The People's Alpha ✔

Prologue

I seek the primal rhythms of the bush

I preserve great moments as they come

And sure this must be one

Brightly colored dancers on the screen

Are no more than a prelude to the ritual unfolding

- Steely Dan

***

Caleb Byers steered the rented Jeep Compass up the steep, overgrown gravel path.

The track was clearly little used. It was covered with a thick layer of leaf litter, and only mottled slivers of the late afternoon sunlight seeped in through the dense latticework of overhanging tree cover. Every now and then a particularly low-hanging branch would scrape over the roof of the car.

The car's number plates were stacked in the glovebox. There was no way he could travel in these parts with Zirconian plates, that would be courting death, or at least serious injury. He had replaced them with some old Sunshine Beach plates he had bought cheap online.

Caleb looked at the dog-eared map laid out on the front passenger seat. As the contour lines on the map indicated, the road began to slope up sharply, heading towards a blind crest.

He would not have known about the track if it had not been for his contact back in Canterbury. Caleb had a sudden flashback to the interview, in the small, musty third-floor apartment, located in the Old Town district, filled with antique furniture and old newspaper clippings, smelling of mothballs, the noise and bustle of the street below filtering in through the iron-barred windows. His contact had been looking furtively over his shoulder every few seconds while he jotted down notes. Don't go further than the crest, he had said, his hands shaking. There are sentry posts just beyond there. If you go over the crest the guards will see you. And they won't hesitate to kill you.

Caleb took a quick glance at the rear-view mirror to check if the duffel bag on the back seat, containing his photography gear, had shifted. It hadn't.

There were plenty of paparazzi trying their luck in the Independent Territories, hoping to catch some half-decent shots of a hunky Alpha getting out of his Range Rover, and make a quick buck selling to the Zirconian tabloids, while simultaneously trying not to get caught by heavy-handed pack patrols. Most of them headed for the Sunshine Beach Pack, the most open and neutral of the Independent Packs, and also the wealthiest. Few ever ventured out to the less well-known packs, and none had ever dared to cover the Thunder Falls Pack, one of the most secretive and feared. Until now.

He parked on the side of the road and got out of the car. He retrieved the duffel bag from the back seat.

Caleb took a short moment to catch his breath and take a quick look around. The woods were silent. Even though his contact had sworn that that this part of the woods was not patrolled, he could not shake the faint feeling in the back of his mind that he was being watched.

He started through the forest. The steeply sloped ground was coated in a thick layer of fallen pine needles, a suppliant surface which muted the impact of his footfalls. The sun was already beginning to set. He needed to be quick, and hopefully get back to the car before nightfall.

As he approached the top of the slope, the faint sound of cascading water cut through and gradually intensified with every one of his forward steps. Caleb felt his heartrate pick up. He was getting close.