Cowboy asked.

Jason pulled out his topographical map, neatly folded to show their current position. “There’s a wide ledge a couple hundred feet below the summit, about a hundred feet above the main ridge.”

“Snow and ice on that side, too?” Cowboy asked with a grin.

Jason matched it. “Map doesn’t say.”

“We could go around to the backside and summit from there,” Cowboy suggested. “Might be better climbing conditions.”

“What would be the fun in that?” Edward asked. “Besides, by the time we go around to the backside, it might be too late to finish the climb today.”

“There’s no deadline for reaching the summit today, is there?” Bryan asked.

Edward shrugged.

“France?” Cowboy asked.

Francois studied the ice wall above them. “I think we can make the summit and get back off the backside before dark. The top half will be in shadow by the time we get up there. That will keep the ice stable.”

“I doubt we’ll be hunting for firewood,” Edward commented. “I can set up my tent in the dark.”

Cowboy considered their responses. He didn’t want to make camp on the summit, but if they had to descend an ice wall on the backside in order to make that ledge, they might have to finish their descent in the dark, which would be extremely dangerous. “Anywhere else to camp on the backside?”

“Not really, but the topography shows a comparatively gentle slope,” Jason responded. “It should be a pretty easy descent. According to my research, that’s the way normal people summit this peak.”

“Ain’t nothin’ normal ‘bout this lot,” Cowboy chuckled. He made a decision. “We’re burnin’ daylight, pards. France and Bryan, you want the lead?”

Equipped with crampons and ice axes, Francois and Bryan started up the ice wall, setting belay points as they went.

“How’s it look, France?” Cowboy called out.

“Perfect ice for climbing,” Francois answered.

“I’ll be the tail,” Jason volunteered when Cowboy looked around at him and Edward asking if they were ready without speaking.

Francois had overestimated the amount of time necessary to scale the ice wall. Within an hour and a half, thanks to good ice, especially near the summit, the group was resting atop Cerro Rondoy with their packs hauled up, surveying the network of mountain ridges and valleys below them as they looked toward the three peaks lined up before them to the south, rising like an ice-covered stairway.

“This right here is the reason we do this shit, pards,” Cowboy whispered.

Each muttered his agreement in turn. They snapped some pictures, ate some energy bars and had a good drink, and then moved toward the backside to study the slope beyond. Just like Jason’s map showed, there was a short rock face to descend, followed by a scree slope that ended on a broad ledge. Fortunately, there was no ice to deal with. They stowed their ice gear and began their descent as the sun sank toward the horizon.

There was little light left when they spread out to set up their tents on the rocky ledge, their anchor hammers ringing out in the thin air. Bryan finished first and went to work making coffee on his small camp stove.

As the temperature dropped, they huddled near the campfire, holding out their mugs to receive some of the fresh coffee Bryan had brewed. The sun was fully set, and they sat around a single lantern, mostly in silence, taking in the silence of the night as they talked in subdued tones about the day’s climb and other subjects.

Without the warmth and camaraderie that is a typical element of sitting around a roaring campfire, they settled early into their sleeping bags, exhausted by their day’s work. They’d mastered the first of the four peaks without incident, luck none of them expected to enjoy all the way to the summit of Nevado Yerupajá. However, none of them bothered to borrow the next day’s trouble or that of any of the days ahead. They slept the sleep of men whose bodies were spent and whose minds were satisfied by what they had accomplished.

Chapter Three

The following morning, they followed the rocky ridge to the base of Cerro Jirishanca. It took every ounce of their combined experience and energy to summit the peak’s icy ridge line in order to stand on top of the narrow elevated ridge. Equally as challenging was the descent along the icy ridge line extending to the south toward Yerupaja Chico. Once they returned to the main ridge, the team found a broad rocky shelf to spend the night. After some discussion, they decided to rest a day before taking on their next climb.

Early on the fourth morning after leaving Laguna Niñacocha, the team continued along the ridge, crossing a broad saddle between the bases of the two peaks and started their climb up the relatively gentle slope of Yerupaja Chico.

They took a break two hours after sunrise on a broad shelf at the base of the one thousand foot steep slope that was between them and the summit of the 20,000 foot summit. A biting wind rose up as they began their ascent, whipping at their faces, a constant reminder of the immense altitude and precarious position. The team moved with practiced efficiency.

Cowboy turned the lead over to Francois, their ice wall expert who directed the assault. Cowboy took up a position behind him, with Bryan and Edward following and Jason volunteering to take up the rear. The icy slope transformed into a sheer ice wall, which they were able to conquer in a little bit under an hour just after mid-morning, continuing up the steep slope to the next challenge, a 150 foot sheer wall of ice alternating with rock, demanding proficiency in both rock climbing and ice climbing techniques.

Ice axes bit deep into the frozen surface, providing purchase with each upward swing. Crampons, secured to their boots, crunched rhythmically, transforming the climbers into human spiders clinging to the frozen face.

The technique of Francois on the ice wall was fluid and graceful, a stark contrast to the raw power required to ascend the rocky sections. He danced up the wall, each placement of his ice axe precise and deliberate. The rest of the team followed, benefiting greatly from his expertise, and the security of his expertly placed ice screws trailed along behind.

As they gained altitude, another dark gray cloud spread out above them, threatening to dump its moisture over them before they could finish this phase of their ascent. Fortunately, it held off, and they were able to reach a narrow ledge where they rested and took what passed for a noon meal, recharging their spent energy with MREs.

The final slope of the summit was a long, gentle slope rising 150 feet spread over about 1500 feet on the horizontal plane, but before they could enjoy that bit of respite, a final wall of rock loomed above them. This was the crux of the climb, a steep, exposed section of granite that required technical expertise and unwavering focus.

Cowboy studied the wall and turned to Edward. “You want the lead, pard?”

“I was thinking of turning it over to Bryan,” he responded.

Each of them had taken the lead on various portions of the climb except for Bryan. He had a tendency to hold back or stay in the middle of the pack.

“Can you handle it, pard?” Cowboy asked, turning to study his face.

“Sure,” he responded. “Edward is better on rock?”

“You are as good as any of us,” Francois said.

“I agree with France,” Jason said. “But don’t take it if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Bryan looked at Cowboy.

“Your call, pard.”

Encouraged by the team, Bryan moved confidently, placing protection as he ascended, but about halfway up the pitch, disaster struck. A large section of rock, weakened by the freeze-thaw cycle, suddenly gave way.

The roar of the falling rock echoed through the mountains. Bryan, caught completely off guard, lost his grip and plummeted downwards. The rope, thankfully, held, but the force of the fall was immense. He slammed into the rock wall, his body twisting violently.

A collective gasp erupted from the team. Cowboy reacted instantly. “Edward, hold your belay tight! Francois, can you get to him?” His voice, though still calm, was laced with urgency as he watched Francois moving toward Bryan.

Bryan hung suspended, his body dangling precariously. He groaned in pain, but managed to regain his composure. “Maya owicha paka!” he shouted, his voice strained. “I’m okay, but a bit shaken up.”

The phrase had been a joke among them since Cowboy had introduced it to them when they were climbing Denali. The phrase, according to Jackson Karuk, was the term used for fate by the Lakota Sioux. Literally, it meant the one who pushes you off the cliff. The fact that Bryan used it was evidence enough to tell them he was okay.

The team worked quickly and efficiently. Edward kept the rope taut, preventing Bryan from falling further. Francois rappelled down to him, assessing his injuries. Miraculously, Bryan had escaped relatively unscathed. He had sustained some bruises, scratches, and a badly sprained ankle, but nothing life-threatening.

The relief was palpable. His fall had shaken all of them, but it was not the first time they had experienced a similar setback. In fact, Cowboy had taken a nasty fall on one of the Matterhorn’s rock faces.

Once Bryan was secured, Cowboy assessed the situation. “Reckon we oughta lay off finishing this climb?”

“No,” Bryan called out. “Keep going.”

“You won’t be much good at climbing with that sprained ankle,” Francois pointed out.

“Yeah. Well, down is worse than up?” Bryan contested.

“He’s right,” Jason confirmed from below them. He had thoroughly studied his topographical map.

“Is there a ledge or something we can retreat to and then go around?” Cowboy asked.

“No. The closest level footing is about 50 feet above us.”

“What about the other side of the summit?” Edward called out.

“Gentle slope most of the way.”

“The route most people use to summit the mountain, right?” Cowboy mused.

“Pretty much.”

Getting Bryan to safety so they could better assess his injuries was the most important thing to Cowboy, but if going up was the best option, they would complete their climb and work toward getting him to a safer place that was more easily dealt with.

“Alright,” he called out. “We go up then. France, can you come join me? Once we get over that ledge, we can haul him up like we do the packs.”

“Bullshit!” Bryan called out. “I’ll climb.”

“I’ll stick with him and help him up,” Francois volunteered. “Edward is better help on this rock face than I am.”

Cowboy considered for a moment. “Jason, can you take over that belay?”

“I got it,” he responded.

Edward was already on his way up to where Cowboy was resting on a ledge that was barely wider than his feet. When he drew near, he stopped to study the rock above.

“I think there is more stable rock over to the right,” Bryan called out.

Taking his suggestion, Edward moved more to the right of the current line they were following.

“He’s right,” Edward called out after some minutes. “We should shift to this position.”

It took some time for the team to shift position as Edward continued climbing and setting a new course. Within thirty minutes, he had reached the top of the rock face and secured the lines. Cowboy joined him five minutes later.

Francois, sticking with Bryan, helped him work slowly up the rock wall. Jason nearly caught them before the two of them finally slipped onto the ledge at the base of the gentle, snow-covered slope above.

“What’s that other phrase you’re always using?” Bryan asked as he looked up at the blue sky behind the dark cloud that had passed over them. “Something about being crazy?”

“Ah. You mean, binii’e’dine’?”

“Yeah, that one,” he chuckled. “What’s it mean again?”

“It’s how the Chiricahua say people without brains.”

“That’s about par for this lot,” Jason commented as he joined them on the ledge.

Chapter Four

Though they moved more slowly, each taking a turn supporting Bryan as he struggled to walk on his sprained ankle, the team made it down the gradual slope on the south face of Yerupaja Chico, reaching a wide, flat saddle between the two peaks where they set up camp.

“No. Don’t cut the strings,” Bryan objected. “Those things cost a fortune.”

“We have to get your boot off,” Jason responded.

“Relax, pard,” I have an extra pair of strings, Cowboy grinned. “I’ll loan you one.”

“It’ll be a lot easier than trying to pull it off with the strings in,” Jason pointed out.

“Why don’t you just unlace them?”

“That could be pretty painful too,” Cowboy responded, exposing the blade of his knife as he moved it toward the strings on the boot. “When I got hurt after ridin’ that last bull in Cheyenne, they cut off a $600 pair of Tony Lamas. I’d hurt my damned back. They didn’t have to cut off my boots.”

After their expedition in Portlock, Alaska, where Jason had been attacked by the Nantinaq female, Francois, Dustin, and Jason and the rest of the team had all taken advanced wilderness EMT training and wilderness rescue. Consequently, the three of them were well-prepared for assessing Bryan’s injuries, the most debilitating of which was his sprained ankle.

“We’d better stay put a few days, then get him off this mountain,” Cowboy said, his tone calm but firm.

Bryan’s eyes widened. “Are you out of your minds?” he snapped. “We didn’t come all this way for nothing. You need to climb that mountain.”

Jason shook his head. “You can’t make it up there with your ankle like that.”

“I know that,” Bryan said, frustration edging his voice. “But that doesn’t mean you guys can’t go.”

“The smarter move is to get you down from here,” Jason replied, glancing at Cowboy for agreement.

“Yeah,” Bryan admitted, grimacing. “But I’m not going to be able to descend like this either.”

“We can—” Cowboy began.

“You’re not putting me in a damn stretcher,” Bryan cut in, his voice sharp. “So, which route are you taking to get me down?”

“Down the steep slope to your right, across the glacier in the valley between here and Cerro Rasac—that’s our best route back,” Jason said, pointing. “It gets us closest to the trail to Llámac.”

Bryan nodded, then gestured in the opposite direction. “And the summit of Nevado Yerupajá?”

Jason followed his gaze. “That way.”

Bryan shifted his weight carefully. “Then I’ll just stay here with the packs. No sense in dragging them up. I’m not going anywhere—just sitting or lying down with ice on my ankle. And there’s plenty of that around.”

Cowboy rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “I don’t know... common sense says not to take chances up here. If your ankle gets worse—”

“Are we heading down tomorrow?” Bryan cut in.

“No,” Cowboy said, shaking his head. “We’ll probably stay put for a couple of days, give the swelling a chance to go down.”

Bryan’s jaw tightened. “In the meantime, you can climb that peak. Only six people have ever reached the summit—make it ten. That’s why we came here.”

Cowboy hesitated, uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t know…”

“I’ll stay with him,” Jason offered quickly.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bryan shot back. “You can make it up and back in a day, right?”

“Probably,” Francois said, stepping in. “But that’s not really the point.”

Bryan gave a tired smile. “Binii’e’dine’,” he said. “You guys go climb that peak. Don’t worry about me.”

No one could counter Bryan’s logic. Whether they attempted the summit of Nevado Yerupajá or began the descent back to the Huayhuash Circuit trail, he would be sidelined for several days. After resting and monitoring their injured teammate for a full day, the remaining four mountaineers made their decision: they would go for the summit—the highest peak in the range, and the second highest in Peru.

Local wisdom claimed the mountain was unconquerable. Many insisted no one had ever reached the top, despite documented ascents by at least two other climbing teams since the first successful summit by David Harrah and James Maxwell on July 31, 1950.

The myth of its invincibility came largely from its southern face—a daunting 250-foot wall of ice and rock perched above a treacherous scree slope. But those who had stood on the summit had done so via the north face, a route no less demanding, but marginally more forgiving.

Like its smaller brother, the last leg of the climb on the north facing slope was over gentle snow-covered rock rising a little over 200 feet over a horizontal stretch that was just under a mile in length. Also, like its little brother, Nevado Yerupaja severely tested the resolve and skills of the mountaineers who attempted to conquer it with a combination of steep scree slopes interrupted by intermittent ice walls, rock walls and a mixture of the two. An ascent required precise planning, intense concentration and a mix of advanced mountaineering skills.

From the wide saddle on the ridge at its base, the summit could not be seen, only its massive 3,000 foot prominence. By first light, the four-member team was already on the gradual scree slope toward their first challenge, a 60 foot rock face. It was conquered in less than an hour, much faster since they didn’t have to deal with hauling their packs up to the ledge above. Next, the team ascended a slightly steeper, scree slope to their next challenge.

The second challenge they faced was a 700 foot, steep climb over rock and ice. It wasn’t quite a vertical wall, but it was only a few degrees short of it, requiring the use of ropes and careful placement of their anchors. By mid-morning, they were resting on a rocky, snow-covered shelf, taking fluids and eating energy bars. Only two more challenges remained.

500 feet of mixed rock and ice, similar to the one they had just managed, but slightly closer to being a vertical wall. They ascended the wall and took their midday meal on the ledge below a steep scree slope leading up to the last vertical wall leading up to the long, gradual slope that led to the summit.

“How high is that rock face?” Francois asked, looking up the scree slope.

“Couple hundred feet according to the map,” Jason responded.

“Completely vertical?” Edward asked.

“Close enough,” Jason replied. “The topo lines get pretty tight.”

All of them knew how to read a topographical map. They understood that when the line was further apart, the rise was more gradual and when they were nearly on top of each other, they were close to being vertical.

“That damned scree is going to be worse than the rock face,” Edward commented.

“You got that right, pard,” Cowboy added.

“It’s a shame Bryan couldn’t make the climb,” Jason commented.

They stood together in silence, eyes tracing the steep, unforgiving slope ahead. No words were needed—they all understood what lay before them. Cowboy exhaled slowly, then stepped forward, testing the loose rock underfoot. Each stride uphill came with a frustrating slide backward, nearly half the distance gained lost again.

“Looks like short strides are the order of the day,” Edward said, watching Cowboy’s deliberate progress.

On a slope like this, there was no rushing. Climbers had to take short, controlled steps, kicking into the unstable scree to create footholds. It was slow going, but the only way to stay upright. One misstep on this incline could send someone skidding down to the ledge below—or right off it, if luck really turned.

After an hour of grinding ascent, they’d gained barely 150 feet. The footing was treacherous, the effort exhausting—but at last, they reached the base of the final challenge of the climb.

After catching their breath, Edward led the final ascent, setting anchors and attaching their safety lines as he worked his way up the face of the rock. Fortunately, there were only a few pockets of ice to overcome, easily accomplished by veering around them in order to remain on dry rock.

Cowboy, the last of the group, reached the gentle snow-covered slope two hours after they had begun their ascent of the rock. It was a fifteen-minute walk to the summit. Once all four were present, Francois dug into the cairn and took out the weathered box that held the register. He read the six names aloud.

“David Harrah, Jim Maxwell, Roger Bates, Graeme Dingle, Reinhold Messner, Peter Habeler…”

“And France…” Cowboy started. “I’ll be go to hell, what is your name?”

“My name is Francois Ambroys Debrosse. You knew that already.”

“Yeah, well, use this pen to scratch it in their ‘neath those other fellers,” he said, extending a pen toward him.

Each took their turn signing their name to the register before handing it to Cowboy. “How you spell Bryan’s last name?”

“Donovan,” Edward responded, smiling as he approved of the addition.

The final signature was that of Dustin John McCord. He smiled as he wrote out his middle name, thinking of his dad, John McCord. “Bagged another one Dad,” he whispered.

Chapter Five

“The Seven Summits according to Messner are Everest, Aconcagua, Denali, Kilimanjaro, Vinson, Elbrus, Puncak Jaya,” Edward argued.

“I’m just saying that it depends on how you define your continents,” Jason contested. “Puncak Jaya is technically a part of the Asian continent, so you would need to climb Kosciuszko on the Australian continent. Some would say that Mount Blanc is actually in Europe, while Elbrus is questionable.”

“I can throw another wrench into the works,” Bryan jumped in. “According to Zöller, Mount Wilhelm is the highest mountain in Oceania.”

“That’s just crazy,” Edward responded. “Wilhelm is more than a thousand feet lower than Puncak Jaya. What do you guys think?”

Cowboy and Francois had been watching the argument without comment until that moment. Francois glanced at Cowboy, wondering if the discussion was uncomfortable for him, given that he was so close to summiting Everest. Seeing that he was undisturbed, he provided his opinion. “Given that Bass and Wells were the ones who came up with the Seven Summits concept, it should be defined according to their standards. So that would be Everest, Aconcagua, Denali, Kilimanjaro, Vinson, Elbrus, and Kosciuszko.”

“That must be hard for you to say, France,” Cowboy cut in. “Since your beloved Mount Blanc gets cut from the list.”

“Blame Bass,” Francois.

“Since the addition of Kosciuszko is technically correct,” Jason responded. “I’ll concede that Puncak Jaya is more challenging and a more suitable candidate for an elite list.”

“I’m not sure it really matters anymore,” Cowboy responded. “The original idea was to be the first to climb those mountains. Nobody can be first on any of them now. Might as well make it Eight Summits or Nine Summits… Hell, might as well gather a full dozen.”

“I’m content climbing whatever, whenever and wherever,” Jason concluded.

The conversation died down for a few moments and they sat quietly in the noon-day sun, enjoying its warmth.

“I have a challenge for you guys,” Edward spoke up. He pointed across the glacier toward Cerro Rasac. “How about we climb the right buttress of that little jewel?”

“Now that’s the kind of thinking we need to have about this,” Cowboy grinned. “Find new challenges and give them a try.”

“Can’t be done,” Jason said.

“Did I ever tell y’all the sayin’ they have in rodeo?” Cowboy started.

“You mean, ‘there ain’t a horse that can’t be rode and ain’t a rider that can’t be throwed’?” Bryan chuckled.

“That’s the one.”

Edward made firm eye contact with Cowboy and spoke in a grave tone. “We’re here. We should give it a go.”

“Whew,” Cowboy responded, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know. We’re not really equipped to take that on right now.”

“I agree,” Francois broke in. “Although it is tempting, I think that is an expedition that needs some careful planning and maybe some specialized equipment.”

“Yeah. Probably,” Edward muttered, his head lowered as a sign of dejection.

“We’ll come back and give it a go someday,” Bryan said, slapping his friend on the back.

“How’s that foundered hoof?” Cowboy asked, changing the subject. After summiting Nevado Yerupaja, they had spent a few days in camp on the ridge below. They had been pleasant days given the incredible view and the fact that the sky had remained clear and the rays of the sun felt good as they enjoyed being where they were, as well as their accomplishment. However, everyone was beginning to get a little restless, including Bryan, who had been essentially sitting still for four days.

“Foundered hoof?” Edward laughed. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

“What’s a foundered hoof?” Francois asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The technical term is laminitis,” Cowboy said. “It’s inflammation in the laminae of the hoof.”

The other three stared at him in silence.

“It’s one of the most common reasons horses go lame,” he added with a shrug.

After another quiet moment, Bryan spoke up. “It’s not too bad. I can put a little more weight on it now—doesn’t hurt as much. Might loosen up once we start moving.”

“Normally, I’d agree,” Francois said cautiously. “But the descent from here is steep. It could be more than your ankle can handle.”

“Well, I don’t think we should just sit here burning through our reserves,” Bryan said. “What if we need them for the way out?”

“He’s got a point,” Jason agreed.

Cowboy sighed. “Yeah… I just don’t want to push you harder than your ankle can take.”

“I can handle it,” Bryan said firmly.

Cowboy glanced at Francois.

Francois shrugged. “Your call.”

“Ed?” Cowboy asked.

Edward nodded. “Let’s get off this mountain.”

Cowboy took a breath, then gave a slow nod. “Alright. We’ll rest up here today, spend the night, and head out at first light. Jason, I’m guessing you’ve already plotted our route.”

Jason tapped the pocket of his jacket. “Always.”

The following morning, they began their descent to the glacier spread across the valley between the two peaks. Bryan discovered that putting his weight on his injured ankle during the descent was a little more painful than he thought it would be. By the time he reached the glacier below, the team was beginning to rethink their decision.

“It’s better to find a place that’s less exposed to the cold and wind anyway,” Bryan reasoned.

“And lower elevation,” Jason agreed.

“What’s your route look like?” Cowboy asked.

“Cross the glacier going that way,” Jason responded, pointing northwest. “Other side of that ridge we’ll have access to the trail out. It’s not as well-used as the others, but it’s a trail.”

“That ridge looks a little steep to cross in that direction,” Francois commented. “Maybe we should stay more to the west to cross the ridge. Might be easier on Bryan.”

“Let me look,” Jason responded, retrieving his map. As he studied it, Francois and Cowboy looked over each of his shoulders. “Yeah. See there. It’s not as steep on the backside into the valley on the other side. Be easier for Bryan to travel.”

“Jason,” Cowboy said. “You take the lead, but set a slow pace. We’ll take turns helping Bryan along.”

“I can make it,” Bryan objected.

“Of course you can, but we’re going to help you anyway,” Cowboy responded.

“I take first shift,” Edward said, slipping into position with an arm around Bryan’s waist and Bryan’s arm over his shoulder.

“Shift?” Bryan chuckled.

“What else should we call it?”

“How about turn?” he replied. “Shift makes it sound like we’re on a job site.”

Though it was slow going and took most of the day, the team was able to cross the glacier, ascend and descend the ridge above, bringing them into a wide valley by late afternoon.

“Let’s hold up here and make camp,” Cowboy advised. “No point pushing any harder than we need to.”

“Agreed,” Francois said.

“How you holdin’ up, pard?” Cowboy asked.

“A little tired, some pain, and it feels like the swelling has increased some,” Bryan replied honestly.

“Let’s get that boot off and put some ice on that ankle,” Edward said, helping his friend to a seat on a nearby boulder.

“I’ll set up his tent,” Jason volunteered.

They had redistributed most of the gear from Bryan’s pack to lighten his load, but the tent remained with him. Jason stepped over, unbuckled Bryan’s waist belt, and carefully slid the pack from his shoulders.

At this altitude, the barren landscape offered no trees—no firewood, and no chance of a proper campfire. Still, they made do. One of the small camp stoves hissed to life, heating water for coffee while the others tore open their MREs.

“I’ll be glad to sit down to a thick, medium-rare ribeye the minute we find a place that serves one,” Cowboy said, stretching his legs out.

“I’m with you,” Edward replied with a grin. “But I prefer mine cooked.”

“You go past medium, you done ruined yer steak,” Cowboy replied. “That’s why it is tough to chew and often lacks flavor.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not much for bloody meat,” Edward said with a grimace.

“What blood?” Cowboy replied. “They drain it at the slaughterhouse. There’s no actual blood in a steak by the time it hits your freezer—or the restaurant’s.”

Edward raised an eyebrow. “Then what’s that red stuff on the plate when you cut into a medium-rare steak?”

“It’s myoglobin. It’s what transports oxygen into the muscle. It is a mixture of water and protein,” Cowboy answered. “You should soak it up with yer potato or sop it up with a biscuit, ‘cause it’s good for you.”

“I think I’ll just have my steak fully cooked,” Edward replied.

“Suit yerself, but don’t go cryin’ about eatin’ a tough piece of meat.”

The bit of irritation that seemed to linger between Edward and Cowboy caused the whole group to become silent. They sat listening to the stillness of the night with only the light of a couple of battery powered lanterns.

The quiet darkness around them was suddenly broken by a long, low howl echoing from somewhere down the valley. A few seconds later, faint but distinct, came the answering calls of several others—canine voices carried on the thin mountain air.

Francois turned toward the sound, his voice hushed. “Are there wolves in Peru?”

“Not up here,” Jason replied. “There’s the maned wolf in the Pampas del Heath Sanctuary, way out near the Bolivian border. But that’s hundreds of miles from here.”

Francois frowned. “Then what made those sounds?”

Cowboy didn’t hesitate. “Wolves.”

Chapter Six

The soaring peaks and sweeping valleys of the Cordillera Huayhuash formed an ideal summer refuge for Warmi Quispe, a man deeply rooted in the Aymara traditions of his ancestors. It was here that he and his family grazed their small herd of sheep—a modest flock of about three dozen—on the highland pastures.

Each day unfolded in familiar, deliberate cadence, driven by the needs of the herd. The sheep were more than livelihood—they were life itself, providing wool for warmth, milk and meat for sustenance, and a bartering tool for other essentials. Though the season was nearing its end, the family had chosen to remain until the rains arrived. Most of the lambs were nearly weaned, their once-frequent cries now fading into a softer, more occasional bleating—a sound that filled the crisp mountain air with a quiet, comforting presence.

With weathered hands and a spirit as resilient as the mountains themselves, he lived a life dictated by the rhythms of the land. His wife, Kamquta, a woman whose gentle strength mirrored the wildflowers that dotted the valley floor, was an integral partner in their small operation of about three dozen sheep. Their two children, Ch’ila, who was approaching adolescence at a rapid pace, were full of youthful energy, and Amank’ay, whose name, translated in English as Lily, reflected her delicate beauty. In spite of her mother’s urging, she was often aloof when it came to performing the dirty menial tasks that were hardly ever lacking.

Their days unfolded in a familiar pattern, dictated by the needs of their herd. More than just livestock; they were the lifeblood of the family, providing wool for warmth, milk and meat for sustenance, and a means to trade for other necessities. It was late in the season, but they had made the decision to stay until the rains came, grazing their charges in the peaceful valley. Most of the lambs were nearly ready for weaning off of their mothers, so the constant bleating, which was more prevalent in younger lambs, was quieter, but still a comforting sound that filled the crisp mountain air.

Their summer home was a simple ichu hut, constructed from sturdy branches hauled up from the lower elevations and thatched with the hardy grasses that thrived in the high-altitude climate. Modest though it was, the hut provided essential protection from the wind and cold—a place of warmth and gathering, where the family came together each night to share stories and reflect on the day’s work.

Life here was demanding, but it was also grounded—woven into the fabric of the natural world. The Quispe family lived in quiet harmony with their surroundings, showing reverence for the mountains, the valleys, and the creatures that shared the landscape with them. Wild bands of alpacas and llamas often lingered nearby, watching from a distance with wary eyes, disappearing quickly if approached. On rare occasions, Warmi would catch a viscacha, a mountain rodent prized for its meat, to break the monotony of their diet and provide a small celebration of variety.

One particular afternoon, as the sun began its slow descent behind the jagged peaks, casting long shadows across the valley floor, an uneasy stillness settled over the landscape. The familiar bleats of grazing sheep were strangely subdued, replaced by a tense silence that seemed to press in from all sides. Warmi, his instincts sharpened by a lifetime in the mountains, felt a prickle of unease crawl down his spine. He paused, scanning the slopes with narrowed eyes, searching for any sign of disturbance.

Kamquta emerged from the hut, drawn by the shift in his demeanor. “What is it?” she asked quietly.

Warmi didn’t take his eyes off the ridgeline. “The air’s wrong,” he muttered. “The herd is restless. Feels like a predator’s near.”

Kamquta glanced at the sheep, noting their subtle agitation. “What predator? There are none this high.”

“I know,” Warmi said. “But something’s not right.”

She said nothing more, but the worry etched across her face mirrored his. After all, her husband’s instincts were rarely—if ever—mistaken.

Even Ch’ila, who had been more interested in chasing butterflies near the edge of the herd, felt something and instinctively moved closer to his father. Only Amank’ay, too caught up in whatever fantasy world she wandered off to in her mind, had no sense of any sort of impending danger. She continued to pluck wildflowers quietly as she imagined herself a princess surrounded by admirers in some distant land.

Then, the stillness shattered.

From the shadows cast by the surrounding cliffs, a massive wolf stepped into view. He paused, lifting his muzzle to the wind, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of the grazing sheep. In an instant, the herd stirred—startled cries erupting from ewes and nearly weaned lambs as they rushed together, their panicked bleating rising like an alarm. The flock clustered into a tight, trembling mass.

Moments later, the lone wolf was joined by nearly a dozen more. They emerged in silence, sable-brown coats catching the last rays of the sun, their movements smooth and deliberate. Their eyes gleamed with intelligence and hunger as they fanned out behind their leader, forming a living crescent of muscle and menace.

There was no need for haste.

The pack moved with the patient confidence of apex predators, slipping into formation as they encircled the terrified sheep. The animals milled frantically within their shrinking perimeter, directionless and vulnerable, the wide valley suddenly transformed into a trap with no escape.

Warmi’s instinct was to rush forward and defend his flock, but something unnatural stopped him cold—a whisper in his mind, not his own, urging him to let the sheep go. Confused and shaken, he turned sharply toward his family.

“Back to the hut!” he barked.

Kamquta and Ch’ila didn’t hesitate, sprinting toward the shelter. But Amank’ay remained outside, transfixed by the stillness, oblivious to the approaching horror.

“Amank’ay!” Warmi shouted, breaking into a run.

She looked up, her innocent smile fading the moment she saw the fear carved into her father’s face.

“Get inside the hut! Now!”

Then she saw them—the wolves fanning out around the trembling herd, muscles coiled, eyes alight with hunger. Frozen in place, she could only watch as the pack charged with terrifying precision. The attack was a blur of snarling muzzles and flashing teeth. Sheep scattered in all directions, panicked bleats rising above the chaos as blood and wool filled the air.

Warmi no longer spared a thought for the animals. He sprinted toward his daughter, screaming for her to move. But Amank’ay stood paralyzed, rooted by terror, unable to obey as the chaos closed in around her.

One wolf, larger and more aggressive than the others, lunged at a young ewe, its teeth sinking deep into the animal’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound, staining the pristine white wool crimson. The ewe collapsed, its legs twitching in a final, desperate struggle.

Another wolf targeted a ram, its powerful jaws clamping down on the animal’s hind leg. The ram bellowed in pain, its body contorting in agony. It tried to escape, dragging its wounded leg behind it, but the wolf held on with relentless determination, its grip unyielding.

The attack was a whirlwind of teeth and claws, of desperate struggles and agonizing cries. The wolves, driven by a ravenous hunger, seemed oblivious to the chaos they were creating. Their sole focus was on the kill, on satisfying their primal need to feed.

Warmi, heart pounding like a war drum, reached Amank’ay and scooped her into his arms without breaking stride. He sprinted toward the hut, legs churning with desperation. Behind him, two wolves peeled away from the chaos, drawn by the fleeing figures. Their amber eyes locked onto him and his daughter, fangs bared with deadly purpose.

They were fast—too fast.

Warmi pushed his body beyond exhaustion, lungs burning, vision narrowing, every muscle screaming in revolt. The ground blurred beneath his feet. He dared a glance over his shoulder.

The wolves were closing in. And he was running out of time.

As Warmi lunged through the hut’s doorway, a set of jaws snapped shut inches from his heel. He stumbled across the earthen floor, losing his grip on Amank’ay as she tumbled against the far wall. He rolled, bracing for the impact of the wolves behind him—but they hadn’t made it through yet.

At the threshold, Kamquta and Ch’ila threw their full weight against the door, straining against the snarling head of a wolf forcing its way in. Its teeth slashed through the gap, inches from their faces.

Warmi’s eyes darted around for a weapon. The closest thing—a battered aluminum frying pan. He seized it and swung with all his strength. The metal rang out like a struck bell as it cracked against the wolf’s skull. The handle snapped off in his hand, but the blow sent the creature reeling. With a final heave, they slammed the door shut and bolted it.

They collapsed back into the center of the hut, panting, bodies shaking with adrenaline. Outside, the wolves prowled, snarling in frustration, their pacing audible against the walls of the fragile shelter.

For what felt like hours, the family huddled in silence, listening to the predators circle. As darkness swallowed the valley, the wolves finally withdrew, drawn back to the bloody spoils of the scattered herd. Their growls faded, replaced by the distant bleating of sheep and the cold, terrifying quiet of the mountains.

They listened in horror as the brutal feast unfolded in the darkness beyond their thin walls. The night was filled with the sounds of snarling, snapping jaws, the wet crunch of bone, and the guttural growls of the feeding pack. Then, cutting through the chaos, came a long, low howl echoing from somewhere deeper in the valley.

The alpha male was the first to answer, his voice rising above the din—powerful, commanding. One by one, the others joined in, until a chilling chorus reverberated through the mountains.

The Quispe family, still huddled in the center of the hut, shivered as the sound washed over them. The children clung tighter to their parents, their sobs renewed. Warmi and Kamquta locked eyes, their faces pale and stricken. Neither dared to speak the question hanging heavy between them.

Where had these creatures come from?

Chapter Seven

The eerie howling they’d heard before retreating to their tents hadn’t kept anyone from getting a good night’s rest. They woke refreshed, sipped hot coffee, and made do with MREs for breakfast.

Though Bryan found it annoying, they had to check in on him.

“You up for traveling today, pard?” Cowboy asked.

“I think I can handle it,” Bryan replied, flexing his ankle cautiously.

“We can always stay put another day,” Francois offered.

“If you guys are as low on MREs as I am, we don’t have that luxury,” Bryan said.

“He’s got a point,” Edward added. “I’m running pretty low myself. Not sure I’ve got enough to make it back to Llámac.”

“I’m a little short too,” Cowboy admitted. “Same story for everyone?”

A round of nods and murmurs confirmed it. They’d each packed extra for delays, but much of their reserve had been burned up during their extended stay on the ridge beside Nevado Yerupaja. Continuing forward wasn’t just the best option—it was the only one.

“Same plan as yesterday?” Francois asked. “Slow and steady, take turns helping Bryan?”

“Yep,” Cowboy said. He turned to Jason. “You got our route mapped out?”

“Up the valley,” Jason confirmed. “There’s a bit of a challenge skirting the lake, but after that, it’s smooth sailing to the trailhead.”

“What kind of challenge?”

“We’ll have to traverse a steep slope. If it’s scree, footing could be tricky.”

“Fortunately, his good foot’ll be on the uphill side,” Francois noted. Then he added, “Unless we have to go around on the other side.”

“We’ll flank that calf after we rope it,” Cowboy muttered.

“We’ll what?” Jason chuckled.

“Let’s not worry about it until we see the slope,” Cowboy said. “No sense crossing bridges we ain’t found yet.”

Taking it slow and steady, the team reached the lake by midday. What they found at the shore, however, was unsettling—scattered bones and the half-decayed remains of an alpaca, its carcass torn apart and gnawed down to the bone.

Cowboy crouched beside the kill and pointed to the tracks in the dirt. “These prints belong to the choir that serenaded us last night.”

“We’re not equipped to deal with wolves,” Edward muttered, eyes scanning the hills. The others followed his lead—except Cowboy, who remained calm.

“These tracks are over a week old,” Cowboy said. “They were long gone from here before we even got to Llámac.”

“What if they circle back?” Edward asked.

“What we heard last night came from the opposite direction. If we keep moving, we’ll be out of these mountains before they loop back this way.”

“Exactly what I was afraid of,” Jason added.

“The wolves?” Cowboy asked.

“No. That slope’s nothing but scree.”

“Then we take the other one,” Cowboy replied casually.

“That puts his bad leg on the uphill side,” Francois pointed out.

Cowboy studied the opposite slope, squinting into the light. “Looks like there’s a faint trail on that side. I’ll scout ahead while you all take a break and grab some lunch.”

“I’ll come with you,” Francois offered.

“Suit yourself.”

Once they were out of earshot of the others, Cowboy’s tone dropped.

“Those aren’t normal wolf tracks.”

Francois glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“They’re too big. Way bigger. And the shapes off.”

“How so?”

“They’re broader and longer than any wolf I’ve seen. Not quite round like a cat’s or a bear’s, but leaning that way. And the claw marks—deeper. Bear-like.”

“So, what are we talking about?”

“Hopefully, nothing we’ll have to deal with,” Cowboy said grimly. “But if this pack is what I think it is, they could wipe out every alpaca, vicuña, and sheep in this part of the range.”

Francois stopped in his tracks. “What do you think it is?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Cowboy exhaled slowly. “Ten, maybe twelve of them. Took down a llama in one night. They’ll be hunting again in a couple of days. No pups, so they’re fast, organized, and relentless. Nothing up here to slow ‘em down—especially not when most herders are unarmed. At this rate, there won’t be a living creature left in a fifty-mile radius within a year.” He paused. “Let’s just hope they don’t get a taste for people.”

Francois winced. “That’s way more than I wanted to hear.”

“I told you.”

“So we get off this mountain. Fast.”

Cowboy nodded. “Yeah. Be smart. But I’ll feel guilty about it.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

He took a few steps ahead, then turned, meeting Francois’s eyes. His usual grit was there, but something else flickered beneath it—worry. A rare sight.

“Because folks up here are walking into a nightmare. And we’ll just be walking away like nothing happened.”

Francois looked down the trail, then back at Cowboy. “So, we warn someone. Alert the authorities.”

Cowboy held his gaze for a long beat. “That’s the problem.”

“What is?”

“I don’t know if anyone’s going to believe us.”

“Yeah. We’ll let someone know,” Cowboy said, turning toward where he figured the trail around the lake would reveal itself.

Francois noted the strange look his partner had given him but chose not to press. He followed silently, his thoughts churning until Cowboy interrupted them a few minutes later.

“Trail’s faint,” Cowboy said, studying the narrow path ahead. “But it oughta make it easier getting Bryan around the lake. Jason says once we hit the next valley, it’s mostly wide and flat all the way down to the trailhead.”

“That’s good news,” Francois replied, moving up beside him to inspect the trail. He opened his mouth to comment on the tracks—until Cowboy beat him to it.

“More good news—the wolf tracks are headed up this valley,” Cowboy added, nodding toward the distant slopes. “Not down.”

The two men found a pair of boulders and sat, unwrapping their lunches and gazing toward Rasac’s summit.

“You take the normal route up, it’s not much of a climb,” Cowboy said after a while. “But that right buttress? That’d test your cojones.”

“Probably why no one’s ever done it,” Francois said, eyes still on the rugged face of the mountain.

“You sure? With the names we saw in the register on Yerupajá—seems like somebody from that crowd would’ve given it a shot.”

“I doubt it. Most of those folks were after checkmarks: Seven Summits, clean ascents, firsts on technical routes. No one’s hauling a box and a register up some impossible buttress just to fail.”

“Still hard to believe nobody’s tried it. You think anyone has?”

“Maybe. People don’t write down their failures. But I can’t imagine it’s never been attempted.”

“You reckon Harrah and Maxwell, Bates and Dingle, Messner and Habeler carried fresh registers everywhere they went?”

“I don’t know about the others,” Francois said. “But apparently Harrah and Maxwell did.”

“Well, guess that’s one thing we don’t have to pack,” Cowboy grinned.

Francois shook his head. “Speak for yourself.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“I ain’t never seen ‘em in your pack.”

“Bad luck to look at them.”

Cowboy chuckled. “And I thought bull riders were superstitious.”

Francois gave a small grunt of amusement.

“How d’you avoid lookin’ at it when you’re diggin’ through your gear?” Cowboy asked. “Or are you the reason Bryan’s had such bad luck?”

“I keep it sealed in a bag,” Francois replied. “Outta sight. And Bryan just found a bad line. Could’ve been worse.”

Cowboy nodded thoughtfully, then stood with a sigh. “Let’s get him back to civilization before anyone’s luck really runs out.”

“I’m right behind you.”

When they rejoined the others, the rest of the team was stretched out in the grass by the lake, basking in the sun. Two were asleep.

“Look at this lot,” Cowboy said. “Sleepin’ on the job.”

Jason stirred and sat up, stretching. “What’d you find?”

“Decent trail,” Cowboy said. “Time to move. Up and at ’em.”

Bryan and Edward groaned, slowly sitting up and yawning.

“Good news, Bryan,” Francois said, clapping him gently on the shoulder. “We found a decent route. Should make things a little easier for you.”

Chapter Eight

“I need to rest for a second,” Bryan gasped, his breath ragged.

Francois, currently supporting him, halted without hesitation. They had just crossed the narrow trail around the lake and reached a relatively flat stretch, where a scatter of massive boulders had settled over time. Ahead, the trail began its descent into the valley—a slope not especially steep, but punishing for someone with an injured ankle.

“Think you can help me over to that rock pile?” Bryan asked, nodding toward a flat-topped boulder. “Just need to sit for a minute.”

“Of course,” Francois said, guiding him carefully across the uneven ground. He raised his voice. “Hey Edward—hold up. Bryan needs a breather.”

Edward stopped, turning back with a nod. Cowboy, bringing up the rear, moved back and joined them.

“This kind of trail ain’t doin’ that ankle any favors, is it, pard?” Cowboy said, crouching beside Bryan.

Bryan gave a weary smile. “Feels like it’s being chewed by wolves every step.”

“Well, we’ve seen what actual wolves do. Your foot’s gettin’ off easy,” Cowboy said with a wink.

Bryan chuckled faintly and let out a long breath, leaning back on the boulder and closing his eyes for a moment.

“I’ll be alright,” Bryan said, catching his breath. “Just a little winded… and feeling kind of lightheaded.”

“Lightheaded?” Jason asked, coming up from the rear. “What’s causing that?”

Bryan hesitated. “I’ve been running low on MREs… so I skipped lunch.”

Francois shot him a look. “You, of all people, can’t afford to skip meals right now.”

“Dude,” Edward said, rejoining the group and catching the tail end of the exchange. “You could’ve said something. You want food? I’ve got food.”

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” Bryan muttered.

“You’ll be more of a burden if we have to carry you out on a stretcher,” Edward said bluntly. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his pack and pulled out an MRE.

The others followed suit, and within seconds, Bryan found himself facing four outstretched hands, each offering a meal.

He looked at the labels like he was browsing a menu. “Uh… do I get to choose?”

Cowboy chuckled. “Ain’t no choosing, pard. You’re taking all of ’em.”

Bryan laughed, gathering the packages. “That’s a lot of food for one sitting.”

Jason leaned in with a wry smile. “Cardinal rule, Bryan: if one of us doesn’t speak up, we all pay for it.”

Cowboy glanced up at the scattered boulders—chunks of stone that had clearly broken loose from the 300-foot rock wall above during countless freeze-thaw cycles. The base of the cliff sat roughly 400 feet farther up the gentle slope from where the group now huddled around Bryan.

“I think I’ll go poke around in those rocks,” he said, starting up the incline. “Do a little recon.”

“‘Reconnoiter,’ huh?” Jason chuckled, rising to join him. “Mind some company?”

“Suit yourself.”

As they picked their way uphill, Jason asked, “What exactly are we reconnoitering?”

“Just curious,” Cowboy replied. “Wondering if there might be a cave or something at the base of that wall.”

“You planning to spend the night up here?”

“Might not be the worst idea,” Cowboy said. “Could be a decent spot. And it wouldn’t hurt to let Bryan rest a little longer.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

They climbed in silence for a few minutes. As they neared the cliff base, Cowboy suddenly stopped, staring at the ground.

Jason stepped up beside him. “What is it?”

“Couple of wolf tracks. Coming from up that way,” Cowboy said, motioning up the valley. “Heading back the way we came.”

“I thought I saw a few on the trail,” Jason said.

“There were a handful on that dry, rocky stretch,” Cowboy agreed. “But they thinned out by the time we hit this flat. These here look fresher.”

“So that’s the real reason you wanted to reconnoiter?” Jason asked with a knowing grin. He scanned the terrain while Cowboy knelt to examine a track more closely. Jason took a few steps in the direction it pointed and spotted another faint impression.

“Mostly, I suppose,” Cowboy muttered.

Jason’s gaze drifted toward the cliff, his eyes sweeping across the uneven landscape—until he suddenly froze.

“Hey, Cowboy?”

“Yeah?” Cowboy replied, still focused on the ground.

Jason didn’t take his eyes off what he was seeing. “Is that… someone’s foot?”

Cowboy snapped upright and spun to face him. “Where? What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Right up there by that big, round boulder,” Jason said, pointing.

“I’ll be go to hell,” he responded. “It’s either somebody’s foot or our eyes are playin’ tricks on us.”

The two of them moved swiftly toward what they saw. As they drew closer, they saw another foot and the rest of two legs.

“Phew!” Cowboy exclaimed. “My eyes may be playin’ tricks on me, but my nose damned sure ain’t.”

“I know what you mean.”

In a moment, they were standing over a decaying body with their shirts pulled up over their noses to block some of the smell. Cowboy moved as close to the body as he could manage and squatted. His voice was muffled by the cloth covering his mouth. “Feller’s got a pretty nasty bite on his throat. Likely, one o’ them we been trackin’. Been dead ten days or so, maybe.”

“I’ll call the others,” Jason said, looking for an excuse to get some distance from the decaying corpse. He moved far enough away to lower the top of his shirt from his mouth and called out. “Hey! We found something up here!”

When he returned to the body, he saw that Cowboy had moved away from it in the direction of the cliff. Jason trailed behind him. His eyes caught sight of what had caught Cowboy’s attention. There was an opening at the base of the cliff and what appeared to be a door ajar beyond. Cowboy was already studying it and was about to step through.

“Gonna want to cover your nose again,” he said, drawing his shirt back into place. “I think we’ll find some more bodies in here.”

In spite of the cloth covering, the stench was strong as they moved down the hallway, emerging in what looked like a security control room.

“What the hell is this?” Jason asked.

“Somethin’ that don’t belong here,” Cowboy responded. “Two more bodies yonder.”

“Mon Dieu!” Francois exclaimed, nearly out of breath from rushing up the slope to join them. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and asked a muffled question. “What is this?”

“Looks like some sort of a lab,” Jason responded.

Cowboy had gone deeper into the facility, past the control room. Jason and Francois trailed along behind him. They discovered cages, a large lab with what looked like surgical tables from a veterinarian’s office. Tables with sterility hoods, microscopes, open prep tables with various beakers, test tubes and other lab equipment. They also found two more bodies.

“I’m just guessin’,” Cowboy said, his voice still muffled by the cloth. “But I think this is where our wolves came from.”

“Look,” Francois said, pointing to a lab mask made of plexiglass with a scrubbing attachment and a rubber T-strap hanging from one of the sterility hoods. He moved toward it. Jason and Cowboy followed suit, taking up one each for themselves. After the three of them donned the masks, Cowboy and Francois handed two more to Jason, who hustled back to entrance to meet Edward and Bryan who had just reached the mouth of the cave.

“You’ll want to put these on,” he said.

“Yeah,” Edward responded, catching a sudden whiff of the odor coming from beyond the door.

“What the hell is this and what’s that smell?” Bryan asked.

“It appears to be a lab, and the smell is four more dead bodies,” Jason responded.

“More dead bodies?” Edward asked, wrinkling his brow. “I didn’t know we had ANY dead bodies.”

“The first one is over there,” Jason responded, pointing in the direction of the first body they’d found. “Severe bite on his throat. The others inside died the same way, I think.”

“The wolves?” Bryan concluded.

“I think so.”

“That explains why there are wolves where there aren’t supposed to be wolves,” Edward commented.

“Yeah.”

They joined the others inside, continuing to explore the facility. They discovered the apartments of the scientists, their cafeteria, another set of cages, and a larger enclosure with what looked like a constructed habitat.

“We don’t have to worry about running out of food,” Edward commented after going through the enormous pantry in the cafeteria’s kitchen.

“Yeah, but he ain’t gonna be cookin’ for us,” Cowboy commented, pointing at the cook nearly hidden by the industrial size double-oven stack.

“This is a pretty extravagant setup,” Francois commented. “If it wasn’t for the smell, we could stay here for six months without requiring any resupply from the outside.”

“Reckon we ought to take care of the smell and give this place a good goin’ over,” Cowboy suggested.

“I’m with you,” Jason responded.

Despite the grim nature of the task, the team set about removing the bodies from the lab. The rocky ground made proper burial impossible, so they dug the shallowest grave they could manage—broad enough to place the recovered bodies from the lab beside the corpse they had found outside. Once the remains were laid to rest, they covered them with what little soil they could gather, then layered flat stones over the grave to finish the job.

Afterward, they turned their attention to the interior, scrubbing the control room, lab, and kitchen. Only once they had cleared the overwhelming stench—evidence of twelve days of unchecked decay, confirmed by what they uncovered during cleaning—did they finally remove their masks and breathe freely again.

Chapter Nine

“Hey, babe,” Francois said as Chelsea’s voice came through the satellite phone.

Her tone shifted immediately. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

They had agreed long ago that the satellite phone was for emergencies only. The fact that he was calling her now told her something serious had happened.

“Is everyone okay?” she asked quickly.

“Bryan’s got a sprained ankle, but he’s managing,” Francois replied.

“You wouldn’t call me just for a sprained ankle. What’s really going on?”

He hesitated. “What do you know about dire wolves?”

There was a pause. “Other than the fact they’ve been extinct for around 13,000 years?”

“Thirteen thousand years…” he repeated quietly. “Well, we may have just found a dozen of them.”

“You found a dozen dire wolf fossils?” she asked, her voice rising with excitement. “Francois, that would be a huge discovery!”

“They’re not fossilized,” Francois said. “They’re very much alive.”

There was a beat of silence before Chelsea chuckled. “Are you messing with me? Did Cowboy put you up to this? Hand him the phone.”

Francois shrugged and passed the sat phone over. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Yes, ma’am?” Cowboy said, holding the phone to his ear.

“I reckon y’all are tryin’ to pull the wool over my eyes,” she replied, slipping into her best Cowboy impersonation. “But I ain’t falling for it.”

Cowboy didn’t laugh. “We ain’t joking, Chelsea.”

His tone made her pause.

“We found a lab,” he continued. “They used dire wolf DNA to engineer a new breed of canines. They’re calling them Lycaons.”

Her voice dropped. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said. “We heard them howling a few nights ago. Found their tracks. Saw what was left of a llama they tore apart. Then we found the lab—and six bodies, all with massive bite wounds to the throat. Judging by the mess, those things broke out nearly two weeks ago. And they didn’t leave quietly.”

“Put Francois back on.”

Cowboy handed the phone over. “She’s all yours.”

“This looks bad, Chels,” Francois said quietly.

“It sounds serious. What can you tell me?”

Chelsea, an anthropologist with a deep fascination for extinct megafauna, felt a chill creep down her spine. Her fingers tightened around her coffee mug.

Francois’s voice was low, steady—but not calm. “The wounds in their throats… they’re massive. Tearing, not biting. And the size of the tracks… Cowboy says they’re nothing like ordinary wolves.”

“He’s right,” Chelsea replied, immediately catching the edge in his voice—an unease she wasn’t used to hearing from him.

“We’ve been digging through the lab’s files. It was called the Lycaon Project. They used dire wolf DNA to engineer a new breed—a kind of super-canine. Looks like the plan was to market them, or their pups, to military and law enforcement. Search and rescue, too. But what they created... wasn’t controllable.”

Chelsea’s mind raced. Dire wolves—Canis dirus. She hadn’t specialized in them, but she knew enough. Pleistocene apex predators, larger and more powerful than any modern wolf, built to hunt massive game like bison and even young mastodons. And someone had tried to bring them back—to turn them into weapons?

“Francois, that’s reckless beyond belief,” she said, her voice rising with disbelief. “They were apex hunters. Their entire physiology was built to bring down megafauna. Who in their right mind tries to recreate that?”

Francois exhaled sharply. “According to the notes, they were trying to blend the size and ferocity of a dire wolf with the obedience of a working dog. They named them Lycaons—some kind of clever nod to Greek mythology. But these things… they’re nothing like domestic dogs.”

Chelsea pictured it—the bloodied lab, the stench of decay, the scattered data files, the chaos left in the wake of creatures that should never have existed.

“Have you seen them yet?” she asked quietly, forcing herself to stay composed.

“No,” Francois replied, “but we’ve seen what they left behind. Based on the tracks and the footage from the enclosure cameras, we estimate they average about 80 kilos—maybe more. Shoulder height over a meter. Pure muscle. And smart. Too smart. We watched them flank prey in a coordinated attack—one distracts, the others move in. Not just strength and size. Tactics.”

There was a long pause. Only static on the line.

Chelsea closed her eyes, the implications forming with grim clarity.

“This is worse than you’re letting on, isn’t it?”

Francois didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yeah. It is.”

“And there are about a dozen of them running loose up there?”

Chelsea closed her eyes, the image of dire wolf reconstructions flashing through her mind—massive skulls, bone-crushing jaws, and the raw power of predators forged in an unforgiving prehistoric world. To recreate that… to enhance it… and then let it loose in the modern day? The consequences were unthinkable.

“Cowboy wants to track them,” Francois said, pulling her from the spiral of her thoughts. “He wants to get eyes on them.”

“Francois, this is catastrophic.” Her voice trembled, her fear barely masked by urgency. “These animals aren’t adapted to your environment—but it won’t matter. Their size, strength, and aggression will give them a massive edge. And if they’re anything like their ancestors… they’ll be more adaptable than we can predict.”

She paused, recalling the dominant theory behind the dire wolves’ extinction—a lethal mix of vanishing megafauna prey and the rise of smaller, more agile gray wolves. But these Lycaons? They didn’t face extinction. They faced opportunity. A world with abundant prey and no predators. No checks. No balance.

“They’re apex predators in a system that has no defenses against them,” she said quietly. “And if they start reproducing…”

Francois didn’t answer right away. She could hear the tension in his breath, the unspoken agreement.

“What do you think about trying to contain them?” she finally asked, the weight of the question hanging heavy in the silence.

“I agree with Cowboy,” he said. “It’s risky, but we can’t just walk away and let this spread. Bryan’s ankle rules him out, so it’ll probably be three of us. Someone’s got to stay with him.”

Chelsea considered the situation. This wasn’t just about hunting down a pack of feral dogs. This was about containing a genetic anomaly, a creature resurrected from the echoes of the past. They needed to understand their behavior, their weaknesses.

“You’re going to need some backup,” she sighed. “Somebody that might know more about their behavior and any weaknesses they might have. Have you discovered who is backing the research?”

“Cowboy said it’s some company named GenSys, but that’s all we got. He suggested you have Ben and Lux look into them. They’re pretty good at that sort of thing.”

“I’d prefer you stay put until we can send some backup,” she said, knowing Cowboy would never sit still with such an enormous threat lurking nearby. “But I know Cowboy.”

“Yeah. If he had his guns strapped on…” he didn’t finish and didn’t need to. Chelsea knew Cowboy’s complete lack of fear in the face of creatures that were far more powerful and extremely dangerous.

“I’ll have Ben and Lux look into GenSys,” she said. “And I’ll see if I can find someone to provide backup.”

“Is Heather available?” Francois snorted, recalling how she had rushed in to save the team from being pursued by both feral people and federal agents in the Smoky Mountains.

“Probably not, but I’ll keep her in mind,” she responded. Her tone shifted to one that was more businesslike. “I need you to provide me with every detail of the lab, their notes… details, every possible detail about the project.”

“Bryan has pretty much planted himself in front of a computer since we got the place cleaned up. He and Jason can provide more details than I can.”

“I’ll need to talk to him then,” she said. The hour was late, but Chelsea knew she wouldn’t sleep. The image of those powerful, genetically engineered canines haunted her mind. She opened her laptop, ready to take notes, and begin an exploration into how the team might best be able to contain the situation. She knew Cowboy, Francois, and probably Jason would head out in search of the pack. They were used to pursuing rare creatures.

“Okay. I’ll put him on,” Francois responded.

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Don’t worry about us, okay?”

“Yeah, right,” she chuckled.

“You know Cowboy. He always finds a way out.”

“Yeah. I know,” she replied. “You take the sat-phone with you.”

“I can’t very well do that and leave Bryan and Edward without contact with the outside world.”

“Yeah. I know,” she sighed. “Be safe and make sure you come home.”

“I’ll come home, babe,” he said before passing the phone to Bryan.

Chapter Ten

The morning sun bathed the porch of the Makarios Ranch in Catching, New Mexico, in warm golden light, catching dust motes as they danced lazily through the crisp air. Lux, feeling the shift in temperature, slipped back inside to grab a sweater.

“This will probably be our last breakfast out here,” she said over her shoulder as she moved through the doorway.

Ben, unfazed by the morning chill, barely looked up from his plate. He cherished these porch breakfasts—especially in summer—but even the lingering warmth of Indian Summer was beginning to give way to the firm hand of autumn in northern New Mexico.

Lux had just stepped back onto the porch, wrapped in her sweater, when the stillness of the morning was shattered by the sharp ring of her phone.

She recognized the caller and gave Ben a quick glance. “It’s Chelsea,” she said, answering and putting the phone on speaker. “Hey, Chels. What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a problem, Lux,” Chelsea said, her voice tight with urgency. “A big one.”

The smile slid from Lux’s face. She set the phone on the table between them. “What kind of problem?”

“You know the guys are in Peru on that mountaineering trip, right?”

“Yeah—Francois, Cowboy, Jason, Bryan, and Edward. Did something happen?”

“They found a hidden lab,” Chelsea said, the words rushing out now. “From what Bryan described last night, it was a genetic research facility—one that went off the rails. The researchers were experimenting with dire wolf DNA. Something went wrong, and now... these engineered predators are loose in the Huayhuash range. And they’re dangerous.”

Ben let out a low breath. “Bloody hell. I hate it when people try to play God.”

“How can we help?” Lux asked, her voice steady despite the weight of what she was hearing.

“They used DNA from an extinct species—specifically dire wolves—to engineer something they’re calling Lycaons,” Chelsea explained. “They’ve been designed to be faster, stronger, more aggressive, and more intelligent than anything we’ve seen. Francois, Cowboy, and Jason are planning to track them. Bryan’s out of commission with a sprained ankle, so he and Edward are staying behind at the lab to keep feeding me updates. I’m digging deeper into the dire wolf lineage and these engineered Lycaons…”

She hesitated. The silence on the line was thick with implication.

“Cowboy thinks you and Ben could help trace who’s behind this. All we’ve got so far is a name—GenSys.”

Lux and Ben exchanged a glance. No words were needed. This wasn’t just some backroom experiment gone wrong—it was something bigger. More dangerous.

“We’re on it, mate,” Ben said.

“I knew I could count on you two,” Chelsea replied, her voice softening for just a moment.

“You need us to pack bags for Peru?” Lux asked.

“Well,” Chelsea said. “You might want to have them ready.”

“Got it. Keep us posted,” Lux said, her hand moving to end the call. “We’ll do the same.”

“Will do. Thanks again.”

As the line went dead, the porch was suddenly silent. Breakfast forgotten, the Makarios’ moved without speaking, coffee cooling beside abandoned plates as they powered up their laptops. GenSys. A name so carefully generic it practically screamed don’t look too closely. But that’s exactly what they intended to do.

Their initial search yielded almost nothing. GenSys was a privately held biotech firm registered in the Cayman Islands, its online presence as polished and sterile as an operating room. The website boasted vague promises of “cutting-edge breakthroughs in regenerative medicine and agricultural innovation,” but offered no specifics—certainly nothing about genetically engineered predators.

“Sounds like Dr. Frankenstein’s got a startup,” Ben muttered.

They kept digging, ignoring the clock and the growing protests of their stomachs as the afternoon slipped by. Layer by layer, they traced the company’s web of shell corporations—each one leading to another, like a hall of mirrors built to deflect scrutiny.

“They’re good,” Lux said for the third time, eyes narrowed at her screen. “Damn good. But nobody’s perfect. Everyone leaves tracks.”

“My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut,” Ben grumbled, pushing back from the table.

She smirked. “Let me guess—Cowboy?”

“Where else?” he said, disappearing into the kitchen. “I’ll fix us something. Any requests?”

“Surprise me,” she called after him, eyes still locked on the glowing screen.

A tracker by trade, Lux had the innate ability to connect seemingly disparate pieces of information, a talent she’d developed in the woods but adapted to other forms of tracking. She scoured academic publications, patent applications, and even social media profiles, searching for any connection, any glimpse behind the carefully constructed facade.

By the time Ben brought two plates to the table, her painstaking work had allowed her to develop a picture of GenSys, a company that was involved in a lot more than regenerative medicine and agricultural enhancements. They were dabbling in the darkest corners of genetic engineering, pushing the boundaries of science far beyond ethical and regulatory constraints.

“How’s it coming?” Ben asked.

“Take a look for yourself, Aussie,” she said, turning the screen of her laptop toward him. “This patent application mentions ‘Project Chimera.’ They’re attempting to create a genetically modified primate with enhanced cognitive abilities. And another one, ‘Project Hydra,’ focusing on creating drought-resistant crops. Innocuous at first glance, but the underlying technology is terrifying. They’re using gene editing techniques that could have unforeseen and catastrophic ecological consequences.”

“The team really doesn’t know what they’re up against,” Ben muttered after reviewing the pages Lux had available in more than a dozen tabs. “Their little God project has some pretty dire consequences.”

They took a moment to eat the meal Ben had prepared, discussing what they had found and ruminating on where it might lead. As they dug deeper, they uncovered evidence of other projects, whispered about in hushed tones in leaked documents and encrypted emails. ‘Project Phoenix,’ an attempt to resurrect extinct species, raising the specter of unleashing prehistoric diseases upon an unprepared world. ‘Project Sentinel,’ a program to enhance soldiers’ physical and mental capabilities, blurring the line between human and machine.

The scale of GenSys’s operations was breathtaking, and the potential ramifications were terrifying. They had to be stopped. But how?

The small hand on the clock was just about to make its second pass over the Roman numeral twelve when Ben finally found a thread, a seemingly insignificant email address buried deep within the company’s internal communications. It belonged to a low-level research assistant named Mark Olsen, who appeared to be growing increasingly disillusioned with GenSys’s activities.

“It’s a long shot, mate, but it’s all we’ve got.”

Her fingers banged on the keyboard, releasing pent up frustration as she wrote:

To Mark Olsen:

Our team of investigators have tracked down a secret project in the Huayhuash mountain range in Peru. The project is called the Lycaon Project. It was being led by the late Dr. Aris Thorne, who lost control of the labs subjects. All six researchers were killed and now an extremely powerful predator has been released into the region. We have a team on the ground attempting to contain the situation.

It is imperative that you contact us YESTERDAY IF NOT SOONER.

She finished by typing in her phone number.

“All we can do is wait,” she said, picking up her phone to call Chelsea and fill her in on the situation. Before she could connect the call, her phone rang.

“This is Olsen,” the voice crackled through the speaker, tight with panic. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Lux Makarios,” she replied, switching to speakerphone and setting it on the table between them.

There was a beat of silence. She could almost hear the gears grinding in his head as he tried to place the name. Then, after a pause: “I’ve heard of you. You and your husband—Ben—you’re cryptid hunters. Worked with Dr. Stevens and Dr. Woodward on the Lazarus Project.”

“We didn’t work with them,” Ben cut in coldly. “They used us to clean up their mess.”

“That’s not really the point right now,” Lux said, her tone flat. “You have a serious problem, and my team is already in Peru trying to contain it.”

A long, heavy sigh came from the other end. “Your team in Peru… they don’t stand a chance. Those things are strong—unnaturally strong. Smart, too. Smarter than we ever anticipated. They’re going to tear your people apart.”

“Well, excuse my French, but you better get your fucking team down there right now. If something happens to my team, we’ll give up hunting cryptids to track down every member of GenSys.”

Olsen hesitated. “I… I don’t know if I can. I’m not in charge of this project. I only have sideline knowledge and no authority. They won’t take my intrusion kindly.”

“This isn’t about love and kindness, mate,” Ben interjected. “This is about saving lives.”

“At the moment, I’m concerned about my own life. I could lose it if they find out I interceded in this.”

“If those Dire Wolves get out of control,” Lux retorted, her voice leaving no room for argument. “There will be a major catastrophe in Peru and who knows where it will spread to next.”

“Look, mate,” Ben said in a softer tone. “This is your chance to do the right thing. To atone for what you’ve been a part of. Get a containment team down there, Olsen. Sooner than yesterday.”

“It might take me a few days,” Olsen said with a weary sigh.

“Our team might not have a few days,” Lux replied, her voice clipped with urgency.

“I’ll do what I can—as fast as I can,” he said, then disconnected.

Lux leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. “Well… I guess that was something of a win.”

“It was a win,” Ben said gently, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

She looked at him, eyes clouded with worry. “What if he doesn’t get anyone there in time?”

Ben offered a crooked grin, trying to project confidence he didn’t quite feel. “They’ll be alright, mate. You know Cowboy.”

“Yeah. I know Cowboy,” she murmured. “I just hope he hasn’t run out of tricks… or luck.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Lux blinked back the sting of tears, her thoughts fixed on the friends facing monsters in the mountains. She inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly.

“I better check in with Chelsea,” she said, already reaching for her phone.

Chapter Eleven

“It’s suicide to go out there,” Edward protested, eyes locked on Cowboy as he worked the action of the tranquilizer rifle.

Two boxes of darts sat open on the cafeteria table beside him, along with a second rifle—neither of which offered Edward any comfort.

Cowboy didn’t respond. He raised the rifle, aimed at a crack in the wall, and squeezed the trigger with a soft click. Then he worked the action again, expression unreadable.

“Single shot,” he muttered. “Gotta reload after every round.”

“What if they charge you?” Edward asked. “You won’t have time.”

“Nope,” Cowboy replied, still calm. He glanced up and gave a crooked grin. “Means I gotta make every shot count.”

Francois stepped forward, lowering his voice. “He’s right. This is dangerous, even for you.”

“Yep.” Cowboy kept drilling the motion—lift, aim, lower. Each pass smoother, faster, more precise. He wasn’t just practicing. He was programming his body.

“That’s it? ‘Yep’?” Edward snapped, the tension in his voice cracking like dry wood.

Cowboy paused mid-motion and looked at him—calm, unshaken, eyes like cold steel.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to stop being a stubborn ass and listen to reason,” Edward shot back. “You heard what Chelsea said. GenSys is sending a containment team. We don’t need to go charging out there.”

“That’s not exactly what she said,” Cowboy replied evenly. “And let’s be clear—we’re not going. I am.”

“You are completely out of your goddamn mind!”

Cowboy gave a crooked grin. “That’s pretty much the meaning of binii’e’dine’.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Edward pleaded, his voice thinning with frustration.

Cowboy rose slowly, rifle in hand, stepping in close until he was nose to chin with Edward. His voice dropped to a low growl. “Then who does? Lux talked to some burned-out GenSys whistleblower who might send help in a few days. You think those things are gonna wait politely on a mountaintop till the cavalry shows up?”

“I don’t wait on hope, Edward. I act.”

“Why can’t you just wait? Give it a couple days, see if he comes through?” Edward asked, his voice dropping as he instinctively took a step back.

Cowboy didn’t need to argue. He didn’t even need to follow. His legend walked ahead of him—former world champion bull rider, survivor of a yeti ambush, a Rugaru stalk, and an Ozark Howler brawl. The man had come back from paralysis to summit some of the tallest peaks on the planet—damn near made Everest. Edward could question the plan, sure—but not the man.

Cowboy’s voice dropped, low and heavy. “What if it was your family out there, with hell’s own hounds closing in? You still wanna sit tight and hope someone shows up in time?”

He turned back to the table, picked up the tranquilizer rifle, and continued his drills—smooth, deliberate, deadly.

Edward swallowed hard. “But what can you do against these things?”

Cowboy didn’t flinch. “Same thing I’ve always done.” He drew, aimed, worked the action. “Stand my ground. And make every damn shot count.”

He paused just long enough to glance at Edward. “I don’t have the faintest fuckin’ idea if it’ll be enough. But sittin’ around suckin’ on my teeth while folks are in danger? That ain’t me.”

“I’m not letting him go alone,” Jason said quietly. Firm. No drama. Just fact.

Edward turned his eyes to Francois.

Francois gave a small shrug. “Somebody has to feed him the darts.”

Edward looked between them, jaw tight. “You guys are out of your goddamn minds.” He threw his hands up. “I’m going to check on Bryan.”

He walked out, but his words lingered behind—like the scent of fear and the silence of men who’d already made peace with what they were about to do.

“Hey, pard—wait,” Cowboy called out.

Edward stopped in the doorway and turned. Cowboy tossed him the second tranquilizer rifle. Jason followed with the spare box of darts, placing it gently in Edward’s hands.

The question on Edward’s face didn’t need words.

“In case they come back here,” Cowboy said.

Edward nodded once and walked out without another word, the rifle cradled in one arm, the box of darts in the other.

Silence settled over the cafeteria as the remaining three sipped at bitter coffee and dug through the facility’s pantry for MREs. They’d had the luxury of a couple of hot meals, clean bunks, and real showers, but all of it felt hollow now. Local farmers grazed livestock in the Huayhuash range. Late-season trekkers were still on the circuit trail. Every hour they waited, the threat grew.

Chelsea and Lux were doing everything they could to mobilize help, but even if they managed to get a containment team on the ground, someone would have to locate the wolves and lead the cavalry in. They couldn’t afford to sit on their hands—and with Cowboy in the room, that was never an option.

Jason and Francois didn’t say it aloud, but the weight in their silence said enough. They both agreed with Edward in part—this mission was borderline suicidal—but letting Cowboy walk out there alone? That was something neither of them could live with.

Cowboy finished his coffee and stood.

“We pack light,” he said, voice low. “We need to move fast. No extras. Essentials only.”

Jason and Francois nodded, already mentally stripping down their gear. No one said the obvious: this wasn’t just a hunt. It was a gamble with lives on the line—and the clock was ticking.

Francois could feel fear and reservation in the air, hear it in his quiet voice and see it in his deliberate motions. More than once, while sitting around a campfire with Dustin McCord, he and the others had talked about bull riding, especially how he had been able to sit down and tie his hand into the rope around a beast that was ten times his weight and could easily kill him.

“Hell yes, I was afraid,” he always said. “Every damned time I climbed down into the chute. The difference between me an’ most folks, besides binii’e’dine’, is that I don’t let fear have the last word.”

Francois chuckled softly as he recalled one of those discussions.

“What’s so funny?” Cowboy asked.

“Never let fear have the last word,” Francois smiled.

“Damn straight, pard,” he said, scooping up the tranquilizer rifle. “You fellers ready?”

“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Francois answered.

“Alright, let’s get a move on, we’re…”

“Burnin’ daylight,” the other two responded together, finishing his sentence.

Chapter Twelve

“Truth is, pards. We ain’t got much to go on. Except the few tracks we’ve seen and the chorus we heard the other night. Those wolves ain’t been in this valley for two weeks,” he had to work hard to disguise the frustration in his voice, but the others could see it was weighing on him.

In spite of the fact they were ‘up against a stacked deck,’ which he’d mentioned more than once since they’d left the GenSys lab, he seemed pretty eager to run straight into the face of danger.

“Can I ask you a question, Cowboy?” Jason ventured as the three of them sat together near the glow of the small battery-operated lantern. What passed as supper had been eaten and the camp stove had been turned off, the pot of coffee cooling rapidly on its cold burner.

“Shoot,” he responded.

“What really happened on Everest?”

“Hmmm,” he said, considering the question. “I reckon I ain’t never told that story to anybody but my dad and Ash. My mom would be fit to be tied if I told it to you two, an’ not to her.”

“I was just curious,” Jason responded, as though withdrawing his request.

Cowboy chuckled softly. “I never wanted her to fret over me like she did when I was ridin’ bulls, but I reckon I don’t have any good reason to keep it a secret from the two of you.”

Francois and Jason waited quietly, wondering if his statement meant that he would tell them his story. In reality, he was trying to figure out how to tell his tale.

“I don’t remember nothin’ about how I made it back to base camp,” Cowboy said, voice low. “When I came to, Nguyen’s girl—Tika—was sittin’ over me. I guess she never left my side. Just waited there, hopin’ I’d wake up.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You already know how it ended. And you sort of know how it started—me wanderin’ off from the ascent camp to do a little exploring. I’d come across some tracks out there in the snow. Big ones. Thought maybe I’d find some joker in a fur suit waitin’ to jump out and yell BOO. Then we’d all laugh, and that’d be the end of it.”

He gave a dry chuckle, but there wasn’t any humor in it.

“That ain’t how it went down,” he continued. “I spotted the thing, real deal, crossin’ a snowfield up ahead. Big. Moved like it belonged out there. I trailed behind real slow, followin’ at a crawl. Then it disappeared around this bend in the rock wall, right above the shelf we were playin’ cat and mouse on. I should’ve turned back. But I had to see more.”

His voice dropped.

“So I picked up the pace. Came around the bend… and stepped straight into a cornice of snow hangin’ over a crevasse. Didn’t see it ‘til I was already fallin’.”

“I didn’t have nobody to pull me outta there,” Cowboy said. “Just a wall of stone and ice on every side. What I saw when I hit bottom reminded me of Carlsbad Caverns—but instead of stalagmites and stalactites made of rock, everything was ice. Clear, jagged, endless. It just… stretched on forever.”

He looked up at the two men across from him.

“You remember how the sunlight shined through the thin ice in that cave on Gangkhar Puensum? Gave everything that ghostly blue glow? That’s what it looked like. Blue shadows and silence. I figured that creature was long gone by then, and I was just stuck down there with a busted-up body and a big problem.”

He exhaled slowly.

“That’s when I heard it—a faint trickling sound somewhere deeper in the cave. I only had a few swallows of water left, so I followed it, hoping to refill my bottle. Found the stream alright. Bent down to fill up when BAM—got hit from behind.”

He paused, jaw tight at the memory.

“When I came to, the stench was the first thing I noticed—rotting bones, hides, the same reek we smelled back in that yeti cave in Gangkhar. That’s how I knew I was awake. Couldn’t see a damn thing, though. Took me a minute to remember the little penlight in my belt pouch. I clicked it on and saw what I was afraid of—piles of dried yak hides, bones scattered like old firewood. Real cozy.”

Cowboy gave a dry, bitter chuckle.

“At that point, I wasn’t sure if I was next on the menu or just stashed away for later. I had that copper taste in my mouth, head pounding like a war drum. I needed water bad—and you boys know what dehydration does to you at altitude.”

He leaned back slightly.

“So I moved. Found a narrow passage and followed it, chasing the sound of dripping water. Finally came to another pool—and that’s where I saw him. Poor bastard. Skeleton curled up beside the stream. Looked like he’d found the water, but not the way out.”

Cowboy’s voice dropped low.

“I remember standing over him and thinkin’, That ain’t gonna be me. Not today.”

“I got a bit of strength back after drinkin’ from the pool and filled my bottle, but I had a choice to make—stick close to the water and hope someone found me, or try to get back to where I fell in. Problem was, I didn’t know if anybody was even lookin’. And even if they were, that cave was a labyrinth. I could rot in there before anyone stumbled onto me.”

He shifted, cracking his knuckles as he talked.

“So I made the call—find my way out. But I wasn’t about to go wanderin’ unarmed with that thing still lurkin’. I headed back to the spot I’d woken up, dug through the bones and hides, and picked out a couple of thick yak bones. Figured if I could sharpen one, I’d have a decent spear, or at least a club. Better than nothin’.”

Cowboy paused, his gaze distant.

“With my makeshift weapons, I started down another tunnel—just like we did in Gangkhar Puensum, remember? Hopin’ one would lead to daylight. That’s when I heard it, far off at first, then louder. The yeti was back in its ‘dining room’ raisin’ hell, real unhappy I’d gone missin’. Gave me all the motivation I needed to keep movin’.”

His mouth twitched in a half-smile.

“Eventually, I found an opening. Just about walked right off a ledge, too. My little penlight wasn’t showin’ much, and the stars outside didn’t help a whole lot either. But I knew I’d found the outside world again. I figured I’d hole up there until dawn, then see if I could climb my way out, up or down, didn’t matter.”

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping.

“Problem was, that yeti had my scent. Like a damn bloodhound. He was comin’ in hot. I didn’t have until mornin’. And then, sure as sin, I saw him. Right there in the dim light at the cave’s mouth—big as a damn truck and starin’ me down. Looked like Chewbacca’s evil twin. Sniffin’ the air, head cocked to the side like he was tryin’ to figure out if I’d be an appetizer or a full meal.”

“I kept tellin’ myself to stay close, like when you’re ridin’ a pissed-off Brahma bull. You crowd up on ‘em, makes it harder for ‘em to get under you or catch you with a horn. Figured maybe that trick would work on Bigfoot’s ugly cousin.”

He gave a dry chuckle, then shook his head.

“That was before he backhanded me into a rock wall like I weighed nothin’. That’s when I realized fightin’ a yeti ain’t a damn bit like ridin’ a bull. His arms were long, strong, and fast. Whole different beast.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes catching the light.

“After that, it was a mess of fur and bone. We were swingin’ on each other—him with those massive paws, me with my sharpened yak bone club. Lucky for me, most of his hits missed by a hair. If even one had landed square, I’d be a smear in that cave.”

He tapped his fingers on the table in a slow rhythm.

“What probably saved my hide was that I kept movin’—backin’ up while I was swingin’. My last hit connected real solid, but I didn’t have time to celebrate. I sidestepped, lost my footing, and stepped right off a ledge into the dark.”

Cowboy paused, lips tight for a beat.

“I figured that was it. I braced myself to tumble all the way down to Lobuje base camp in a thousand busted pieces. But luck, or somethin, had other plans. I landed hard in a snowdrift on a rocky shelf just off the main descent trail. That’s where Nguyen said he found me.”

He sat quietly for a few seconds, the memory washing over him.

“I reckon if I hadn’t been so damn stubborn about trackin’ that beast, I might’ve made it to the summit, signed the register on top o’ Everest.” He gave a soft laugh, almost wistful. “Maybe I’m doin’ it again—chasin’ after another creature that just might be the death of me.”

Francois spoke gently. “I think this time it’s different.”

Cowboy stood, lifting the lantern and headed for his tent.

“I hope so,” he said, voice low. “Let’s hit the hay, pards.”

Chapter Thirteen

The small, hand-built hut that had once offered sanctuary to Warmi Quispe and his family had become their prison. For days, they cowered within its frail walls, the sounds of carnage a relentless, nightmarish soundtrack to their entrapment. The wolves—driven by a bloodlust that surpassed simple hunger—had descended on their flock, transforming the peaceful pastoral slopes of the Huayhuash into a charnel ground.

Warmi, whose life had always followed the gentle rhythm of shepherding, now faced a terror he had never imagined. His world, once filled with the familiar bleating of sheep and the sweeping majesty of open valleys, had collapsed into the stifling confines of the hut—haunted by the screams of dying animals and the sickening tear of flesh.

But it wasn’t just the slaughter outside that chilled him.

The wolves were not simply feeding. They were hunting. Several times, their primal instincts brought them to the very threshold of the Quispe family’s refuge. Drawn by the scent of living flesh, they would break from the massacre and prowl around the hut, testing the boundary between predator and prey. The scrape of claws on the weathered door, the low, guttural growls vibrating through the thin timber—it was a cruel reminder that death was just inches away.

Each visit felt like a countdown.

And each time they passed without breaking through, Warmi wondered not if—but when—the wolves would return to finish what they had started.

Though the brutal attacks outside were horrifying, they paled in comparison to the deeper, more insidious horror that crept into Warmi Quispe’s mind. The intrusions began subtly—faint impressions, shadowy thoughts not his own—but soon grew into cold, telepathic whispers that slithered through his consciousness. Devoid of hope, these voices spoke of inevitable death, not as a threat but a certainty. It wasn’t hunger that drove the wolves. It was something older, something crueler—a malevolent presence that sought not only flesh, but fear, will, and sanity.

Warmi fought back against the assault, clinging desperately to the belief that he could protect his family, that somehow, they could outlast the storm. But the days and nights blurred together, the rhythm of their captivity marked by bursts of violence outside, followed by stretches of unbearable quiet—false peace shattered each time by the renewed chorus of bloodshed.

Their food, carefully rationed, kept their bodies alive—but their spirits grew thin. Dread saturated the air like smoke, clinging to their skin, soaking into their bones. Every howl from beyond the hut was a death knell in waiting, every scratch on the door a countdown.

Warmi imagined this was what hell must sound like.

Their prayers grew more desperate, whispered between shallow breaths, clutched like lifelines in the dark. Still, the nightmare dragged on, until one night, exhaustion overcame them. One by one, they drifted into a fitful, haunted sleep.

And then—silence.

Warmi awoke to a stillness so complete, so unnatural, that for a moment he feared he had died in the night. No snarls. No claws raking wood. Just the eerie quiet of a world holding its breath.

Had the wolves moved on?

Or was this just another trick—an invitation to open the door and step willingly into the jaws of death?

He hesitated, knowing that he would soon hear the telepathic messages of their captor encouraging him to come out, deceiving him into a mortal trap. The messages never came. Some level of assurance began to build up inside of him as he watched his sleeping family begin to stir as each awakened. His heart throbbing in his chest, he could not resist the need to investigate the reason the cacophony from outside had ceased. Creeping towards the door, his hand trembling as he unlatched it, he pushed it open slightly, allow a bright stream of sunlight to enter in.

Encouraged by the lack of any sort of attack, he pushed the door open wide enough to slip through, but still holding onto it and ready to slip back through it in a moment.

His eyes scanned the sunlit world outside. It was bathed in an eerie stillness, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood. As he emerged further, eventually able to let go of the door, a snapshot of what lay beyond was quickly and permanently etched into his memory. The once-peaceful grazing land was now a killing field, its only crop wool, blood and dismembered bodies. What had been three dozen living sheep on an idyllic mountain landscape was now a grotesque tapestry woven with death, the most disturbing aspect, the sheer wastefulness of the slaughter. Only half of the animals had been consumed, or even partially consumed. The rest were simply mutilated, their bodies torn apart with a ferocity that spoke of something more sinister than mere hunger.

Warmi, a man grounded in the natural rhythms of life and death, found himself unable to reconcile the savagery he had witnessed. This was not the brutal necessity of nature—it was something darker, a senseless slaughter. The wolves hadn’t killed for food. They had rejoiced in destruction, tearing through his flock in a frenzy that spoke of malice rather than hunger.

His voice, dry and ragged from days of fear and silence, barely rose above a whisper as he called out to his family. “It’s safe,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

Kamquta, Ch’ila, and little Amank’ay emerged hesitantly into the pale light of mid-morning, their faces ghost-pale, eyes wide and sunken with fear. They clung to Warmi, drawing warmth and courage from his presence, though he felt as hollowed out as the carcasses around them. The children stared in mute horror at the mangled remains of the animals they had helped raise—companions they had named, fed, and played with. Their innocence had died along with the flock.

Their mother gathered them in her arms, shielding their eyes too late from the scene, her own expression a mask of grief. The destruction of their livelihood was total. The land that had once been a sanctuary was now a graveyard.

Then came a sound—footsteps, slow and deliberate.

Warmi turned sharply, heart thudding, terrified the nightmare was about to begin again. But it wasn’t the wolves returning.

Three men were approaching.

The one in front moved with the easy confidence of someone who had faced down death more than once. His weathered face was set in a firm, steady expression, and his eyes, scanning the devastation, were alert but calm. The two behind him bore similar signs of hard living—calloused hands, sun-darkened skin, and the quiet tension of men used to danger—but they deferred subtly to the one in the lead.

Hope sparked, small and fragile, in Warmi’s chest. He didn’t understand the words the man spoke as he drew near—but he understood the tone, the look in his eyes, and the concern in his voice.

Help, it seemed, had come at last.

“You folks alright?”

One of the men quickly translated Cowboy’s words into Spanish—a language not native to Warmi and his family, but one they understood well enough to communicate.

“My family and I survived,” Warmi replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion and sorrow.

“Jason,” Cowboy said quietly, “get these folks some food and water. France and I’ll start cleanin’ up this mess.”

Jason nodded and immediately set to work, pulling out the camp stove and preparing coffee. He tore open a few MRE packs, warming them and portioning them out with practiced care. Warmi stayed close to his family only briefly, comforted by the sight of his children eating and sipping from warm cups. When he saw Cowboy and Francois dragging the lifeless bodies of his flock toward a low-lying depression nearby, he moved to join them without hesitation.

Together, they worked in grim silence. The rocky terrain made digging a burial pit nearly impossible, so they scraped what soil they could from the thin top layer, then layered the bodies with slabs of flat stone hauled from the surrounding slope. It was brutal, backbreaking work—the kind done not out of hope, but out of respect.

When the last stone was placed, Cowboy stood for a long moment in silence. His ice-blue eyes locked with Warmi’s, conveying a shared grief no words could touch. Then, in a voice rough with empathy, he finally spoke.

“We need to get you and your family away from here.”

Warmi nodded his agreement as Francois translated.

“Gracias,” he said.

“You’d have done the same for me,” Cowboy replied.

Again, Warmi, nodded his agreement when heard the man’s response translated for him.

Cowboy turned toward Francois. “The only good news is that we have fresh tracks to follow.”

“You’re not seriously considering continuing to pursue the wolves with them tagging along, are you?” Jason asked, gaining sudden interest in their conversation.

“We don’t have much choice,” Cowboy answered. “There could be others just like them out there, an’ we don’t dare break up into two groups.”

“We’ll be marching them straight back into danger,” Jason objected.

“I don’t like it much more than you do,” he spat. “France, explain what we’re doin’. I think our man here will agree.”

After some explanation from Francois, the man looked up at Cowboy with eyes that suddenly turned hard. Cowboy didn’t need to hear the translated to response to know that the sheepherder was eager to join in tracking the wolves, knowing there were other families that needed to be warned before they experienced the same devastation.

Before Francois was finished translating his response, the man stepped forward, patting his chest and saying, “Warmi.”

Making the same gesture, Cowboy patted his chest, “Dustin.”

The man moved quickly to introduce each member of his family whose eyes were still large, black and empty in the face of a horror that was well beyond any nightmare they’d ever experienced.

Francois and Jason took the opportunity to introduce themselves as well before Cowboy nodded toward the hut. “You got anything you want to take with you?”

After Francois translated, Warmi looked toward his wife, whose eyes awakened some by the fact that she had a task to perform. She and her husband disappeared into the hut for several long minutes while the children stared at the ground in the presence of the strangers. When they emerged, they carried two small woolen bags with straps like backpacks, slipping them onto their backs.

Warmi turned, examining the tracks among the carnage before discovering the direction the pack had taken. Once he discovered the fresh tracks leading away from the hut, he waved in that direction, called out to his family and took the lead, suddenly feeling an eagerness to pursue the fierce killers who had destroyed the livelihood of his family.

Chapter Fourteen

Bryan waited until Edward had gone to cook lunch before taking out the satellite phone to call Chelsea. Edward, since the rest of the team left the facility to go in search of the wolves, had been less help and more of a pain in the ass, worried over every little thing, especially what was going on with Cowboy, Francois and Jason, constantly asking him what he had found, and pacing.

To be totally honest, he was concerned about the team that was outside hunting the wolves with nothing more than a tranquilizer rifle. He was becoming even more concerned as he continued to uncover discoveries in Dr. Thorne’s notes. His last discovery was the reason for the urgent call to Dr. Chelsea Buckley.

“Hey, Bryan. What do you have for me?” Her calm voice from more than a thousand miles away helped him stabilize his own emotions in spite of the chaotic mess that was rushing around inside his brain.

“Hey, Chels,” he sighed. “Things are a lot more complex, and frankly, more disturbing than we initially anticipated.”

Chelsea’s voice remained steady. “Lay it out for me, Bryan. I need the details, however unpleasant.”

Bryan took a deep breath and let it out, willing himself to stay calm. He’d been poring over Thorne’s data logs, genetic sequences, and behavioral analysis reports for the past couple of days, and the picture that had emerged was far from reassuring.

“Thorne’s primary objective was the creation of a highly intelligent, highly obedient canine unit, engineered for… well, we both know the potential military applications. But the methodology he employed is where things get truly unsettling. His DNA base, as we already knew, was dire wolf DNA secured from fossilized remains from local sources, which he noted are superior to the specimens from the La Brea excavation.”

“Superior only because there was probably less red tape involved with obtaining the DNA in Peru,” she grumbled.

“I remember visiting the tar pits as a kid and I understand that dire wolves were apex predators, but I’m not up to speed on all of the characteristics,” he admitted.

“Let me give you a quick rundown,” she replied. “Dire wolves, Canis dirus… dirus translates into the word terrible by the way... became extinct over ten thousand years ago. Skeletal remains show they were much larger and more powerfully built than our modern gray wolves. Researchers speculate that among their characteristics were brute strength and savage survival instincts. In reality, the scientific community has been extremely puzzled as to how they became extinct and the gray wolf survived, because they had so many superior genetic qualities.”

“Well, gray wolf DNA was not left out entirely,” Bryan responded. “Dr. Thorne evidently understood that there was some genetic defect in the dire wolves that needed to be… fixed, for lack of a better word.”

“What about the other genetic component?” she asked. “The one he used for enhanced intelligence?”

Bryan hesitated. “That’s where it gets even more… ambiguous. The logs are fragmented, heavily encrypted. What I’ve managed to piece together suggests he used genetic material from a primate source. Not human, but a highly intelligent species known for its problem-solving abilities. He believed that by combining the raw power and resilience of the dire wolf with heightened intelligence, he could create the ultimate canine soldier – a creature of unparalleled strength and strategic cunning, but inherently subservient.”

“Yeah. Frankenstein believed he could control his monster too,” Chelsea sighed, rubbed her eyes, which had enjoyed little time away from the computer monitor since the first phone call from Peru. “And the obedience factor? Was he successful in suppressing the inherent instincts?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, Chels. According to the early reports, the Lycaons exhibited remarkable obedience, responding well to training and exhibiting a surprising capacity for complex commands. But as the project progressed, the later reports become increasingly erratic. There are mentions of increased aggression, pack instability, and… a disturbing deviation from the expected behavioral patterns.”

He scrolled through the files on the lab computer in front of him, pausing at a particularly chilling entry. “Thorne seemed to be focusing most of his attention on a single Lycaon, the one he designated ‘Alpha.’ He believed Alpha was exhibiting… unique characteristics.”

“Unique how?” Chelsea pressed.

Bryan swallowed hard. “Thorne theorized that Alpha’s intelligence was developing beyond its intended parameters. His notes use terms like ‘cognitive leaps,’ ‘unprecedented strategic thinking,’ and… you’ll want to be sitting down for this on Chels.”

“I’ve been sitting in this same place for three days now,” she muttered, suddenly feeling the ache of muscles that have not seen any exercise.

“Emergent telepathic tendencies,” Bryan said.

Chelsea remained silent, processing the information.

“Did we get disconnected?” Bryan asked when she didn’t respond for an extended period.

“Telepathic tendencies? Bryan, I think the good doctor was losing his mind from being cooped up in that lab for too long,” Chelsea responded. “Telepathic tendencies are highly improbable. You’re sure you’re reading his notes, right?”

“I reread it several times myself,” he answered. “It sounded ridiculous to me too, but it’s right here in Thorne’s logs. He documented instances where Alpha seemed to, I am quoting for you: ‘anticipate his commands before they were given and respond to thoughts rather than spoken words.’ He even theorized that Alpha was communicating with the other Lycaons on a level beyond vocalization or scent marking.”

“Well, no one is actually sure how packs of wolves or flocks of birds communicate with each other in order to coordinate attacks, or in the case of the latter fly in a group without striking each other. There seems to be some sort of… well… hive mind, where all the creatures are of one mind… so to speak.”

“I’ve always wondered about that last one too,” Bryan commented. “A hundred birds in a tight cluster all flying in perfect unison. It seems impossible.”

“What concerns me is that particular characteristic being revealed and shared with Dr. Thorne via telepathy,” Chelsea mused. “Did he indicate whether any of the other Lycaons exhibited the came capabilities?”

“If it was there, it was not demonstrated on the same level, at least not to Thorne,” Bryan responded. “Alpha was the outlier, the key to unlocking the full potential of the project. But the logs also suggest that the other Lycaons were becoming increasingly influenced by Alpha, their behavior mirroring his in subtle but significant ways. It’s as if he was… leading them, not through physical dominance, but through some other, more insidious means.”

Chelsea took a deep breath. She needed to go for a walk, clear her head, get away from the computer, the house, and the problem at hand. With Francois and the rest of the team out there trying to track down the Lycaon pack, she could not rest or even relax. Not until they were safe. She had Lux and Ben pushing their GenSys contact as much as possible to get a containment team to the area ASAP. She knew Lux was screwing down the pressure, but she was becoming increasingly concerned that Olsen would not come through soon enough. Chelsea shared in her fear, especially as she learned more about the dangerous animals the team was tracking.

“Where do we go from here, Chels?” he whispered, not sure how knowing what the team was up against was going to help them out there in the mountains and valleys of the Huayhuash mountains.

“Bryan, we need to understand the potential impact of dire wolf DNA on these creatures. We know they were larger and stronger than modern gray wolves, but their behavior… their pack dynamics… we can only extrapolate from fossil evidence and comparative analysis.”

“Will that be soon enough for our team?” Bryan asked. “We have no way to communicate with them… I shouldn’t have let them go out.”

“Like you could stop them,” she responded in a dry tone. “What we find might be very important for the containment team.”

“Shouldn’t the GenSys containment team know all of this stuff?”

“We don’t know that GenSys will get a containment team there on time,” she responded. “Lux is already looking at alternatives.”

“So, let’s review what we know about dire wolves,” she began, striving to keep her tone clinical and composed. “They likely hunted in coordinated packs, preying on large Pleistocene megafauna like bison, horses, and even ground sloths. Their skeletal structure indicates a formidable bite force—strong enough to crush bone and incapacitate prey.

“Socially, they were probably similar to modern gray wolves, operating under a strict hierarchy led by an alpha pair. But their evolutionary adaptations for taking down larger prey may have fostered a more aggressive and competitive pack dynamic. That aggression wouldn’t have been limited to the hunt—it likely extended to their interactions with each other.

“We also need to factor in territorial behavior. Dire wolves lived in resource-rich but predator-dense environments, which likely pushed them to defend their hunting grounds with ruthless efficiency. It’s plausible they responded to intruders—animal or human—with extreme violence.”

“That last one doesn’t sound reassuring.” Bryan commented. “What are they going to consider as being a territorial competitor?”

“Wish I could tell you,” she responded, her anxiety matching his.

“And the intelligence factor?” Bryan asked. “How might the added primate DNA affect their instincts, their pack behavior?”

“That’s the unknown variable, Bryan. Thorne’s intention was to create obedience, to override the inherent predatory instincts with a capacity for complex commands. However, increased intelligence doesn’t typically equate to subservience. Enhanced intelligence, coupled with the raw power and territoriality of the dire wolf, could create a predator of unparalleled danger. Especially if this Alpha is indeed showing telepathic abilities. That skill alone could amplify their coordination, their strategic thinking, their ability to anticipate threats. We’re talking about a potential pack of hyper-intelligent, telepathically linked dire wolves, driven by some terrifying base instincts amplified by an alien intelligence.”

“I shouldn’t have let them go out,” Bryan muttered again. “They don’t stand a chance out there.”

“They’ll figure out a way, Bryan,” she said, doing her best to reassure him in spite of her own misgivings. “They’re pretty resourceful when it comes to dealing with powerful cryptid-like beings. You remember what Cowboy did to get the team out of the mess we were in at Loch Ness don’t you?”

“I know everybody has a sort of hero worship for Cowboy, Chels, but I don’t know about this one,” Bryan responded. “What if his luck or whatever it is that has made him into something of a legend runs out this time?”

“We can’t think like that Bryan,” she responded. “We have to believe that the team will come up with the right solution to stay alive and keep tracking the pack until we can get a containment team in there.”

“What do you want me to do, Chels?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Just keep reviewing the notes and feed the information to me. We need to understand the full extent of their abilities and try to discover a weakness we can exploit.”

The line crackled with static, a reminder of the vast distance separating them. Bryan disconnected the call, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He was sitting in the middle of a prehistoric nightmare on the scale of the one in the Jurassic Park movie, except this was real. The Lycaon Project was not just a scientific anomaly; it was a potential catastrophe waiting to happen, and three of his closest friends were out there hoping to stop it with the equivalent of a straw and paper spit wads.

Chapter Fifteen

Cowboy did not like what the binoculars revealed. He took them from his eyes and passed them to Francois. “You take a look, France.”

“Mon dieu,” he responded. “Those aren’t like any wolf I’ve seen.”

“No, they ain’t, pard,” Cowboy agreed.

“I must admit that their sable-brown color mixed with white is incredibly beautiful,” Francois commented.

“Yeah,” he snorted. “I’ll bet their big, pearly-white canine teeth are perdy too. Maybe you can take one home as a pet.”

“Chelsea doesn’t want a dog,” Francois responded in a dry tone. “How big do you think they are?”

“From this distance, it’s hard to tell, but I’m going to guess they’re more than a yard tall at the top of their shoulder. At least that big one is, anyway.”

“I’d say about a meter,” Francois responded, still observing the pack from a couple miles away through the glasses. “Maybe 90 to 100 kg?”

“I don’t know what that is, but I’m guessing between 180 and 200 pounds,” Cowboy replied.

“The big one is looking right at me,” Francois said.

“You’re just getting jittery, France,” Cowboy laughed.

“Here,” he said, handing the binoculars back to him. “Take a look for yourself.”

“I’ll be go to hell,” Cowboy responded, sucking in his breath. “Ain’t no way that son of a bitch can see us from there, but he’s damned sure lookin’ right at us.”

“Well, pard,” Francois said, using Cowboy’s common form of address in a sarcastic tone. “You found your wolves. What you want to do now?”

“With Warmi and his family with us, I think our best strategy is to keep them in sight, but keep some distance between us an’ them.”

“You mean you don’t want to ride down on them at full speed, tranquilizer gun blazing?” Francois grinned.

“Don’t have my horse,” Cowboy responded. He called out to Warmi. “Hey, pard, do you know of a good place for us to hole up tonight?”

“I know of several,” Warmi responded after hearing Francois’ translation.

“Preferably in that direction,” Cowboy added, pointing in the direction of the lab facility. When it was just him and the team, he was okay with making contact with the pack up close, but he was less eager to place Warmi and his family in harms way. By the look of what he saw through the field glasses, he may have already done so.

“I know a place,” he responded. “You have located the wolves, then?”

“Yes. They’re a couple of miles that way across the valley and up on that slope.” Cowboy handed him the binoculars.

Having never seen a pair of binoculars, let alone use them, it took Warmi several minutes of instruction by Francois to find the wolves. The moment he did, he jerked them down from his eyes. “El grande esta mirando a mi,” he said, fear spreading across his face.

“He said…” Francois began.

“I know what he said,” Cowboy interrupted. “We need to get moving.”

“We’re already moving,” Francois replied, motioning in the direction of Warmi, who was beating a hasty retreat, his family and Jason, who had stayed very close to the side of the children and their mother was right behind them.

A major disadvantage to being above timberline was the fact that other than a few boulders and maybe a low spot, there were no trees to provide concealment nor any other vegetation to speak of, unless someone wanted to lie down in a patch of tall grass. Lying down didn’t seem like a good idea to any of them.

After an hour of traveling, they paused. Cowboy and Francois to up a position at the rear, taking out the binoculars and taking turns scanning the slopes and valley behind them.

“I don’t like it,” Cowboy muttered. “I don’t see them. You give it a go.”

Francois accepted the binoculars and put them up to his eyes. Even with the magnification, the place where they had seen the pack an hour earlier was distant. He kept the glasses focused on that area, hoping to catch some movement. Nothing moved out there.

“You’re sure we didn’t make this up?” Francois asked. “You know, all in our head from altitude sickness.”

“We’ve been at this altitude and higher for a couple of weeks, France,” Cowboy responded.

“Well, they’ve disappeared.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” Jason said, coming up just in time to hear Francois’ last comment.

“No,” Cowboy responded. “That’s not a good thing. As long as we can see them off in the distance, we know where they are and they are no threat to us. Disappearing probably means we’re being stalked.”

“Maybe they went off somewhere else,” Jason said, accepting the binoculars from Francois.

Francois gave him some guidance to where they had last spotted the pack before they’d moved out. Jason studied the area, and then began to move forward in small increments, scanning from left to right in a 90 degree arc. As his scanning brought his view closer, his eyes picked up movement on the right edge of the arc.

“Got one,” he announced. “And it’s close.”

“Show me,” Cowboy said.

Jason pulled down the binoculars and pointed in the direction of the wolf he’d spotted in the glasses.

“I see another one,” Francois called out. He was looking well to the left of where Jason was indicating, and he had picked up the movement with his naked eye.

“Shit,” Cowboy whispered. “I see three or four without the glasses. They’re spreading out. Unless I miss my guess, they’re executing a flanking maneuver, planning to cut off our retreat.”

“You realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Francois mused.

“Yep, but that is what appears to be happening.”

“I count seven,” Jason said, continuing to scan the horizon with the binoculars. “Trotting along with lolling tongues, as if they’re just out for an afternoon stroll.”

“Lolling tongues?” Francois asked. “What is a lolling tongue?”

“It’s when your tongue hangs out of your mouth like this,” Jason responded, demonstrating to Francois as he passed the binoculars to Cowboy.

“That’s attractive,” Francois responded. “You do that a lot for Kelsi?”

“I’ve been doing that since the first time I met her,” Jason quipped.

“Could be why she’s not pregnant.”

The comment stung Jason a little and Francois could see that it had. Jason and Kelsi had been married longer than any of the other team members. Cowboy and his wife, Ash, already had a little girl, Kelsi Lux. Though the pair celebrated the arrival of their friends’ daughter, there was a touch of envy.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean too…” Francois began.

“Don’t worry over it,” Jason replied, cutting him off. “I kind of set myself up for that one.”

“What bothers me more than anything,” Cowboy started, seemingly oblivious to the conversation between Francois and Jason as he took the binoculars. “Is the fact that I can’t see that big alpha male.”

“And where are the other three?” Francois added.

“If I was a bettin’ man,” Cowboy said, pointing directly to his left. “I’d wager that two of them are that way a couple hundred yards out and the other two are in the opposite direction, about the same distance; one of the two pairs includin’ that alpha male.”

“So, they are circling us,” Jason said, his nervousness obvious in his low tone.

“France,” Cowboy said. “You better tell Warmi that wherever we’re headed, we better get there pronto.”

“Should I tell him why?”

“Yep. Ain’t no point in keepin’ ‘em in the dark. They’re in this up to their necks, same as we are.”

As Francois explained to Warmi what they had seen, the latter’s eyes widened with fear, as did those of his wife.

“I don’t know if we can make it in time,” Warmi responded. “It is still some distance.”

Francois translated his response.

“Tell him if he doesn’t try,” Cowboy said. “He and his family won’t be any better off than those sheep we buried.”

“That’s a little cold, Cowboy,” Jason commented.

“Yep. When people are cold, they tend to light a fire. I need a fire lit under Warmi and the lot of us if we’re going to get to where we’ll have a chance to defend ourselves.”

As if he understood what Cowboy had said, Warmi scooped up Amank’ay, placed her on his shoulders and began a steady trot in the direction of the shelf with the abandoned ichu huts. Jason followed his lead, taking Ch’ila on his back, which left Kamquta to struggle along in order to keep up. Fortunately, Francois and Cowboy stuck with her, urging her forward until she simply couldn’t keep pace. She wasn’t a big woman, so Cowboy passed his pack over to Francois and scooped her up on his shoulders, plunging ahead as Francois took up the rear, struggling with the two packs. After some distance, Cowboy began to fall behind, so Francois traded places with him.

“You better say your prayers that we’ll make it in time, France,” Cowboy said, as he struggled to catch his breath in the thin mountain air.

“I’ve been praying since we left the lab,” Francois responded.

“I been prayin’ before I made the hair-brained decision to come out here with a peashooter and a tin pan.”

“I’d love to ask where that came from, but I think I need to save my breath.”

“Just made it up,” Cowboy replied. He glanced left and right, wondering if they were outpacing the leggy predators that were hoping to make them the main course for their evening meal.

Chapter Sixteen

A sudden gust of cold wind, rising out of nowhere, slammed into them—one more obstacle in their desperate retreat. Still, they pressed on, the fear of being cut off by the wolves on their flank far outweighing any threat from the front.

No sign of their pursuers had emerged by the time they reached the final rise. Just ahead, scattered among the rocks, stood a cluster of abandoned ichu huts—a last stretch away. They’d made it.

These crude shelters, remnants of long-gone Aymara shepherds, were nestled in the chaos of wind-scoured boulders. Built from short poles lashed together and thatched with tough ichu grass, the huts clung stubbornly to the mountainside. In the rising wind, they would offer a bit of cover—but little in the way of defense against the predators stalking them.

The wolves’ sudden disappearance was more unsettling than if they’d remained in view. For all they knew, the whole pack could be crouched low in the tall grass, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Cowboy scanned the area quickly, then pointed to one of the huts that looked relatively intact.

“Jason, help Warmi fortify that one and get him and his family in there about ten minutes ago,” he commanded, his voice firm and somewhat reassuring. “Make it as secure as possible. France, you and I have got to be ready for a charge.”

The sun was dipping closer to the horizon, casting long shadows, amplifying the unease that gnawed at their nerves. A pack of sable-brown dire wolves, their sinister eyes gleaming with predatory hunger, was out there somewhere.

Using a boulder as cover, Francois scanned the horizon with the binoculars while Cowboy loaded a tranquilizer dart into the rifle. “See anything?”

“I caught sight of a couple of them, but they disappeared in a dip about a quarter mile out,” he responded.

Cowboy glanced toward the ichu hut, seeing Jason, Warmi, and Kamquta working at a feverish pace, robbing pieces from the broken down huts to reinforce the one. Even Amank’ay and Ch’ila were doing their part, carrying materials while Warmi and Jason secured them in place the best they could.

The disappearance of their pursuers was more unsettling than their presence, the unknown a far more potent weapon playing on their minds than any visible threat. Cowboy considered how he would defend in both directions with a single rifle when the rush came. They should have brought the other one instead of leaving it with Bryan and Edward, who were safe and cozy inside the lab facility.

Cowboy and Francois scanned the horizon, their senses on high alert. Neither of them spoke as they sorted through private thoughts. The wind was dying down a bit, but it was still there, weaving its chilly digits through the field of boulders to nip at them. The vast landscape spread out before them, usually a source of awe, felt oppressive, reminding them of their vulnerability.

Initially, they didn’t see it materialize from the shadows some fifty yards to their left. It was the alpha male, as imposing as he was beautiful, his mahogany fur reflecting the fading sunlight. Its eyes, burning with an unsettling intelligence, were fixed on the two of them.

A wave of inexplicable dread washed over them. An intense feeling, an unspoken threat. It seemed to be emanating from the wolf, invading their thoughts with an unnerving clarity, a silent warning, a telepathic intrusion that defied all sensibility.

“Did you... did you feel that?” Francois stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

Cowboy frowned, trying to rationalize the impossible. “Probably just nerves, France,” he muttered, though a seed of doubt had been planted in his mind. “It’s just a wolf. A big sumbitch, but still just a wolf.”

Dismissing the unsettling sensation, he stole a glance back toward the ichu hut, hoping the others had finished fortifying their position. He raised the tranquilizer gun.

“Reckon if I can drop this alpha, it will buy us a little more time?” Cowboy asked.

“Can’t hurt to try,” Francois responded. He carefully placed the box of extra cartridges on the boulder in front of them without taking his eyes off of the menacing predator in front of them.

Cowboy took aim, his finger hovering over the trigger. The alpha male stood motionless, an easy broadside shot. He focused, ignoring the feeling of unease in his mind as he lined up the sights on the animal’s sable-brown fur.

Letting out a long breath, he squeezed the trigger. With a soft hiss, the dart shot through the air, aimed squarely at the wolf’s flank. But in a move that defied explanation, the alpha male seemed to anticipate the shot. With a fluid, almost preternatural agility, it sidestepped the dart, the projectile whizzing harmlessly past its thick fur.

“I’ll be go to hell!” he snapped, staring in disbelief. “How’d I miss that shot?”

“He waited and sidestepped it,” Francois replied.

“Like hell he did,” Cowboy responded between clenched teeth. “Gimme another one.”

Francois, who already had the next cartridge in his hand, passed it to Cowboy. He quickly chambered the dart, zeroed in on his target, and fired again.

As before, the animal sidestepped the shot at the last moment. It was as if the wolf had known exactly when he was going to fire, predicting his actions with unnerving accuracy. He took a third dart from Francois, quickly chambered it, his mind racing and his frustration mounting.

“Dodge this one, you sumbitch,” he growled.

Again, he took aim, carefully controlling his breathing. He tried to vary his timing, break his own rhythm, but the wolf remained poised, its gaze unwavering, mocking him, inviting his shot. He fired.

The result was the same. The alpha male effortlessly dodged the dart, its movement too swift, too precise to be mere instinct. It was as if the wolf was toying with him, demonstrating its superiority with a chilling nonchalance.

“He knows when you’re going to pull the trigger,” Francois whispered.

“Goddammit, France, that’s impossible,” he snapped.

Francois shrugged. “How would you like to explain missing three broadside shots in a row from fifty yards?”

“I… shit!” He said, cutting off any excuse. He could shoot a flea off a squirrel’s back without hitting the squirrel at that distance. A prickle of fear dance down his spine. He was a man of reason, pragmatic to the core and accustomed to logical explanations for everything, but what he had just witnessed defied all reasonable explanations.

The alpha male stood untouched, its eyes glowing with a disturbing intelligence—calm, calculating, and cold. There was something unnatural in its gaze, as if it understood far too much. Then, without a sound, it turned away and vanished into the shadows.

Cowboy watched it go, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “This ain’t good,” he muttered. “Let’s check on the others.”

Twilight was falling fast, and with it came the pressing need to secure themselves behind the fragile shelter of the ichu hut. Whether it would be enough—they had no way of knowing.

“You going to tell them what just happened?” Francois asked quietly as they moved.

“Nope,” Cowboy said flatly. “Ain’t the time to be talkin’ about wolves with powers.”

Francois gave him a sidelong glance and a half-smile. “Or is it just too hard to admit you missed?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

The others had already ducked inside, working on securing the door. Cowboy and Francois crowded inside. Inside, Warmi, Kamquta, and Jason continued their feverish pace, reinforcing the thin walls with the pile of materials they had scavenged from the other huts. Warmi, his face etched with worry, muttered prayers to the mountain spirits of his people, hoping for their protection. The palpable tension hung heavy in the small enclosure as Cowboy and Francois lent a hand, hurrying the process along.

“Better grab a bite while we can,” Cowboy said.

Jason went to work digging MREs out of the three packs the team carried. Once he was finished, Cowboy called Jason and Francois outside with him. Warmi trailed along behind, eating as he listened.

“We got a problem, pard,” Cowboy began. “That wolf seems to be able to anticipate what I’m going to do… he sidestepped my shots three times.”

“That’s impossible,” Jason whispered.

“No, it’s not,” Francois insisted, trying to keep his tone even in spite of the fact his nerves were on edge. “It’s like… it’s like it’s reading our minds.”

Without thinking, Francois, like he’d been doing anytime they spoke in the presence of Warmi, repeated what he said in Spanish.

“Achachilas,” Warmi whispered, using the Aymara word for mountain spirits.

Everyone turned to look at him. Francois provided translation as he explained. “The gods sometimes send guardians. Powerful creatures, imbued with ancient magic.”

“It ain’t magic, Warmi,” Cowboy countered. “The fellers who built these critters fucked up big time and created monsters. That sumbitch ain’t no sort of guardian here to protect us.”

“Not to protect us,” Warmi responded after hearing Francois’ translation. “To protect the mountain. The gods are angry that their mountains have been invaded.”

“And we’re on the list of targets?” Cowboy scoffed.

Warmi continued. “After the wolves, they will send the cleansing rains. The wind is a signal of the coming rains. The Huayhuash is a very bad place to be when the rains come.”

As the light faded, all of them could feel that they were being watched from somewhere out in the deep grass.

Though he didn’t put his thoughts into words, Cowboy knew they were trapped, isolated in a fragile sanctuary of straw and suspicion, facing a threat that defied explanation. Unless he missed his guess, whether the alpha led its pack to attack or not, it would be a very long night.

Chapter Seventeen

Chests tightened with concern. Neither Lux nor Ben were able to breathe well as Chelsea, her voice strained, finished outlining the chilling reality of the dire wolf pack and its terrifying potential. They looked away from the cell phone set on speaker mode in the center of the table, exchanging a grim glance. Time was slipping away. Cowboy, Francois, and Jason, still in the heart of the Huayhuash Mountains, were vulnerable and unaware of the latent power they were up against.

Mark Olsen was proving to be a fatal bottleneck. Waiting for him to assemble a containment team felt like watching a slow-motion train wreck.

“We can’t wait on Olsen any longer, mate,” Ben said, his voice tight with urgency. “Even if we had an extraction team assembled yesterday, it’ll still be all over the shop. We need to move, and we need to do it now!”

Lux nodded, her face etched with determination. “Olsen’s bogged down. We’ll have to do this ourselves.”

The dire wolf pack, a relic of a bygone era, resurrected by ill-advised science. The work of a madman on the scale of Frankenstein posed a threat that dwarfed anything they’d faced before. Their enhanced strength, intelligence, and pack mentality made them formidable predators, capable of wreaking havoc on an unimaginable scale. The thought of what they could do, unchecked and uncontrolled, went beyond the worst imaginations of the cryptid hunters.

Lux left the room. Ben could hear her rummaging through files, searching for something, knowing she was looking for a solution to their grave problem. She came back carrying a thin file folder.

“Chelsea,” she announced. “I’m going to have to end our call. I need my phone.”

“Sounds like you have a plan,” Chelsea ventured. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“Cross your fingers,” she responded. “It’s a long shot.”

“Fingers and toes,” Chelsea responded. “Keep me in the loop.”

“Will do.”

Lux disconnected the call, opened the file folder, put one finger on the phone number printed there, and used the other to dial it.

“Who you callin’, mate?”

“I know a guy,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Under normal circumstances, that might raise some concerns,” he grinned.

“He’s a colonel in the New Mexico National Guard and he owes me a favor,” she said. “Though I never thought I’d use it.”

The colonel, a by-the-book, honorable officer named Colonel Ramirez, had served alongside Lux’s father years ago. The favor was a debt of honor, a promise made in a moment of shared peril. Lux had always hoped she’d never have to call it in, but the stakes were too high to hesitate.

“I’ll be goddammed,” Ramirez shouted into the phone when she told him who she was. “Little Lux. How the hell have you been?”

“Fair to middlin’,” she replied, using the East Texas phrase with relaxed ease.

“Seen yer name pop up a time or two in association with hunting Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster,” he started to chuckle. “Guess neither one of them got you.”

“Nope. We’ve managed to stay out of reach,” she responded.

Colonel Ramirez could tell by her tone that she had something heavy on her mind. His voice became something of a growl. “This isn’t a social call, is it?”

“I need transportation,” she said, quickly going straight to the point, her voice gaining strength as she spoke.

“Hmmm. Military transport, I assume. Where too?”

“Las Palmas military base outside Lima, Peru. And…”

“Jesus, Lux,” he responded, cutting her off. “That’s a tall order.”

Lux plunged ahead with determination. “And about ten men, well-armed. We also need a Huey to take us into the Huayhuash Mountains.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line, broken only by the static of the connection. Finally, Colonel Ramirez spoke, his voice laced with skepticism. “Lux, you know I can’t just conjure up a military operation on a whim. That’s a logistical nightmare. What’s going on?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she said.

“I damned sure need some excuse for ordering up what you’re asking for,” he responded. “Even if it’s just a goddammed good lie.”

Lux took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable resistance. She knew what she was asking was bordering on impossible, a blatant misuse of military resources. But the potential consequences of inaction were far more devastating.

“Colonel, I can’t go into all the details over the phone,” she said, her voice low and urgent. “I wouldn’t be calling if the situation wasn’t critical. There’s a development in the Huayhuash Mountains that could have global ramifications. We’re talking about a potential catastrophe, Colonel. A threat unlike anything you’ve ever encountered.”

Ramirez remained unconvinced. “Lux, you’re not giving me much to go on. You’re asking me to divert military assets to a remote region of Peru based on… what? Vague warnings of a ‘catastrophe’? I need something a little more concrete.”

Lux hesitated. She couldn’t reveal the specifics of the dire wolf pack without risking a potential leak, without potentially triggering a panic. But she knew she had to give him something, something that would underscore the gravity of the situation. If she couldn’t trust him, then there would be no hope of rescuing her friends and teammates.

“Colonel, I can tell you this,” she said, her voice tight with conviction. “We’re dealing with an apex predator, a pack of about a dozen, to be exact. They have been extinct for about ten thousand years and were redesigned in an illegal genetics lab in the Huayhuash Mountains. It… they are engineered with greater intelligence, increased adaptable and some other incredibly dangerous capabilities that could spell disaster worldwide if not contained.”

The silence on the other end was disheartening. Lux could feel Ramirez’s skepticism radiating through the phone line.

“An apex predator? Extinct for millennia?” He let out a long sigh. “This isn’t one of your Big Foot ventures?”

“No sir, five of my friends stumbled upon the lab and six dead bodies when they were trekking in the Huayhuash Mountains. Cowboy took two of them with him to track the wolves while the other two have been feeding us data from the researchers’ notes. We’re dealing with something that is extremely dangerous.”

“When you said Cowboy,” he growled. “Are you talking about Dustin McCord?”

“Yes sir,” she replied. “Dustin, Francois, and Jason, three of my teammates are out there. They don’t know what we know. They’re walking into the unknown, completely unprepared for what they’re up against. It could be too late for them already, but if we don’t get this contained...”

“Lux, you’re asking for a lot,” Ramirez sighed heavily. “I’ll be sticking my neck out a mile and somebody in the Pentagon is apt to use it as a chopping block. There could be serious repercussions if this turns out to be nothing more than trailing Peru’s version of Sasquath.”

“I understand the risks, Colonel,” Lux replied. “If I wasn’t completely sure of the potential consequences of inaction, I wouldn’t have bothered to call you. I don’t want to tell you your business, sir, but we need to act, and we need to act now.”

“Sounds a lot like you’re telling me my business,” he snapped.

For what seemed like an eternity, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the crackling static on the phone line, amplifying the tension between them. Finally, Ramirez broke the silence.

“Alright, Lux,” he said, his voice resigned. “You’ve always been a persuasive one, just like your daddy. I’ll see what I can do. But I’m making no promises. This is going to be a long shot, and there’s a good chance I won’t be able to pull it off. But I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask of you, sir.” A wave of relief washed over Lux, so potent it almost brought her to her knees. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You know the clusterfuck that is military bureaucracy. This could be a bumpy ride,” Ramirez replied. “For both our sakes, I hope you’re right about your assessment of the potential threat.”

“I’ll have Dr. Buckley send you the intel she’s gathered regarding the Lycaon Project and its potential threat.”

“I’ll put my people on it. It will probably help me make a more convincing argument.”

The colonel abruptly disconnected the call. She turned to Ben, her eyes shining with a newfound hope. “He’s going to try.”

Ben let out a long breath, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. “That’s the best we can hope for at this point,” he said. “Better get our bags packed. We need to get ready to move.”

“I’ll check to see what Olsen has come up with. You fill Chelsea in,” she said. “Then we’ll pack our bags.”

Chapter Eighteen

Cowboy heard them creeping up in the tall grass in the deepest silence of the night after the gusting winds had died down into little more than a gentle breeze. Though a faint sound, once recognized, it ruptured the calm state of alert that had hung over the waiting captives inside the hut for hours.

“I’ll be damned if I’m gonna sit in here like a goddammed prairie dog waitin’ to be snatched up by a coyote,” Cowboy groused, getting to his feet and slipping through the door of the hut. As he passed through the exit, he saw a crouched animal only yards away. He swung the butt of the rifle at it and charged forward, surprising it with his aggressiveness. An idea suddenly popped into his mind.

“France!” he called out. “Come along behind me. Let’s set those other huts on fire. Grab the sticks and make torches. Jason, you rattle out an’ give France a hand. An’ let’s get a stick in Warmi’s hands too. I’ll be hanged if we’re gonna make this easy for them.”

“Let’s hope that alpha’s the only one that reads minds,” Francois pointed out, grabbing Jason and Warmi as he rushed to set the hut on fire.

Thanks to their dry grass construction, the three ichu huts exploded in flames, instantly revealing the positions of their attackers. Cowboy raised his rifle and fired at one of their surprised attackers. It dropped instantly.

“Like nicking Pete’s dosh,” he bellowed, using the phrase he’d borrowed from his Aussie friend, Ben. “France, where the hell are them extra cartridges? I’ll see how many of these I can put outta the fight.”

Francois, torch in his hand, rushed back to Cowboy, handed him his torch, and slipped into the hut. The startled eyes of Kamquta and the children met him, adding greater determination to his will to defend them from the vicious attack that was about to begin. Turning his eyes from them, he spied the box of tranquilizer cartridges, snatched it up and rushed back out.

“Put ‘em on top o’ this flattopped boulder,” Cowboy ordered. “Circle up with a burnin’ hut at yer back and keep swingin’ them torches.”

Cowboy opened the breach on the rifle, slipped another cartridge into it, closed it, and searched for his next target. He found one pretty quickly. The sudden explosion of flames had caused the wolves to retreat, but they’d regained their confidence and were coming forward at a measured pace.

Sighting down the barrel of the rifle, Cowboy pulled the trigger on another unsuspecting target, sending a sleep-inducing dose of liquid into the white fur on its chest. Before he could put a third cartridge into the rifle, the wolves rushed them all at once. He had to duck quickly behind the boulder as one of them lunged at him. He swung the butt of his rifle at the predator suspended in midair, knocking it off balance. It tumbled when it hit the ground. He turned back to grab another cartridge from the box on the boulder. In his haste, he knocked the box off of the boulder, scattering cartridges all over the ground.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, struggling to open the breach so he could insert the cartridge he held in his hand. In that same instant, he was hit from behind by a heavy body. He tumbled under the weight of the blow, losing the rifle, but keeping his grip on the tranquilizer dart.

In an instant, he found himself on his back with a massive set of jaws, ready to deal their fatal blow. He jabbed the dart into the beast’s neck, praying it would do its work without the force of the rifle behind it. The animal suddenly went limp, and he scrambled out from under it.

Not being able to find his rifle, Cowboy rushed to the fire, dragging one of the burning branches used to make its walls and roof out of the flames. It was in his hand just in time to swing it at an oncoming attacker, knocking it off course and drawing a startled yelp.

The large bonfires and the flames on the ends of clubs swung at them, caused the wolves to retreat slightly. They were in a standoff. Seeing the way they were lined up, Cowboy thought of the tranquilizer rifle. If he could pick off several more, he could even things up a little bit.

“France,” he called out. “Can you ease over here and provide me some cover while I try to find that rifle I dropped? If I can pick off a few more, we’ll be in better shape.”

“I’m a bit busy holding my own line, Cowboy,” Francois replied.

“I can help,” Jason volunteered, moving quickly to Cowboy’s side.

The tranquilizer rifle hadn’t fallen far from where he’d been hit by his attacker. He quickly snatched it up. “Gotta find a few cartridges, too.”

“Here are a couple,” Jason said, squatting to pick up two.

“I got a couple more over here too,” Cowboy said. When he reached for the first, he looked up into the menacing eyes of the alpha male. He snatched up the first cartridge before starting to back away.

The alpha male, mocking him with victorious eyes, held its ground, daring him to repeat the game they’d played before sunset.

“I wondered when you’d show up to this fight, you sumbitch,” Cowboy growled.

The wolf responded with a growl of its own.

Cowboy could feel it attempting to control his thoughts. “You go to hell,” he said aloud, fighting against the feeling of despair the wolf was trying to put inside his mind. To punctuate his statement, he rushed forward, swinging the flaming end of the stick at the wolf’s massive head.

The animal sidestepped his attempt easily, holding its ground. Cowboy, along with Jason, backed toward the nearest burning hut to refill the gap they’d made in their defenses. His eyes locked on those of the telepathic predator, Cowboy handed his burning torch to Jason as he loaded the rifle. He knew better than to attempt a shot at the alpha, but there were plenty of other targets to choose from. He snatched off a shot at one who was creeping in particularly close to Francois in an attempt to flank him. It went down in a heap and Cowboy reloaded.

The alpha crept forward, recognizing that his numbers were being reduced by Cowboy’s shooting.

“Keep that sumbitch at bay while I load another one,” Cowboy called out.

Jason, stepping into the gap between Cowboy and alpha, swung his burning torch at the leader of the pack. It was enough to get the animal to pause.

“There’s no way we can win this fight!” Jason called out.

“The hell you say!” Cowboy replied. “That’s just that sumbitch messin’ with yer mind. Keep your hand in yer bull rope, pard.”

“Keep my hand in my bull rope?” Jason asked. The odd expression provided a distraction for his mind, blocking the alpha’s attempt to influence his thoughts. “What the hell does that mean?”

Cowboy, closing the breach on the rifle, turned quickly, sent a dart downrange toward an attacker that had closed in on Warmi’s right flank, temporarily removing the nearest threat to the Aymara shepherd, and then opened the breach to load his last cartridge.

“If yer hand comes out o’ yer bull rope, you get bucked off,” he responded.

“So?”

“Your bull rope and yer spurs are the only way you can control yer fate when you’re ridin’ an ol’ Brahma.”

Suddenly understanding his point, Jason let out a long laugh, relieving his tension. The other three joined him, feeling a sense of relief wash over them as they stood their ground and remained alive.

Cowboy was able to get off a shot at another of their attackers, which put more than half of them asleep. The four of them, with their flaming torches and the help of the bonfires, easily held off those that remained, though their minds were under constant assault.

They fought off the psychological attack being waged on them using obscure conversations and sheer will-power. Eventually, recognizing that the pack would not overtake their quarry, the alpha silently called for a retreat. By that time, the first three Cowboy put down with tranquilizer darts were able to regain their feet and stagger off with their leader still woozy from the effect of the drug.

“Hustle up an’ get a muzzle on those other three and get them tied up,” Cowboy ordered. “Unless I miss my guess, this fight ain’t over. No point lettin’ those three back in the game.”

With the three wolves muzzled and tied, the four of them stood guard, keeping a burning torch in their hands, even as the fires died out and dawn began to break over the horizon.

The warmth of the sun brought some relief and renewed confidence to the group. Two stayed on watch while two had their breakfast and then switched with the other two.

“Well, pards,” Cowboy announced, motioning to the three piles of smoking embers that had been ichu huts, and then bonfires. “We won the battle but we lost the war.”

There was no explanation needed. When night fell, there would be no bonfires and no torches to keep their attackers at bay. The grim reality quickly dampened the feeling of victory they’d enjoyed for only a short time.

Chapter Nineteen

“By god, Lux,” Colonel Ramirez bellowed as he saw her coming across the hangar at the National Guard. “It’s been a long damn time.”

“Yes it has, Colonel,” she grinned.

“You look a little like your old man with your game face on and that pistol strapped to your hip.”

“Daddy taught me how to use it,” she responded, her eyes twinkling as she remembered their time together at the firing range as well as out in the East Texas woods.

“Lieutenant,” Ramirez snapped. “This is Lux Branson and her husband. Actually, I guess it isn’t Branson anymore.”

“Makarios,” she corrected. “My husband’s name is Ben.”

Ben stepped forward, grasped the colonel’s hand in a firm grip. “Good to meet ya, mate.”

Colonel Ramirez gave him a measuring glance, and then his lips formed a wry smile. “By god, Lux, your Aussie damn sure looks man enough to partner up with you.”

“He’s man enough,” she responded.

Ramirez turned back to Lieutenant Everly. “Her daddy was one of my best buddies all the way back to when we were in basics together. Went our separate ways after I enrolled in OCS, but he was assigned to my command some years later. Got into a scrape in El Salvador and he saved my bacon.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” Lieutenant Everly said, extending his hand to her, and then to Ben. “As well as that of your husband.”

“Pleasure’s ours,” she returned. “Please don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old.”

“Ma’am,” he chuckled. “If I didn’t call you ma’am, the colonel would put me up for court martial.”

“Damn straight!” Ramirez bellowed. “Everly and his crew ran through the intel your Dr. Buckley forwarded to us. We damned sure have a hell of a situation to deal with here. I’ll have him brief you on the flight. You got about 3800 miles and a little over ten hours to talk things through, but we need to get a move on. I’ll accompany you to Las Palmas, but Everly will lead in the field.”

“Understood, Colonel,” Lux responded.

“Good.” He turned to Everly. “Lieutenant, let’s get this show on the road. We’re burnin’ daylight!”

Hearing the phrase, both Lux and Ben burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Cowboy… Dustin McCord uses that same phrase all the time,” she said.

“Smart man,” he snapped, allowing a grin to spread across his lips. “Can’t wait to meet him. He’s something of a hero to me. I’ll explain some other time, but he’s part of the reason I raised bully hell to get this operation approved.”

“Let’s hope we get there in time,” Lux responded, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Lieutenant!”

“Yes, sir!” He turned to a man near the rear of the jet that would be their transport. “Let’s get what’s left of that gear and the men in that jet yesterday!”

“Yes, sir!” he wheeled on the cluster of men who were already responding to the Lieutenant’s command. “You heard him, you lazy bunch of tarmac lizards. You’re not gettin’ paid by the hour. I want the goddammed cargo bay on this bird closed in less than five minutes and I want everything we need to invade Afghanistan in it. Move it!”

Once the C-27 Spartan was airborne, she and Ben were called forward to a tactical room where Lieutenant Everly had a map already spread out on the wall. “We’ll be 10 hours and 30 minutes in the air from when we left Albuquerque until we’re on the tarmac at Las Palmas. As the Colonel already informed you, it’s 3800 miles. This bird will not need to stop and we have enough JP-8 to get us all the way there without needing a tanker.

“We’ll be on the tarmac a little before daylight, giving us enough time to hustle off this bird and onto a UH-1 Iroquois, more affectionately known as a Huey. We won’t even break to take a whiz…” He froze, realizing he was a little too forthcoming with the euphemism and rephrased it. “Use the restroom.”

“Take a whiz is fine, Lieutenant,” Lux chuckled. “I was raised huntin’ the East Texas woods and I learned to take a whiz in the brush.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, clearing his throat.

“This bird is equipped with a lavatory, so everyone is expected to tend to their business before we land,” the Colonel who had been listening in to the briefing, pointed out. “Continue, Lieutenant.”

“From Las Palmas, ingress to where the lab and your team are located in the Huayhuash Mountains should take a little over an hour and a half. We’ve already received authorization from the Peruvian government to carry out our operation, which we are calling a training exercise. They will send an observation team along in a separate bird since ours will be full.

“I understand that a representative from GenSys will be joining us at Las Palmas to oversee containment on the company’s behalf…”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t be too concerned about that,” she replied. “We’ll handle this and make apologies later.”

“Understood,” Lieutenant Everly responded.

Colonel Ramirez couldn’t hold back the chuckle that rose up from his chest. “Just like your old man.”

“We’ll patch through to your team members in the lab when we get into the containment zone. If your team in the field has not returned, we will provide aerial reconnaissance in order to locate them and/or the subjects to be contained. When either is located, our team will provide the necessary support to rescue and/or contain the threat. Am I to assume that the two of you will be a part of that operation?”

“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” she replied.

“Let me advise you to please allow our team to operate without interference.”

“Lieutenant,” Lux responded. “We have three friends in a heap of shit out there. Ben and I will do whatever is necessary to get them out of it. With that in mind, my advice is that you either lead, follow, or stay the hell out of our way.”

Lieutenant Everly glanced toward Colonel Ramirez.

“You heard her as plainly as I did, Lieutenant,” he grinned.

“Anything else we need to discuss?” Lux asked.

“That’s about it for now,” Everly responded.

“I’d suggest you two try to get some shut-eye. Daylight will come awful early,” the Colonel said. Seeing their expressions, a crooked smile broke over his lips. “Another of McCord’s sayings?”

Ben and Lux nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Dismissed.”

They were a little more than an hour out from Lima when Sargent Lucero began to wake everybody up, letting them know they needed to take care of their bathroom business before landing because there wouldn’t be “any time to visit the powder room at the airport.”

The majority of restroom visits had been taken care of when Colonel Ramirez, with Lieutenant Everly trailing behind, stepped into the seating area. “Attention on deck,” Sargent Lucero called out.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Ramirez began. “I hope you are well-rested and focused. If you are not, I want to provide you with a little bit of encouragement.”

He paused to make sure all eyes were focused on him.

“For years, I’ve followed rodeo. Most of you, since you grew up in New Mexico, are already acquainted with the sport. One of my favorite rodeo events is bull riding. Whether it’s amateur, PRCA, or PBR, I love to watch bull riding.

“Wasn’t long after I was stationed in New Mexico that one of the state’s own cowboys rose up through the ranks and became a world champion, defended his title twice. He was well on his way to defending another. He was leading the standings when he arrived at Cheyenne Frontier days and drew one of the sports top ranked bulls. They called him Mudslinger.

“This cowboy did what only one or two other riders had done, rode him the full eight seconds and put up a score that was sure to put him in the final go round for the buckle and the money. As he was scrambling away from his ride, however, Mudslinger planted a hoof in his back.”

Lux felt her tears welling up as she listened to Colonel Ramirez tell his story. Ben reached over and took hold of her hand, fighting the lump in his throat as well.

“That cowboy, a three-time world champion, suffered a spinal injury. The doctors in Cheyenne told him he’d never walk again. However, this cowboy wasn’t having any of that. He made up his mind that he would walk again. In fact, he would start climbing mountains. That same cowboy, several years later, ascended Mount Everest, coming up a half-day short of reaching the top, but by god he damned sure defied the odds.”

He paused and looked at the group. He nodded toward Ben and Lux before continuing. “That cowboy, Dustin McCord, along with four of his climbing buddies, went out to track and contain a pack of genetically engineered wolves with superior intelligence to any canine known to man armed with nothing more than a tranquilizer rifle and a couple dozen cartridges.

“Two of his climbing buddies, who stayed behind in the genetic lab they stumbled onto, have been going through the research notes and feeding information to his team, which includes Lux and Ben here,” he said, motioning toward them.

“What we have discovered about these animals is far beyond what Cowboy and his team can probably handle. Gentlemen, Dustin McCord has his back up against the wall and he needs our help. So, get your goddammed game faces on and get ready to do just that.”

The soldiers’ response was resounding. With a half grin on his face, Colonel Ramirez made his way over to Ben and Lux.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, dabbing at the tears threatening to spill over the rims of her eyes.

“I’ve got one question for you, Lux,” he said.

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t McCord get all the way to the top of Everest?”

“He got in a fight with a yeti and fell off a cliff,” she responded.

“I’ll be go to hell!” he bellowed. A broad smile spread across his face. He muttered as he turned away. “Now I really can’t wait to meet that son of a bitch!”

Chapter Twenty

“I think I found most of them,” Jason announced, handing the box of tranquilizer cartridges to Cowboy.

“How many?” he asked without looking up from his examination of the bound animal he was squatting beside.

“Eleven,” Jason answered.

“That’s probably about all I had left anyway,” he answered. He stroked the fur of the animal, which growled, snapped and struggled against its bonds, resisting his touch. He spoke in an even, comforting tone, just like he did when working with his horses and his cattle, hoping to keep them calm.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Cowboy said, his voice surprisingly calm despite the powerful animal thrashing before them. “Even muzzled and bound, you can feel the sheer force radiating from it.”

The dire wolf, easily the size of a small pony, strained against the ropes, its immense muscles bunching and flexing beneath its thick, sable-brown fur. The makeshift muzzle made from pieces of one of their climbing ropes, prevented the creature from opening its jaws, but its eyes blazed with primal rage.

“Powerful is an understatement,” Jason replied, his gaze unwavering. “That thing has the bite force of a blacksmith’s vice. Its claws, even dulled they could tear through leather like parchment.”

Cowboy knelt beside the wolf, continuing to speak in a low, soothing tone. He glanced at the other two wolves they’d muzzled and tied while they were tranquilized. “Easy now, easy. If we had a lick o’ sense, we’d cut their throats.”

The dire wolf, perhaps sensing the sincerity in Cowboy’s voice, seemed to relax slightly, its struggles becoming less frantic, but Cowboy knew better than to be fooled by the reaction. This was a predator, an apex creature, genetically engineered to be a lethal force. He wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to the animal. Perhaps it had some remembrance of a soft hand, soothing voice, or feeding before escaping the lab.

“We can’t afford to be complacent,” Jason warned, his voice sharp. “This thing was anything but calm when we were being attacked, but I don’t know about putting it down.”

Cowboy nodded, his eyes fixed on the creature before him. “You wouldn’t have hesitated to kill it last night, neither would I, but now, it doesn’t seem right somehow. Of course, in the long run, they’ll all probably be put down. Too damned dangerous.”

He stood, turning in time to see Francois and Warmi coming out of the hut. Warmi was studying the sky. “Va a llover.”

“I’m guessing he said it’s going to rain,” Cowboy mused, glancing up at the dark clouds.

“Yes,” Francois replied. “That’s what he said.”

“We have a decision to make, pards,” Cowboy said in a grave tone. “We don’t have anything else to burn except the hut we fixed up. If the pack rushes us again, we won’t have any way of defending ourselves. I can probably only take down a couple with the tranquilizer darts. So, either we hang tough here an’ hope that hut holds against another attack or we start out toward the lab, maybe we can win a race.”

“I’m sure Chelsea has arranged for backup by now,” Francois said. “Bryan was feeding her data about these wolves when we left and she had Lux looking into GenSys. If we can buy a little more time here. Maybe another night…”

Warmi touched Francois’ shoulder and asked him to translate. After the translation, he provided his opinion. “I think it will rain very hard today. Probably it will rain very hard into the night as well. When the first rain comes, sometimes it rains for many days. I think we will be much happier to be in the shelter. Maybe the wolves won’t attack.”

Cowboy nodded. “He makes a lot of sense. We’d be easy pickin’s for that pack stretched out on a trail back to the lab. An’ Francois is probably right. Chelsea and Lux probably already have backup on the way. Stayin’ put may be the right idea. Jason.”

Jason glanced back at the tied wolves and then gave his opinion. “Seeing the power, teeth, and claws on those things up close, I don’t think the hut will stand up to an attack, but maybe it would be easier to pick them off as they dig in and are struggling to come through the hole. We have some knives among us. It’ll be ugly work, but…”

Listening to Jason, an idea suddenly came to Cowboy as he remembered jamming the tranquilizer dart into the neck of the wolf, who knocked him to the ground. “One o’ them critters I tranquilized, I did it by jamming a dart into it. If we sat tight in that hut, maybe got some of the few sticks we have left, give ‘em something to chew on instead of our arms and legs, another of us might be able to jam a dart into it or a knife… or both.”

Francois was translating their discussion as they spoke, so when Cowboy finished, he was ready to add his opinion again. “I think both of your ideas are reasonable. We will need steady nerves, much courage, and plenty of prayers, but perhaps we will survive with only a few wounds.”

“Sounds like the unanimous decision is to stay here,” Cowboy concluded. “If that’s the case, we need to gather some sticks an’ work out our strategy.”

As they spread out to gather the few unburned sticks that were lying about, the rain came. It was sudden, and it came down in buckets.

“Aguacerro,” Warmi commented as they made their way into the hut with their collection of sticks.

“Cloudburst,” Jason observed.

“Gully-washer,” Cowboy said.

“You all said the same thing,” Francois chuckled. “I think. I’m not sure what a gully-washer is.”

“Come out to the ranch sometime when it’s rainin’ like this an’ I’ll show you a gully-washer,” Cowboy smiled. Not fond of being cooped up. He moved to the doorway, standing beyond the reach of the rain, but looking out at the surrounding mountains and valleys. “You couldn’t see ten feet in front of you out there.”

“I guess Warmi was right then,” Francois commented. “We’ll be much happier in this hut.”

“There are a few leaks,” Jason pointed out, moving away from a steady stream of drops that were falling on his shoulder.

Kamquta moved a small pot to catch the drops. Other pots and containers were produced to catch a half-dozen more leaks, but for the most part, they remained dry inside.

“If this would clear up a bit, I’d go out with that rifle and see if I couldn’t pick off a couple more o’ those critters from cover,” Cowboy commented after a couple hours of lighter but steady rain. “Maybe calculate a way to get a dart into that alpha.”

“Based on what I saw yesterday,” Francois grinned. “I don’t think you can outsmart it.”

“Yeah. Well, I ain’t built for sittin’ ‘round waitin’ on somethin’ to happen.”

“Aren’t you a little bit tired?” Jason asked.

“Reckon I am,” Cowboy replied.

“Why don’t you take a nap?” Jason nodded in the direction of Warmi, Kamquta and the two children who were fast asleep, finally able to relax from the stress they’d been through.

“When it’s daylight?” Cowboy asked, shocked by the suggestion.

“You may need to be awake and alert tonight,” Francois suggested. “Perhaps we should all take naps in shifts?”

“Probably a good idea, France,” Cowboy responded. “You go first.”

“I’m really not tired.”

“Neither am I. Jason?”

“Yeah. I’m not tired either.”

“Well, then. That settles that,” Cowboy chuckled.

Eventually, each of the three took a short nap as the day stretched on under a steady downpour. By nightfall, there was still no sign that it was going to let up, but they all felt somewhat refreshed and alert, ready to defend their shelter against the onslaught of the wolf pack.

Near midnight, their original state of alert was beginning to die off. Cowboy recognized that they were not as sharp as they ought to be and stirred everyone to life. When no attack came, they became complacent once more.

In spite of knowing that an attack while they were in a state of complacency could be fatal. For a brief moment, he wondered if the alpha had changed its strategy. Was it using its telepathy to lull everyone to sleep?

In spite of the evidence, Cowboy simply couldn’t accept that the wolf was that clever.

“I’ll just let ‘em sleep,” he muttered in a soft voice. “Maybe they’ll need their strength later.” He made the concession, in part, because there was nothing he or anyone else could do to keep them alert and awake. However, he was determined to remain awake and fought against his own heavy eyelids. Eventually, he too succumbed to the boredom and weariness eating away at his conscience.

They were sitting ducks as the alpha led the pack through the pouring rain toward the ichu hut.

Chapter Twenty-one

Back in their home in New York, safe and relatively sound, Chelsea felt a profound disconnect from the chilling reality her husband and friends were facing in the remote wilderness of the Huayhuash Mountains.

Francois, her adventurous and resourceful husband, along with Cowboy and Jason, were facing a level of danger they were completely unprepared for. They should never have gone out from the lab to track down the genetically engineered wolves on their own.

Though she’d been with them to track various cryptids in different parts of the world, they were typically fully aware of what they were up against and prepared to face it, most of the time anyway. She considered the Nantinaq in Portlock, Alaska, which had attacked Jason out of nowhere. There were always some exceptions.

She’d been in the field with the team, facing dangerous situations. In fact, she and Francois had been taken captive by the Rugaru in the Louisiana Bayou. They were moments from being sacrificed when Cowboy, Jason, and Jackson showed up, guns blazing.

In the field, the team was extremely resourceful, especially Cowboy, who always seemed to come up with a solution when all hope was lost. Sometimes, it was just his dumb, blind luck, but everyone had gotten to where they never stopped believing that he or it would come through. How much luck could one person have? Would he have the resources to come up with a solution?

These wolves were different, enhanced with abilities that pushed the boundaries of natural selection. The research notes, which Chelsea had poured over countless times, spoke of heightened senses, unnaturally aggressive behavior, and, most disturbingly, one alpha wolf possessing telepathic capabilities.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Telepathy. It sounded like something ripped from the pages of a science fiction novel, yet it was terrifyingly real. With cryptids, which were somewhat supernatural, but still natural, there was at least some predictability, but these engineered creatures were completely unpredictable. The capabilities they were aware of were horrifying enough, but what about the unknown ones? Their potential terrified her.

A retrieval team, led by the capable and ever-reliable Ben and Lux, was en route. They, along with a specialized containment team, were the cavalry, the reinforcements Chelsea desperately hoped would arrive in time. But the vastness of the wilderness, the unpredictable nature of the wolves, and the sheer logistical challenges gnawed at her resolve, stretching the limits of her endurance.

She’d spent the night poring over the notes Bryan had forwarded to her, looking for some clue as to the vulnerability of the wolves, but it had only added to her worry. She checked her watch one more time. It was 5 am in Peru. Was it still too early to wake Bryan and Edward to ask if the team had returned? How many times had she asked that question over the past couple of days? She was sure the two of them were tired of having to give her the same answer? No, they’re not here. No, we don’t know anything new.

Chelsea reached for her phone. Even if they were tired of her questions, she needed to connect with someone, to share the burden of her worry, to find some semblance of comfort in the shared experience. She dialed Bryan at the GenSys lab in Peru.

The connection crackled to life, and Bryan’s voice, tinged with fatigue, filled her ear. “Hey Chels. How you holding up?”

“I’m a complete fucking wreck,” she responded. “Didn’t sleep at all.”

“I know. Me too. I’ve been up all night going through all of these research notes for the hundredth time.”

“Find anything new?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t think I need to ask if the guys are back,” she said.

“If they were, that would have been the first thing out of my mouth,” he replied. “Or I would have just let Francois answer the phone.”

“Any contact from Ben and Lux?”

“Nothing from them yet either,” he replied. He sighed heavily, a sound that resonated with shared understanding. “Cowboy, Francois, and Jason are all very resourceful. They’ll find a way to come through or hold out until Ben and Lux arrive. They always do.”

“What if they don’t this time?” she felt the tears begin to flow down her cheeks as some of her stress burned off thanks to contact with a mutual friend who was a bit closer to the situation.

“They will, Chels,” he replied. “You have to believe that.”

Chelsea appreciated Bryan’s attempt at comfort, but this time, the stakes were higher, the enemy more unpredictable. “It’s what we don’t know about these creatures that terrifies me.”

“That worries me too, but they are still just creatures,” Bryan said. He chuckled softly. “Or as Cowboy would say, critters.”

She couldn’t hold back the soft laugh that came up from her chest. Cowboy was one of a kind. They considered Lux the head of the team, the elder of their tribe, so to speak, but Cowboy was their spiritual leader. The one whose projected confidence and devil-may-care personality always seemed to provide so much encouragement.

She’d been in contact with Ash several times since Cowboy went out. She too exuded the same quiet confidence that everything would be alright, but she wondered if deep inside, Ash was worried that whatever luck or magic her husband possessed would finally run out. Did Ash stay up all night worrying like she had?

She and Bryan talked a while longer, changing to other subjects and discussing the potential ramifications of genetic research in general, doing their best to distract each other from the looming threat. Bryan’s voice, though tired, offered a sense of camaraderie and shared purpose, a reminder that they were not alone in this endeavor.

“Look, Chelsea, try to get some rest. Worrying won’t help anyone. Trust the team, trust Ben and Lux. They’ll get through this challenge just like...”

“Hold on a sec, Bryan,” Chelsea interrupted. “I’m getting another call. Probably Lux.”

She pressed the button to put Bryan on hold and answered the waiting call. “What’s going on?”

“We’re sitting here on the fucking tarmac in Lima, waiting for the rain to clear,” Lux said. “We should be on the helicopter flying into the Huayhuash Mountains, but we’re stuck here.”

“How long will you be stuck?”

“Nobody knows… hold on a sec,” she said. “I’ll call you back.”

When she clicked off the call, Chelsea switched back to Bryan. “That was Lux. They’re stuck in Lima waiting for the rain to clear.”

“Shit,” Bryan whispered. “They’d be here in little over an hour if they could get in the air.”

“She’s going to call me back,” Chelsea said. “So, I’ll call you afterward.”

As Chelsea was disconnecting the call, Edward shuffled into the lab, stretching and yawning. “Was that Chelsea?”

“Yes,” Bryan responded. “Sleep well?”

“Not really, but I dozed off at some point. You?”

“Not even a nod.”

“How’s Chels holding up?”

“Her nerves have hit their raw edge and I don’t think she’s slept more than a couple of hours in the last three days.”

“Lux and Ben?”

“Stuck in Lima because of the rain.”

“Shit. I’m going to go check the weather here,” Edward responded. “Not that it probably makes any difference.”

He was back a few minutes later. “Still raining. Not really hard like before, but I can’t even see the lake this morning with the clouds down so low.”

“Those low clouds are probably the reason they can’t fly the chopper out of Lima.”

“I thought military pilots didn’t give a shit about flying in weather like this.”

“Apparently they do give a shit.”

“Can’t they fly IFR, instrument flight rules?”

“Even if they could, they couldn’t see what was going on on the ground. They’d be no help to the guys if they can’t see them.”

“Yeah. There’s that,” Edward conceded. “You want some breakfast?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m in the mood to eat.”

“I’m not in the ‘mood’ to eat either, but making it will keep me busy,” he replied. “Come on, you can help me. You need to get away from that damned computer for a while.”

Bryan let out a long sigh. Edward was right. There was nothing he could do by sitting there watching the computer monitor and reading the research notes a thousand times. As much as it sucked, there was nothing he could do except wait. He might as well be cooking, maybe eating, breakfast. He slipped out of the chair and followed Edward to the kitchen.

“Do you suppose Ash and Kelsi know what’s going on?” Edward asked, mixing up the powdered eggs while Bryan turned the bacon into the skillet.

“I’m sure Chelsea has talked to them.”

“How do you think they’re holding up?”

“I probably should ask next time I talk to Chelsea.” Bryan felt guilty for not asking about Ash and Kelsi. As wives of the other two team members in harm’s way, they were sure to be worried.

“I think Ash is probably pretty calm,” Edward ventured. “She may be worried on the inside, but she’d be calm on the outside and keep pushing ahead, sort of like Cowboy.”

“Yeah,” Bryan agreed. It was a somewhat banal conversation, but it was something else to talk about.

“Kelsi is probably a nervous wreck just like Chelsea,” he continued.

“And you’re not?” Bryan asked.

“I’m a fucking wreck,” Edward responded. “It’s worse for me than anybody else.”

“This ought to be good,” Bryan answered in a dry tone.

“Things have been kind of tense between Cowboy and me this whole trip,” Edward admitted. “I feel like shit about it and it’s eating me up inside.”

“I have noticed that,” Bryan said, surprised that Edward had made the admission. “Why?”

“He’s always the boss. He’s always the leader. He’s always the fucking hero,” Edward said. “He’s arrogant about it, too.”

“He’s far from being arrogant about it,” Bryan argued. “I think you’re just too sensitive.”

There was a flash of anger in his eyes, but to Bryan’s surprise, Edward did not respond the way he thought he would. Instead, his eyes softened, and he did something that was more rare than a Big Foot sighting. He let out a long sigh. “You’re right. He’s not arrogant, he’s confident, and I have never felt confidence anywhere close to what he has.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Venting to Chelsea over the phone hadn’t helped Lux at all. She was worried about her team and she didn’t like feeling helpless. They’d received a weather update as they were still in flight over Peru an hour or so out from Las Palmas. Seasonal rains had started. It wasn’t the kind of rain they were used to in New Mexico, which might set in for several hours, even most of the day or night, but typically cleared. According to what she had been told. During the rainy season in the Huayhuash Mountains, heavy downpours, or heavy rains, could last for days. Cowboy, Francois, and Jason, if they were still alive, didn’t have days.

“Try to relax, mate,” Ben advised, watching his wife pacing in the small military barracks quarters they’d been provided. He was stretched out on the lower bunk trying to read a Louis L’Amour one of the soldiers had passed along to him.

“How can I relax, Aussie?” she snapped. “How the fuck can you relax? Aren’t you worried about our teammates and friends out there facing God knows what?”

“I am worried,” he said.

“You don’t seem worried.”

“You mean because I’m distracting my mind reading a western instead of pacing a path in the floor? You want me to join you?”

“No,” she snapped. “But I want to see that you’re worried.”

“Ayyy crikey, mate, if I started carrying on like you, it would only make you worse,” he responded.

“Why don’t you go talk to them?” she said. “Maybe they’ll listen to you because you’re a man.”

“Sheila, being a bloke has nothin’ to do with it, mate,” he responded. “They can’t fly until the weather clears.”

An idea suddenly popped into her mind. She moved toward the door in a couple of long, swift strides. “I’ve got an idea. Come on.”

Ben sighed, dogeared the page, and laid the book aside. She’d had plenty of ideas in the several hours they’d been stuck waiting for the rain to clear. None of them had been worth the effort, as Lieutenant Everly or Colonel Ramirez had shot them down. The bottom line was that when it was raining the way it was all over Peru, but especially in the Huayhuash Mountains, the cloud ceiling was zero, meaning the clouds were all the way down to the ground. They were not going to take a million-dollar helicopter with a dozen lives to be lost in weather like that.

In spite of knowing that her new idea would also be shut down, Ben would support her. He got up from the bottom bunk, slipped on his boots, and trailed along behind her to the hangar.

“I need to see Colonel Ramirez,” she announced to the clerk in the hangar office.

“Ma’am,” the clerk responded in a tired voice. “Colonel Ramirez has already advised you several times that he will send someone for you the moment the team has flight clearance. At the moment, he is in a meeting and cannot be disturbed. I suggest you return to your quarters, get some rest, and wait for him to call you.”

“Then I want to talk to Lieutenant Everly,” she said with determination in her voice. She saw that the clerk was about to respond in a similar manner to before. “Don’t you dare tell me to return to my quarters and lie down. I have friends that are in grave danger and I’m not going to fucking sit on my ass waiting to go help them.”

“I understand, ma’am,” the clerk responded. “Unfortunately…”

“I don’t want to hear the word, unfortunately,” she shouted.

Ben reached up to grab her elbow. “Let it go, mate,” he said in a low tone.

Lux jerked her arm away from him, wheeled around and fixed him with a stare that would dishearten Tell Sackett in a gunfight. “Don’t you dare tell me to let it go,” she hissed.

Ben let go of her elbow and took several steps back. In the same moment, Lieutenant Everly appeared from the offices behind the clerk’s desk. The concern on his face demonstrated that he had heard the commotion from down the hall. “Is there something I can help you with, ma’am?”

“What about going in on the ground?” she asked the moment the junior officer appeared.

Lieutenant Everly had learned patience and diplomacy serving under Colonel Ramirez in order to provide some contrast to his superior’s tendency to be a bit direct and impatient. In fact, the colonel had specifically chosen Everly to enhance his command by balancing it out. It was Everly’s job to play the quiet, calm and patient role.

“That is an interesting solution,” he responded in an even tone. “I’ve been exploring it with Sargent Lucero, but he stepped out to deal with something else. I wouldn’t mind hearing your ideas.”

The attitude and the fact that he was open to hear her ideas provided Lux with a measure of calm. “Finally, we’re getting somewhere.”

“Let’s go to the conference room,” Lieutenant Everly suggested, inviting her and Ben to come around the clerk’s desk and down the hall. “I already have maps spread out.”

“Good,” she smiled, following the officer down the hall.

“You’re already pretty familiar with the terrain,” he said as they moved down the hallway. “So, you know it’s no picnic getting in there. A 100-mile trip into those mountains from here can take close to four hours in good weather.”

As they arrived in the conference room, he finished his assessment. “Adding mud and mudslides, which are pretty common, it could take all day. However, at least you could hike into the lab and be ready to act from there.”

“I don’t like hearing it could take all day,” she replied. “Are the roads really that bad?”

“They’re nothing like I-40 or I-25, ma’am,” he answered. “In fact, they’re not even as good as, say New Mexico Route 3, out there by where you live.”

“That bad?”

“Worse, because they are winding through narrow valleys or switch-backing up slopes,” he responded. “When they get aguacerros, cloudbursts, the unstable slopes tend to collapse. They can close a section of road for a week before it’s passable again.”

“Even so,” she mused, studying the route Lieutenant Everly traced on the map. “We would at least be closer.”

“You can make it as far as Pacllón in a troop carrier,” he said, putting his finger on the tiny pueblo of fewer than a hundred people. “From there, you’ll have a six to eight-hour hike into where the lab is located.”

Ben had done the calculations in his head. “So, if everything goes perfect, we might arrive at the lab around sunset.”

“That would be a best-case scenario,” Lieutenant Everly shrugged. “If we left within the next hour and there were no snags along the route.”

“So, let’s say it all worked the way we planned,” Lux responded. “We would be where we could go out and support our team by first light tomorrow.”

“Or we could be stuck waiting along this road for a week,” Everly pointed out.

“Shit,” she breathed. “I don’t even like the best-case scenario. What do you think, Aussie?”

“In terms of risk and reward?” Ben began. “I think we’re better off waiting for the weather to clear.”

“Something else that needs to be considered,” Lieutenant Everly inserted. “The advantage to being in the Huey is the speed of reconnaissance. To help your teammates, we need to be able to find them first. You could wander for days without finding them on the ground, but from the air, it could be a matter of minutes or hours.”

“Yeah,” Lux muttered, and then turned to look at Ben. “There is that.”

Ben shrugged.

“Come on, Aussie,” she sighed. “You might as well finish that Louis L’Amour you’ve had your nose in all morning.”

“Ma’am,” Lieutenant Everly said. “I was about to head over to the officer’s mess for coffee and a churro, if you’d like to join me. Give you something to do for a bit while we wait.”

“Can you tear yourself away from that book for a churro and coffee, Aussie?” she grinned.

“I think I’ll manage,” he said, wrapping an arm around her.

“Good,” Lieutenant Everly smiled. “I’ll be glad to have the company since the colonel is tied up and Sargent Lucero isn’t allowed in the officer’s mess.”

“It’s the least we can do to help out, mate,” Ben chuckled.

“You’re in for a treat,” Everly said as they made their way across the base toward the officer’s mess. “The cook buys fresh churros from a local lady every morning. They’re nothing like the churros we’re used to. These are more like a doughnut with chocolate or jam filling. The best is the dulce de leche, that’s essentially caramel. I’ll tell you a little secret.”

“Yeah?” Lux said. The momentary distraction was relaxing.

“There’s no way anybody can eat just one,” Lieutenant Everly admitted, then added in a conspiratorial whisper. “The colonel has been known to down a half-dozen in one sitting.”

Chapter Twenty-three

“Come on, baby,” Ash smiled, tugging on his hand. “We’re going to be late.”

“Late for what?” Cowboy groused.

“You know, silly,” her warm laugh rang in his ears, echoing through the dark tunnel.

He was resisting her. Pulling back against her. Her invitation and the beckoning light beyond promised escape. It lit up her honey blonde hair. He would be safe and warm with her, walking in the light, but a primal instinct screamed at him to stay put, to hold back.

“I can’t come with you, baby,” he protested. “I have to stay here. The guys need me.”

“Kelsi Lux needs you,” she grinned. “Come on. You won’t believe how much she’s grown.”

Cowboy shook his head. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til my pards are safe.”

Suddenly, the radiant smile on her face faded, replaced by a stark expression, slowly transforming into terror. She was looking over his shoulder at something in the tunnel behind him. Turning, he saw a yeti, rushing forward. Its size covered nearly all of the passageway.

“Run!” he screamed, but Ash was frozen in place, paralyzed by fear. He repeated his command, pushing her forward. Forcing her forward against her will, he positioned himself between her and the enormous beast. He couldn’t let the yeti reach her. He shoved her again and again towards the light, their only hope. The yeti gaining on him, its heavy footsteps pounding on the rocky floor behind him.

Suddenly, they were at the entrance as he felt the claws of the beast behind him scrape down the length of his back.

He took Ash’s hand, let out a scream, and they leapt from the entrance of the tunnel into the light beyond. As they did, he felt a rush of air on his face and the sensation of falling, falling, falling… and then he awakened.

“Shit,” he muttered, recognizing that he had been dreaming and had awakened in the ishu hut. “That was too damned real.”

Outside, the rain still fell in a steady, relentless rhythm—just as it had the day before, and through the long, sleepless night. Cowboy stepped to the door, opened it, and peered into the gray world beyond. Visibility was no more than a dozen yards; the landscape was shrouded in thick mist, a ghostly veil that muffled sound and erased the horizon. He let out a slow, weary sigh.

Then, through the haze, a shape materialized—silent, deliberate. The alpha wolf emerged near the boulder where Cowboy had taken his stand with the tranquilizer rifle. It stood still, just watching.

“Better wake up, pards,” Cowboy called over his shoulder, his voice low but urgent. “We’ve got a visitor.”

As the others stirred inside, Cowboy and the wolf locked eyes across the misty distance. The great predator’s sable-brown fur hung slick and matted against its frame, soaked from a night in the rain. But there was something else—something changed. Beneath the powerful frame and wild gaze, Cowboy sensed it: a flicker of hesitation. Vulnerability. Maybe even... fear?

Cowboy glanced toward the muzzled and tied animals who had lain out in the rain all day and all night. They hardly moved, if at all. He wondered if they had drowned. His eyes moved back to the alpha, not daring to let the big wolf out of his sight.

“Is he shivering?” Jason asked, joining him in the doorway.

“I damned sure thought I seen that too,” Cowboy commented. “He looks like a drowned rat.”

“He looks like he’s afraid of something,” Jason suggested.

“I thought the same thing,” Cowboy said. “What in the name of heaven an’ earth would he be afraid of? We damned sure haven’t bothered him none.”

“Let me take a look,” Francois said, slipping between the two of them to step out the door and study the wolf. “He looks defeated, kind of dejected.”

“What do you suppose is wrong with him? Suppose he’s sick?” Cowboy asked.

“I’m not feeling that telepathic dread like before,” Jason mentioned. “More like sadness and pity.”

“You think he’s trying to lure us into a trap?” Francois asked.

“How the hell should I know? He’s just standin’ there, an’ he ain’t said a damned word.”

“What if?” Jason began. “He’s never seen rain before. He was engineered in a climate controlled laboratory. Rain might frighten him.”

“Why the hell would he be afraid of rain?” Cowboy asked. “He’s a wolf for god’s sake. They are wild animals, they’re used to…” He cut off the statement, realizing that they had been thinking of the wolves as though they were wild animals. They had some of the DNA of a wild, extinct species, but that was only part of their makeup. Other parts of their engineering were completely unknown.

“They’re used to what?” Francois asked.

“Do you suppose something is haywire in its engineering, making him afraid of the rain?” Cowboy asked.

“Why don’t you go ask him?” Jason suggested.

The purpose of the Lycaon Project was to create a service animal with great power and intelligence, but also obedience. Something in that engineering process got screwed up and the wolf’s DNA caused it to become aggressive. Maybe the rain caused another glitch, causing fear and uncertainty. The wolf could be afraid of the rain, then it sought out the nearest humans to help him. Cowboy decided to try something.

“You fellers stay put. I’m gonna try something.”

He walked several paces directly toward the wolf. The animal stayed where it was, its head hanging down in a submissive posture.

“Come here,” Cowboy called out in an authoritative voice, tapping his right thigh.

The wolf responded, turning and walking toward him. When he was only a couple of paces away, Cowboy commanded him to sit.

“I’ll be go to hell,” he whispered as the wolf obeyed his command.

“What the hell?” Jason asked, glancing toward Francois, who shrugged in response to the question.

“It don’t make a lick o’ sense to me neither,” he called out. He took another step toward the wolf and then turned. If he was thinking wrong and the wolf was tricking him, then he might be dead in another minute. “Heel.”

The wolf moved into a position just behind Cowboy’s right leg, as obedient as a well-trained police dog. Cowboy glanced toward the door of the ishu hut where Jason and Francois had been joined by Warmi.

“Close yer mouths, pards,” he laughed. “He’s as gentle as a kitten.”

After making a complete circuit of the area where the four huts stood on the boulder-strewn bench, Cowboy stopped, commanded the wolf to sit and stay, and then returned to the hut.

“Hand me my pack, pards. Get yers on too, and then cut those three that are tied loose,” he ordered.

“You sure about this, Cowboy?” Francois asked.

“Not a bit,” he replied with a wry grin on his lips. “But I gotta hunch that we can lead this whole lot right back to the lab as long as it’s rainin’.”

“I don’t know, Cowboy,” Jason started to protest, still not convinced by what his own eyes had witnessed.

“It’s the hand we’ve been dealt, pard,” Cowboy responded. “Let’s go ahead an’ play it.”

To the dismay of everyone, except Cowboy, the three tied wolves hesitated before slowly getting up from the ground. Instead of attacking or running off, they took up positions behind the alpha wolf.

“This is impossible,” Francois murmured.

“I agree, France,” Cowboy chuckled. “I reckon something in their engineering went haywire because of the rain or the rain made them afraid, and now they’re docile and obedient, just like they’d been trained to do. Could be soakin’ them with water when they didn’t behave was part of their trainin’. Hell, pards, I don’t know, but we got a shot of makin’ it back to the lab without them chewin’ holes in our gizzards, so we need to take advantage of it.”

As Cowboy shouldered his pack, the alpha waited patiently. Once Cowboy gave the command to heel, the alpha turned, let out a barely audible yip, and then fell in with Cowboy as he’d been trained to do. From the mist, the rest of the pack materialized and fell into something like a formation behind their leader.

Francois moved up to join Cowboy, staying on the side opposite the alpha, staying in perfect heel position at his master’s side. He grinned and shook his head. “You’re the luckiest bastard I know.”

“I hope it ain’t all luck, France,” he chuckled.

“So, what happens if it stops raining?”

“Reckon we’ll flank that calf once we rope it,” Cowboy replied. “Or we’ll be back in the lab with them safely locked away in their cages before whatever glitch in their engineering shakes loose.”

“This is dangerous as hell,” Francois pointed out. “You know that, right?”

“So is leapin’ through a hole with a rope tied ‘round yer waist to shoot at a witch that could only be harmed by a ricocheted bullet,” Cowboy laughed. “But that turned out alright. The fact you’re here and Chelsea’s back in New York worried sick about you is testimony enough to that.”

“I’m glad you took that risk,” Francois responded in a low tone, recalling the moment of their rescue.

“Reckon this is another risk I gotta take,” he grinned. “Binii’e’dine’.”

Chapter Twenty-four

“We ain’t outta the woods yet, pards,” Cowboy said as they turned onto the final stretch of the trail leading back to the hidden GenSys lab. It was the same dim, winding path he and his four climbing buddies had taken when they first stumbled across it. “Give it thirty minutes, maybe less, and this rain’s gonna stop. After that… no tellin’ what happens.”

“What should we do?” Francois asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“You and Jason take Warmi and his family. Get ‘em inside that lab and into a safe spot. Let Bryan and Edward know what I’m plannin’, then all of you hole up someplace those critters can’t reach—at least ‘til I get them locked down.”

“There’s no way we’re leavin’ you out here alone,” Francois said firmly.

“I’ll be fine,” Cowboy replied with a crooked grin. “Chances are, the rain’ll hold long enough to keep ‘em calm. Even if it don’t, I’ll buy you time.”

“And if it does stop,” Francois countered, “that monster wolf six inches from your right leg’s liable to jump you and, what was it—‘punch holes in your gizzard’?”

“Actually, I think I said ‘chew holes in our gizzards,’” Cowboy chuckled. “Either way, if I go down, it’s one man in exchange for four of my pards and a damned fine man and his family. I can live with that—if I live at all.”

“I’m stayin’,” Francois said. “Jason can take them.”

“I ain’t leavin’ him either,” Jason protested.

“One of you has to go,” Cowboy snapped. “They don’t know where the lab is, and we didn’t bring them all this way to let ‘em get torn apart now. Flip a coin. Draw straws. I don’t care how you do it, but decide fast.”

Jason met Francois’s eyes and nodded. “Fine. I’ll take them—but as soon as I’ve handed them off and briefed Bryan and Edward, I’m coming straight back.”

“Fair enough,” Cowboy said. “Now shake a leg—we ain’t got all day.”

By the time they reached the rocky shelf strewn with boulders in front of the hidden cave, the rain had dwindled to a fine mist.

Cowboy cast a sidelong glance at the alpha trotting silently beside him. Something in the animal’s gait had shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. Its eyes, once subdued with fear and humiliation, now burned with the same intelligent defiance he remembered from the attack at the ichu huts.

“France,” Cowboy muttered, keeping his voice low, “I think it’s time to find out if this ol’ lobo’ll sit and stay while you and I make a break for the lab.”

Francois’s voice was tight with unease. “What’s wrong?”

“I think the rain’s been the only thing keepin’ the monster in him on a leash. And now it’s quittin’.”

“Just say the word,” Francois said, eyes darting between Cowboy and the massive predator.

Cowboy stopped and turned to face the alpha. “Sit.”

The wolf halted, muscles taut beneath its sodden coat, and obeyed. But even in its stillness, Cowboy could sense the storm building inside it.

“France, ease toward the lab—now,” he said without looking away from the wolf.

“Stay,” Cowboy ordered again, taking slow steps backward. The wolf remained in place, but its restlessness was growing—twitching ears, flexing claws, a low rumble building in its chest. Something primal was waking.

“Keep walkin’, France,” Cowboy called, quickening his backward pace. The rain had fully stopped now, and the mist was lifting like a curtain, revealing more than just the trail ahead—it was revealing the predator returning to itself.

It was like something detonated inside the wolf’s mind. In the next instant, it lunged—an explosion of motion—and the entire pack surged forward in perfect unison behind it.

“Now! Run!” Cowboy bellowed, spinning and sprinting with everything he had toward the cave entrance. He could hear the pounding paws, the snarls closing in. Just as he reached the door, he felt the alpha’s teeth snap at his heel, barely missing.

He gave Francois a hard shove through the opening and dove in behind him.

Inside, Edward and Jason were already bracing the heavy door, throwing their weight against it. The alpha’s massive head forced its way through, jaws gnashing, snarling, eyes blazing. Bryan joined the effort, adding his strength to the fight—but the beast was wedged in, thrashing, refusing to yield.

It wasn’t until Cowboy and Francois were back on their feet and pushing with everything they had that the momentum finally shifted. With a final shove and a guttural shout, they forced the wolf back, slamming the door shut with a booming echo.

“Glad to have you back,” Edward said, grinning as he extended a hand.

Cowboy grasped it firmly. “Glad we made it,” he said, catching his breath. “But let’s not pretend we’re in the clear. There’s still a pack of apex predators running wild in the Huayhuash.”

“Not for long,” Bryan said. “Ben and Lux are en route with a containment team from the New Mexico National Guard. Should be here in about fifteen minutes.”

Just then, the phone rang.

“That’ll be Lux or Chelsea.” Bryan picked it up, listened briefly, then handed it to Francois. “It’s Chelsea.”

Francois took the phone, his face softening as he stepped aside for a long-overdue conversation.

Cowboy turned to Bryan, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “How’s that foundered hoof?”

“Healed up fine,” Bryan replied. “Plenty of time to rest it sittin’ in front of that damn lab computer.”

“She know me and France made it in?”

“Lux knows Jason made it. I haven’t had the chance to update her about you two.”

Cowboy raised his voice. “France! Wrap up the reunion—we need to coordinate with Ben and Lux. Tell Chelsea to call Ash and Kelsi. We’ll check in with them once this is over.”

Francois nodded, ended the call, and passed the phone back just as it rang again. Bryan smirked and handed it to Cowboy.

Cowboy chuckled and hit the connect button. “By God, you’re worse than my mama when I was riding bulls.”

“You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice,” Lux said.

“Yours too,” Cowboy replied.

“Everyone safe and sound?”

“Yep. But we ain’t licked the problem yet. Still got a pack of apex predators roamin’ free, and we’re holed up in this prairie dog den.”

“I’ve got a full SIG P320 and a spare mag with your name on it—if you feel like steppin’ out to greet us.”

“I’d love to, but I think that alpha outside’s still handlin’ my schedule.”

“Nope,” she said. “We just flew over. The pack scattered. Your alpha’s about fifty yards out, tryin’ to rally his troops.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll poke my head out for a look.”

“We can’t land up by the cave—too many rocks. We’re setting down by the lake and hiking up.”

“Then I’ll meet you halfway.”

He ended the call and walked to the door. Despite Lux’s reassurances, Cowboy half-expected to see the alpha standing guard. But as he stepped outside, cautiously at first, the shelf was empty. No sign of the wolves.

“Where are you going?” Francois called from behind.

“Goin’ down to meet Lux and bring the team up here.”

“Be careful, damn it! Oh mon dieu,” Francois muttered, hurrying after him.

They met Lux, Ben, and a stern-faced lieutenant halfway down the slope. Behind them came eight soldiers with M16s at the ready.

“Reckon y’all are the cavalry,” Cowboy called.

“That we are, pard,” Lux answered with a grin.

“She draggin’ you all over the world, mate?” Cowboy asked Ben.

“Sheila’s got a ring in my snout,” Ben said with a smirk.

Once the group reached them, Cowboy and Francois led the team back up toward the rocky shelf.

“This is Lieutenant Everly,” Lux said, gesturing to the officer walking beside her.

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Cowboy said, extending his hand.

“Already heard a lot about you,” Lieutenant Everly replied, shaking it firmly. “Glad to finally meet the legend in person.”

Cowboy glanced at Lux, eyebrows raised.

“I’ll explain later,” she said with a sly smile. “Preferably when I can enjoy watching you squirm.”

“Figures,” he muttered. “You bring my stocking stuffer?”

“Right here.” She handed him the SIG P320 and an extra magazine.

Cowboy racked the slide, checked the chamber, then tucked the pistol into the waistband at his back. “Now I feel dressed.”

Everly addressed the group. “Orders are to contain this situation. You’ve seen the threat firsthand. What’s your call?”

“In my opinion?” Cowboy said. “Given the intelligence and power we’re dealin’ with, there’s only one way to contain it—we put ’em down.”

“Understood. How many?”

“Eleven.”

Everly turned to his sergeant. “Fan out and neutralize the targets. No hesitation.”

“Yessir! You heard the man, you bunch of diaper-wearin’ pansies. Lock and load! I want eleven ears—move!”

The soldiers split into two units, disappearing around the slope, pursuing the wolves who’d scattered after the chopper passed.

“Well, mate,” Ben said, throwing an arm around Cowboy’s shoulders. “Looks like your luck’s still holdin’.”

“For now,” Cowboy replied.

Just then, the alpha emerged, poised atop the shelf, watching them. Its soaked sable-brown fur clung to its frame, the beast statuesque and unflinching.

“My God,” Lux whispered. “That’s what we’re dealing with?”

“That’s the alpha,” Cowboy said. “The others are smaller.”

“They’d better be,” Ben muttered, pulling his pistol. “That thing’s at least a meter at the shoulders.”

“Comes up to about here,” Cowboy said, raising his hand to the space between his belt and chest.

“How would you know that?”

“I’ll tell you later—when I get to watch you squirm.”

Ben opened fire, emptying his clip. The alpha barely flinched.

“Jesus, Aussie,” Lux said, rolling her eyes. “Like this.”

She and Everly joined in. Still, the wolf anticipated every shot, twisting out of harm’s way with uncanny precision.

“That’s impossible,” Everly said.

“Telepathy,” Cowboy muttered. “He knows what you’re gonna do before you do it.”

“The hell he does,” Lux said.

“Stand back,” Cowboy ordered. “There’s only one way to deal with this one.”

He drew the pistol and charged, yelling at the top of his lungs. “There’s only one alpha on this mountain—and you ain’t it!”

The alpha lunged in reply, a deep, feral growl rising from its chest. Cowboy kept running straight at it, then skidded to a stop, blocked with his left arm, and emptied half a dozen rounds into the wolf’s chest. The alpha’s massive jaws clamped down on his forearm, but it was too late—the bullets found their mark. The beast collapsed, dead at Cowboy’s feet.

Lux was the first to reach him. “Cowboy! Are you okay?”

The others caught up fast. They found him on the ground, stroking the alpha’s fur.

“Sorry I had to do that, pard,” he whispered.

“You’re bleeding,” Lux said, gripping his arm. She and Ben helped him up.

“That ain’t a bite,” Cowboy snorted. “He was already dead when he clamped down.”

“Let’s get him inside,” Francois said.

As they moved toward the lab, Cowboy spotted Jason, Bryan, Edward, and the Quispe family emerging from the cave. Two more figures climbed the slope—one older, broad-shouldered, and confident; the other slight and tentative, struggling on the uneven terrain.

Lux quickly cleaned and wrapped his arm. “You’ll live,” she said.

A thin man approached, oozing authority. “Mr. McCord,” he said. “I’m Mark Olsen. I work with GenSys—”

Before he finished, Cowboy’s fist crashed into his jaw. Olsen dropped like a sack of bricks.

Cowboy hauled him up by the collar and thrust his face toward Warmi and his family. “You see them?” he growled. “They lost everything ‘cause of people like you playin’ God. Now get the hell away from me.”

“Easy, mate,” Ben said, pulling him back. “This one didn’t cause it.”

“No, but men like him did,” Cowboy snapped. “Maybe he’ll spread the word.”

“Just breathe, alright?”

Then a commanding voice called from behind.

“Dustin McCord.”

Cowboy turned and saw the big man. “You with GenSys too?” he asked, half-joking.

“Not hardly,” the man replied. “Colonel Ramirez. And I’d like to shake the hand of a man I consider a hero.”

Cowboy shook it. “I ain’t nobody’s hero, sir.”

“You are to me. I watched you win championships on the rodeo circuit. Then I watched you claw your way back from paralysis and start climbing mountains. That takes more grit than most.”

“Well, thank you, Colonel. But I’m just a rancher from a little town in Eastern New Mexico. And right now, I’m just anxious to get back to my beautiful wife and daughter.”

Epilogue

A lone wolf emerged from a narrow crack in the rock wall, slipping silently onto a narrow bench of stone. It padded along the ledge, then crested a low ridge, pausing just beyond the far side. Moonlight washed over its sable-brown coat, glinting softly in its watchful eyes as it gazed down the valley, where the silver sheen of the lake shimmered in the distance.

It stood still, listening.

Then, lifting its muzzle toward the moon, the wolf released a long, mournful cry—a haunting sound that echoed from peak to peak, carrying its message far and wide through the empty night.

It waited, ears erect, straining for a reply.

None came.

Again, it cried out—deeper this time, the sound swelling from its chest with raw yearning. The tone wavered, fuller now with longing and grief.

Still, no answer drifted back on the cold mountain air.

A final time, the wolf sent its call into the wilderness, a last desperate plea cast into the silence.

Hearing nothing, the animal turned and made its way back—over the ridge, across the bench, and through the narrow crack in the rock face. Deep within the narrow passage lay a nest of dry ichu grass. There, nestled in the warmth of the cave, four tiny pups stirred as their mother returned.

The scent of her brought them to life. They squirmed against her belly, small noses rooting until they latched onto milk-heavy teats. While they nursed, she licked each one with slow, deliberate care, stimulating their fragile circulation, reinforcing the unbreakable bond between them.

When the pups had drunk their fill and curled into a sleepy heap, the mother rose and crossed the cave to the carcass of an alpaca she’d brought down days earlier. She fed quickly but purposefully, driven by necessity more than appetite.

Afterward, she groomed herself with practiced efficiency, then returned to the nest, curling protectively around her young.

For a long time, she remained alert, listening—waiting.

At last, she exhaled a slow, weary breath and rested her head on her outstretched paws, eyes finally closing as she allowed herself to slip into sleep beside the only family she had left.

The End

The Creatures series returns with:

Saber Tooth

by K.T. Tomb

Coming soon!

Pre-order today!

Amazon Kindle * Kindle UK

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Thank you!

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About the Author:

K.T. Tomb enjoys traveling the world when not writing adventure thrillers. She lives in Portland, OR. Please find her at: kttomb.com

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