Scott Sigler - Ancestor

Sven kept patting Molly and talking in a low, calm voice. “Well, ladies, I’d better get you all under cover, eh? We’ve got another storm due soon.”

He held up a hand. Mookie’s head swiveled, her body motionless, her eyes now only on Sven. The dog radiated intensity. This was her favorite thing in all the world. Except, perhaps, for nap time.

“Mookie, find.” The lithe dog shot through the snow and into the woods. She’d search for any strays and bring them back.

Sven started the snowmobile and began guiding the cows back to the barn.

CLAYTON STOPPED THE Nuge in front of Sven’s barn. He let the vehicle idle and hopped out. A beat later, forty-five pounds of happy-ass black border collie shot out of the barn. Mookie jumped at Clayton, her front paws on his chest, her hind paws hopping up and down as she tried to stretch up enough to lick his face. She whined with excitement.

“Easy there, eh?” Clayton laughed and he twisted his face away from Mookie’s insistent tongue. “Take it easy, girl.”

“Mookie, sit,” Sven said firmly. Mookie’s rump hit the snow. Her tongue dangled out of her smiling mouth. Her tail kept sliding back and forth across the ground, kicking up wisps of powder.

“Morning, Sven. Thought I’d stop by and see if an old fart like yourself managed to survive da storm.”

“I’m fine,” Sven said. “You’re out here to fix da phone lines?”

Clayton shook his head. “Not yet. Grooming da trails first. Phone lines down, I take it?”

“Yah,” Sven said. “I tried calling da mansion to tell them I have their cows.”

The words didn’t register for a moment. Clayton stared at Sven, then walked up to the barn’s open door. Sven walked with him. Mookie heeled to Sven, locked in just a few inches from his feet.

Inside the barn, Clayton saw forty-some cows standing in the open area between the stalls lining either side. He walked up to one and checked the ear tag. A-13 , it said, with the words Clara Belle written in permanent marker.

“An A-tag,” Clayton said. “She’s from da main herd.”

“Yah,” Sven said.

“Well, I’ll be dipped in meteor shit. I saw these same damn cows loaded onto that big fuckin’ plane last night.”

“Plane must have come back.”

Clayton shook his head. “Can’t see how, it didn’t land at da mansion.”

“Well, unless they make cow-sized parachutes these days, da plane had to land somewhere.”

Clayton nodded. Aside from the mansion and the hangar, the C-5 was the biggest damn thing on the island. Couldn’t land it on a dime like some helicopter. “You see any people, Sven? Someone had to be with da cows.”

Sven shook his head. “Nope.”

“Well, this is nuttier than a no-dick stag in mating season. Don’t make any sense. You hear anything last night?”

“Slept like a baby, eh? Don’t mean there wasn’t any noise, though, da wind was screaming.”

The presence of the cows meant a landing, or at least a controlled crash. If cows survived, people survived. Which meant the people had either let the cows go, then gone off in another direction… or the people were hiding. But hiding from what? From who?

“Sven, I really don’t know what to make of this.”

“Me neither.”

“You mind keeping this to yourself for a little bit? Maybe until I figure out what’s going on?”

Sven shrugged. “Don’t really matter to me. They’re safe here. Besides, I can’t call anyone until your lazy ass fixes da phones, now can I?”

Clayton nodded slowly, his eyes still scanning the extra cows that had magically appeared in Sven Ballantine’s barn. “I’ll fix da lines today. I better finish my swing up to North Pointe and see if I can find anything.”

“Just let me know.”

Clayton gave Clara Belle one last look. She seemed sick, her eyes glazed over with a thin layer of mucus.

“They don’t look good, do they?”

“Nope,” Sven said. “They don’t look good at all.”

Clayton turned and walked back to the Nuge.

SARA AND TIM stood shivering in the woods, a thick, snow-covered pine between them and the road. The storm had passed, but the cold had not. It hung in the air like an ethereal hammer, pounding at them with a constant, numbing pressure.

When the throaty gurgle of a diesel engine had broken the all-powerful winter silence, they’d moved into the woods to hide. On the plowed road the going had been easy, thanks to Ted Nugent and Clayton’s early-morning work ethic. Waist-high drifts in the woods, on the other hand, made each step a struggle.

The diesel engine sound grew louder, closer, then the sound changed to an idle.

It had stopped.

Sara peeked around the tree. Clayton and the zebra-striped Ted Nugent. No surprise there… but why had he stopped?

The vehicle’s door opened. A thickly bundled Clayton climbed out. Sara ducked back behind the tree, then slid her hand out of the parka sleeve that doubled as a mostly ineffective glove. Heart pounding in her chest, she unbuttoned her holster strap and pulled out the Beretta. The pistol felt like a block of ice against her bare skin.

“F-f-fuck yes,” Tim whispered, his teeth chattering audibly. “Let’s whack that old man and t-t-take that tank-thing.”

“We’re not whacking anyone.” She hoped. She didn’t want to hurt Clayton any more than she wanted to hurt Sven, but Clayton hadn’t stopped in this spot by coincidence. If he found them and told Magnus…

She peeked around the tree trunk again. Clayton stopped at the road’s edge. He reached into his snow pants, fished out his penis and started urinating on the snowbank. His hips twisted, directing the stream of urine.

“What’s he doing?” Tim whispered.

Sara shook her head in amazement. “I think he’s writing his name in the snow.”

The urine stream slowed to a trickle. Clayton shook once, zipped up his fly, then lifted a leg and cut loose with a fart that echoed off the trees.

“You can come out now,” he yelled. “If you don’t mind, I really don’t feel like marching into da woods after you, eh?”

Sara’s hands were cold and brittle. She wasn’t even sure if she could actually feel the trigger.

“My truck is nice and warm inside, eh?”

“Sara,” Tim said. “Come on … I’m… so cold.”

Other than the black stitches and the purple bruise, Tim’s face had little more color than the snow around them. The man shivered uncontrollably. Maybe they should have taken Sven’s house, but that chance was gone.

And now? She knew they didn’t have any choice at all.

Sara stepped out from behind the tree and leveled the Beretta at Clayton.

The man’s hands shot up. “Christ on a pogo stick, Sara. Don’t point that thing at me, eh?”

“Just don’t you move, Clayton, you got me?”

Clayton nodded. Sara reached back and pulled Tim to his feet. They stepped around the tree and trudged toward the road.

“Move to your right,” Sara said to Clayton. “Step into that snowbank.”

“Where I peed? That’s gross.”

“Fine, then not there, but get your ass in the snowbank. Any sudden moves and I’ll put a round in your kneecap.”

“But I already have arthritis in my knees.”

“Clayton, shut the fuck up! Tim, get in the vehicle and shut the door behind you.”

Clayton stepped into the bank, sinking into snow up to his crotch. He wouldn’t be able to make any fast moves in that.

Shivering madly, Tim limped through the snow and onto the road. Sara kept the Beretta leveled at Clayton. Tim climbed into the vehicle and shut the door behind him. Once inside, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders and trembled like a puppy in a thunderstorm.