Chapter Six #3
There was a warning on the gate to call up to the house to get an entrance code.
Helen always was careful with friends and neighbors, aware of the protective instincts of her pack.
Harlow called up to the house, but just as she expected, there was no answer.
Still, even with the anticipation of not hearing from Helen, her heart plummeted.
“Misha, go home now.” She gave the command and waited to ensure the beagle reluctantly turned toward her own home. She stood very still, following the dog’s progress until she was out of sight.
Harlow knew the code to the gate since she was the one to care for Helen’s mini farm and her dogs whenever her neighbor was away. She swung it open, but before she could enter, Wilder stepped in front of her, shielding her from whatever danger they were about to encounter.
“I coded in to Rainier. They’re sending a helicopter with a medic just in case.”
The capricious wind shifted direction, and Harlow slapped a hand over her nose and mouth, trying not to gag.
Ordinarily, the smell of blood, death, and decomposing flesh didn’t get to her, but this was personal.
This was Helen and animals she loved. The animals Harlow had helped take care of the past few years.
“The predators mostly took the chickens. That smell isn’t coming from them,” she whispered.
She had no idea why she was whispering. It wasn’t as if she thought an army of wolves or mountain lions would overhear her.
Even if there were predators on the farm, they wouldn’t understand what she was saying.
But she couldn’t make the statement in a calm, steady voice.
“Let me call out to the dogs,” she said. “Let them know I’m coming and that I’m friendly. If they’re guarding Helen or the animals, or they’re hurt, they might be dangerous until they realize who I am.”
She tried not to notice Wilder checking his gun. There was no sense in pleading with him not to shoot the dogs. If any attacked, there would be no stopping him. Wilder would protect her first. He knew she didn’t want the dogs harmed, and she trusted him to only shoot in an emergency situation.
Harlow whistled loudly, a one-two-three note Helen had taught her. She waited a few seconds and repeated the call. “At least step to one side, Wilder. If Helen is hurt, they’ll be doubly protective. Once they establish who I am, they’ll allow you to accompany me.”
She hoped she was right. The dogs had always been friendly with her and associated her closely with Helen. She’d fed all the animals on many occasions, and she anticipated that bought her the pack’s goodwill.
To her surprise, Wilder stepped to her left side and put a little distance between them as they began to walk slowly up the road toward Helen’s home.
She found his presence actually gave her confidence in the unsettling situation.
The closer they came to the house, the more feathers were on the ground.
At times, there were a few body parts of a dead chicken, but mostly the predators had eaten everything they could.
“Something has to have happened to Helen. It’s clear the chickens weren’t locked safely in the coop at night, and predators have destroyed them. The dogs should have been keeping any predators from killing the chickens.”
“I would imagine that would be difficult if the chickens were running free on the property,” Wilder pointed out.
“Maybe.” Harlow wasn’t convinced. She had seen the pack in action and even if the chickens weren’t put in the coop at night, the dogs would have been working overtime to run off any animal trying to harm them.
She whistled again, a little surprised that the dogs hadn’t rushed to greet her as they always did. That ominous feeling was so strong she felt sick. She knew something terrible must have happened to Helen.
“I should have checked on her,” she murmured.
“Why?” Wilder asked. “Is that what you both do? Check on each other?”
“Not really,” Harlow admitted. She knew he didn’t want her to feel guilty if anything had happened to Helen, but they were both single women. Neither had family close. Friends relied on one another to make certain they were all right. How had she managed to let Helen down?
Without warning, two very large dogs rushed around the corner of the barn and charged toward them, barking and growling.
Instinctively, Harlow angled her body protectively as she did her best to step in front of Wilder. She tried to make the movement subtle, but his voice, low and commanding, stopped her instantly.
“Don’t,” he ordered. “If they come at me, I’ll let you handle it, but if they go for you, I’ll be handling it.”
She knew that was all the warning she was going to get. Wilder wouldn’t hesitate to shoot either or both dogs if they attacked her. “Miley, Jett,” she called, holding out her palm toward the two charging females. “Leave it.” She gave the command firmly.
The dogs abruptly halted their charge, although they continued to pace in a wide circle around Harlow and Wilder, barking in a fierce, threatening manner. Harlow felt the tremendous training Helen had given the dogs was a tribute to her.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Miley,” she said, keeping her voice low but very firm, as Helen had taught her.
Miley and Harlow went way back. She had helped to socialize her as a puppy, going over to the farm several times a week to spend time with the little fluff ball.
Later, when Helen was having the older female, Jett, train her, she would come back into the house with Harlow and Helen for more socialization.
Harlow had been a big part of her life from the beginning.
Jett was devoted to Helen, but not to the same degree as the oldest female, Gwen, or the male, Sid.
Helen had named her dogs after singers. The male was Sid Vicious, and of the four dogs, he was the sweetest and seemingly the least wary, although he was large, muscular and had taken down a rather large bear as well as a mountain lion.
The fact that both the dogs were nowhere in sight gave Harlow a little hope that they’d hung back to stay close to Helen.
If she had been injured, the two dogs would definitely stay with her to protect her.
That might even explain the carnage on the farm.