Marked in Flesh
Page 92
While Ellen went to work preparing meat for the furred and feathered, Jesse continued to keep watch. Had Rachel seen clearly what human eyes and brain refused to understand? What might have happened if a Wolf hadn’t spoken up for them?
What would happen to any of them if there was no one like Joe Wolfgard left to speak for them when the Elders came down from the hills?
Jesse rubbed the ache in her left wrist.
They were coming. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name.
• • •
Ignoring the dead bison, they gathered around the Wolves who had been heaped into a mound. They sniffed, circled, considered.
<This killing,> one of them finally said. <This is what it means to be human. This is what humans do.>
The anger grew slowly, filled muscle and bone and blood. And in a few of them, it . . . changed. They rose on their hind legs and shifted the shapes of legs and hips in order to stand upright. Front paws changed to hands, but the fingers still retained the claws of a predator. The body reshaped to a powerful torso and shoulders, a strong neck, and a head that retained the teeth and jaws that could bite through bone.
They would tower over their prey, but this shape would be able to enter dwellings, dig out what tried to hide.
One of them turned and took a few hesitant steps on its newly shaped legs. It grasped the horns of a bison with its new hands and, with all the strength of its true form, gave a savage twist and tore off the bison’s head. Dropping the head, it raked its claws over the belly and watched the entrails slide out.
<This is what it means to be human,> it said. <This is what humans do.>
<This is what humans do,> the rest agreed.
Those who had taken this necessary but unwelcome shape shifted back to their true form.
Then they all headed for the human town called Bennett, and their footsteps filled the land with a terrible silence.
CHAPTER 36
Firesday, Juin 22
Jackson in Wolf form and five Intuits on horseback watched the pickup trucks burn. They had stopped—or exploded—yards away from the simple barricade that the terra indigene and Intuits had set up across the road that led to the Sweetwater settlement and village.
The fire sweeping over the land had begun at the two pickups, which must have carried many containers of gasoline as well as the men who had intended to burn down the Intuit village. Now it rushed toward Endurance, the human-controlled town in the distance.
“Gods above and below,” one man said quietly. “If the wind turns again . . .”
The fire should have raged toward Sweetwater. Instead it had turned with a deliberation that couldn’t be explained as anything but conscious choice and headed for the few human ranches that had been established on the land around Endurance, setting the pastures ablaze before turning toward the houses and stores.
“Supply trucks will charge more if they have to come all the way to Sweetwater,” another man said.
“Assuming there’s still a right-of-way and any trucks can reach us,” the third man said.
Jackson noticed how careful they all were not to look at him as they spoke.
They were right. Supply trucks didn’t want to waste the gasoline to drive to Sweetwater when they could leave most merchandise at a rented storage area in the human town. They were also correct that the right-of-way through the wild country would no longer exist, and there was no certainty that anything would be able to reach them, whether the town burned or not.
Trading post, Jackson thought as his eyes followed the dirt road that ribboned through the burning land. We could build a trading post near the place where our road connects to the paved road that leads to the human town. There is already a gas station and little store at that spot. Even a depot where things could be dropped off for the Intuits and Others would be enough. Earth native trucks would still be allowed to use the roads, even if the Elders completely turned against humans. We could still bring in what we need—if those things still exist.
“Nothing we can do about that fire except let it burn,” the first man said.
A clump of wetness fell on Jackson’s nose. He licked it, then looked up, surprised by the sudden cold.
Snow? Snow? Now? He’d already shed his winter coat. Why was there snow now?
“Shit,” one man muttered. “Didn’t come prepared for this.”
Jackson licked another snowflake off his nose.
One flake. Two. Ten. A thousand.
“We need to get back to the village while we can still find the road,” the second man said. “Jackson?”
One moment he watched the snow follow the path of the fire and lay a blanket over the land. The next moment, he could barely see the men and horses he’d accompanied.
The Hope pup was dressed for summer, and she’d been running toward the stream. If the Wolves got wet, they got wet. Their fur—even a summer coat—would protect them well enough from cold. But Hope . . .
Jackson headed back to Sweetwater, reminding himself to stay on the road since the Intuits would follow him and would end up lost and sick if he had to curl up and wait out the storm.
Then he trotted into bright sunlight and stopped so fast one of the horses almost stepped on him.
“By the gods,” one of the men breathed.
Sunlight. Warmth.
Jackson moved out of the way and shook out his fur before looking back at the wall of snow that was quickly turning into a few fluffy, lazy snowflakes. Then even those stopped falling.
“Maybe we should . . .”
Seeing the men look back, Jackson shifted to human form and wished he had some clothes, not for modesty but for warmth. “Do you have any reason to believe the humans in those trucks are still alive?”
What would happen to any of them if there was no one like Joe Wolfgard left to speak for them when the Elders came down from the hills?
Jesse rubbed the ache in her left wrist.
They were coming. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name.
• • •
Ignoring the dead bison, they gathered around the Wolves who had been heaped into a mound. They sniffed, circled, considered.
<This killing,> one of them finally said. <This is what it means to be human. This is what humans do.>
The anger grew slowly, filled muscle and bone and blood. And in a few of them, it . . . changed. They rose on their hind legs and shifted the shapes of legs and hips in order to stand upright. Front paws changed to hands, but the fingers still retained the claws of a predator. The body reshaped to a powerful torso and shoulders, a strong neck, and a head that retained the teeth and jaws that could bite through bone.
They would tower over their prey, but this shape would be able to enter dwellings, dig out what tried to hide.
One of them turned and took a few hesitant steps on its newly shaped legs. It grasped the horns of a bison with its new hands and, with all the strength of its true form, gave a savage twist and tore off the bison’s head. Dropping the head, it raked its claws over the belly and watched the entrails slide out.
<This is what it means to be human,> it said. <This is what humans do.>
<This is what humans do,> the rest agreed.
Those who had taken this necessary but unwelcome shape shifted back to their true form.
Then they all headed for the human town called Bennett, and their footsteps filled the land with a terrible silence.
CHAPTER 36
Firesday, Juin 22
Jackson in Wolf form and five Intuits on horseback watched the pickup trucks burn. They had stopped—or exploded—yards away from the simple barricade that the terra indigene and Intuits had set up across the road that led to the Sweetwater settlement and village.
The fire sweeping over the land had begun at the two pickups, which must have carried many containers of gasoline as well as the men who had intended to burn down the Intuit village. Now it rushed toward Endurance, the human-controlled town in the distance.
“Gods above and below,” one man said quietly. “If the wind turns again . . .”
The fire should have raged toward Sweetwater. Instead it had turned with a deliberation that couldn’t be explained as anything but conscious choice and headed for the few human ranches that had been established on the land around Endurance, setting the pastures ablaze before turning toward the houses and stores.
“Supply trucks will charge more if they have to come all the way to Sweetwater,” another man said.
“Assuming there’s still a right-of-way and any trucks can reach us,” the third man said.
Jackson noticed how careful they all were not to look at him as they spoke.
They were right. Supply trucks didn’t want to waste the gasoline to drive to Sweetwater when they could leave most merchandise at a rented storage area in the human town. They were also correct that the right-of-way through the wild country would no longer exist, and there was no certainty that anything would be able to reach them, whether the town burned or not.
Trading post, Jackson thought as his eyes followed the dirt road that ribboned through the burning land. We could build a trading post near the place where our road connects to the paved road that leads to the human town. There is already a gas station and little store at that spot. Even a depot where things could be dropped off for the Intuits and Others would be enough. Earth native trucks would still be allowed to use the roads, even if the Elders completely turned against humans. We could still bring in what we need—if those things still exist.
“Nothing we can do about that fire except let it burn,” the first man said.
A clump of wetness fell on Jackson’s nose. He licked it, then looked up, surprised by the sudden cold.
Snow? Snow? Now? He’d already shed his winter coat. Why was there snow now?
“Shit,” one man muttered. “Didn’t come prepared for this.”
Jackson licked another snowflake off his nose.
One flake. Two. Ten. A thousand.
“We need to get back to the village while we can still find the road,” the second man said. “Jackson?”
One moment he watched the snow follow the path of the fire and lay a blanket over the land. The next moment, he could barely see the men and horses he’d accompanied.
The Hope pup was dressed for summer, and she’d been running toward the stream. If the Wolves got wet, they got wet. Their fur—even a summer coat—would protect them well enough from cold. But Hope . . .
Jackson headed back to Sweetwater, reminding himself to stay on the road since the Intuits would follow him and would end up lost and sick if he had to curl up and wait out the storm.
Then he trotted into bright sunlight and stopped so fast one of the horses almost stepped on him.
“By the gods,” one of the men breathed.
Sunlight. Warmth.
Jackson moved out of the way and shook out his fur before looking back at the wall of snow that was quickly turning into a few fluffy, lazy snowflakes. Then even those stopped falling.
“Maybe we should . . .”
Seeing the men look back, Jackson shifted to human form and wished he had some clothes, not for modesty but for warmth. “Do you have any reason to believe the humans in those trucks are still alive?”
