Claiming Treasure
Incoming

Carson Nygaard’s POV

Cascade Pack Entry Road

I’d returned to the car while the Sheriff got the road closed and called for reinforcements. I spent some time watching the news coverage out of Seattle on my phone. It wasn’t looking good; protests were already breaking out, and at least two people interviewed were advocating taking up arms and wiping us out. They looked a lot rougher than the people demonstrating for us to be left alone.

The press arrived first.

“Alpha, we have an incoming helicopter flying low and approaching the Pack House,” the warrior in our Security Control Center sent.

“Have people waiting to take firing positions on the roofs, but don’t send them up there until we identify it as hostile. Make sure the Barrett Fifty is in the hands of our best shooter, and everyone else takes high-powered rifles. The AR-15’s will do nothing against a helicopter. Have everyone else stays inside and away from windows.”

“On it.”

A few minutes, Beta Nathan, who was in charge of our defenses, sent back more information. “Not hostile. It’s a KOMO news helicopter out of Seattle.”

“Send someone out to wave at it, but nobody shifts. I’ll call you back.” Opening the internet on my phone, I found the number for the KOMO newsroom and, after identifying myself, got the Station Manager on the phone. “You have a helicopter flying over my house,” I told him.

“We wanted to get some aerial photos, and we suspect the protestors heading your way may turn violent. Our news van is still an hour away.”

“Do you have a reporter on board?”

“We do, Franklin Wooster.”

“My men will mark a landing area. I have some time now if you want an interview. Bringing a van through might get difficult in an hour.” Colletta had been insistent on being open and approachable, so I was going to do my part too.

“I’ll let them know. Thank you, Mr. Nygaard.”

“Carson. Mr. Nygaard makes me feel old.” I hung up and sent the information to my Beta, Nathan Bannister. “I want the Pack to look domestic and approachable. Mated pairs are sitting together in common areas, children playing games in front of the fireplace, and everyone friendly and smiling. Volunteers only, since being shown on television will put a target on your back. People who go into town a lot should be there, as it won’t take long for people to figure out they are werewolves anyway.”

“I’ll get things ready,” Nathan said.

I sent my driver up to get the cell number of the Deputy stationed at our road. It would be best if he could reach our security people directly, and we had friends coming we wanted in. “Tell him that any members of the Steel Brotherhood are guests, and to let them through.”

He sent the response as he talked to him. “Sheriff says no one gets through.”

“Too bad. It would be a bigger problem if we had to come out there and bring our friends back in person. Tell him that Brothers on my land beat bikers versus protestors at the roadblocks.”

Agent Curtis Pratt volunteered to stay at the gate and coordinate with local law enforcement, leaving Agent Melissa Deharty to return with us. “With our patrols stopped, we’re dependant on electronic surveillance to detect any attacks,” I told her. “Do you want to stay with me and talk to the reporters, or go to our Security Control?”

“Security sounds more fun. I need to report in as well,” she said. We drove back to the Pack House as I heard the helicopter landing in the field behind the house. When we pulled up to the front doors, the camera crew was filming the outside. We got out, Melissa heading inside. “Welcome to the Cascade Pack,” I said as I walked up and shook his hand. “Carson Nygaard, I’m the Alpha.”

“Thank you for inviting us to land,” a man in a fancy grey suit and a bright white smile said. “Franklin Wooster, KUSA.”

“Ground rules,” I said. “You can film what you want, but I will give my people the option of whether to appear on camera or not. That means you don’t enter rooms that we don’t go into first. I won’t order anyone to answer, but you can ask anyone anything off-camera. You only interview on camera if they agree first.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Can we start the interview with you out here? The station wants to do a live feed. You’re only the second Pack to allow access, so it will probably go out national as well.”

“That’s fine.” The cameraman set up the shot with the Pack House in the background, and I asked a few members to come out and sit on the covered front porch. I was happy to see that two of our children started playing catch in the background. “This is Franklin Wooster from KOMO in Seattle, coming to you live from the Cascade Werewolf Pack east of Mount Ranier. With me today is the Alpha of the Pack, Carson Nygaard.”

“It’s a pleasure to speak to you and your viewers, Franklin,” I said.

“The news that werewolves exist came as a shock this morning. Many of us fear your kind, despite the President’s press conference earlier. What would you say about that?”

“I would tell them to watch and learn. Our Pack is here, and it has been on this land since before Washington was even a state. Nothing has changed for us; we are still your friends and neighbors. There is no need for violence or fear based on fictional depictions of us. We are not the bloodthirsty killers that some fictional representations show.”

“Is there some basis in fact for them?”

“Our people are like yours; almost all are law-abiding, but there have been a few bad ones. We have laws and work very hard to identify and punish those men, like Jack Coffey, who harm innocents. Do not judge us by the actions of a few. Instead, think of the history that we have with you.”

“Your family has lived here for centuries?”

“Yes, a Nygaard has been in charge of the Cascade Pack since my grandfather brought us here in 1834. I took over after my father’s death last year. My mother, Colletta, ran the pack with my father for over a century before then. We have prospered here in the mountains, living in peace with our neighbors. I would like to see that continue.” I heard an airplane coming. “Nathan, do we have eyes on a plane?”

“Looking for it,” he said.

I continued the interview as the sound of the plane got louder. One problem with pulling everyone back from the borders was I didn’t have patrols keeping eyes out for stuff like this. The plane came over the trees from the north-west, heading right at us. “GUNS,” Nathan sent to everyone as he got the plane on camera.

“TAKE COVER NOW,” I yelled. I shoved the reporter towards the Pack House as two rifles started firing at us. I heard screams and looked over in horror to see our ten-year-old Melanie on the ground, holding her leg. I didn’t hesitate; I ran for the kids. Lou had scooped up his son and had turned back towards Melanie on the ground. “GET HIM INSIDE, I’VE GOT HER,” I sent to him as I ran towards them.

The gunfire had stopped as the plane passed over the house, but it was turning for another run. “I’ve got you,” I told Melanie as I scooped her up. She held onto my neck as I grabbed her around the back, holding my hand on the bullet wound. I ran as fast as I could towards the entrance, but I wasn’t going to make it before they were in position again.

The plane started circling to the right, two rifles firing from the front and back of the single-engine plane. Bullets hit around me as I ran for the stairs. Warriors were flocking to the roof and windows, and return fire convinced them to back off a little. The short pause was all I needed to get up the stairs and inside.

I heard the big Barrett fifty-caliber rifle barking out round after round as I set Melanie down on the nearest table. I pulled my shirt off, wrapping it around her badly bleeding thigh and tying it off. “Be brave, Melanie, you’re going to do fine,” I told her.

Her parents arrived as I was picking her up; her mother was frantic. As I turned, I saw Franklin recording it all with his cellphone. “Where’s the camera crew,” I sent.

“Behind the posts on the front deck, taping the attack,” Nathan responded. “We got some good shots in on the plane, and the engine is on fire. It won’t get far. You’re clear to the clinic.”

“Send warriors out in vehicles, but stay back and do not engage. Contain and wait for law enforcement.” I ran back out the front door, people clearing the way for me as I ran across to the Pack Clinic. I updated Heather as I ran so she wouldn’t worry.

Doc Myers was in scrubs, cutting into the chest of a female Omega who had been shot once in the chest, his nurse assisting with the surgery. “Set her down on that table and start an IV,” he told me as he looked over. “Was the wound shooting blood or just bleeding?”

“Just bleeding,” I said.

He checked the shirt, which was soaked on the front but not leaking. “Don’t take the pressure off the wound,” he told Melanie’s father. “You clean up.”

Her Mom calmed her as I went to wash up. I tossed off the bloodstained clothes and washed the blood off my hands before pulling on scrubs from the cabinet. Washing again, I put on gloves and grabbed an IV kit. Mom had insisted that Pack leadership qualify as Emergency Medical Technicians, and I silently thanked her for it now. I cleaned the back of her hand with an alcohol pad, then inserted the needle and hung a bag. Doc had me warm up two units of cross-matched blood for her as I waited for him.

It took another fifteen minutes before Doc finished reinflating the Omega’s chest and repairing the damage. He left his nurse to close, then changed gowns and gloves before he came over to see his next patient. “How are you doing, Melanie?”

“It hurts,” she said.

“I’m going to give you something to sleep while I fix this up, all right?” He injected a sedative into her IV line. “Count backward from a hundred for me.”

“100, 99, 98, 97…” She got to eighty before she was out.

“Mom and Dad, go clean up and put on gowns and masks. Alpha, hang the first bag. She’s going to lose more blood while I repair it.” I put the needle into the back of her other hand. Doc cut away her jeans and my bloody shirt, inspecting the gunshot wound. “Small caliber?”

“AR-15’s,” I said.

“Figures. No exit wound.” His nurse joined him, and Doc Myers thanked me and asked if I didn’t have other things I needed to be doing right now.

It was a polite way of telling his Alpha to get out of his way. I think all Pack Doctors liked it when they could order an Alpha around.

Nathan had reported back; the plane didn’t make it over the mountains, and the crash area was densely forested. They were going to have to lead the Sheriff to the site using the ATV trails. It would be another twenty minutes to get people there. “See if the news crew will check the site,” I sent.

“No need, the State Patrol helicopter is five minutes out.”

As I turned to the door, I noticed that Franklin had been standing in the corner of the room the whole time, recording everything on his fancy cellphone camera. “Outside,” I said. I made sure the door was closed behind us before I continued. “She’s ten years old, Franklin. You can’t show it.”

“It’s dramatic gold,” he said. “At least let me edit it. I’ll give you and the parents the right to veto anything you don’t like.” He could see I wasn’t happy with that. “Trust me on this. The footage of the attack, you carrying her inside, the drama in the clinic? If you want people to see you as human, let them see you in this crisis.”

“Edit it, and then we’ll talk,” I said.

“You won’t regret this,” he promised. He headed off towards his camera crew, and a few minutes later, they were in the air.

It turned out that he was right. Some skillful editing and voiceovers, and Franklin called to tell us the footage is ready for our approval. Melanie thought it was good, and her parents were amazed at what a brave girl she was. Her Alphas were impressed too. We gave him the go-ahead to show it.

The rest of the day was nothing fun. The Sheriff, State Patrol, FBI, and Secret Service were all over the Pack property. The three men in the aircraft died on impact. All three were self-proclaimed werewolf hunters.

There was another emergency Alpha meeting at eight that night. We officially hadn’t ‘outed’ the Canadian, European, and Russian Packs. The Canadian Packs went privately to their government, which wasn’t that surprised to replace out about them. The European packs were still secret, with Mom leaving it up to them to set the timing of coming forward. We were so connected that no one expected that to be a long-term thing.

We weren’t the only Pack dealing with attacks; I learned of six more clashes, ranging from sniper fire to arson. “It could have been much worse,” Colletta said as the updates finished. “We have the support of the President and her Administration, and you all acted with honor in the face of violence. The tide of public opinion is turning in our favor.”

“Not soon enough,” Alpha Long said. “There are too many missing person reports, and the news reports just handed them the prime suspects.”

“Your Pack was the problem, and our deal with the Feds said we would fully cooperate where humans were involved,” Colletta answered. “Your only choice is full cooperation. Invite law enforcement in, open your records, and show them where the bodies are.”

“Proving werewolves aren’t a danger won’t be helped by the sight of dozens of body bags,” he said. Bitterroot was the worst offender, with over a hundred women used to birth werewolves; the practice was abandoned decades ago after replaceing the offspring were all weak. Nothing they tried could give them the warriors and high-level wolves they wanted.

“All the men who raped and killed them are dead, and it was our laws that finally stopped them,” Colletta responded. “We have no choice but to deal with the facts we have. Turn over the records and the videotapes of the trial. I will work with the FBI to manage the fallout.”

“It’s a mess,” Long said. “My Pack is reeling; members keep abandoning it, and the ones left aren’t a good base. I don’t know how much longer it will be tenable.”

I wasn’t sure that Pack liquidating would be a bad thing. Clean break, sell the land, pay reparations to the families. After all the crap that had happened at that Pack, liquidation seemed like a fitting ending. I’d trade Arrowhead for Bitterroot any day; hell, almost all the Bitterroot Omegas helped form Arrowhead! “It’s not like it all has to happen immediately,” I said. “Work with the Chairwoman to get the FBI involved and looking at the records. Honesty and transparency. The Pack is nothing like it used to be, and they’ll see that.”

Frank leaned forward towards the camera. “In the meantime, we need to be both open and guarded. The embeds the President put in our Packs have helped us a lot, and we need to expand that. If your local law enforcement doesn’t trust you, offer to let them embed someone in your Pack. Consider the same with the press; we’ve had some great successes there.”

“The Council is retaining a public relations firm to help manage it all,” Colletta said. “I will provide you contact information tomorrow. I need you to keep them informed, but most of all, listen to what they have to say. We need to speak with one voice in this; if you aren’t sure, point them to me.” She paused, and I could see how exhausted she was. “Does anyone have any good news? I could use that right now.”

Alpha Boronsky smiled at that. “I am pleased to announce that Luna Boronsky is now pregnant,” he said. That brought a smile.

Luna had been blessing us lately, and we desperately needed that to continue.