The Canadians had told Fitz that the bears usually ran straight at Banff. They were attracted by the sights and sounds of human activity, all too eager to feast when the opportunity presented itself.
Yet for some reason, the original bear they were tracking had turned away from the sounds of snowmobile and truck engines near the base. And to make matters stranger, the second beast seemed to be headed in the same direction away from Banff.
Fitz had long since learned that whenever Variants acted outside their normal behaviors, they had to be extraordinarily cautious. Usually that meant there was something more nefarious going on, generally involving collaborators or the New Gods. Either way, Ghost needed to find the bears to find out what was happening.
Dohi knelt next to one of the footprints large enough to fit a human skull.
As the Navajo tracker followed the rapidly disappearing tracks, Fitz and Ace scanned their surroundings. Dohi picked up his pace, skirting quicker between the trees as they climbed an incline. The light snowfall had almost buried the tracks.
After another twenty minutes of desperately following the dwindling footsteps, Dohi finally stopped. Fitz watched him search the snow before standing and letting out a defeated sigh.
“We’ve lost the footprints,” Dohi said.
“I say we keep going,” Ace growled. “Got to be another way to find them.”
The Canadian special forces trudged through the snow toward Ghost.
Neilson paused next to Fitz, his three team members standing behind him. “We should call this off and head back. It’s going to be like trying to find a snowball in an avalanche now.”
“No,” Dohi said, scanning the trees. “Footprints are the easiest way to follow the beasts, but they aren’t the only way. I can find their trail again.”
Neilson looked at Fitz as if he wasn’t sure.
“If he says he can find them, he can find them,” Fitz said. “You want to turn around, go ahead. But we’re not going back until we find those bears. Rather we find them, than they find us.”
Neilson shrugged, and for a second, Fitz thought the Canadians would start back to Banff.
“Well, we aren’t leaving a bunch of Americans out in the Canadian wilderness,” Neilson said. “If you stay, we stay.”
A large, gruff Canadian named Corporal Sherman stepped up. He had a thick black beard poking out of his parka that bobbed as he talked.
“If your man can actually find these monsters, then all the drinks you want are on me when we get back,” Sherman said.
“Sounds like a deal,” Ace said. “You heard him, Dohi. Work your magic.”
“It isn’t magic,” Dohi said. “And if you all are coming with, I need you to be quieter than the dead.”
“Consider me dead,” a skinny man with bright green eyes named Corporal Daugherty said.
The third team member, a woman with raven-black hair named Private Lauren Toussaint nodded.
The Canadians fell in line with the Americans. Fitz signaled for Ace and Sherman to take rearguard. Neilson, Daugherty, and Toussaint watched their flanks as Dohi led the group through the snow.
He did so with deft surety, seemingly following invisible clues. Fitz watched the man trace his gloved finger over a tree, then pause as if he was sniffing the air like a hunting wolf.
In reality, he knew that Dohi was not preternaturally gifted. He had just honed a set of skills that others neglected. The tracker stopped and pinched a single white piece of fur between his fingers, then changed direction.
More and more frequently, Dohi stopped to take in their surroundings. The more they slowed, the more Fitz worried they had indeed lost the trail. Maybe his confident assurance to Neilson had been foolish. Maybe the tracker had finally met his match thanks to Mother Nature.
Then Dohi held up a fist.
The team froze.
Dohi looked back at Fitz, signaling to his eyes, then flashed two fingers.
Two contacts.
He gestured for Dohi to lead them on the invisible path he had uncovered.
They traveled only a few hundred yards to the edge of the forest. There the snow-covered trees gave way to a steep drop-off over a frozen stream. The ice was punctuated by jagged rocks. Between the rocks, Fitz finally saw their targets.
Just as Dohi had estimated, two massive Variants with shaggy white fur were walking on all fours across the frozen water. Judging by their slow gaits, they did not know they were being followed.
Fitz lined up his rifle, tracking their movements. He was still too far to ensure a clean kill shot, especially with the cover of the trees below.
Before Fitz could give the order to advance, Dohi put a hand on his shoulder. Then the tracker pointed to another clearing between the trees.
Fitz’s stomach sunk, fear creeping through his insides. They had anticipated running into the two bears.
But those giant beasts were nothing compared to the sight before them.
Neilson audibly gasped.
Fitz peered through his rifle scope, counting each of the bears in the clearing.
Six of them. Six abominations the size of the fabled Yeti with all the strength and power of a tank. They snarled at each other with long fangs protruding from their humanoid faces. Their white fur was long and clumped-together with dirt. Dried blood stained their chests from past kills.
One bear posed a threat to an entire team, but this many, especially if they were working as a pack was dangerous as hell. The thought sent a chill through Fitz colder than the freezing snow.
The last time he recalled Variants working in an organized fashion, far more dangerous and evil forces had been behind them.
“What do we do now?” Ace said, sounding uncertain.
Dohi directed his goggles at Fitz for orders.
“We keep our distance, stay out of sight,” Fitz whispered. “We have to figure out what they’re up to.”
“Bears aren’t smart enough to mount a coordinated attack or
