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“Couldn’t you just burn through those?” I asked.
Ethan looked at me. “Because he can track me,” he said, shoulders curling in defeat. “He’s a lot smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for.”
“Why is he so angry with Jeanie?” Dean asked, still looking for motive.
Ethan faced him. “Arnie… well, he created this sorta plastic stuff that can withstand insane amounts of heat. He was gonna sell it to a company an’ seemed to think Jeanie would run away with him if he was rich, but when she told him no, he got right angry. So, he got one o’ them dog tracking chips and coated it in his plastic invention an’ got the drop on me. As soon as he had me an’ the kids, I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop him.”
No one said anything. I think we were all sharing a quiet moment of shock at the revelation. We’d had our share of disappearances and attacks since the Fog rolled in, but they were largely the crazies lashing out, unable to cope with what they’d become. No one had ever used their powers (or in this case their power over others) to hurt someone on purpose. If you’d asked me last week, I would have said that no one in Damnation County would be capable of cold-blooded killing.
Clearly, I was wrong.
Arnie was a spiteful son of a bitch and I believed he’d go through with his threats and that meant Ethan and his family were at Arnie’s mercy until we could find him and stop him.
Ol’ Ned said what everyone was thinking. “Well, dagnabbit, what do we do now?”
“We have to find Arnie,” I said, surprised at how quickly and calmly the answer came to me. “Dean can leave a radio here so we can contact Ethan when the kids are safe.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Dean asked. “We have no idea where Arnie is. The woods go on for miles, and he could be holed up anywhere. By the time we find him, the kids could be…” He swallowed the rest of his words as he looked over at Ethan. “Arnie could come back here and order Ethan to do something unspeakable. I think we ought to wait for Arnie to return and take care of him then.”
“But if you do that, my kids could suffer,” Ethan said. “It’s gettin’ colder, an’ they don’t have fur in their new forms. They could die o’ exposure if they try to escape. Or worse, Arnie coulda rigged the building to blow if he don’t come back in a certain amount of time. The longer they’re with him, the worse off they are.”
“Damn it,” Dean said, shaking his head.
Damn it, was right. That made things more dangerous for everyone involved. Now, I didn’t see that we had much choice. We’d have to find Ethan’s family the old-fashioned way.
“Did Arnie keep any of Jeanie’s clothes?” I asked.
Ethan frowned. “I... I think so. He made her an’ the kids change into long sleeves and boots before he took ‘em away. They were in the hamper the last time I checked.”
“That’s perfect.”
“It is?” Ol’ Ned repeated, shaking his head as he looked at me. “You know how Bud’s human mind gets in the way when he’s trackin’.”
“I know,” I said, and felt my lips spread into a wide smile. “That’s why we won’t be using Bud. We’ve got someone who can track without getting distracted.”
“We do?” Bud asked, scratching the top of his head.
“We do,” I answered as I turned to face Ol’ Ned. “Apparently, a pig’s sense of smell might be better than a dog’s.”
Dean’s face lit with understanding. “Do you really think it will work?”
I nodded. “I know it will.”
Ol’ Ned laughed. “Never thought that dang pig would turn out to be useful.I like the way you think, Miss Twila. I’ll tell Slim Jim we’re gonna need to borrow Sonny.”
“Thanks,” I said. Then I gave Ethan a hopeful smile. “We’re going to rescue your family, Ethan.”
Chapter Sixteen
“I want to come!” Sicily insisted.
She was standing on the front steps, hands balled into fists at her sides. She’d pulled her hair into a tail at the base of her neck and she’d changed into a plaid shirt and blue jeans, draping one of Bud’s old hunting jackets over the whole ensemble. Of course, the jacket was too big on her, but Bud’s wolfly bulk no longer accommodated the camouflage he used to favor. Her hiking boots were well-worn after spending so much time in the woods.
Ol’ Ned had tried to talk me into measuring her for a shoulder rig so she could carry a .9mm. I’d promptly ordered him out of my trailer and told him he could hang up his monster hunting hat until he scrubbed ideas like that right from his daft head. I wasn’t going to have my daughter taking potshots at monsters in the woods.
She’d learned how to hunt when she was younger, true, but that didn’t matter. Back then, the older men in the community had taken her under their proverbial wings (Ol’ Ned and Slim Jim among them) to teach her how to protect herself and how to hunt. I appreciated that they looked out for her, I really did, but that learning had given her an over-inflated sense of how much she could handle.
“You’re not coming,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and giving her my best serious mama face I could muster. I’d drawn myself up to my full height, which didn’t have as much impact as it used to. Hard to intimidate a teenager who was almost as tall as me. For all I knew, she might get even taller when all was said and done.
