by D. M. Turner
A light knock on the bedroom door snapped his eyes open.
“Max, son, are you alright?” Pa.
Max met Dakota’s gaze as panic filled him.
“Change back,” his friend whispered, still holding the door closed.
He tried to call forth his human self. Nothing happened. Stuck. What do I do? He sent a wide-eyed look at Dakota.
“Max? Dakota?” Pa’s voice had become more insistent.
“Hold up a minute, Mr. Johnson.” Dakota gave Max a stern look and lowered his voice. “You need to calm down and shift back.”
Easier said than done. His heart skittered harder at another knock on the door, louder that time. Scrambling to his feet on the bed, Max crouched. What now? Dakota couldn’t hold the door forever. Pa would demand entrance eventually. Probably sooner rather than later.
“What’s wrong, Matthew?” Ma’s sleepy voice broke through the hammering of Max’s heart in his ears, making it pound even harder.
He met Dakota’s gaze for a moment then did the only thing he could think to do. The glass window between the two beds shattered all around him as he dove through it. His pads somehow escaped damage. He scrambled off the back porch, around the house, and made a break for the sawmill, staggering a bit in his pajama top. Fog obscured the structure from his view, but it didn’t matter. He knew exactly where it was. Drizzling rain dampened his coat and the cloth still encasing part of him and patted his nose leather.
“Max!” Pa’s voice tore through the night, though he was clearly on the wrong side of the house to see his son’s retreating furry form.
Max dove under the back porch of the sawmill and belly-crawled into the damp darkness under the building. His nose picked up the cat only moments before it turned glittery eyes on him, hissed, and bolted for safety. He ignored it and cowered near one of the support posts for the center of the building, trembling. What if his parents had seen him?
Eyes squeezed shut, he tried to ignore the fact he was in another dark, cold, damp place. Not the root cellar. Not locked in, wounded, and helpless. Many escape routes. Except where the building met the riverbank, he could crawl out anywhere. Not the same as it had been in Korea.
Safe, the wolf assured him, settling in to wait out the night.
Max wanted to believe it but....
It was far into the night before his heart rate and breathing slowed to normal so he could relax and rest.
Chapter 15
Tuesday, February 26, 1952
“MAX?”
He startled at hearing his name, despite the fact it was spoken in a barely discernible whisper. Raising his head from his front paws, Max peered in the direction the sound had come from. The first hint of hazy morning light illuminated the edges of the building.
Dakota crawled under the back porch of the sawmill and eased toward him, carrying a bundle of clothes.
Max lowered his muzzle and looked away. He’d let his friend down.
“Hey, none of that now.” His voice soft, Dakota set down the bundle of clothes and gently touched the top of Max’s head. “You have no reason to feel guilty. You’re still getting used to this new way of life. If anyone’s to blame for what happened during the night, it’s me. I should’ve realized you weren’t ready to be around people yet. Not until the nightmares settled and you’d learned to control your shifts better. I’m sorry I rushed you.”
Max relaxed a bit.
“Can you return to human form now?”
The only way to know would be to try. He closed his eyes and concentrated on sending the wolf back to its normal resting place. In moments, the pain of the change fell over him. A few seconds later, he lay naked and shivering in the cold. If the temperature wasn’t freezing, it certainly hovered close enough to that mark to be mighty uncomfortable.
He removed the damp, muddy pajama top, dressed as quickly as he could in the dry clothes, and pulled on the shoes Dakota had brought for him.
“Let’s go back to the house. Your parents are worried.”
On hands and knees, Max followed his friend out the way they’d come in, climbed to his feet, wrapped his arms around himself, and headed for the house through the fog. When they rounded the corner, he halted, his gaze on the boarded up window of his bedroom.
Dakota laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. I told your father we’d pay for the window. He said there was no need, but I gave your mother money for it anyway.”
“What must they think?” Shoulders down, he continued toward the back door. “I couldn’t change back, and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I know. I figured that out about the time you dove for the window.” He sighed and continued to keep his voice very soft. “I truly am sorry for pushing you too quickly. I’ve never Turned anyone before, to be quite honest. Only seen it done once. I didn’t think about the fact you might need considerably more time to adjust to the wolf before being around people. The fact you’re having nightmares only makes matters worse, I think. The emotions tied to that make it harder to control the wolf. I should’ve realized that. I’m sorry.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m not blaming you.” Max scowled. “But I shouldn’t be here. We need to go back to the cabin.”
“Alright.” Dakota nodded.
The back door opened as they mounted the stairs.
Ma swept out and wrapped a quilt around Max’s shoulders. “You two come inside and warm up. It’s mighty cold out there this morning.”
Pa and Maggie waited in the kitchen.
“Maggie, get a couple more quilts.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She took off at a run through the house.
Pa motioned to a pair of chairs bracketing the wood burning stove in the living room. “You two sit down here. You’ll be warmed up in no time.”
They dropped into chairs as directed. Fighting to hold back tears, Max huddled into the quilt, angled toward the stove, his gaze on the floor. He could only imagine how disappointed his parents must be in him. How ashamed Maggie must be of her big brother.
Another chair moved into his visual range, coming to rest only two feet in front of his. He didn’t have to look up to see when Pa settled into it.
“Where’d you go last night, son?”
“The sawmill.” No need to admit he’d been under it and not inside. Max grimaced. “I’m sorry about the window. I just—” He took a steadying breath. I just what? What kind of excuse can I possibly give them?
Pa’s work-calloused hand settled on Max’s knee and squeezed slightly. “We don’t care about the window. Windows can be replaced, and that one needed it anyway. We’re worried about you.”
Maggie returned with a pair of quilts and offered one to Dakota, who accepted it and wrapped it around himself. She shook out the other one and draped it around Max, adding it to the one already there.
He couldn’t bring himself to lift his head and meet her gaze, afraid of what he’d see there. “I think it’d be best if I left, go back to the woods awhile.” He slowly lifted his head, though he couldn’t look any of his family in the eye. “Everything’s that happened.... It’s still too fresh. I’m not safe to be around, and I’d never forgive myself if I hurt one of you.”
“Alone in the woods won’t erase the past, son.”
“I know.” Max nodded. “But it’ll buy me time to deal with the memories and hopefully ease the nightmares.”
“Take it from me,” Pa said with resigned sorrow, “there’ll always be things that trigger the nightmares. You can’t escape them.”
“Maybe not, but hopefully in time they’ll become fewer and further between, so I’m not so dangerous.” He shook his head. “I’m not ready to be around people yet. The nightmares are getting worse instead of better. I think that’s because I’m afraid I’ll hurt someone. Last night, I dreamed I killed Gerald. I haven’t had a dream like that before.”
His pa sighed. “Yeah, I heard about your altercation with him and his friends yesterday.”
Ma shook her head. “That boy certainly isn’t that bright, that’s for sure.”
“Alice.” Pa frowned disapprovingly.
She folded her arms over her chest and met his gaze without flinching. “Well, he isn’t.”
“Be that as it may,”—his gaze shifted back to Max—“if you feel the need to go, then go. Just stay in touch with us, alright?”
“Yes, sir.” Max smiled faintly. Best he could manage. “I’ll write as regularly as I can, let you know how things are going.” Warmth slowly seeped back into his muscles and bones. Shivering ceased, leaving exhaustion in its wake. “We’ll leave today.” He glanced at Dakota, who nodded.
“Not yet, you aren’t.” Ma headed for the kitchen. “You two boys need to eat and rest a bit. You’re too tired to go anywhere right this minute.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Max lowered his chin to his chest and closed his eyes.
Warm arms closed around his shoulders from one side. Tears choked him when he recognized his little sister’s scent.
Chapter 16
Wednesday, February 27, 1952
15 miles south of Eugene, Oregon
THE sun barely pierced the fog, peering between the broken and rotted boards of the abandoned barn where Max and Dakota had taken shelter for the night. Gray clouds had lingered overnight with drizzling rain. Hopefully the fog would burn off before clouds completely snuffed the warm light.
Max got to all four feet and shook to rid his coat of dirt and old straw and hay. The stretch that followed began with his front legs and traveled down his back to his tail and hind toes. He looked around, but Dakota wasn’t in sight. Nose to the ground, he followed the man’s scent to an opening in the back wall. Even as he stopped to look around, Dakota’s wolf trotted into view, emerging from an overgrown pasture behind the building.
He stepped back to let Dakota pass. The moment the wolf was safely in the concealment of the barn, he shifted back to human form and reached for the clothes he’d left on top of their single pack the night before.
Max followed suit then asked, “Where’d you get off to?”
“Checking the lay of the land.” Fully dressed, Dakota sat to pull on his boots. “Not much around here but farms.”
“Is that good or bad?”
The man shrugged. “Neither. It just is.”
Max dropped into the straw to pull on his shoes. “I really thought we’d get farther yesterday.”
“If your ma hadn’t kept us so long, we would have.” He smiled. “She was worried, though, so it’s no big deal. We’re in no hurry.” Dakota cocked his head. “No dreams last night.”
“No.” Max shook his head. “I think I was too tired to do anything but collapse.”
His friend chuckled then fell silent for a moment, studying Max. “I wonder if the wolf insulates you to some degree from dreams?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only slept as a wolf, what? Three or four times?”
“Something like that.” Dakota’s eyes narrowed in thought. “That’s worth paying attention to in the future though.” He shrugged. “Not that it probably does you any good when you can’t be a wolf.” Gripping a strap on the pack, he hopped to his feet. “Ready to find something to eat? I think there’s a little diner not too far down the road from here. I seem to recall seeing one on our way north last week.”
“Okay.” Max climbed to his feet.
Dakota slung the strap for the bag across his shoulder and smiled. “Those two quilts your mother gave us added a bit of weight, but they sure will be nice to have at the cabin.”
He nodded and followed his friend out the front door and down a driveway that was nothing more than two vague, overgrown dirt tracks.
It took nearly an hour to reach the diner Dakota had remembered.
Max stopped outside and frowned.
A sign in the window stated, “Whites Only.”
Dakota growled softly. “Stupid people. Why does the world have to be so full of stupid people?”
“Go on in. I’ll wait here for you.”
“Not on your life.” He shook his head. “If you’re not welcome there, I’m not giving them our money. Forget it.” He turned to keep walking south. “We’ll find someplace else to eat, even if it means going wolf and hunting something down for ourselves. I’m not supporting that ungodly attitude.”
Max turned and caught up with his friend, tension easing.
* * *
“It wasn’t quite this bad before I left for the war.” Max scowled and looked at another “Whites Only” sign in a business window. “Things seem to be getting worse instead of better.”
Dakota shook his head. “Stupidity spreads, I’m afraid.”
They headed south again. They hadn’t gone far when a car pulled to the side of the road in front of them. Both of them stopped several feet behind it.
The door opened, and Gerald stepped out.
“Great. I thought we’d left that knucklehead in Eugene,” Dakota muttered.
Max shook his head. “As Ma said, he’s never been too bright.”
Smirking, Gerald strutted toward them then stopped arm’s length away. Alcohol wafted across the short span. Just what a coward needed. False courage from a bottle. Underneath the stink of whiskey, he smelled even more like prey than he had before. Weak. Did humans realize alcohol made them more prey instead of less? Hm. Probably not, since they couldn’t smell it like a wolf did.
“What do you want, Gerald?” Max pinned him with a hard look, unwilling to flinch away from the man’s glare.
“We never got to finish our discussion.” Gerald waved both hands erratically. “Mr. Terrell’s not here to save you now.”
“I don’t need saving.” He shook his head then grinned without humor. “You sure will, if you don’t go home.”
“You can’t speak to me that way.”
“Why not?” Max looked the man over from head to foot and back again and scowled harder. “You haven’t done a single thing to earn respect.”
“You’re a worthless darky, that’s why.” Gerald gave Dakota a bleary glare. “And don’t you go hitting me for speaking the truth either.”
Dakota snorted. “Max is perfectly capable of defending himself, especially against the likes of you.” He raised both hands and took a step back to prove his point. “I have total faith in my friend to clean the street with your worthless hide without getting so much as a scratch on him.”
Tension crawled through Max. What if he went too far? The image of Gerald lying dead in a pool of blood flashed through his mind.
Gerald sneered and motioned with both hands. “Come on, Glute. Take your best shot.”
That nickname again. He growled softly. Stay calm, and everything will be fine, Max could almost hear Dakota thinking. How many times in the past weeks had the man said those two words or something similar? Stay calm. It had become a litany in Max’s life.
Max smiled, even though he couldn’t find any humor in the situation. “If I take my best shot, you’ll be dead in an instant, and you’re not worth a prison sentence.” He shook his head and stepped to the side, intending to walk on down the road. “Go home and sober up, Gerald, before you bite off more than you can chew in a lifetime.”
Gerald grabbed his arm.
Without hesitation, Max swung around. His fist slammed into Gerald’s face. He allowed their momentum to put the man on the ground with Max kneeling on his chest. He yanked the knife out that he always carried in a sheath tucked into the back waistband of his pants under his shirt, clutching it to Gerald’s throat close enough for the man to feel the cold blade against bare skin.
Kill him, the wolf snarled. Kill him, and end his torments. He deserves to die.
Max growled softly, and a line of blood appeared along the edge of the knif
e.
Gerald’s eyes widened, suddenly free of the haze of alcohol that had darkened them moments before. He froze, except for rapid, shallow breathing. Terror rose in swells off the man, intensifying his prey scent.
Like a deer we’ve taken down who knows death is near. Satisfaction rolled off the wolf. Finish him.
Max shifted his gaze from the line of blood to the man’s eyes. And froze. What am I doing? He’s a drunk idiot. No real threat. If I kill him like this, it’ll be cold-blooded murder. Nothing right about that. Still he wavered.
You shall not commit murder. The words fell over him with conviction, strength, and a love he’d felt before. The Lord’s assurance of what was right.
The blade eased away.
One thing remained to be said though, in case Gerald got ideas about retaliation when he returned to Eugene. Max met the man’s gaze. “Stay away from me, and stay away from my family. If anything happens to my parents or my little sister, I’m coming for you. Next time, I won’t back away until you’re dead.” He climbed slowly to his feet, leaving Gerald sprawled in the dirt. “Go home, Gerald, while you still have a life to live.” He wiped the knife clean on the leg of his pants and returned it to its sheath.
Dakota skirted them and went to Gerald’s car, removing the key from the ignition. He dropped it in the mail slot of a business whose sign noted “closed for lunch”. “That’ll ensure you have time to sober up before you drive home.”
Max joined his friend, and they started down the road again, glancing back a couple of times to make sure Gerald didn’t try to follow. The man had sat up but remained where they’d left him.
“I thought I misheard him yesterday, but twice?” Dakota shook his head and glanced sideways at Max. “Did he call you Glute?”
“Yes.” He grimaced.
“Why?”
“Horrid nickname he came up with when I was about nine.”
“Is it short for something? I’ve never heard it before.”
He slumped his shoulders and lowered his head. “Do I really have to say?”
