The next day my luck turns. Just before sunrise I hear howls. I rush from my shelter to the den. When I get there, the wolves are all gone. I’m not sure why—whether some prey has been spotted or another pack is threatening their territory. Whatever the reason, I need to hurry because there’s no telling when they’ll be back.
In the dim light, I cross the camp and reach the entrance of the den, pausing there to check over my shoulder. I crouch down and go inside. The first thing to hit me is the odor. Pungent, fatty, like meat left too long, mixed with a ripe canine scent. I wait for my watering eyes to adjust to the dark. But with the sun yet to rise, it’s difficult to see anything. From what I can tell, the den is more dugout than cave, with the wolves burrowing further back into the side of the hill.
Unable to stand, I duck-walk a few steps and find myself in total blackness and am forced to poke blindly at things with my fingers. I touch a pile of something, grab two handfuls and pull them out into the emerging daylight. Sticks and bones, old, all shapes and sizes, with the odd patch of fur that could belong to a rabbit, rat, or raccoon. But no meat.
On my knees, I venture in further than before, patting the cool dirt ground as I go. The space gets tight and my shoulders brush against the curved, hard earth. Reaching, I feel out the little wall coves the wolves have excavated.
The smell of meat becomes overwhelming. I’m close. But abruptly I come up against the end of the den and can’t go any further. I pause. It has to be here somewhere—the odor is just too strong. My hand hovers across the ground, fully expecting to knock into the carcass, but I can’t find anything. I feel out the back wall, thinking maybe I missed a cove. That’s when I lose my arm in a hole. A tunnel really.
I look over my shoulder. By now a bulb of light glows at the entrance. If they find me in here I’m as good as dead.
I face the tunnel. It’s pitch black and tiny and I won’t be able to turn around but what choice do I have? I need food.
I lie down on my front and snake through the opening on my belly. My arms extended out front, I reach into the darkness. Something runs over my spine and I bang my head on the ceiling. I should turn back. Get the hell out of here. Find some berries. Take my chances in the woods.
But I’m close, I know it, so I shimmy in further. The burrow gets tight and I have to squeeze through, angling my shoulders just right, my hips scraping against the hard dirt walls.
I hear something. Oh God, a bark. Distant, but a bark nonetheless. I have to hurry.
I reach out one final time and my hand lands on something sticky. I stretch for it. My little finger hooks around an arch of bone. I sniff my fingertips. Put some to my lips. Grease. Blood. Meat.
More barks. Closer this time. I’ve got to get out of here. Grabbing the rack of meat, I flatten myself against the ground and move backward. But I’m stuck. I turn my shoulders. It makes no difference, I’m wedged in tight.
Outside the barking gets louder. My heart races. Hurry. For God’s sake, hurry. I twist my body but the tunnel seems to shrink and it’s so black and I’m getting dizzy and I think of the dirt grave and the wolves and the sound of breaking bones. They are going to find me. They will tear my flesh like cloth.
I tell myself I’ve got to calm down or I’m going to pass out. I tug and tug and finally my shoulders come free. Snaking backward, dragging the meat across the ground, I emerge from the burrow and continue the rest of the way on my knees. Finally I’m close to the entrance, and there’s enough room to move up to a crouch.
I turn around.
There’s the alpha, hackles raised, looking at me. Close behind, the teenagers nod and squeal. They look at the meat in my hands. I edge forward. The alpha snarls, his gums as pink as a radish. To my left there’s a barren leg bone I pulled from the den earlier. I grab it and hold it out.
“Easy.”
The sound of my voice stills them but then they start to bark and growl much louder than before. They come closer. I throw the bone at them, then stones, a fistful of dirt.
“Get away!”
All I have left is the meat, so I throw that too. It lands by the mother wolf. The others turn to sniff it, leaving enough space for me to get out and run.
I thrash through the bush and it’s not long before they are on my heels. Apart from the loud, steady thump of their footfall, the wolves are silent, no barking or growling, just a focused, determined energy to bring me down.
I round the bend at the rear of the cave and veer left, hoping to see something I can climb. Instead I’m faced with a hill. My chest contracts. I’m blocked in. I turn to face the pack.
A sudden loud clap echoes through the forest. Landslide, I think. Then a second clap rings out and I realize my mistake. Not landslide but gun.
22
The wolves scatter. I spin around, eyes raking the forest. Rex is back. He’s back and come to take me away. I look and look, my breath locked in my throat. Try to see him in the shadows. Nothing.
Another shot rings out. I remember, then, how this place plays tricks on you, how sound bounces and skids, makes you believe things are closer than you really think.
What if it’s a hunter and not Rex at all? What if it’s my big chance to get out of here? I run toward the sound. Pray it’s the right direction.
“Hey! I’m lost. Help me!”
Too quickly I’m breathless and forced to bend at the waist and place my hands on my thighs. Then. Voices. Laughter. I cup my hands to my mouth.
“Hey!” I call. “Help!”
I stand listening then hurry forward. Soon I breach the tree line into grassland overlooked by a gray rock mountain. Below the mountain, a river, too wide and fast to cross. On the opposite site of the clearing, there’s a Jeep and what looks like an elk tied to the roof rack.
I wave my arm. “Hey!”
The Jeep fires into life. Black smoke jets from the exhaust.
“No! Wait!”
Gears grind and the Jeep rolls forward. I yell and run.
“Stop! Wait!”
But the Jeep just drives away.
*
I stand there uselessly in the tall grass as the two red eyes disappear into the woods. My legs shake with rage. How could this happen? They were so close. I was so close.
“What do I have to do!” I snatch tufts of brittle grass, throw fistfuls at the woods. “What the fuck do I have to do!”
The grass blows back in my face. But I don’t care. I pull out more, tugging stems with both hands, ripping grass from its lodgings, hurling it into the wind. I’m out of control, tearing and pulling, throwing anything I can get my hands on, rocks, stones, pinecones.
I stop and look down at my palms. Both are streaked with blood. I lift my head and blink at the pines. This place. I don’t know who I am anymore.
I drop to my knees. I stay there for the longest time. Overhead a hawk wheels. I watch it with watering my eyes.
*
Maybe they’ll come back. This is what I’m thinking as I sit in their former campsite tipping the remnants of canned beef stew into my mouth. I use my finger to peel around the inside for gravy then place the empty can on the side with the others. Four in total. Beans and mini franks. Spaghetti-Os. Another beef stew. Lima bean casserole. All of them mostly empty, apart from scraps, congealed and clinging to the bottom and sides. There are other things, too. A blue tarp, sticky with animal blood, three plastic bags, a purple Bic lighter, two sticks of beef jerky, two empty soda bottles, and beer. Three cans of Budweiser. Two full, one three quarters empty. And, of course, nearby is the pounding river, with all that fresh water. In the morning I’ll find a safe place to climb down and retrieve some, maybe even bathe. But for now I drink the beer and watch the fire I built from the smoldering ashes the hunters left behind.