Ice -- Wolv book II

Epilogue - To raze a village

Starting a fire wasn't hard. In fact, it was one of the simplest things that someone could do--a bit of heat, a bit of tinder, and boom! Let there be flames!

Of course, when it came to burning something, the bigger the blaze, the better. Enjoying a bonfire was nice, but watching a building, or a section of forest, burn down to the ground was a truly fascinating experience. How a simple chemical reaction could reduce a house to dust, or a two-hundred year old tree to charcoal was something to be marveled at--at least, he certainly thought it was.

Fire was pure--it didn't discriminate; it simply consumed everything, leaving a sterile smear in it's wake. It did what needed to be done.

It was beautiful.

And, in this case, it was vengeful.

He held his hand out the window, grasping the incendiary flare tightly in his fingers as the airplane banked, circling around a row of glowing homes, all of them touched by the flames to some extent.

The plane droned on, flying over an untouched section of the community below. He smiled darkly, and opened his hand, letting the smouldering flare drop down into the evening sky.

It fell like a stone, landing hard on a rooftop. Sparks and bits of white-hot pyrogen fizzled out from the flare, quickly setting the roof below ablaze. The flames grew swiftly, devouring the clapboard structure hungrily.

People ran out from beneath several of the burning homes; some turned back, trying desperately to help anyone trapped inside.

Others tried to battle the maelstrom. Garden hoses were grabbed and pointed towards the blazes; buckets were scavenged, filled with half-frozen icy river water, and then tossed at the flames.

But it wouldn't be enough. The homes would eventually burn to the ground; the planes above would continue for at least another hour more, dropping as many flares as they could onto the little town below.

Throughout Canada, reserves were notorious for having drastically inadequate firefighting resources, and Bloodvein First Nation was no exception. In fact, as he looked down at the carnage below, he realized that he didn't even know if the community had any working fire hydrants.

Not that it would matter--there would be no help coming to the little town, anyways. He had made sure of that. He had completely isolated the reserve, cutting it off from the rest of the world; getting in or out of the community was now nearly impossible. The road leading in had been mysteriously excavated in several areas, and the town's airstrip had suffered an unfortunate refueling accident, leaving the runway pitted and charred. The inhabitants had chased him, and his people, out of the community long ago--but he'd never really left. Money wasn't an issue for him, and there would always be someone willing to do his dirty work in exchange for a wad of cash. And so, he'd slowly began snipping the reserve off the map, sequestering it and ultimately, cornering it. The only real way in or out was by boat; however, even that option wasn't viable--not now. Winter had helped him in that regard; even though the air had begun to warm, and snow had begun to melt, the Bloodvein river was still sheathed in ice, ice that was thick enough to keep boats off, yet thin enough to be unsafe for walking.

The little town was trapped within itself, with nowhere to go, and no one to call. What he was doing was undoubtedly illegal--flat out murderous, even--yet he was untouchable, and he knew it all too well. No one down there would dare rat him out. Too many questions would be raised in the investigation that would most certainly follow, and the secret that the people below held onto so dearly would, most likely, be exposed. Even if the rest of the world didn't believe it, it would be out there for all to see. These people, and their strange, unnatural shape changing kin, would finally be outed.