Cultivating Caden - Parker Williams
Chapter 1
A heavy mist obscured most of the ground on Mount Katahdin, though the pale moonlight gave shadows life in the still darkness. The only thing visible was the tops of the buttonbush plants, a shrub common near the streams. The older trunk bark displayed an attractive diamond pattern with latticelike raised ridges. Its leaves were markedly veined and a deep, lustrous green. The flowers on them had just begun to bloom, causing the stalks to bend downward, heavy with dew. The birds and insects would be all over the sweetly scented plant come sunrise, looking for both sustenance and water that would allow them to live.
For now, though, someone was about to die.
Quade Martin sighed as he rushed through the forest. Normally this would be a night that was made for running. Tonight, however, another matter demanded attention.
“Wolfy One, this is home base. Do you copy?” The voice, deep and weathered, not unlike that of a man who smoked three packs of cigarettes a day for sixty years, crackled as it came over the receiver. “Wolfy One, what have you found?” A pause. “Wolfy One, answer or you’ll have an appointment with the doctor for a little snip-snip, if you get my meaning.”
Quade sighed and tapped the earpiece implanted into the recesses of his audio canal. “You call me Wolfy one more time and I’ll slice open your stomach, yank out last night’s spaghetti, and make you eat it again.”
If Quade thought that would stifle the conversation, he was wrong. “That would be fine. It was a damn nice meal. Think you might be able to dig up some of that parmesan cheese while you’re in there?” Then the bastard laughed. It was hard to threaten someone who really didn’t know fear.
Quade growled, intent on getting his next words across. “My name is Quade. Not Wolfy. Not Quadey. Just Quade.”
Considering who he was dealing with, that went over like a lead balloon. “Aw, did someone forget to fill your kibble bowl this morning? Or maybe you didn’t get your walkies today.”
Quade choked down the desire to berate… aw, fuck. Which one was this? Shit. He ran through the possibilities. Gruff voice, irreverent, sarcastic. Oh, yeah! A name came to Quade. Dyson. Yeah, that seemed to be the right one this time. “Look, Dyson, can we not do this now? Target is moving southwest. He’s going to be hitting the campground in less than five minutes.”
“Then you’d best get in your fur, buddy. You know what happened to the last people who were lucky enough to come across him.”
Quade was well aware of the fact. It had been explained to him—and shown with graphic full-color photographs —ad nauseam. The person he was after had been deemed unstable. A threat to the populace at large. He wasn’t a handle with care—he was a kill on sight.
“Don’t worry, he won’t.” Quade sucked in a breath. He hated this shit. Why he couldn’t have a normal life was beyond him. No, he got to be the one who was anointed. Their mystical duty, or so the bullshit he’d been spoon-fed had insisted, was to stand between humans and those who were… not. Still, he controlled what he did, not some group he’d never even met. Yes, they paid for his services, but that was it. Admittedly their underground base was an awe-inspiring sight. The damned thing was like a city buried beneath Mount Katahdin. Over two hundred thousand acres of wilderness surrounded them. True, a lot of hikers used the area when the weather was good, and campsites were plentiful, but rarely did they see humans, let alone interact with them.
Quade shook his head. He needed to stop dwelling and focus on his mission.
Allowing enough of his… other half to come to the surface, Quade sniffed the air, which allowed him to pick up on his target’s scent. The fear was so damn intense, it nearly shocked Quade out of form. He’d never known anyone could be so terrified. Hell, even when he’d gone out hunting, the animals never achieved this level of anxiety. And yet the team was being told this guy was some sort of threat? Whatever. They knew best.
Limbs further loosened and stretched, allowing Quade to lope through the hills of northern Maine. This area had been deemed remote enough to work from, but near enough to allow them access to things they couldn’t get at home.
Then this bastard came onto the scene and viciously killed nine people. In his other