Found him,Timber said.
He was twenty feet away, walking through the underbrush, muttering to himself. He had a phone in one hand, calling someone, but no one was answering. They faintly heard a steady ring, ring, ring.
“Fuck,” the guy muttered. “Six’s gonna have my ass.”
Canyon and Timber stayed silent, keeping a good distance away, following.
Hear that?Timber said.
Yeah. Heavy equipment.
The guy they were following heard it, too. He stopped muttering, changed direction, and broke into a jog. Canyon and Timber followed, skirting a muddy, torn up, 10-foot-wide path through the forest. Ahead was a huge yellow excavator, digging out a tree. The guy ran near it, waving his arms. The excavator shut down, and a male came out of the cab, wearing green coveralls. He hopped down to the ground.
“Crunks!” the first guy shouted. “Crunks in the forest!”
“Cops,” the second guy said. “Say it. You can’t use words from that other world.”
Canyon and Timber exchanged a look.
“Cops, yeah whatever. Cops. Wolves. Assholes. Two of them in the forest. They chased me. I fucked ‘em up though.”
Canyon and Timber exchanged another look.
“You better go tell Six. He’s at the explosives shed.”
Timber mouthed ‘explosives shed?’.
“Yeah, uh, where is that again?”
The second guy shook his head, pointed, then climbed back into the truck, while the other one ran in the direction he’d pointed, Canyon and Timber following. After several minutes of walk-running, the trail took a turn around a thick circle of trees. The male slowed down and got quieter. He approached the area stealthily, watching something Canyon and Timber couldn’t see, then he disappeared. Canyon and Timber hurried closer. Inside the circle was an open clearing with a brick shed to one side, and a mobile computer workstation directly in the middle. Several portable chairs and coolers were set up all around. The male went straight for a cooler and got himself a bottle of hard liquor.
A big male in green coveralls stood at the workstation with a cigarette in one hand. He had a thick neck and biceps that strained his sleeves, with a military-short haircut. He looked up, then back to his computer. Canyon and Timber spread out and melted into the forest, finding vantage points where they could see and scent, but not be seen or scented.
“Cops in the forest!” their guy shouted, after a swig.
“Ayuh. I’m tracking ‘em now in quadrant Bravo, section 5.”
“Shit, Six, I fucking hate cops, and I fucking hate wolves.”
“’Course ya do, cubbie.”
He’s got a nametag above his pocket, and it says Six,Timber said inruhi.
What kind of a name is Six?Canyon asked.
So, the other guy’s name is Thirteen?
Seems like it.
Get a look at Six’s rig.
Fancy.
He’s got some funky-ass tattoos on his neck.
Which one?
Six—wait. They both do. You got binocs?
