The People's Alpha ✔

10: High Alert

As per Herman's recommendation, we decided not to double back and took one of the other routes into the center of the Industrial Zone.

The road was in significantly better condition we had taken in, with four lanes and a median divider filled with struggling plane trees. This was, after all, the main road to the Zirconian border checkpoint.

It was only around ten o'clock. The sun was high in the sky. The road was mostly deserted. The border fence loomed above us, just a short distance from the road, overshadowing the telephone poles, ten metres of galvanised steel and barbed wire standing erect in the middle of the bare earth, gleaming in the sun.

"Going to be a long drive to Port Mirabel tomorrow." Mike eyed two border guards patrolling behind the fence, not paying us any heed. "I'll top up the fluid this afternoon when I get back."

I nodded. "That reminds me. We need to return the car."

"We'll just drop it off outside their pack with a note saying 'sorry' on the windscreen."

I snorted under my breath. "Keep it low key. I like it."

"Maybe we should send them a cheque too. Just enough to cover sending it to a reasonably reputable chop shop."

The road turned abruptly from the border fence, and the traffic got heavier as we got closer to downtown. Billboards rose up. Virgin Active. Sunshine Telecom's new prepaid plan. Some children's book. The smokestacks looming out of the smog greeted us as the traffic became heavier around us.

We heard the sound of wailing sirens approaching. This was not unusual. The sound of sirens was almost reassuring, in a perverse way. But I'd never seen this many private-security vehicles and ambulances outside of a fellow Alpha's motorcade. I counted sixteen ambulances. I didn't bother to count the other vehicles.

"What the hell?" I looked in the dusty rear window at the convoy fast disappearing behind their own dust-cloud..

"There's only one pack out that way." He murmured, voicing exactly what I was thinking in my head.

I felt the dread creeping up inside me. "I thought we left this kind of thing behind forever in the 1990s."

"I thought so too."

He turned on the radio, which crackled into life, and tuned into Pine Hollow News.

"...and in a developing story, an attack has been reported at the Granite Peak pack. Information is very limited at this point in time, but the attack is believed to be rogue-related, although we are not ruling anything out. We'll update you with more details as they emerge."

Cyclists parted like a school of fish around us as we negotiated a roundabout.

"It's quite difficult to piece together what has happened, as the area is quite remote and emergency crews are still in the process of responding as we speak. There are unconfirmed reports of mass casualties and serious damage to the pack buildings. If these reports are true, this is the worst act of violence committed against a pack since 1996..."

"No survivors. This is bad." I said, to nobody in particular. Most attacks in the 1990s had at most killed a few wolves. This was a whole lot more serious.

My mind flashed back to the odd-looking rogues I'd seen the night before. It had been just hours ago. The vision of their silhouettes in the darkness along the lake and their smell were still fresh in my mind.

I felt something churn in the pit of my stomach.

My companion had come to a similar conclusion. "You think those wolves you guys saw the night before had something to do with this?"