Running with the Pack

Page 61

She followed the water upstream, northward, toward food. The soft earth of its bank absorbed her prints. After several miles, she stopped. She raised her nose. Some unfamiliar odor stretched her out; her hackles raised and a low growl began in her throat.
Ahead was a place she knew well. Knew to avoid, not from any recent danger, but because of a lingering scent. Man-scent. A dwelling, an old cabin—though she could not name it as such—nestled in a clearing near the stream. It had grown, over time, into the trees, or the trees had grown back into it, reclaiming it as part of their wooded tribe. The roof was all but gone. What slats remained were leaf- and lichen-thick, barely visible to the eye. The door hung open, the cupboards were home to mice and the rafters to birds.
There was a tang in the air, the taste of iron, that was not there before. And, entwined within it, the raw stink of human activity. Something else tinged the place, a musk that covered the wolf in a cloud of memory. She knew that scent, somehow, and though she feared it, the flavor it of spoke to her of home. She shivered as she crouched beside the water, tail flat on the ground.
She knew not to approach the cabin. Her usual detour took her far around the clearing, but something about these new, disturbing smells drew her in. She circled cautiously, creeping ever closer, all senses alert. The air was close and still; the strange odor remained.
The wolf had never known another of her kind. The land was emptied out. Any pack that may have once claimed this territory had been hunted to its end. She ruled by default, killed as she pleased and knew to avoid the places of men. She knew, as wolves know things, that she was now breaking survival’s rules.
The scent that teased her on was foul. Feces, blood, urine: it was the stench of pain endured too long. No fresh kill was this she trailed, nor healthy flesh for the taking. It was human, but it was also more. For the first time, she caught the whiff of wolf in the forest. She was compelled to follow. It seemed to her that she, forever so alone, had been somehow divided.
Close now, near enough to see the outline of the cabin, she came to a full stop and crouched again. Dragging her belly along the ground, she inched forward. Leaves rustled, though what sound was night and what was wolf could not be distinguished. She was a shadow, black as the sky, sleek and cautious. The wolf knew fear, but she crept onwards until instinct told her this is close enough.
The clearing was just there, beyond the thicket in which the wolf lay, ears alert for danger. The cabin sat on the far side and before it, some thing the wolf could not decipher enclosed a figure stretched out prone on the ground. The wolf exhaled a sharp burst of air and suddenly, the figure rose. The wolf bristled, but did not back away. Information cluttered her brain; there was no way to make sense of the mingling of scent. Matted hair, half-crusted wounds, wolf and woman combined. The figure turned. Eyes met eyes in the still night. The wolf, overwhelmed, stood and ran.
To the stream and through it she rushed, feet finding and following a path between trees and shrubs, until finally, confusion was behind her. She halted, panting, and put her nose in the air and howled. Every hair on her body stood erect as, for the first time ever, she was answered.
The night, half gone, pulled the wolf back into it. Hunger moved her now, and a sense of hurriedness. She must hunt and eat before the dawn. She did not know the source of her impatience, only that these things must be done. North again, she found her prey. A raccoon, rifling through a rotted log, was eventually devoured. Back now to the stream, which she followed, circling wide of the clearing, ignoring the scents and sounds, pacing herself so as to reach her destination in time.
As the moon dipped low and dark began to fade toward morning, she found herself at the edge of the wood. Across the field the house lay quiet. She knew this place, was drawn to it though the wolf would never comprehend why. In her mind it was den and desperation.
At dawn, the wolf began to writhe. A cacophony of growls and yelps ensued as muscles tore and bones bent under the force of change. The wolf, lost in this transfusion of blood to blood and genes gone awry, was captive in a human mind until, as the sun erased the moon, it disappeared.
May and Molly left the house at dawn. They carried two jugs of water, a bundle of washcloths, a towel, bandages of assorted sizes and a soft blanket in which to swaddle their sister. They knew she would be close, but not exactly where. It was always the same. The wolf came, by some intangible understanding, as close to its human home as it could bear.
They didn’t speak until they found her.
“Gretchen,” they said. “Gretchen, we’re here.”
They sat her up, pulled leaves from her hair. Later Molly would wash and comb it. They checked her hands and feet for wounds. Often, they would find scrapes and bruises. This morning there were none. May dampened a washcloth and wiped vomit from her sister’s chin. Her body, a merciless thing, regurgitated food as it shifted. While Gretchen knew this, the wolf would never learn. May gently scrubbed at Gretchen’s cheek where blood had dried in dark smudge. May did not think about how it might have got there. It was not her business to judge the wolf.
“Come on,” they said when they were done.
They stood her up between them and wrapped the blanket around her naked body, allowing her to lean on each as they slowly made their way across the field.
Inside the house, they steered Gretchen into bed, pulled the curtains and left the door ajar. She would sleep for hours and when she woke, she would still be somewhat confused. The sisters were used to it now, they carried on with their day as Gretchen dreamed of running, running, and following scents to their end.
The phone rang not long after. Molly answered with a groan.
“Shit,” she said as she hung up the receiver a few moments later. “I have to go in tonight. Ryan is sick.”
“I bet he is,” May said. “Sick of working at Rudy’s.”
“Whatever. If you can’t take the boozers, you shouldn’t work in a bar. I’m in at eight. Will you be okay with Gretchen?”
“I don’t see why not. She’ll be almost herself by then. We’ll be fine.”
“It’ll be a late one.”
“I know.”
Molly fiddled with her mug of coffee, turning it round and round.
“What’s up? You seem awfully quiet this morning.” May knew her sister well enough to sense that something was on her mind.
“I don’t know.” Molly paused, and then continued. “Do you ever think about the future?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“I mean, do you ever wish . . . ”
May cut her off. “Stop right there. No, I don’t wish.”
Molly sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I do. You’re getting old.” May laughed, hoping Molly would join her.
Molly did laugh, though it was not quite the joyous sound May wanted.
“Let’s fix something nice for lunch,” May finally said. “Something Gretchen will like.”
It was the scent of a roast stewing in the pot that pulled Gretchen of out her slumber. She woke in a daze of half-remembered moonlight. It took her several minutes to assess her surroundings. White walls, wooden bedposts, ancient dresser with two handles missing: finally she recalled her whereabouts. Safe, she exhaled relief. Shakily, she pulled loose trousers to her hips and tied them. She lifted a worn shirt from the back of a chair and buttoned it, though her fingers clumsily left half of it undone. Warily, still sensing her environment more than seeing it, she slipped out of the bedroom and made her way down the stairs.
Her sisters greeted her as usual.
“Good morning, Gretchen. How do you feel?” May was always the first to question her well-being.
“Hey, sis,” Molly said.
“What do I smell?” Gretchen asked in response.
Her sisters were never quite sure if they were talking to wolf or woman on this, the day after the full of the moon. Appearances were deceptive, and May more than Molly understood that the wolf often lingered much longer in spirit than it did in body.
“Meat. I made stew for lunch,” May said as she watched Gretchen’s nostrils flare.
The wolf had left its mark as time passed by. After ten years of this, Gretchen no longer had a taste for much fruit, nor certain vegetables. Leafy salads were fine most of the time, and certain berries, but beans, tomatoes, and onions were out of the question. She drank water, milk, and occasionally coffee, but not tea and never soda. Meat was the staple of her diet, but May could live with that as long as Gretchen didn’t start asking for it raw.
As she ate, Gretchen’s thoughts slowly settled into more familiar patterns. Something was different this morning, however. Some memory, some unfamiliar disturbance tugged at her. She touched it, circled it as the wolf would, tried to catch the scent of it, but to no avail. What happened last night? She felt an ache she did not recognize.
“What is it?” May asked when she noticed Gretchen staring absently at the window.
Gretchen blinked her eyes. “Nothing. Something. I don’t know. Last night. I don’t know.”
She never spoke of the night. May, concerned, put a hand on her sister’s forehead. “Nothing seemed amiss when we found you. You sure you’re okay?”