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“What?”

“You heard what Will said, about using your power for good. You keep thinking about all the bad things that might happen, but you aren’t seeing the ways you can help people.”

“Help soldiers, you mean.” She would have tugged away from him, but he held tight to her hand. 

“No, help people. Think about it. You could stop the McCarthy hearings right now if you wanted to. All of those innocent people whose lives have been ruined—you could end that.”

“Why would anyone listen to me?”

“Because you’re telling the truth,” he said, grasping her shoulders. “I know you think you’ll be doing interrogations all the time, but isn’t it just as likely that you would sit in on meetings with world leaders?”

“To see if they are lying.”

“To protect your country,” he corrected. 

“I don’t care about that. I just want to be left alone.”

He shook her lightly. “And go back to pretending? Lying? You’re better than that.” 

When she didn’t answer, he backed off. “Look, let’s just go talk to Cavanaugh, all right? You don’t have to decide anything right now.”

“What do you want?” she said, searching his face. 

He would have told her the truth, even if she hadn’t been able to hear him lie. “I want to join. It’s a great chance to do something significant, make a difference. I thought doing something useful was over for me, but maybe not.”

“Charlie, you’re useful.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Sure, the library is important. But they’ll get along just fine without me. There’s nobody in the army who can do what I do—maybe no one in the whole world. That’s a different kind of useful. And it’s the same for you.”

“I don’t want to be useful to the army,” she said, biting off the last word. “I just want to live my life.”

“And I want to share it with you,” he said, throwing an arm around her and steering her toward the recruiting office. “So I say we do it together. I won’t join without you.”

“But you just said—”

“I love you,” he said simply. “You come first.”

Lt. Cavanaugh greet Briar and Charlie with a smile. “Miss Steele. I’m delighted to see you again.”

“I’m not here to be recruited,” Briar said, too loud. Heads turned in the crowded room. “I’m here about my father.”

Lt. Cavanaugh’s smile fell. “Ah. Why don’t you come up to my office?”

They wove their way through the ranks of desks set up across the main floor of the recruiting office. Last week, this had been empty real estate. Now, flags draped the walls and soldiers strode about, talking to townspeople or filing paperwork. Charlie saw Lucy and her parents talking to a soldier across the room.

The lieutenant led them up a flight of steps to the second floor, where some small offices waited. He turned to the first door and ushered them inside. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit cramped in here,” he said, directing them to two chairs in front of his tidy desk. “Have a seat.”

He sat at his own desk and steepled his fingertips. “Miss Steele, I know that I brought you some disturbing news yesterday. I didn’t have the opportunity to talk about some of the ways in which the army might help you.”

“I don’t want to talk about that. I want you to tell me more about my father.” 

“Yes, I thought as much,” Lt. Cavanaugh said, pulling a thick file out of the drawer. “Now, I’m afraid I can’t tell you everything your father did for us in the war. Much of it is classified. But I can tell you he was a hero, and this country owes him a debt of gratitude.”

“I don’t care about what he did during the war. All that matters is what happened after.”

Charlie laid a hand on her back to soothe her and looked up at the lieutenant. “Sir, I’m not sure what your file there says, but Briar’s experience of her father was pretty atrocious. I think what she wants to know is, why didn’t anyone help her family?”

Lt. Cavanaugh sighed, flipping to the back of the file. “Quite simply, the army didn’t know what was going on inside that house. There were no unusual reports until that unfortunate night.”

“My mother walked around with bruises for months. My father beat her all the time.”

“If so, there’s no record of it. If she didn’t file a complaint, there’s nothing we could have done.”

“But my father was dangerous. He came home from the war totally different. The army should have known there was something wrong with him.”

Lt. Cavanaugh sat back. “How? Millions of men came home from Europe and Japan and they transitioned easily to civilian life. Your father was an exception, not the rule.”

Briar shook her head, like she wanted to deny it but couldn’t say it out loud. “What about my brother? Pangburn said that the official ruling was inconclusive.”

A line appeared between Lt. Cavanaugh’s eyes. “Yes. I wasn’t there, of course, but in reading the file I get the sense that there were a lot of people who wanted to preserve heroic memories of your father.”

“By painting my brother as a murderer?”

“To be fair, his behavior was very suspicious. I’m not saying it was right,” Lt. Cavanaugh said when Briar flared. “I want you to know, Miss Steele, I’m going to petition to reopen this case. I can’t undo the damage that was done, but it might be possible to clear your brother’s name.”

“And I suppose you’ll only do that if I join the army,” Briar said with a huff.

“No, I’ll do it because it’s the right thing to do, and I want to set the record straight,” Lt. Cavanaugh said steadily. 

Briar studied him closely. 

“Am I lying?” he asked.

“No.”

“Thank you. But here’s another truth, Miss Steele—it might add weight if you joined us. Especially if you went on record with your powers and allowed us to test your limits.”

Briar didn’t reply, so Charlie stepped in. “Sir, what exactly would joining the army look like?”

“It depends,” he said, turning to Charlie. “I’m sorry, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Lt. Cavanaugh.”

“Charlie Huston,” he replied.

“Ah, yes, I’ve read your file,” Lt. Cavanaugh said, leaning forward. “You told our researchers that you didn’t have a power.”

Charlie looked around the small office and decided transforming would be more trouble than it was worth. “I’m a shape-shifter. I can turn into a mountain lion.”

Lt. Cavanaugh had remained placid throughout their conversation, but now his eyes bulged with surprise. “Really? That’s fascinating. I’d love to see it in action.”

“I thought about transforming to get up those stairs,” Charlie said honestly.

The lieutenant’s gaze flicked down to Charlie’s leg, though he couldn’t see it through the desk. “Yes. Sorry, I didn’t think of it. We don’t have an elevator here.”

“It’s all right,” Charlie said, squeezing Briar’s hand. “I’m learning to live with it.” 

Lt. Cavanaugh nodded approvingly. “Your injury might make things complicated. But I’m sure we can waive some of the physical requirements in light of your powers.” 

“What would joining the army look like?”

“What do you want it to look like?” Lt. Cavanaugh asked with a smile. 

“I want to stay here,” Charlie said. He had put some thought into this. “Indefinitely. I don’t want to be transferred to another post or asked to fight overseas.”

Lt. Cavanaugh nodded slowly. “We could write that into your contract, I suppose. Permanently assigned to Fort Austen. It’s unusual—highly unusual—but we’ve been authorized to make accommodations for soldiers with powers.”

Charlie was surprised he had conceded the point so quickly. But he had a larger stipulation to make. “My Uncle Rick is convinced that the army is out to get him. He was a union organizer back in the thirties, and he’s worried that since he was affiliated with Communism in the past he’ll be branded a Soviet now.”

“Ah,” Lt. Cavanaugh said, shaking his head. “Sen. McCarthy has really gotten out of hand, hasn’t he? I don’t blame your uncle for being leery. I’d be happy to talk to him.”

“I’m going to need some real assurances to get him to come down from the hills.”

“What?” Lt. Cavanaugh asked, sitting forward. 

“He headed up to the backcountry. Don’t worry, Rick can handle himself in the mountains.”

“Col. Deacon specifically asked that no one leave town.”

Charlie’s brow furrowed. Lt. Cavanaugh seemed genuinely upset to hear that Rick had left. “Well … this is the high country. Rick’s not the only person who can hole up in the woods for a while.”

“Disobeying a direct order is the most suspicious thing he could do,” Lt. Cavanaugh said, shuffling through some papers on his desk. “Do you know where he is?”

Charlie knew the route to Rick’s cabin as clearly as the roads through town. “I could probably find him.”

“Do that,” Lt. Cavanaugh said, “and bring him back. It’s safer if everyone stays in Independence Falls for the moment.”

“Why?” Briar said sharply.

Lt. Cavanaugh hesitated. 

“Are you trying to come up with a way to twist a lie into the truth?” 

His eyebrows went up. “Actually, I was trying to come up with an answer better than ‘it’s classified.’ Which it is. Suffice it to say, it’s dangerous in the woods these days. The Soviets infiltrated this town somehow.”

Charlie clutched his cane. “Are you saying there’s Soviets in the woods? Real Soviets?”

“I didn’t say that,” Lt. Cavanaugh said repressively. “But I think it would be best if you retrieved your uncle. Quickly.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Charlie

Charlie drove his truck all the way to the eastern edge of Rick’s land. Rick and his horses had disappeared in this direction a few days previous. It had been dry for days, and Charlie was hoping he could pick up their path. 

He took none of his usual pleasure in transforming into a mountain lion. Lt. Cavanaugh’s warning worried him, and he could feel the urgency like an itch on his back. Rick was no featherweight, and Charlie was confident he could hold his own in any fair fight. 

But would he get a chance to fight fair? 

At least he knew the land, he thought as he set off into the darkening night. He had wanted to leave right away, but Briar had convinced him to wait for cover of darkness. Lt. Cavanaugh seemed willing to ignore Rick’s disobedience, but Charlie doubted that Col. Deacon would be so forgiving. 

A rolling meadow gave way to rocky mountainside. Charlie climbed higher, making his way toward the break in the mountains known as Middleton’s Gulch.

Now that he was on the move, the itch subsided slightly. It would take him hours to get to Rick’s cabin, so he needed to conserve his energy. If all went as planned, he’d be knocking on Rick’s door at dawn. 

He stalked from shadow to shadow, staying under cover as much as possible. Every sound had him halting, sniffing, swiveling his ears to identify if it was a threat. He was glad to be a predator; most small animals avoided him by instinct. He had never been spooked by being in the woods alone, especially as a mountain lion, but there was something in the air tonight that made him edgy.

Then he caught a scent on the wind. Pungent, metallic, fetid. 

There was something dead, not far off; a lot of something, by the smell of it. Wolves might have gotten a deer, but they would have dragged it off and picked the carcass clean. Bears weren’t out of the question, either, but they preferred fish and berries to red meat. 

The wind tasted of blood, blood gone cold and foul. 

The scent was coming from Middleton Gulch. 

Charlie approached cautiously. The gulch flooded every spring with mountain run-off, but now in the late summer there was no more than a trickle of a stream running through a meadow of thick grasses. The rock walls were craggy enough for him to climb, which appealed to his cat’s instinct. He wanted to be high up, so that he had the advantage on whatever might be through those trees. 

He heard them before he saw them—the snapping of jaws, the low growls, the wet sound of flesh tearing off bones. 

Coyotes. 

There were no more than six of them, small for a pack, but there might be more nearby. Charlie was glad he had taken the high road along the cliff. He was bigger than any coyote, and as top predator he might be able to intimidate a group of them, but he had no desire to compete for their meat. 

He saw them in a clearing, hunkered around three shapes. That was unusual. Coyotes usually singled out a weak animal and separated it from its herd. They didn’t often kill multiple animals at the same time. 

Although from the exposed bones, it didn’t appear the coyotes were first to the kill. Something else had long-since gorged itself on meat and slunk off to digest. 

Two of the dead animals seemed uncommonly large, much bigger than deer would be. One coyote snapped at another and they rolled away, giving Charlie a clear view of the fallen beast. 

His heart stopped. He knew that animal. 

It was Cletis, Uncle Rick’s big dray horse. He was recognizable now only by the pack harness still covering his chest and the spray of pale hair that had been his mane. And there—Rick’s carefully packed supplies, torn apart and scattered. A bag of flour sprayed white over a rock; a coil of rope was hopelessly tangled in a bush. The last time Charlie had seen that horse, Rick had been on his back. 

Charlie howled into the night, shocking the coyotes to attention. He barreled down the hill, heedless of caution or stealth now. 

He pounced on the first coyote he saw, grabbing it by the scruff in his powerful jaws and shaking it before he tossed it to one side. 

The other coyotes barked and snapped, instinctively protecting their food, but Charlie was blind to the danger. 

He lunged at the nearest coyote, scoring deep gouges in its chest with his battering paws. Another leapt on his back, but Charlie rolled and twisted until his thick claws were buried in the coyote’s chest, holding its snapping jaws at bay. 

Using his superior strength, Charlie hurled the coyote toward a nearby rock. It landed with a sickening crunch.