Miles away, Jordan stood over a workbench. He was looking, with dark, narrow eyes, at an open-bottomed, birdhouse-like box. In his latest battle against insects, he hoped to increase the bat population of the area by giving the small winged creatures safe places to roost. He listened to the wind. Jordan was on-call for the second of three days this month and he was looking forward to ruling his own mornings again, rather than rising at four a.m. to pack saddlebags with dried beef and cheese, clothes, and wool blankets while a concoction of cider, honey, and spices heated on the stove to be packed at the last minute.
From a distance, up the side of a sheer mountain cliff, the wolf’s howl drifted down to him. His broad hands reached for a bugle from the workbench and he jogged outside. The howl came again, and he squinted up at two peaks to either side of the strongest echoes. Once he had his bearings, he lifted the horn to his lips and blew a long shrill note, the only one he needed to know. He jogged over to the laden mare, strapped the horn to the saddlebags and swung himself into the saddle. Lifting the reins, he kicked her with short, black street boots and she leaped through the open gate.
Minutes later Jordan felt the horse's hooves slipping and swung down so he could walk her across a rockslide, then got back up on the other side of it. He swore elaborately at the sharp grade. He gripped the saddle horn when she shifted her footing, then guided her past a boulder and drew the reins to one side, kicking gently this time. She surged like an ocean wave up the slope and Jordan swore again as he gripped her sides with his knees, grabbing the saddle horn with his free hand. On the crest of the hill, he pushed her into a gallop. He knew the terrain well and raced against time. It was late autumn and snow had already fallen at higher elevations. Carl would have to remain still under the blanket until Jordan arrived. For the next twenty minutes, he guided the horse up between the slopes of the two peaks he was using as landmarks. He finally stopped, lifted the horn and blew again. The sound echoed back to him for several seconds, then a long, drawn-out howl gave him time to pinpoint the caller. He headed that direction and soon heard Carl’s yell.
* * *
Jordan glimpsed the Mylar-draped form through the trees. Carl must have heard the rustle and thud of horse hooves trotting through damp leaves, because he rolled over and looked at Jordan, his gaze emanating from above the silvery plastic of the heat blanket. Jordan slowed the horse to a walk, then slid off and led her while she tossed her head and rolled her eyes. She strained against the reins, trying to stay as far as she could from Carl. Her reluctance forced Jordan to stop a couple of yards away, snatch a flask from a saddlebag and toss it to Carl, who whipped his arm out and grabbed it from the air. Carl shivered again, uncapped the thermal container, and tipped his head back, pouring the hot drink down his throat. Rummaging in the saddlebags, Jordan pulled out jeans and sweater and dug for more items in the other bag.
Carl slowly eased himself up the trunk of his tree, and nearly dropped into a faint. "Food, Jordan," he gritted through clenched teeth.
Jordan saw pain in Carl's blue eyes and swore, "Oh, Christ! I thought you'd... uh... eaten... something. Here!" He ripped a plastic bag from the saddle horn and yanked a hunk of white cheese from it, tossing it to Carl's shaking hands. Carl tore off a large corner with his teeth and nearly choked while swallowing it, then bit off another stringy hunk of the mozzarella, devouring the block as Jordan yanked dried meat from one of the saddlebags. After Carl finished the cheese and went through half the meat at a slower rate, he finished off the juice, then took the clothes Jordan handed him and put them on swiftly, remembering the cold only after his belly was full. Carl sat down on the blanket, folded it over himself, curled up into a ball and fell asleep.
Jordan pulled the bedroll out from behind the saddle and draped it over Carl for additional warmth. He sat down, leaning against a large fir tree as he looked at the blanket covering Carl's bony back, then closed his eyes. If Carl was skinny, it was Jordan's fault. He reviewed Carl’s weight loss, tremendous on the three consecutive nights a month that Carl went through the strange transformation. The trick was not only getting enough food into Carl between those nights and the next cycle, but also getting him to work out enough to make sure it went on as muscle. His body was cannibalizing muscle tissue, particularly during the transformation. But Carl was so damned focused on collecting and analyzing data, looking for a cure, it was a battle to get him to step away from his microscope and computer to lift weights. What he needed was a treadmill instead of a chair, and weights hanging over the computer so he could be lifting while he stared at the screen. And discipline to do it.