He had been tracking the girl for three months. Initially her path had been erratic, she had been hitching rides, tacking back and forth in a general northward direction. The constant change in direction had slowed him down catching up with her.

When he caught up to the truck driver she had left unconscious on the side of a Canadian highway he had realised he was close, probably only a week behind her. After a few days he realised she was now heading in a fairly direct route, there was no more tacking, no more changing vehicles. It took him all of a minute, and one lethal growl, at a gas station for him to get the attendant to tell him the girl had passed through four days before and she was travelling with a male, in a beat-up pickup camper. He even managed to get a photo of the guy in question, and the truck, from the stations security system. He had glared incredulously at the familiar male in the security image; his damn brother, still getting in the way of getting a job done, typical.

The extra photos were a great help in tracking the girl faster, and he was able to close the gap between them. When he hit Fort Nelson at nine am he found the motel they had stayed at, found they had left there only twenty-two hours earlier, and were still heading north. He had considered stopping to rest but with the weather reports predicting a large storm blowing in, he decided rest could wait until the snow stopped him. Hopefully he could catch up to them before the storm hit.

He pulled up at the gas station at Muncho Lake three and a half hours later to gas up and see if they had a place to stay. He asked after his target as well, handing over all three photos he had to jog the attendant’s memory. The attendant gave him a suspicious look but admitted that, yeah, they had passed through mid-afternoon the day before. There was no further information but at least he knew he was definitely on the right track still.

The attendant also advised that the nearest lodgings were about ten kilometres further down the road, despite the now heavy snow he had no choice but to push on. Maybe his target and her ride had pulled off there, either way he needed to take cover from the growing storm. It took him twenty minutes to get to the hotel he had been directed to, and not a moment too late.

He realised in the first few days of the white out that his target wasn't at this hotel. The only fact able to calm his dark mood for the two weeks he was unable move - due to the storm and residual snow - was that his target was also unable to move, at least she wasn't getting away from him again. As soon as the road was cleared enough to be manageable, he set off again, continuing north and west as was the rough trail he had been following.

He faced his first hurdle when he hit the town of Watson Lake, from here there were three routes his target could have taken, he discounted Route 37 based on the fact it headed back south. That left Route 4 which continued further North into Yukon, or continuing along Route 1 toward Alaska. He asked around town, while he considered his options, but it seemed they had not stopped in this town.

Eventually he took the risk, his target was American, it would make sense she was heading for US territory. Route 1 it was. If her ride wasn't taking her all the way to Alaska, he probably would have dropped her in Whitehorse to find another ride but he would need to stop more frequently, to find a witness who could confirm he was still on the right trail.

Four hours later he got the information he needed, confirming he was on the right track, the vehicle and driver had been spotted at Teslin at about nine pm two weeks ago, before the storm. The witness couldn't identify the target, he believed there was a passenger in the vehicle but it had been too dark for him to be sure.

His target had gotten further than he had thought before the storm hit.

He arrived in Whitehorse two hours later. Being a bigger town, he started with gas stations and the photo of the vehicle, it was rather distinctive. He got a hit a few hours later from a pimply teenager at a gas station on the south end of town.

"Yeah," the kid said, "I know that truck, that's Logan's truck."

"Is this 'Logan'?" he asked, pulling out the photo of the male driver.

"Yep, that's him," the kid confirmed.

"What about this girl? Was she with him?" he pulled out the third photo.

"Yeah, she stayed in the truck though, the snow, you know," the kid replied.

"Did you see which way they went?" he pressed, the kid had loose lips and little sense, hopefully he had seen something useful.

"They went south," the kid nodded down the road.

"South?" he asked confused, he had been following them in the other direction this whole time, why would they have doubled back.

"Yeah, Logan's got a place about fifteen, twenty, minutes south of here, he's not here often, but usually when he's here he'll stay for a few months," the kid obliviously shared. "He worked for dad for a summer, guy's magic when it comes to motorcycles, don't know why he drives around in that piece of shit truck..."

"He had the girl with him when he left?" he interrupted the kid.

"Yeah, never seen her before though," the kid shrugged.

He turned and walked away then, he had gotten all he could from the kid so he walked around the gas station to the workshop behind. The workshop was closed up against the cold but there was an open sign on the office door, an irritating bell jingled above his head as he walked through the door. He called out a generic greeting into the workshop a moment later, which was greeted with a metallic clattering. An overweight balding man wandered in a short time later, wiping his greasy hands on an equally greasy rag.

"Can I help you?" was the greeting comment.

"Yeah, I'm uh, looking for my brother, his name's Logan, I've heard he's been something of a regular here when he's in town, wondering if you've got an address for him or can confirm if I've got the right phone number. I've been overseas so been out of contact for a bit," he added when the guy started to look a bit suspicious, sure it was a suspicious sounding statement, even though it was partially true, not that his runt of a brother could verify with his swiss cheese brain.

"Well, I'm not supposed to give out customers personal information but I'll see what I've got," was the reply. After a few minutes of pulling open filing cabinet drawers and leafing through papers the mechanic turned back to him. "I've only got a post office box address sorry, no phone number either. Going from memory he lives somewhere off Moraine, off the main highway, can't give you anything more, sorry."

"Thanks anyway," he replied, feigning disappointment. "If you see him let him know I'm looking for him," he added over his shoulder as he walked hurriedly out the door, eager to get away before the old guy realised he hadn’t left any of his own personal details.

He found himself a place to stay and bought a local map, he found the general location the mechanic mentioned, and marked out a search area. He had reduced his search location to about a five-kilometre area. The area was only sparsely populated and he felt confident that he could scope the entirety out on foot in only a few days. He had the targets scent so it shouldn't be too hard. He would start out first thing in the morning.

--

Dawn the following morning found him stashing his vehicle off the side of the highway, near the beginning of his marked search area. He had decided to search cross country, slipping through properties, hopefully unseen, to locate his target.

He had been hiking through the ankle deep snow for close to three hours, circling each house he came across at a distance before discounting them, when suddenly he caught a familiar scent. It was faint but as he moved closer to the nearest building, he got a clearer hit of the feminine scent he had been tracking for months, along with that of a familiar feral male. Of course, they had to still be together...

He circled the cabin, careful to keep enough distance to not be detected by those inside. He could see them through the windows, sitting together on the floor in front of the fire, looked cosy. He slipped into the garage once he was certain he hadn't been detected to search out anything that might be useful, he found an old axe which he took with him. It would help him gain a faster entry through the solid backdoor, which he determined was the best entry point.

He cursed silently when the flimsy garage door caught on stones on the ground, scraping softly and clattering shut. Way to tip off a feral that someone was around. He moved towards the house, hoping this feral was too distracted by the female in his arms to notice the intrusion. As he closed in on the backdoor he cursed again when he saw the male in question surveying the yard through a window, the female now nowhere in sight.

Figuring the time for stealth was passed, he threw all his weight behind the axe as he smashed it deep into the wooden door, where the handle and lock were. Throwing his weight against the door a split second later, the whole door cracked and flew open as far as the now bent hinges would allow it. He was greeted by the resident feral, who was complete with half a dozen wickedly sharp looking blades gleaming dangerously in the morning sun.

"Save yourself the trouble runt, where's the girl?" the intruder snarled.

"Don't know what you're talking about," his brother replied, obviously still oblivious to who he was. Or he did remember and he still hated his guts.

"You're covered in her stink I know she's here but if you want to play it that way I can take you out first," he took a swing at his opponent, surprised when he didn’t duck out of the way, instead taking the hit and swinging back impaling him through his shoulder with a handful of blades.

‘What do you know, little brother’s learned some new tricks,’ he thought to himself.

Both males circled each other warily as they re-evaluated their opponents’ strengths and possible weaknesses. Both were distracted momentarily by a muted mechanical roar and the kicking up of a stiff breeze now blowing in through the broken door.

The intruder recovered his concentration faster, he knew that sound; those goddamn leather-clad freaks were always getting in the way. He launched himself at his opponent, managing to knock him off balance long enough to pick him up and throw him bodily through the front window. He knew that action wouldn't keep him down long, and sure enough, he had just reclaimed the axe he had earlier discarded, as his opponent leaped back through the broken glass. They engaged in a vicious round of hand-to-hand for a few minutes, each giving and receiving solid hits, until a solid metallic thunk sounded through the cabin and the runt hit the ground, a significant head wound from the axe bleeding onto the rugged floor.

Just then a streak of red light burst through the broken back door slamming the intruder across the room and into the solid log wall of the cabin. With a roar he attempted to launch himself at the newcomers, only to be hit by a second blast, this time blowing him out the front window, smashing out what was left of the glass from the last body to fly through it. A streak of lightening hit him as he was hurtling across the front yard. He didn't even feel the impact of the ground.
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