Revolting

John McKnight knelt down and put his hands against the ashes of the campfire. "They broke camp maybe two hours ago," he said quietly. The rest of the gang wandered around the camp site, gathering up any evidence they could find to assist them on the hunt. He had two men and one woman on his crew for this hunt. They were good hunters, all of them. McKnight had received a frantic call two nights ago about a woman who turned into a beast and ripped a man's throat out.

If any other law-enforcement officer had taken that report, they would have dismissed it as some drunken, citified hunter who got spooked in the woods and started making up fantastic stories. They would have put it down to a rabid coyote or stray dogs. But not McKnight. He had perked up and paid attention immediately.

McKnight was a hunter. Not a hunter of ordinary game, but a hunter of rogue werewolves.

He'd had his doubts at first. Most Rogues traveled alone or in pairs. It was unusual to find a group this large traveling together. He'd had his suspicions at first that maybe they were trailing a bunch of hikers. After all, they moved on foot in human form, which was a slow, cumbersome way to travel. If they were werewolves, why didn't they just shift and run? They could cover twice the distance in half the time.

He'd almost lost them when they crossed the lake. He'd spent half a day just trying to pick up their trail again. "We've got wolf hair," Sienna said, examining the ground. There was a small round hollow in the leaf litter, indicating the place where a wolf had curled up to sleep. McKnight hurried to the spot, and used tweezers to pick up the few shed hairs and put them into a plastic specimen jar. He was working on his own gene-mapping experiment. Blood, bone, even saliva was better than hair, but he would take whatever he could find.

"Rabbit bones," Odin flicked a bone, "and um... looks like they might have eaten some kind of mushroom."

"Hmmm, that's unusual." Although Rogues lived on the fringes of both humanity and their own kind, they rarely showed much skill for foraging or gathering wild foods. "Something tells me these are not ordinary rogues," he mused. He squatted down and picked at the remains of some plant material. "They seem to be traveling with direction and intent. They are eating well, and are probably in excellent health. It even seems they are making their own medicines. I'm counting six." The idea of an unusual bounty excited the hunter. This was going to be far more fun than hunting down a half starved, half mad rogue.

"Seven," Bradley traced a partial print in the soft earth. "Six adults and one child. Maybe. Or, very small female." He was the best tracker in the group. "Seven, are you sure?"

"I think she's being carried when they move," Bradley said, scanning the area for any more prints or tell-tale signs. "She may be injured." "Those idiots back in Steadmont said they fired at her." Sienna added. "Maybe she got shot?"

I could only agree with their assessment. Werewolves had supernatural healing abilities, so if the kid was injured, it would only be a matter of time before she or he made a full recovery. "That would explain why they are moving on two feet instead of four." The camp had nothing else to offer us, so we got back on the trail.

At first this party had been very careful about covering their tracks. It had been slow going, even 'when the help of some four-wheelers. They'd wasted a lot of time doubling back every time they lost the trail. But now the werewolves were moving carelessly. The signs were everywhere. They had practically left a trail of breadcrumbs for McKnight and the others to follow.

Now he lifted the binoculars to his face and peered out over a farmer's field. There, huddled beneath the light cover of some young maples, the party was apparently stopping to rest. Sierra was watching their movement with her own eyes. "They've stopped, are they making camp already?" She frowned down at her watch.

McKnight shook his head. "Nah, it's too early. And they aren't unpacking anything. I think they are just stopping for a rest, and maybe to eat something." This was the first time the hunters had gotten close enough to actually see them. He whistled under his breath. "That is one huge male!"

"Can I see?" Odin gestured for the binoculars, and McKnight passed them over. Odin was a slight Scandinavian man with pale skin and pale blue eyes. He watched them for a long time. "Are you a hundred-percent sure these are rogues, John?"

McKnight only shrugged. He was never cocky enough to say he was 100% sure of anything. "Why? What's on your mind?"

Odin pressed his lips together and continued to watch the group. "They just seem too organized. They behave like a pack, not a bunch of rogues. That big one... he's like the alpha. And that small one, she's not a kid. I bet she's his mate. He never leaves her side."

Sierra shifted uneasily. "If these are pack wolves, McKnight..."

"If they were pack wolves, they wouldn't be traveling cross country like this. They'd call for a car or take a plane. Pack wolves have resources. They wouldn't be stealing donuts from convenience stores." McKnight knew that not only did most pack wolves have abundant resources, they were collectively richer than the average president. Sometimes a pack alpha would pay a bounty if McKnight took out a particularly troublesome rogue. "So," Bradley rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "What's the plan? Are we moving in?"

"Not yet," said McKnight. "Let's wait for them to make camp."

Odin pouted. "Ambush them at night? That's so boring." He was in it for the hunt, and did not enjoy an easy kill. "At least make it challenging."

"Oh I have a feeling that big fella is going to make it plenty challenging." McKnight said with a slow, spreading grin. "Especially if we take his mate."