"Well," Nash says. "It's been a hell of a season, Dr. Thorne."
"Don't you dare say goodbye," I snap. "I still owe you a performance review."
Nash laughs. He actually laughs. "Right. The bonus."
The Beta growls. The circle tightens.
And then, a sound cuts through the wind.
It's not a howl or a gunshot.
It's the deep, throaty roar of twin diesel engines running at full throttle.
We look down toward the water.
Coming around the point, smashing through the skim ice like a battering ram, is a boat.
It's a monstrosity of aluminum, unpainted and dented, looking more like a tank than a watercraft. It's throwing up a wake of icy water that sprays ten feet into the air.
And standing on the roof of the boat cabin, holding a flare gun, is a man in a bright yellow survival suit.
"Reid," Nash breathes.
The boat slams into the bank at the base of the ridge, not docking, just colliding with the shore.
The man on the roof raises the flare gun.
THUMP.
A red star streaks into the sky, arching over the ridge. It bursts directly over the wolf pack, raining down sparks and sizzling red light.
The wolves panic. Fire from the sky is not in their evolutionary playbook. They scatter, yelping, tails tucked, running for the deep timber.
The Beta takes one last look at us. Then he looks at the red flare burning in the snow. He turns and runs.
The ridge is silent again, save for the wind and the distant idle of the boat engines.
I slump against the repeater tower, my legs suddenly turning to water.
"Did that just happen?" I ask.
"That happened," Nash says. He lowers the shotgun, exhaling a long plume of steam.
We look down at the water. The man in the yellow suit is waving both arms over his head. Even from this distance, I can hear him shouting something that sounds suspiciously like: "Did you miss me?"
"That's Reid," Nash says.
"He's loud," I observe.
"He is."
I look up at the high ledge.
Waldo is still there. He's watching the boat. He's watching us. He dips his head once, a nod, or maybe just reaching for apiece of lichen. Then he turns and leads his cows deeper into the high peaks, vanishing into the mist.
"He's safe," I say.
"He's safe," Nash agrees. He puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into him. "And so are we."
