Cursed Moon (Apex Predator #6)

PROLOGUE STRANGE TRACKS

PROLOGUE:

STRANGE TRACKS

“The world is indeed full of peril,

and in it there are many dark places.”

J.R.R. Tolkien

3:00 AM

June 12th

Pine Ridge Reservation

South Dakota

The battered white F-150 slowly made its way along the rough road.

It was more of a trail than an actual road.

It was full of ruts and deep mud pits, making it difficult to go even on a good day.

Without a four-wheel drive, you didn’t stand a chance of getting to the campground, much less back out again.

On the side of the truck was the faded logo of the Oglala Sioux Tribal Department of Game, Fish, and Parks.

The lightbar rattled as the truck navigated the backcountry road that led to one of the most remote campgrounds on the reservation.

It was an old truck that would’ve been retired long ago by any other department. At least, those with a decent budget.

The headlights cut through the night but failed to penetrate the scrub pines and thick undergrowth that grew along both sides of the road.

That left him with only about a twenty-yard-wide path of unobscured vision.

The road meandered back and forth across the narrow cut as it struggled to reach the campsite.

Behind the wheel sat a man in his mid-thirties with long black hair pulled back in the Lakota style.

He wore a sage-green uniform shirt with the tribal logo on the shoulders over blue jeans and tactical boots, but his badge gleamed gold in the dash lights.

He reached for the radio mic and activated it.

“Walks Far to base,” he said. “Do you read me? Over.”

“Barely, Hé?hanu?pa,” came the staticky reply. “Have you made it to the camp yet?”

Walks Far was David Hé?hanu?pa, which translates as Walks Far. He usually only heard his real name at ceremonies and festivals. However, if this was who he suspected, she had the annoying habit of always using the tribal name, even on the radio.

“Not yet,” he replied. “I’m almost there. Is that you, Katie?”

Katie Red Thunder was an overnight dispatcher and the daughter of the chief of tribal police.

“Yeah, I’m on till seven,” cautioned Katie. “Be careful. It’s a couple of white fishermen, so they’re probably drunk and won’t react well to a Rez cop.”

“Well, I’m just game and fish,” said David. “And it was their wives who asked us to go check on them in the first place. Did they even bother getting the permits to fish on the Rez?”

“They did,” answered Katie. “They even registered the campsite. They did it by the book. But there’s no cell reception out there. They probably just can’t call home. Still, you’re in the middle of nowhere, and backup won’t get there for an hour, at least. So, don’t take any chances, alright?”

“Copy that,” David said.

“I mean it, David,” said Katie, genuinely concerned. “Please be careful.”

“I will,” David assured her.

He reached for the dashboard to replace the mic and briefly took his eyes off the road.

He stuck the magnet to the dashboard’s metal, then something caught his eye.

There was a flash of movement just ahead.

By the time he looked up again, it was vanishing into the thick foliage.

It had the bushy tail, greyish coloring, and hocked back legs of a wolf.

But it looked like it was on two legs. It was moving very fast, so he wasn’t sure about the last detail.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, slowing the truck and activating the spotlight.

The powerful spotlight cut through the darkness but didn’t penetrate more than a few yards into the trees.

There was just too much ground clutter. However, he did see pale yellow eyeshine.

Whatever it was, it looked big. It appeared to be about thirty yards away, but it was impossible to tell for sure.

It blinked a few times, then vanished. He couldn’t tell if it was gone or just hiding.

David reached over and put his hand on the shotgun lying on the seat beside him. It was reassuring but still felt inadequate.

“Come on, dude,” he whispered to himself. “It’s just a wolf.”

He turned off the spotlight and continued for about another quarter of a mile before he pulled into the small campground. There were about a dozen primitive campsites here with no amenities. The sign read, “Welcome to Eagle Talon Campground. Take only pictures, leave only footprints.”

“Yeah, right,” muttered David as he began slowly driving through the campground.

The campsites were scattered, and some weren’t visible through the trees until you were on top of them.

The men who had camped here were fishing, so it made sense that they’d select a campsite close to the river.

Especially since they were the only ones registered to be here.

That didn’t mean there weren’t others. There just weren’t enough Game and Fish officers to patrol the roughly 2. 1 million acres on the Rez.

As he approached the river, he saw a flash of color in his headlights.

He turned toward it and found the campsite.

The tent was shredded, their camping gear was scattered around, and their sleeping bags were torn open.

Synthetic down from the lining was everywhere.

One thing stood out, though. Their provisions bag was still hung from a nearby tree, completely untouched.

“Walks Far to dispatch,” David said, activating his radio.

“Go ahead,” answered Katie, her voice staticky over the speaker.

“This place is ripped to shreds,” David replied. “Can you get me another unit out here?”

“I’ll try,” Katie said. “It’ll be a while before they can get there.”

“You might want to call the tribal police, too,” David added. “I think we’ve got a bear attack.”

“Any sign of the campers?” asked Katie.

“Not yet,” David answered. “I’m about to start a search.”

“Don’t go too far until backup gets there,” cautioned Katie. “You won’t do them any good if you get killed by the same bear.”

“Copy that,” David said. “You might want to tell them to hurry. I don’t like this one bit.”

“Why don’t you meet them at the highway?” suggested Katie. “That way you’re not out there alone.”

“I want to take a quick look around first,” David replied. “Hopefully, I’ll find the men alive and well.”

“Do you see any blood?” asked Katie.

“Not yet,” David replied. “I’ll keep my portable radio on and call you if I find anything.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Katie said. “Be careful. If you don’t find anything, get out of there until you have backup.”

“Yes, Mom,” David said, grinning.

He didn’t transmit that last part.

“Alright,” David said softly. “Let’s get this over with.”

He put the truck in park and left the engine running. He activated the takedown lights on the bar, but not the emergency lights. It added a good bit of light to the surrounding area. He looked around, craning his neck to see out of the windows. Nothing else looked out of place.

He grabbed his Mossberg 590A1 Pro Series shotgun and double-checked that it was fully loaded. There were nine rounds in the tube and six more rounds in the side saddle, with another dozen in loops on the sling. He kept it loaded with rifled slugs.

As he got out of the truck, he racked a shell into the chamber.

Then, he casually replaced the round in the tube with one from his pocket, giving him ten rounds ready to go.

If he needed more than that, he had bigger problems. Ten rounds of 12-gauge slugs should put down most anything in South Dakota. Hell, most things on the continent.

David activated the flashlight mounted on the picatinny rail near the end of the barrel.

It lit up the area, and he swept it around as he approached the ruined campsite.

He slowed when he saw the dark stains on the tent and the bedding.

He hadn’t noticed it from the truck because it nearly blended into the fabric, but up close, he could see it clearly.

It was blood. Dried blood. Way too much for a minor injury.

“Uh oh,” muttered David as he turned in a slow circle.

Whatever happened here was at least a day old. The blood had dried and was starting to darken.

“Dispatch,” he said into the radio, “we’ve got blood. A lot of it.”

“Copy that,” said Katie. “I’m getting units to you as fast as I can.”

“I might know someone who can get here faster,” David said.

“Who?” asked Katie.

“Call my cousin,” David said. “Call Will Greyeagle. Tell him I need his help.”

“On it,” Katie said. “Now, you’ve found blood. Get out of there.”

Before he could reply, David noticed a change in the air.

The night sounds that had been so clear a few moments ago had suddenly gone dead quiet.

Not so much as a frog or insect broke the stillness.

The only sound he could hear was the low rumbling of the truck’s engine and the soft crunch of gravel beneath his feet.

“I don’t like this,” he muttered, slowly turning around as he scanned the area.

Nothing was moving, and he didn’t hear anything.

After a moment, he lowered the shotgun and began examining the ground.

There were signs of a struggle and drag marks leading into the trees.

He considered following the trail but thought better of it.

He didn’t want to risk getting too far from the truck in case whatever attacked the campers was still in the area.

Then his thoughts turned to the blur that had crossed the road earlier.

That made him pause. What if he’d really seen a wolf-like creature on two legs?

He’d heard the old stories of shapeshifters, but never really believed them.

But he also knew his cousin, Will Greyeagle, was part of the Hotamétaneo’o.

The re-formed Dog Soldier Society. If anyone would know, it would be him.