Ezekiel Bard woke with a start, confused by an insistent chirping noise. At first, the Afghan vet thought of a trapped bird. At some level of conscious thought, he realized the sounds were coming from his bedside table. Puzzled, he roused from another twisted nightmare wrapped in pain, blood, and battle. Breathing deep, forcing his heart to slow, the Canadian Forces vet tried shaking off a tangled dream that blended, gore and fear, combat and pain, the result of his years in the futile insanity of Afghanistan.

Mind clearing, he recognized the chirping. It was coming from his perimeter security alarm.

“Probably a fucking bear,” he grumbled, struggling awake.

Curled on a thick Navajo rug beside the bunk, Oscar let out a low, rumbling growl. Zeke groaned, stirring, realizing that somebody or something larger than a racoon had crossed a sense wire on the pasture boundary, entering the grounds not too far from his cabin. Another whine from Oscar settled the issue. There was some kind of intruder, possibly a bear or cougar, or possibly a mule deer.

A long-haired shepherd timber wolf cross, Oscar scrambled up when his master swung off the bed. Just then, there was a solid ‘thunk!’ The loud sound shivered through insulation and panelling from the cabin’s outer log wall. There was a loud, feminine shriek, then, after a moment, a muffled string of words that sounded like cursing. Startled, realizing the noises were human, Ezekiel pulled on jeans, not bothering with briefs or socks. He cinched the belt, running fingers back, patting a composite sheath that held a K-bar combat knife. Reaching under the bed, he slid out a stubby sixteen-gauge pump shotgun, then opened a drawer in the bedside table, lifting out a Walther P99, tucking tucked into his jeans at the small of his back.

Chest rumbling, Oscar moved across the main room, paws clicking lightly on waxed pine flooring. Zeke punched buttons on a security panel, switching it to standby. Deciding his white cane might give somebody stupid notions, like equating his blindness with helplessness, he ignored the cane and followed Oscar from the bedroom.

At the front door, he ordered, “Go quiet!” Laying a hand on Oscar’s broad forehead, he found the wolf-dog’s big ears perked to attention.

“Quiet, boy. Heel! Watch!” he said, murmuring and soothing the beast’s raised hackles with a light touch.

He left the door open, gliding across the enclosed front porch. Easing open the outside screen door, he stepped through after Oscar, preventing the latch from snapping shut.

Oscar moved with him, flank brushing Ezekiel’s jeans. The wolf-shepherd cross moved silently, a reassuring, lethal presence.

Damp midnight stillness wrapped about the high country cabin. A gentle wind whispered through tall sugar pines, branches faintly creaking as they rubbed together. A loud chorus of frogs drifted up from the lower meadows and a marsh south of the creek. Water rumbled and splashed from a waterfall. Chirping crickets fell silent as Zeke’s bare feet moved through dewy grass. As he eased around the corner, Zeke paused, listening, holding the small shotgun easily in his right hand, thumb poised over the switch of a powerful tactical light. Oscar moved in, leaning against his left leg. Zeke placed his free hand on Oscar’s head. The big wolf-cross was alert and vibrating. Zeke scratched behind Oscar’s ears. More than a service animal or guide dog, Oscar was a gift from his sister, trained, big, and very intimidating.

Low to the ground, well along the southwest wall, there was muted blubbering and choked whimpers interspersed with choice profanities. Definitely female, the voice was female and young—much too young.

Ezekiel’s ranch was well back in rugged highlands, east of the North Thompson River, several kilometres from the closest neighbour. He absorbed sounds, hesitating, finger on the light switch, trying to absorb the incongruity.

“What the fuck?’ he thought, puzzling, wondering how the girl could be on his land. ‘This late at night? Way out here, kilometres from anywhere? How in hell did she end up smacking into my cabin?’

As his mind digested the situation, he remembered it was a new moon, and the weather forecast was for thick clouds and a low overcast. He didn’t have any outside lights turned on, so the cabin would have been practically invisible.

“You hurt bad, kid?” he asked quietly, getting a sharp, shrill squeak in response.

“Keep back!” she blurted, snuffling again. “I got a knife! I’ll cut you!”

The tone of her threat registered and Oscar let out a growling snarl, deep chest rumbling against Zeke’s leg. He kept a tight grip on Oscar’s fur. “I’m not taking another step closer,” he stated, allowing a quiet chuckle. “Just askin’. You hurtin’?”

“You try running into a log wall in the dark!” she shot back. “Knocked me silly! I think my nose is busted. Won’t stop bleeding.” She snuffled again, sucking a breath, complaining, “How come there’s no lights? Is this your house?”

“My cabin ... and this is private property,” Zeke replied, foregoing explanations about the darkness. Shotgun aimed, he flipped on the brilliant tactical light. She squealed.

“Fuck!”

Zeke stifled a chuckle. He deflected the beam, sweeping it around, guessing the flare caught her unawares and, as intended, temporarily blinding her. He played the light over surrounding trees, up the wall at windows, wide eaves, then across an expanse of grassy yard, a kitchen garden, then beyond, to a fenced pasture where several steers were probably bedded down. Finally, he detached the tactical light, lifting it high, aiming down to illuminate his lower half, the shotgun and Oscar.

“There’s a creek over that way about a hundred paces ... if you want to wash off any blood. Clean snow melt. Icy cold water should stop the bleeding.”

“Don’t you have a bathroom?” she said belligerently, then, with more uncertainty, asked, “is ... is that ... a dog?”

“Oscar is half timber wolf,” Zeke replied equably, as though it should have been obvious. He redirected the light beam, letting her see the small pump shotgun again, then he reattached the tactical light, directing the beam beyond the girl. “Yes, I have a bathroom, but I don’t usually welcome strangers who threaten to cut me. In fact, since you’re trespassing way up in high country, in the middle of the night, and obviously a youngster, I’d better call the Mounties and let them deal with you.”

“No! Don’t, please?” she blurted, terror rather than mere fright evident in her pleading tone. “Please! They won’t protect me! I’ll be killed! I’ll leave. I’ll ... just wash in the creek and keep on going.”

‘They won’t protect me? Killed?’ Bemused, Zeke considered her words. Her suggestion was ridiculous. He pondered her apparent fright and the pleading in her voice. ‘Scared shitless,’ he thought, realizing that she was running from something bad. Her being a terrified young girl brought up memories, along with horrible images from Afghanistan. Combined with his PTSD, those memories often kindled a primal rage. He curled fingers tight in Oscar’s fur and took deep breaths. He was silent for several seconds, working to overcome the reaction. After a few moments, he was able to find that elusive place of inner quiet.

“Suit yourself,” he said with casual dismissal. “Follow the creek downstream.”

“I came from down there,” she replied, voice almost a whine.

“Well, then you can go upstream a bit more.”

She gulped, snuffled and panted. “What ... what’s upstream? The other way?”

He gave a snort. “Upstream will take you into the mountains. Nothing much there. Very little to eat. No berries yet, so this early in spring, you might run into a hungry grizzly. They can be a little cranky.”

“You’re shitting me,” she muttered, then sniffed and snuffled a few times. Finally, sounding overwhelmed and contrite, she asked, “couldn’t I just come inside and use your bathroom? Please? Or, do you actually have one?”

“Yeah, a real indoor bathroom,” he said flippantly. “I suppose you can use it, since you said the magic word. Just so long as you behave. When Oscar attacks, he tends to make a bloody mess.”

She gulped down a few breaths, snuffled, then said quietly, “I ... I’ll be good.”

He stepped back two paces, redirecting the tactical light, sweeping the ground between them. “Now, come this way and don’t make any sudden or threatening moves. Best not show that knife. Oscar has been trained to protect me. He sees you flash a knife and he’ll attack. Likely break your wrist like a dry twig.”

“It ... it’s still inside my boot,” she said in a near whimper. “He’s real big.”

“Fifty kilos of raw muscle and teeth,” he said pleasantly. “But properly trained, and usually obedient.”

“Usually,” she muttered under her breath, slowly shuffling towards him.

Zeke directed with the light beam, listening as her passage made wet grass swish. He followed a few paces behind. Her boots made squishing sounds as she mounted the steps onto the enclosed front porch.

“Halfway in and stop,” he ordered. “Take off your boots and socks. Leave them to the right of the door.”

She entered the porch ahead of him. Zeke ushered Oscar inside, then latched the screen door behind them. He kept the shotgun muzzle down, flicking the light around, illuminating porch flooring, then the inside door.

“My feet are soaked and slimy,” she muttered under her breath, as Zeke heard her pull down zippers. Sucking noises accompanied removal of the footwear. “I ended up wading through a fuckin’ swamp!” She remained by the open door, teeth chattering, more from being wet in the night chill than from fear.

“No problem. Just wipe your feet on the doormat. My cleaning lady just waxed and polished the floor two days ago.”

Now that he was close to her, Zeke realized the girl was petite, if not downright tiny, easily a head below his one hundred sixty-five centimetres.

“Go on in. Bathroom is on the left, just off the mud room. Light switch on the right just inside the door. You sound cold. Run a hot bath. Can’t have you catching pneumonia. There’s soap, towels, shampoo. Help yourself to anything.”

Zeke waited. He heard the bathroom door latch. Then grinned at the “snick” as an old-fashioned slide bolt also shot home. There was a long pause, then sounds of running water came from the sink.

A solenoid on the pressure tank clicked. Zeke knew it was one of his well pumps coming on. After another minute, his hot water tank gave out a muted “whoosh,” the propane burner igniting as the bathtub began filling.

Letting some of his tension evaporate, Zeke switched off the tactical light. Guided by mental images, he locked the front door and reset the security system. As an afterthought, he switched on interior lights.

“Sit! Watch,” he said to Oscar, pointing at the bathroom door.

Zeke crossed to his bedroom, pulling keys from his jeans, activating a digital lock on his gun cabinet. After punching in codes, he opened the steel door, racking the sixteen gauge. As an afterthought, he snaked a rubberized cable through trigger guards, securing a twelve gauge Browning semiautomatic and two rifles with a seldom-used padlock. Pulling the Walther P99 from his belt, he stretched, putting it out of sight on a high shelf. Closing the steel door, he activated the digital coded lock.

Back in the kitchen area, he filled a kettle, setting water to boil on the propane stove. That done, he leaned on the counter, considering options, listening for any unusual sounds from the bathroom.

‘Terrified of the RCMP?’ he thought distractedly. ‘What was that she said? They can’t protect me, or they won’t? I’ll be killed?’

He retrieved his smartphone, checking the time. The iPhone voice-over announced eleven thirty-five p.m. He groaned, having only had two hours of sleep. Now, it might end up being an all-nighter. He pondered the situation, hesitating, finally grimacing. He didn’t relish a visit from the police this late at night. “A kid, a girl, and under age too.” He sighed. “Thirteen? Fourteen? Possibly fifteen? Too many questions and a shit-load of suspicion would get dumped on me.”

Zeke slipped the phone into a pocket, realizing a visit from the police would be a pain in the ass. The girl was seriously frightened, of that he was certain.

‘Waded through the swamp?” he recalled. “‘That’s about a kilometre from the forestry access road. She didn’t want to go back that way ... so... ‘ Instincts garnered from combat kicked in, putting pieces together. ‘Somebody down there was after her. A bad somebody. But, this far into the highlands? Not just some kid running from a campsite. Not this early in the year, and it’s not a weekend or a school holiday.’

He decided to find out more before taking further action, pushing away from the counter, crossing to the bathroom door. He knocked.

“There’s a small terrycloth bathrobe hanging inside the door. Lots of towels on the shelf in there. Just leave your dirty clothes. I’ll toss them in the washer later.”

She said nothing for a few seconds, then muttered, “Thanks.”

“Would you like coffee? Herb tea? Hot chocolate? Are you hungry?”

Several seconds passed in silence. “Hot chocolate, please,” she called out, then added hesitantly, “some toast and jam would be nice. I ... I’m kind of hungry.”

“You a vegetarian?” he asked.

Without hesitation, she blurted, “God no! I’ll eat anything.”

Zeke grinned and returned to the kitchenette. After slicing off two slabs of home-made bread, he put them next to the toaster oven. He took eggs, bacon and vegetables from the fridge, setting to work on an omelette. Fresh-ground beans were soon brewing in the automatic drip unit. Diced bacon strips started frying. Chopping onion, red bell pepper, mushrooms and garlic, he browned them in a separate fry pan. Using boiling water, he blended up a huge mug of instant hot chocolate.

Zeke heard the bathroom door bolt slide back. By then, he had the small table set, a platter heaped with buttered toast. Back to the opening door, Zeke listened, standing at the counter. He scraped out a cast iron pan, loading two plates with steaming, fluffy omelette. There was a mug of coffee at his place, an enormous Hobbit mug of chocolate at hers. Spoons stuck out of jars of raspberry, strawberry and blackberry jam.

Anxious in spite of a hot bath, Janice Deerborn stepped out of the bathroom. She kept silent. Now with lights on, she could take a good look around the spacious cabin. Across from her, there was a large stone fireplace and a rack of implements, a brass screen and large, thick rug. There was a couch, two comfortable-looking sofa chairs and a coffee table. Glass cabinets held a variety of crystal clusters and colorful minerals.