Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The truck is parked right in the neck of her driveway. Seven silhouettes, three in the cab and four in the box, sit with shoulders up and heads down. Three bright red pinpoints swing through the shadows around their faces. The cigarette cherries flare, then dull, then swerve sideways, where they flare and dull again. One silhouette stands up, hops off the truck, and onto her property.

"Hey, Dana Crockett." The sounds suspiciously like Benny Thorn. "Got some beaver pelts for us?" He raises his arms like he's conducting an orchestra, which cues sloppy laughter from the guys on the truck bed.

Benny's an idiot. Dana doesn't worry about idiots unless they're holding something that's sharp, shoots bullets, or explodes. It's the quiet guys in the cab that draw her attention. At least one of them is sober enough to drive and assess her reaction. Testing to see how much she'll tolerate.

She slips her feet into Maddy's worn out moccasins and grabs her rifle. It's a custom-built Jarrett that she keeps by her bedside for nights like this. The bolt is absolutely smooth as she pulls it back. A .416 RM glints within its shadowed gully, longer than her palm and pale brass in the moonlight. One last cartridge sits on her bedside table like a model rocket. She picks it up, absorbs the familiar weight of it, then presses it down into the magazine. Benny continues his deluge of bullshit as she locks the bolt with a satisfying click.

Dana cracks the window open. Ice splinters along the sill like glass. She holds both buttons on her sight to turn it on and then dials the red dot up. This needs to be seen. She ignores Benny altogether and drags the bead towards one of the flaring cigarette cherries in the cab. Lets it slide down the man's chest like a caress. Then she thumbs the safety off.

Pleasure thrills up her body. Her finger rests along the trigger guard. One squeeze. Not even a squeeze. A twitch against the trigger. That's all it takes. She cups a stranger's life in her hands and he doesn't even know it. The .416 can drop an elephant. It'll turn a man into a pink milkshake. She's done it before.

It takes a few seconds. She lets the bead move a little to catch his peripheral vision. His head abruptly moves and then he jumps in his seat like someone shoved a live wire up his ass. Benny looks over his shoulder and sees what's happening. He books it around the other side truck like that would protect him. The coward. She laughs to herself and slides her bead on over to the driver, who takes it better than his passengers. But if he's as smart as he's pretending to be, he knows that nobody can help him.

"All this long pig just for me," she drawls loud enough to echo across the yard. "Don't suppose many people know where you are?"

"You're crazy." Benny pops his head above the box and points at her.

The driver adjusts his side mirror. "Get in the truck, Ben."

"I ain't afraid. C'mon!" He gets up and walks right into her line of sight. "C'mon, bitch!"

The cold air feels electric. Dana automatically turns to line up on his centre of mass. Another trill of pleasure runs up her back as she imagines the shot. Cape buffalo do the same. It's what makes them so dangerous. They don't run. They stand their ground. They charge.

She remembers facing down a bull not unlike this. Except the bull had a will to live backed up by 2,000 pounds of horn and muscle. Ben can't be more than 200 pounds with nothing but booze, sexual frustration, and coke to hold him up. That would certainly explain his optimism in coming out here, but she sees the fear emerging. That bright insulation inside him is shaking loose. She holds her breath and slowly curls her finger into the trigger.

"Ben," one of the silhouettes in the back of the truck screams. "Get in the fucking truck."

"What!?" Ben half-turns, flaps his jacket like the wings of a bird, and trips tits-first into the snowdrift. The Jarrett bucks against Dana's shoulder. The far end of the driveway explodes like someone set off a grenade. Metal shrieks. The entire truck banks to one side and nearly throws the men out of the box. But she doesn't much care about them. When she peers down at Ben, his head is angled towards the layer cake of snow, ice, and dirt blown out of the ground. And behind that the tight group of holes in the truck's side.

She grins and pulls the bolt back. A long cartridge pops out in her peripheral vision. When she locks it, the click of another chambered round sends a frisson of anticipation through her scalp. Ben scrabbles towards the truck on his hands and feet like an agitated chimpanzee. She shoulders her rifle and reacquires her target. The red bead hones in on Ben's back. He hurls himself into the truck bed and the truck peels out. She starts to lead on them and then catches herself. They're on the road now. Public land.

Their tail lights zip down the hill. They nearly fishtail near the turn-off, but the driver regains control. Those two red dots vanish in the distance until everything is dark and quiet again. Dana shuts the window and waits for another hour incase they find the courage to come back. Moonlight burns cold over the snow and casts shadows across the yard.

She opens her bolt, thumbs the next cartridge down, and flicks the safety back on. Then she heads back to bed with the smell of metal on her hands.

Chapter Text

The next morning is sunny and cold. Dana feels it in her joints before she steps outside. The gauge reads -32℃. Her nose hairs freeze on the first breath she takes. She coughs a few times and all the tiny icicles in the scarf over her mouth tickle. Her lips are beginning to split. If she smiles, she'll bleed.

That hole in the snow needs covering. She packs the disturbed ground as best she can to hide the shot and ricochet. With that done, the woodpile needs to be filled back up, which means hauling her old bony ass to the far side of the yard. All the birch she split in fall is piled past her head and smells of mouldy leaves. She trudges back and forth with armfuls of birch and bark and mouse turds until she's satisfied with the smaller pile on the porch.

Countless animal tracks crisscross the snow. Dana absently studies them as she closes the shed door until one set brings her up short. Splayed toes with an asymmetrical lead and lobed M-shaped palm. That usually means a cougar, except it's nearly 10 inches across. Double the size of an African lion's. The dewclaws are disproportionally large. More like thumbs than not. A prickling sensation sweeps up her neck as she bends down and spreads her hand over it for comparison. The front tracks are definitely 10 inches. The hind tracks must be closer to 15. They're crisp and fresh. Deep, too. Probably made early this morning.

She's heard of people making Sasquatch tracks with fancy boots. If Ben and company want revenge, this is a stupid way to go about it. Maybe kids are trying to prank the cranky hunter from down south, but that's a lot of work with a small window of opportunity in damn cold weather.

The tracks slope around the back of her woodshed and up a hill. Dana follows alongside them. The snow has a hard crust on top, but breaks under her weight. She trudges uphill towards the end of her property until the snow is up to her thighs. When she makes it to the top, she expects signs of a vehicle or some fool's bootprints. Something to explain the unwelcome visitor on her land. But there's just more tracks across the field towards the turn-off. Even in snow this deep, there's no skiffs between each step. No sign of dragging. She looks back and squints against the sun's glare.

The tracks stretch across her yard and over the range road. Her fence barely pokes out above the snowdrifts, but something hangs off the barbed wire. She backtracks to inspect it. Sweat pours down her face so she pulls her scarf beneath her chin. Her back threatens to spasm as she leans over to get a good look. It's fur of some sort. Creamy grey with an off-white border and a few black hairs near one side. The grey and off-white shafts lighten up towards their base, but the black ones remain solid. No tipping or shading.

Dana straightens up, mindful of the twinge in her back. It's probably off a plush toy. A few kids have tried that before, although they really did their research this time.

A distant roar catches her attention. The sound echoes for miles around. She turns to see a big black SUV barrelling down the road. It slows just enough to whip into Dana's driveway. She takes a deep breath as the SUV comes to a stop four feet from her porch steps. Even without the flashy shield on the door, she recognizes Mirror Lake Police Service. Not many people have armoured vehicles out here.

A familiar figure steps out in the full kit. Maddy is tall and the stripes in her uniform only make her look taller. Her hair is scraped back into a shiny black pony tail that swishes sharply from side to side as she marches up to the porch. Scratch that, past the porch.

"Maddy?"

Dana follows her only to see her search the yard in a grid pattern. She quickly finds the tracks and follows them to the fence line. Instead of bending down to inspect them like Dana, she stands there, shoulders slumped, like some terrible news has just been confirmed.

"Maddy, what in the hell?"

She plucks the hair off the barbed wire and holds it up. Even at 62, her face is relatively unlined. Wide lips made for smiling, but do a good job at frowning, too. Right now, her expression is twisted into something between a smirk and a wince.

"Explain this."

Dana looks helplessly at the tracks, then back at the hair in Maddy's hand. "It's fur. Probably fake."

That takes some of the wind out of Maddy's sails. She gestures to the tracks. "And these?"

"If you're suggesting they're real, then there's a cougar around here that's the size of a grizzly." Dana crosses her arms . "See any of those wandering around?"

Maddy's expression seals shut. "Let's go inside."

There's something grim about the way she says it. Dana wonders if it's about the Open North crew, but MLPS doesn't have jurisdiction off the res. That and relations between Mirror Lake Cree Nation and Open North Ltd. aren't exactly cordial. This is something else. She shrugs and heads towards the house. The familiar footsteps at her back unlock a treacherous warmth in her chest that she quickly squashes.

They stomp their boots on the porch and head inside. Dana gets out of her snowsuit in a series of stiff-necked manoeuvres that leave her breathless. She automatically looks for her moccasins, but Maddy slips them on and heads into the kitchen. Dana follows, face hot, and quickly busies herself with the nearest cupboard. Inside smells of tea and coffee. She grabs two teabags and her beaten aluminum tea pot. The lid is reluctant to open and that buys her a few extra seconds for the burning in her face to fade.

"So." She fills her kettle half-way and flicks it on. "I repeat my question: what in the hell?"

Maddy lays the fur flat on the table. "You say this isn't real. What makes you so sure?"

"The alternative is stupid."

"Okay. Ignoring that, would you be sure?"

Dana arches both eyebrows. "Are you asking for a hunter's opinion?"

The words are snide and childish. Maddy's expression curdles, but she doesn't reply. That worries Dana more than anything. She sits down with a sigh that rattles her from head to toe.

"The pattern makes me think snow leopard." She points to the black hairs. "See how it's the only colour that stays solid all the way through? Like a rosette."

Maddy nods slowly, eyes narrowed. "There's no way those tracks could come from a leopard?"

"No. Way too big."

"Can you bring down something that size?"

"I guess." She tilts her head to one side and examines Maddy's face. "With the right tools."

The kettle starts rumbling and flicks off. Dana forces herself to get up and pour boiling water into the pot. The faint scent of Maddy's shampoo swirls around her as she grabs two mugs, milk, sugar, and from the sounds of it, a pack of sugar cookies.

"Thanks."

Maddy ignores her and sets everything on the table. Guests aren't supposed to do the work, but maybe that line is still blurry for her, too. Dana swallows back something sentimental and sets the pot down on the table. She stares out the kitchen window to avoid eye contact.

"This doesn't sound very hypothetical."

"Sure doesn't." Maddy takes a loud sip of tea.

Dana rubs her forehead. "It was windy yesterday. The tracks are perfect so they have to have been made last night. I didn't see or hear anybody making them."

"Nothing unusual at all?" Something quickens in Maddy's eyes. She leans forward, both hands clutched around her mug. "No weird sounds?"

"Weird? No." Dana hesitates. "A security crew swung by. Same guys, same shit-talk. They peeled out of here something fierce, but I didn't see any animals."

Maddy inhales sharply. She studies Dana's face for a long while and comes to some decision. "Seven bodies were found just a few miles from here. I got a good look before RCMP gave me the boot."

"What, all of them? At least one guy was sober."

"I've never seen deaths like that." Her eyes focus inward as she struggles to put death into words. "Mauled and stabbed at the same time. Reminds me of when Jack fell on his sheers."

They both wince at the memory. Jack made it, but only because Dana and Deputy Bedard had enough fingers to plug the holes while Maddy floored it all the way to Mirror Lake General Hospital.

"I don't know what to tell you." Dana dips a cookie into her tea and savours the way it dissolves on her tongue. "The only animal it sounds like is human."

Maddy shrugs, but doesn't break eye contact. Doesn't back down. That's when things start to click. This isn't really about animal tracks.

"And you came to me because I have experience killing both." Dana drops the rest of her cookie onto the plate. It might as well taste like ash. "Your idea or William's?"

"Bill's."

"At least you're honest about it." She sags back in her chair and feels the last 24 hours press down on her. "Anything that takes .375 cartridges should be enough. If it's a bear."

They both know bears are usually shy. Maddy's mouth twists again and finishes her tea in one gulp. When she stands up, both thumbs are hooked into her duty belt. It's a classic cop posture, but the moccasins make it pure Maddy. Dana watches her walk to the door with a twinge of loss. If she's honest with herself, she hoped this would be something else. Mending bridges and all that. She scrabbles for something to say, but the ghost of Aiden Singer hovers between them.

The silence is broken by a faint roar from down the road. Another approaching vehicle. Maddy immediately drops her boot and strafes to the window. "Shit."

Dana gets up slowly. Her legs click and creak like an old car. "Your esteemed colleagues?"

"RCMP."

"Since when are you afraid of them?"

Maddy slowly turns around. "I saw that truck up close. It didn't take a lot of brain power to figure out some of those holes came from a bullet."

Dana raises her eyebrows. "Some?"

There's a telltale squeal like someone running over styrofoam as the cruiser turns into the yard. The engine cuts out. Boots crunch their way to the porch and then hit the wood with authoritative clomps. Three heavy knocks on the door.

"Ms. Leal. It's Constable Garza, RCMP. I'd like to speak with you please."

"Listen to him," Dana says. "Isn't he sweet?"

Maddy rolls her eyes, but her right thumb stays hooked very close to her SIG P226. There's no love lost between the Mirror Lake Cree and the Mounties, but the tension in her body speaks volumes.

Dana makes a show of hobbling to the door. "It's about time you showed up." She rattles the chain around as if the lock's engaged and opens up. "Those men have been harassing me again, Peter."

It's not technically a lie. She did call it in the first time and received all the usual platitudes. At least Peter has the grace to look embarrassed about it. That's more than she can say about anyone else in the Mirror Lake detachment.

He clears his throat. "We're investigating an incident last night."

"So I heard," Dana says with thinly concealed glee. "Is it true? All seven of them gone?"

Peter's eyes cut to somewhere over her shoulder. She follows the direction of his stare to see Maddy towering in the doorway.

"Constable," she says.

He nods stiffly. "Sergeant."

They size each other up. Peter's new so he might actually register a complaint through the proper channels. Chief William will tell him where the White Man can stick his complaints, but a paper trail is a paper trail.

"Was it a bear, Peter? Did a bear get them?"

He blinks and focuses on Dana with visible effort. "I'm sorry. I can't comment on an ongoing investigation, Ms. Leal. Now—"

"Am I safe out here? I'm all by myself. Can't a patrol car come around?"

A muscle in his jaw starts flexing. "I'll see what I can arrange. Unless Sergeant Cardinal cares to volunteer?"

Maddy shrugs. "Ain't my show."

"No, it isn't." Peter purses his lips like he smells something rotten. "You mentioned a disturbance last night, Ms. Leal?"

"I did. Now I consider myself a tough old broad, but strange drunk men showing up in the middle of the night?" Dana shakes her head and hugs herself for added effect. "Peter, the language they used. They called me such homophobic things. They want to bully me until I sell my land to Open North."

'Homophobic' grabs Peter's attention. That's the realm of hate crimes. Something he could use to get the hell out of here. But the mention of Open North chills all eagerness. His face immediately clams up like he just got caught doing something he shouldn't.

He puts one foot forward and lowers his voice. "Let's cut the shit for a second. If anyone comes around asking about Open North, pretend that complaint is the end of the story. Trust me."

Maddy snorts. "Trust you?"

"Yeah." Peter looks up at her without blinking. His eyes are pale hazel, nearly gold, but they're darkened by animal intensity. "Seen nothing, heard nothing, know nothing."

"Consider it done," Dana says.

"Good. Might as well keep that rifle close while you're at it."

He draws himself back to his full height and nods like they said something polite and predictable.

"Thanks for your time, ma'am." He makes a point of holding Maddy's eye a moment longer. "Ma'am." Then he turns on his heel and strides back to his cruiser. The engine roars to life, heater on full blast. He executes a decent three-point turn and heads down the road to the same turn-off that the ON crew used last night.

Dana shuts the door. "Peter's got a bug up his ass."

"For once we agree," Maddy says. "Keep that rifle close."

Chapter Text

The plan goes like this: Maddy stomps off the porch with moccasins in one hand and duffel bag in the other. She jerks the SUV door opens and tosses the bag into the passenger seat, then the moccasins. The bag is stuffed with old clothes around a core of rifles and ammunition. She makes a big deal of slamming the door shut and starting the engine.

Dana stomps onto the porch after her and bangs the door against the house wall. "Get the hell off my land and stay the hell off my land. And get herpes while you're at it!"

Maddy gives her the middle-finger before backing out and racing down the range road in the opposite direction Peter took. The roar of her SUV slowly fades out behind the far hills. Dana makes it two steps back into her house before laughing. Nothing like two squabbling old queers. Whether it's Open North security or the RCMP, this ought to throw them off the trail.

She pauses in the kitchen and studies the two sets of mugs and crumb piles. It's easy to start thinking things could go back to the way they were. Far too easy. She sniffs and starts putting things away. The sugar cookies still smell sweet a month after their expiry date. She finishes hers in a few bites and waits for any chalky flavour. There isn't any. The wind chimes start clicking and tinging. Chimes might be a bit grand. It's made of old keys, spoons, bottle caps, nuts and bolts, and a rusty red colander. Maddy hung it up as a joke, but neither of them ever took it down.

The lowest spoon flashes white with each spin like a little lighthouse. Behind it, something scurries underneath the woodshed. Dana stands very still and waits. Nearly a half-hour passes. Chickadees sing their songs and dart among the bushes. Pale blue shadows begin to reach over the driveway. It's only then that something peaks out into the sun.

It's—not a bear. It looks like a bear, but its coat is all wrong. Creamy grey with a startling pattern of spots and rosettes near the head and splotches across the body. Something between a snow leopard and a clouded leopard. Round ears, big thumbed paws, and a large elongated head. It's more feline than not, but unlike any cat she's ever seen.

One thing's for certain: it's too young to be out here alone in this cold. The cub wobbles out of its hiding place and looks around. Bright blue eyes with a distinct slant. Whiskers straining forward. Its shoulders are incredibly muscular compared to its hindquarters. Short tail like a bobcat. It tumbles to one side and the thinness of its ribs shows through. Hasn't fed for a while. When it rights itself, the cub begins to bawl. An odd high-pitched sound that plucks at the heart-strings. That's when she sees its teeth.

Even at this age, the cub's upper canines are abnormally large. It closes its mouth to whine and the teeth peek out like little tusks.

"Oh, hell," Dana says.

She forces herself back to clean-up while the cub keeps bawling outside. Its cries eventually die down with a strangled note at the end. And each time, she thinks about the mix of milk formulas in her fridge.

Maddy bought them when she found a lynx cub on the res. She nursed it, cleaned it, and cared for it until the fish cops arrived. The cub had been weak, but never stopped fighting. Maybe that's what Maddy really bonded to. Her charge clawed back from the brink that night. A good omen, considering. The odds are always stacked against orphans.

The cub resorts to whimpering. It's clear that mama bear-leopard isn't here. Each sorrowful note comes closer and closer. Dana finishes drying off the last mug and finally looks out the window. The cub has dragged itself towards the wall. It must feel the heat coming from the house or maybe it's attracted to noise. Either way, it looks up at her, registers her presence, and starts bawling even harder than before. The racket is intolerable.

"Shut up," Dana snaps. "Just die, you stupid cat."

But she's already grabbing a towel out of the bathroom and goat's milk out of the fridge. The kitchen has a backdoor that's seldom used. Dana has to push against a pile of snow before she steps out onto the back porch in nothing but her socks. The cub immediately turns to her and waddles forward like a domesticated kitten. Definitely not typical behaviour, but nothing about this is typical.

It raises one of its paws as if to ward off a potential swipe. Dana groans and bends down to get a closer look. Cold seeps up her feet, but the burning quickly subsides to numbness. Those paws are really something else. Broad and clawed. The dewclaw is so developed that it makes both front paws look like hands. This cat is a grappler. No two ways about it. She drapes her towel over it and the cub mewls in alarm. It tries to find a way out before falling over again.

"Oh, cut it out." Dana gathers it up like a baby and retreats inside.

The cub is fuzzy, cold, and heavy; shivering so weakly it's close to stopping. She goes to the stovetop and turns the large coil up to high. Heat immediately blooms in the air and she waits to see if this is enough. The cub looks up at her, glassy-eyed and extremely still. She pokes its pink nose and it blinks. Then it grabs her hand, drags it up to its mouth, and sucks on her index finger.

"Ow!" Dana tries to take her hand away, but even at this age and in this condition, the cub is strong. "Maybe I'll leave you outside to freeze after all."

The cub simply growls. Once it figures out there's no milk, it thrusts her hand away with a grunt of supreme frustration.

"Exactly, dipshit."

She sets the cub down in the box she usually uses for recycling bottles. It wriggles and slaps the sides in a bear-leopard temper tantrum. Dana gets out the old bottle and nipple. They're clean but not sterile so she has to fill a pot with water and let it all boil for 10 minutes. Once that's done, she gets a pair of tongs and lays everything out on a clean tea towel to cool. The cub spends most of this time ripping the plastic box. Like every other baby on the planet, it doesn't like to wait.

"Jesus H. Christ, hold your horses." Dana mixes kitten and puppy replacement formula with goat's milk. It's not as good as the real thing, but it'll have to do. When she turns around, the cub is straining on its short hind legs to get over the box's lip. She drags her towel close and kneels on it.

The cub wrinkles its nose at the bottle. Might be the smell of rubber. Dana shakes it so a bead of milk appears and that's all it takes. The cub latches on with both front paws. She has to change the angle several times so it doesn't choke. Those strange canines gleam ivory as it gulps milk down. She glances down its belly. The cub is female.

"How mad would people get if I called you Fluffy?"

The cub flattens its ears, but otherwise ignores her.

"You're right, that would be ridiculous." Dana watches those powerful front paws at work. "How about Leti? Like Leticia Ribeiro."

That gets no reaction whatsoever.

"Leti it is."

Chapter Text

"Yeah, I got the picture." Bedard says over the phone. "Looks like one of those sabre-tooths on Wiki."

Dana clucks her tongue. "Anything useful?"

"Last ones died out 10,000 years ago?"

"Actually useful."

"Lives in lion herds?"

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "Prides, son. Lions live in prides."

"I thought that was just you guys." A quiet puff on the other end gives him away. The little shit is laughing. "Marching and rainbows and stuff."

"You're lucky I'm not there to smack you right across your stupid mouth."

He laughs outright and croons something in Cree. The only word she recognizes is nohkôm.

"Don't you grandma me," she snarls, "and tell Maddy I need more goat milk."

"I will." His voice is soothing, but still has an undercurrent of laughter. "Are you safe out there?"

"Got the biggest guns around. Don't worry about me."

Dana hangs up before he turns sentimental. Glenn Bedard is insufferable that way. She moves out here to be alone and what happens? Instantly adopted like a goddamn stray.

Speaking of, Leti peeks from around the corner. Now that she's warm and fed, she's claimed a brown paper bag for herself. Other than being underfed, she's in good condition. No parasites, wounds, signs of pain, or deformities. No underlying health problems that Dana can see. Already acclimatized to humans. Even uses a litter box. Like a well-socialized kitten instead of a prehistoric felid.

"They must've dug you out of the ground," Dana says. "All the best things are."

She takes a good look out the windows before crossing the room to a tall unobtrusive shape tucked in against the wall. On first glance, it looks like she hung a blanket over a large vacuum cleaner. Leti's eyes follow her as she bends down and pulls the blanket back. What might have been the vacuum's hose is the long muzzle of a machine gun. It sits on top of a hydraulic pump with belts of ammo curled between them like a snake.

"The Browning .303 Mk II." She puts her hands on her hips. "Beautiful, huh?"

Leti yawns and rests her head on her paws.

It's not like the Jarrett. It's not a hunting rifle. At least, not in the traditional sense. Dana smiles despite herself. These flew on the wings of Spitfires. She runs her fingertips along the barrel. The metal is smooth, painstakingly restored, with only a few scratches to show wear and tear. Just having it here is a morale boost. This Browning lay in a farmer's field for over 70 years before being unearthed. A metal fossil. Dead, found, and brought back to life.

Dana drapes her blanket over the machine gun again and pats it like a dog. She'll have to clean it later to prevent any rust.

"Good old Brownie."

Leti's ears swivel at the sound of Dana's voice, but she doesn't open her eyes. Not even a twitch of her whiskers. Even a sabre-tooth cub doesn't fear people.

Chapter Text

It takes another hour before the buzz of snowmobiles rises in the air. Dana keeps a lookout the kitchen window until Maddy sails over the hill like something out of the Dukes of Hazard. Her right skid nearly clips the woodshed's eavestrough as she rides over the fence and pulls up to the back porch. Behind her, another snowmobile crests the hill at an equally insensible pace. The second driver shows no signs of rank, but the brick shithouse build tells her it's William. Chief of Mirror Lake Police.

"Great," Dana mutters.

The noise grabs Leti's attention. She gets to her feet and chirps like a lion cub, which sounds cute, but those big shoulders are tense. It's not hard to imagine the full-sized version tearing into a truck and seven men. The image gives Dana a little thrill despite herself. She watches Maddy and William dismount their snow mobiles and double-time it to the door. As they thunder up the steps in their big snow boots, a large shape crests the hill behind them.

Leti's chirping turns into a hiss and her fur stands on end.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." Dana yanks the door open. "Get inside."

Of course, it being human nature to be curious, the idiots look at what she's looking at, their hands diving to their service weapons. But those 9 mm peashooters can't stop what's coming over the snowdrifts after them.

"Aw, shit," William says.

Sabre-tooth cat doesn't do the reality justice. Even from this far away, Dana can tell it's nearly as tall as a horse. A pale clouded coat that's hard to see against snow, but is outlined clearly against blue sky. Those canines must be the size of bananas. The sabre-tooth descends without a sound, its shoulder blades working like enormous pistons.

Dana turns her head in time to see two things. The first: Maddy charges through the door and turns on her heel, gun drawn, and bellows, "Bill, get down!" The second: William takes his eyes off the sabre-tooth and looks at her, then at something else to his left. His eyes tell the whole story.

Two blurs of cream burst from opposite sides the left and underneath the porch. The first sabre-tooth claps William's shoulder with one big paw like they're friends. Those claws dig in, William cries out, and struggles to draw his sidearm. The second sabre-tooth digs its front paws into his chest and back. Together they drag him to the ground. Maddy finally gets her clear shot. She steps back out the door and fires.

The whipcrack startles the sabre-tooths. They scatter behind the corner of the house and behind the wood shed. No blood drawn. Maddy descends the steps and assesses all the angles of attack. Without taking her eyes off the two spots where the sabre-tooths retreated or lowering her gun, she reaches down with one hand to William. He groans, accepts her hand, and pulls himself to his knees, but Maddy's strong. She half-drags, half-guides him backwards. Together they fumble up the stairs and into the house. The sabre-tooths materialize from their hiding spots, but keep their distance.

Dana closes the door and locks it. They all stand in silence, huffing and puffing, trying to absorb what just happened. Leti's hissing softens until it's inaudible. William groans again and sinks to the floor. His uniform is dark, but light catches on the sticky black patches expanding across his chest. Maddy holsters her 226 and kneels down beside him.

"You cut it a little close."

He quirks his lips. "Told you I'm too old for this."

"We're all too old for this," Maddy replies. She gently takes off his jacket and pulls his shirt out of his belt before unbuttoning it. A raggedy old white muscle shirt is underneath and quickly turning rich liver red. She peeks underneath it, careful not to rip off any clots, and scowls.

"They tore you up pretty good, Bill."

William sighs. "They sure did."

Dana watches the sabre-tooths regroup outside. There's at least five that she can see. All of them bear-sized, sniffing the bloody snow, and eyeing the house speculatively. One digs a large hole under the shed until it can stick its head in. Big black trails of frozen dirt tumble back along the snow. Definitely not Leti's mama.

"I bet there's more than one group," Dana says quietly. She pulls the blinds down on the kitchen window and then patrols the whole floor for weaknesses. All the blinds are pulled and doors locked. Not that it would make much difference to animals of such size. She organizes her axe, knife, first aid supplies, ammo and Jarrett on the kitchen table. Maddy immediately takes the first aid and treats William as best she can. But Dana doesn't need to look to know that he's badly mauled. Those big wrestler's paws would shred him up like a block of cheese.

Leti remains absolutely quiet. Dana goes over to her corner and strokes her creamy fur. The cub butts her head against Dana's thigh and presses into her side like a frightened baby. Despite herself, she picks Leti up and those big paws rest on either side of her neck. Even hand-raised cubs aren't this quick to bond. This is like her sister's cat Scooter. A big floppy Ragdoll that snuggles anyone in sight.

"Is that what I think it is?" Maddy asks.

Dana stands up and turns around. "This is Leti. Found her under my shed."

The officers stare at her like she's crazy. Finally, William picks a shred of skin off his neck. "She's a lot cuter than the ones outside."

"She'll grow up to be them," Maddy says. "They've already killed 13 people."

Dana raises her eyebrows. "Who?"

"More ON crew. We found two teams by the lake."

Dana rubs Leti's chin and is rewarded by an ursine rumble. "All this hard work to rebuild a predator and they're surprised when that's what they get."

Maddy looks pointedly at Leti.

"My girl isn't like them." Dana shifts Leti's weight and the cub relaxes against her. "Look at this. Most house cats aren't this friendly."

William narrows his eyes like something just clicked into place. "Trophies," he rasps and points outside. Then he points to Leti. "Pets."

Two extremely lucrative markets that Open North is poised to revolutionize. Dana draws one curtain back just enough to look outside. Three sabre-tooths are licking the bloody snow. The other two are nowhere to be seen. She watches them for a while and is only brought back by pain. Her lips split from smiling.

"So, where's that goat milk?"

Maddy pauses like her entire body is needed to process the question. "What?"

"The goat milk for Leti."

"In the skidoo."

Dana sighs. "Christsake." She looks down at Leti and rocks her back and forth. "Well, we can't have you starving, can we?"

"I'd also like to not die," William says.

"Why'd you come out here, Bill?"

He laughs softly. It sounds like a knife against a sharpening stone. "I cleared you of Singer's death. Doesn't mean I trust you."

"All this over a tweaker." Dana curls her lip. "Singer was going to kill Maddy. I'm glad he's dead and you should be, too."

Maddy keeps her head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, a bloody hand barring her mouth. William says something softly in Cree and they hold each other's stare. An entire conversation happens in that look and it's only then that Dana realizes Maddy is never coming back. Something is still there, but it will never undo the evening Aiden Singer stumbled up Maddy's driveway with an old Marlin 336.

Dana blinks until her vision clears. "He was going to kill you."

Neither of them spare her so much as a glance.

She looks down at Leti, who looks back up at her with uncanny blue eyes. Absorbing all her expressions like a furry little sponge. The cub's pale pink nose twitches and she suddenly stiffens. Wood and snow squeal under something heavy. Dana looks out a crack in her blinds. The sabre-tooths are walking up the stairs, following blood smeared across the deck. It won't take a lot of persuasion for them to start knocking at the door.

But she envies their pure ferocity. How uncompromising it is.

Dana returns to Leti's bag and lowers her into it. The cub instinctively curls up inside and regards her with those knowing eyes. She returns to the back door and puts on her boots as quietly as she can. The sabre-tooth's presence sinks into her awareness like a bowling ball into a mattress. Layers of metal and wood feel flimsy against the presence on the other side. It might as well be tinfoil and toothpicks.

"What are you doing?" Maddy hisses.

Dana glances at her, then at her Jarrett. Rifles are clumsy in close quarters and if she dies, they'll need it. But while these sabre-tooths look strange, their behaviour isn't.

"Better call your deputy," she says, then yanks the door open.

Cold air and bright light hit her like a slap. The sabre-tooth stands right there with its paw raised as if about to knock. Its head is nearly level with hers and they stare at each other. Its big blue watch at her, surprised, but the wheels are already turning. That cold intellect assesses the situation, weighs the risks and rewards. Dana slowly reaches for the wind chimes. The sabre-tooth's eyes flick to her hand and that's her opening.

She roars from deep in her chest and lunges forward. The sabre-tooth hops back a few feet. Not scared, but surprised. Reassessing. She snatches the chimes off its hook and shuts the door after her. The old colander sears her palm. It's a nice sunny afternoon. Good for getting chores done. Keys, spoons, bottle caps, and nuts and bolts. They're her weapon. She winds them around her fist and holds it up to make the most sound. The other sabre-tooths focus on her with the same mixture of bewilderment and interest.

Leti's goat milk is tucked into the side of Maddy's skidoo. Dana keeps her breaths even, her footsteps slow and confident, and walks around the nearest sabre-tooth. It turns with her, never breaking eye contact. She pauses at the deck's edge, keenly aware of the hulking figures in her peripheral vision, and jumps off. The first sabre-tooth jumps after her. It can't leap like a leopard or cougar, but it's close enough. It lands within reach and takes a swipe at her while the others saunter closer, heads low, reading her scent. That cement block of a paw misses her, but only just. Air burns across her naked neck. She keeps stepping sideways towards the skidoo, but doesn't back away.

Like so many zebras and gazelle and water buffalo before her, Dana has to choose her defense carefully. Running would be a death sentence. They would be on her in a second. They're certainly not afraid of her. The only choice is to stand her ground. Confuse and startle them. So she keeps circling towards the skidoo, her hand burning cold, while some of the largest felids to ever live track her like a snack. But so far, they don't quite know what to make of her, and that keeps her alive.

Heat from Maddy's lime green Yamaha caresses Dana's hand. She bends down just enough to grab the milk bottle and keeps moving. A new noisemaker she holds in other hand. Part of her wants to bolt to the wood shed, but without a door, it would only give these cats a roof over their heads while they eat her. The only way out is through and the only way through is around.

The smallest sabre-tooth gets impatient. Its eyes quicken as it walks directly towards her. Dana holds up her milk and wind chime. That makes it pause briefly, then it keeps walking closer. She draws herself up and shouts, kicks snow into its eyes, and lunges. The chimes bang and ting sharply.

She must look so goddamn dumb.

But the sabre-tooth hunches up like a horse about to buck, trips over its own paws, and then smacks into other sabre-tooths in an effort to get away. That startles them all and she capitalizes on it. Roaring, kicking snow, banging the wind chimes like something out of a cheap horror movie. Their neat formation immediately breaks up with the little one shaking its head near the shed, two more near the far side of the house, and two glancing back and forth between one oddity and another. It won't take long before they realize this is all a show. So the second those stairs come into her peripheral vision, she hauls her old bony ass to the back door.

Maddy opens it, drags her inside, and slams it shut. Grunts and growls resonate from outside followed by heavy thumps and groaning snow.

Warm air rushes over Dana's skin. It's only then she realizes how cold she is. Her lungs burn. Her hands burn. She sets the milk and chimes on the counter and bends over to catch her breath.

"Ugh, fuck a duck."

"You proud of yourself now?" Maddy flicks her ear hard. "Huh? That was stupid."

Dana retreats around the table. "When's Glenn coming?"

"He's not," William rasps. "He's protecting the res 'til we get back."

He looks casual and amused, but his face is very pale.

"You better call someone."

Maddy glares at Dana a moment more, then plants her hands on her duty belt. "We've informed the RCMP."

"Peter?" Dana curls her lip. "And whoever has his leash."

William coughs out a laugh. "Snob."

"Bill." Maddy presses her hand against his bandages as blood starts to seep through. "Don't."

Something slams into the door like a battering ram. Big enough and strong enough to dent the panels inward. Its thunder reverberates inside the kitchen. The deadbolt glints between the doorframe and the wall like a bent spoon. Dana returns to Leti, scoops her up from the bag, and lets those grappler's claws dig into her shoulders. She walks right up to Maddy and holds up the cub.

Maddy doesn't take her eyes off the door, hand on her sidearm. "Not the time."

"That thing isn't going to cut it. Take my keys and run to my truck. I'll hold them here."

"No."

"Then take the Jarrett."

She pins Dana with a calm look. Aiden Singer chills the air between them.

"I'll take the .30 cal."

William cranes his neck to look at them. "Not like a machine gun, right?"

Dana stands absolutely still. Leti senses her fright and flattens against her chest, ears constantly swivelling.

"Right?" He prompts again.

"Sorry, Bill." Maddy softens her voice even more as a frustrated growl shakes the window pane. "You think I forgot that little project?"

"Hoped you'd keep it to yourself," Dana mutters and looks down at Leti.

The cub clutches at her, ears flat, eyes knowing. Leti's mama probably made the same stand. Animals just know. A squeeze of grief surprises Dana. She bends down and gives this oddity of a cat a kiss on her head. She can imagine all too well that little skull caving in-between fully grown jaws.

Well, mama sabre-tooth passed her the torch and she won't drop it.

Another thundering impact. This time the window shatters and a big paw grips the sill, followed by the silhouette of a large head cast across the curtains. Dana gently sets Leti down on the stairs and the cub scurries away with that clumsy bear gait. Then she grabs her Jarrett and loads it with a smart snap. William pushes himself upright a little more with a sucking breath, then unholsters his 9 mm.

"I'd still like to not die," he says.

"Likewise." Dana knocks the table onto its side. She shoves it flush against one wall and braces the Jarrett's long barrel against it. The cold solid weight of it transforms her tension into anticipation. Maddy walks over to the Browning's innocuous disguise and pulls the blanket off. It's 40 inches long, silvery, and freshly oiled. The slotted barrel jacket looms at chest level. In full view, that killing power isn't historical anymore.

"Holy shit," William blurts, aghast. "My dad manned one of those in the war. Where did you get it?"

"Friend of a friend." Dana braces the Jarrett against her shoulder as more snow crunches outside."The Browning needs hydraulics to fire. That's your trigger."

The pump hums to life and Maddy begins loading the belt. "I remember."

Two loud rasps against the back door. The strip of light widening between the door and the door frame shows at least one silhouette on its hind legs. It's cold in the kitchen now. Condensation and frost crawls over what remains of the window. Dana's fingers stiffen, lose feeling, and stick to metal. Loud snuffling send skiffs of snow across the floor almost to William's feet. He shifts back and leaves a semi-dry outline of blood.

"Any chance you have bazooka stashed under your couch?" He asks.

Another thud against the door.

"If only." Dana's eyes flick over him. "I'll let you try the machine gun later if you don't tell the cops about it."

He racks the slide back and a round clicks in the chamber. "I'll think about it."

"Ready." Maddy swivels the Browning towards door. "Bill, you'll want to cover your ears if you can."

He chuffs. "No kidding."

They form a kill zone, but Dana doesn't say so. That will happen on its own. Some impulse makes her glance over her shoulder and she catches two blue eyes peering just around the corner. Leti gauges the situation even now. Assessing. Preparing. Surviving.

That's my girl, she thinks.

The door shrieks as it folds inwards like a folded piece of paper. Wood and drywall splinter around the deadbolt. It finally fails with a loud brassy snap. A large shadow falls back onto all fours and snuffles at the gap. Gently, ever so gently, the door is nudged open by a wet pink nose. Then nothing stands between them and one of the biggest felids on Earth. Two species once separated by thousands of years are now separated by a few feet.

The sabre-tooth cat fills the doorway, nearly too wide to fit in, with at least two more at its back. It looks at William and raises its head to scent the air. It then registers Dana and Maddy on either side. Unafraid, but always weighing risks. The best predators do.

Dana curls her finger around the Jarrett's trigger. Pleasure trills up her spine as she locks eyes with the sabre-tooth cat.

Now?

Now nature takes its course.