Hostile Territory

by Paul Greci

I hear some rustling in the other tent, then a zipper, and in an instant Derrick is standing up. The three wolves remain still. I look behind me and see the other two wolves have halved the distance to our tent. “Do you two have bear spray?” I say to Derrick while keeping my eye on the closest wolf.

  “I got mine,” Derrick says to me. Then he yells, “Shannon! Shannon!”

  “What are you—”

  Derrick cuts me off. “We were both falling asleep, but she went out to relieve herself and she’s not back.”

  “Stay here,” I say to Brooke. I grab her pack and pull it into the tent. “Get out your bear spray.”

  “Hey, wolves!” I yell. “Go! Beat it!” I take a step toward the three wolves in front of me and clap my hands. Then Derrick is next to me doing the same thing. The wolves move sideways away from us, but that still keeps them within striking distance of the tents. And the two wolves that circled around are behind the tents.

  It’s in their genes. Hunting as a pack. But they don’t usually hunt humans. Maybe they’re testing us. Maybe they can sense that we’re hungry and a little weak. Maybe they smell the blood from Brooke’s wounds. Maybe they’ve never seen humans. Maybe all three of those things are true.

  “Shannon! Shannon!” Derrick yells.

  “We should follow her boot prints,” I say. And then I think of Brooke and her injured feet, and say, “One of us should go and one of us should stay.”

  “We shouldn’t split up,” Derrick says.

  I hear rustling behind me, and there’s Brooke with her boots on but with the laces taken out. “Let’s go,” she says. And then she shouts, “Shannon! We’re coming!”

  CHAPTER 23

  WE FOLLOW SHANNON’S FOOTPRINTS IN the snow. With three of us together, the wolves keep their distance but don’t turn and run. Shannon’s tracks lead straight toward where I first saw the five wolves.

  All three of us continue to shout her name, but then I say, “We should be quiet and give her a chance to answer.”

  We are flanked by wolves. Two on the right and three on the left. We each have a canister of bear spray in our hands. We keep following the tracks, and then I see movement through the thick falling snow, straight ahead.

  A big black wolf crosses our path about forty yards away, increasing the wolf count to six. And that makes me wonder if there are even more wolves that we haven’t seen.

  Why hasn’t Shannon called anything back to us? Is she hurt? Did she fall and hit her head? Did the wolves already get her? Or did she get lost?

  “Shannon!” Derrick shouts again. The he scoops up a rock, throws it at the black wolf, and yells, “Get!”

  The rock sails over the wolf, and the wolf just stands there, not looking directly at us but not backing away. I pick up a rock and throw it, and it skids to a stop right in front of the wolf, but all the wolf does is trot a dozen steps to the right.

  The wet snow has penetrated my shirt and pants, and I’m starting to feel the moisture since I didn’t take the time to put on my rain gear.

  “Did Shannon have her rain gear?” I ask Derrick.

  “I think so,” he says. “What she didn’t have was this.” Out of a big side pocket in his cargo pants he pulls out a canister of bear spray. “She left it in the tent.” He tucks it back in his pocket.

  Oh man, I think. All these wolves around and not an ounce of protection. Where is she?

  Shannon’s tracks start angling to the left slightly.

  “How far did she go to relieve herself?” Brooke asks. “In this weather, I wouldn’t have gone very far.”

  “Me neither,” I say.

  “Do you think the wolves will mess with our camp since we’re not in it?” Brooke asks.

  “I doubt it,” Derrick says. “They’re interested in meat. And right now, the nearest meat is us.”

  The tracks angle back to the right. The black wolf continues to watch us but hasn’t come any closer since we threw the rocks.

  Now we’re at the edge of the ridgetop where there’s no place to go but steeply down.

  “Shannon!” I yell.

  I wait.

  No response.

  “Shannon!” I yell.

  I wait.

  No response.

  “That girl sure likes her privacy,” Brooke says.

  “This just doesn’t make sense,” I say. “She must’ve gotten turned around in the heavy snowfall.” I look back and can’t even see our tents from this spot. But I could follow our tracks back in the snow, and so could Shannon. She’s super smart. Not that you even need to be that smart to follow your own tracks.

  Something must’ve happened to her.

  “Down there.” Derrick points. “More movement.”

  And then I hear a voice. It’s faint, but I hear it. Coming from the direction Derrick is pointing.

  “Over here.” Shannon’s voice sounds small. Maybe it has something to do with the wet, thick snow that’s still falling.

  “We’re coming,” I yell.

  I start to work my way toward her voice, following her tracks down the steep slope.

  I hit a patch of thick blueberry bushes. They form a waist-high wall and are wet with snow, but her tracks lead right into them.

  I turn and see Derrick and Brooke closing the distance behind me, sidestepping down the slope. This must be killing Brooke’s feet. Slaying them.

  “The tracks end here,” I say, standing at the edge of the berry bushes.

  Through the falling snow, I see movement at the far end of the berry bushes. Then Shannon is moving through the thick brush toward us.

  “Are the wolves gone?” she asks.

  “Not exactly,” I say. “I mean, I’m pretty sure they’re still around the camp, but we won’t know until we climb back up the hill.”

  Derrick holds a canister of bear spray out to Shannon. “Forget something?”

  She takes the canister and says, “Never again.” Then Shannon tells us about how after she peed, it felt so good to be outside in the fresh air that she decided to walk to the edge of the ridge, but when she turned around to go back, there were wolves between her and the tents. The wolves were so focused on the tents that she was able to slip out of sight.

  She wanted to yell to us but didn’t want to draw attention to herself, especially when she realized she didn’t have her bear spray. So she picked her way down the steep slope until she found the first opportunity for cover—the thick patch of berry bushes—and waited.

  “If it weren’t for the stink from Derrick’s gas”—Shannon smiles—“I may not have decided to go for a walk.”

  “Hey,” Derrick says, “it wasn’t just my gas stinking up that place.”

  “Well, it was mostly yours,” Shannon replies.

  “Just remember your bear spray next time,” Brooke says. “We’re all getting soaked out here because we don’t have our rain gear on, except for you.”

  Then I remember Brooke’s feet. It must’ve been pretty painful for her to hobble down here. She probably set herself back in terms of healing.

  “Sorry,” Shannon says. “The last thing I thought would happen would be getting separated from camp because of wolves.”

  “Speaking of wolves,” I say, “we need to head back and see what’s going on.”

  CHAPTER 24

  “WE SHOULD STAND SIDE BY side,” I say. With my thumb, I remove the safety clip from my bear spray. “Better to be ready than wishing you were ready.”

  Shannon, Brooke, and Derrick all remove their safety clips, too. Then Derrick says, “If we do need to use the bear spray, we’ve got to take the wind into account. Down here, below the ridgetop, it feels pretty calm, but up there, I remember it blowing pretty hard.”

  “Let’s just get up there and get this over with,” Brooke says. “My feet are killing me.”

  I glance down at Brooke’s feet, then look her in the eye. “We’ll fix them up when we get back.”

  Shannon doesn’t say anything. I don’t know if she
’s still feeling bad for forgetting her bear spray. But the truth is, even if she’d had it with her on her walk, one person is no match for six wolves. Who knows what would’ve happened.

  And we’re all here now. That’s what matters.

  I lead the way to the lip of the ridge and wait until everyone lines up next to me. The snow is still falling, and it’s probably blowing sideways up on top—where we’ll be in a matter of seconds.

  With Shannon on one side of me, Brooke on the other, and Derrick next to Brooke, we make our way in unison to the top of the ridge.

  About a quarter mile away through the blowing snow I see our tents, still standing. At least the wolves haven’t torn them up.

  We’re all looking around. I notice the wind is blowing from our right and quietly point that out in case we have to use our bear spray.

  “Anyone see anything?” Shannon says softly.

  Brooke, Derrick, and I shake our heads.

  “Let’s start walking,” I say. “Toward the tents.”

  We’ve taken about ten steps when a shrill whistle pierces the air and stops us dead in our tracks.

  “What was that?” Derrick asks. “It came from somewhere off to the left.”

  We all turn and focus our attention in that direction.

  “It’s a person,” Brooke yells. “What else could it be?”

  Then another, fainter whistle comes from straight ahead. “It sounds like that one came from the tents or beyond them.” I point.

  “Maybe it’s a rescue crew and that’s how they’re communicating with each other,” Derrick says. “We’re here!” Derrick shouts. “We’re here!”

  Shannon says, “I think—”

  “I won’t have to walk in these boots anymore,” Brooke says, cutting her off.

  Another whistle splits the air, coming from somewhere beyond the tents.

  “How did we not hear the helicopter or plane or whatever?” I say.

  “They must’ve landed when we were down in the brush,” Brooke says. “And they must’ve scared the wolves away. That’s why we haven’t seen any. This nightmare is almost over.”

  Another whistle pierces our ears from off to the left.

  Brooke turns her head toward the sound and shouts, “We’re here!”

  The snow is still blowing, but the ridgetop area isn’t all that big. I mean, we can see the tents straight in front of us a quarter mile away, and off to the left we can see at least that far.

  Another whistle invades our ears from straight ahead, and we all look that way.

  “Let’s just walk to the tents,” I say. “There’s obviously someone over there. They’ve probably spotted the tents and are whistling to tell the rest of their crew that they found something.”

  “And the rest of the crew”—Brooke points to the left—“is whistling back to say they heard them.”

  “I’m game,” Derrick says. “Let’s go meet these people. I’m curious who they are. They can’t be military. They would use radios if they were.”

  Shannon says, “I think—”

  “Let’s just get over there,” Brooke cuts in. “Before they think the place is abandoned and leave without us.”

  Brooke starts limping toward the tents, and we all fall in a couple of steps behind her.

  “Hello!” Brooke calls. “Hello!”

  I see movement off to my right and catch a glimpse of a wolf slinking away from us.

  “The wolves are still here,” I say, pointing. “Don’t let your guard down.”

  Derrick and Shannon turn their heads in the direction I point, but Brooke just keeps shouting and plowing forward like she’d step directly onto a wolf to get to whoever is whistling.

  We reach the tents and hear another whistle.

  “We have to keep going,” I say, “beyond the tents.” I point through the blowing snow. “Maybe the people haven’t gotten this far.”

  Another whistle sounds off to the left and behind us. It’s fainter than it was when we were at the edge of the ridge.

  “Hello!” Brooke shouts. “Hello!”

  “Over here!” Derrick yells.

  Another whistle sounds beyond the tents.

  We all step past the tents and keep going in the direction of the whistle.

  My clothes are starting to soak through from being out in the wet snow, but I don’t care. Not if it means being rescued.

  “Do you think they’ve heard us yet?” I ask. “I mean, why haven’t they shouted back?”

  Shannon says, “I think—”

  Derrick cuts her off. “Maybe it’s some weird search-and-rescue protocol.”

  “Who cares?” Brooke says. “They’re here. That’s all that matters.”

  Brooke keeps limping forward. Her blisters must be throbbing with pain.

  The next whistle is so close it makes my heart skip a beat. It’s almost like the whistle traveled from the ground up and then through me.

  I turn in a circle, searching for its source. Brooke, Derrick, and Shannon are also searching.

  Another shrill blast sends a jolt up my spine. And then I see the source of the whistling, and it’s not at all what I expected.

  CHAPTER 25

  “MARMOTS?” BROOKE SAYS. “BIG FAT rodents?” She lets out a scream. “No!”

  “I tried to tell all of you,” Shannon says. “Three times actually. I just kept getting cut off. This is their habitat. And they live in colonies.”

  As we make our way back to the tents, I say, “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “Am I the only one who’s taken an Alaska wildlife class?” Shannon responds.

  “But what about their whistle?” Derrick asks. “You must’ve heard that somewhere. Do you live out in the sticks?”

  Shannon smiles. “I live in an apartment with my mom, not out in the woods. This is the first time I’ve heard them in the wild, but they sound just like the recordings I heard in class.”

  The snow is still falling, but the sky seems to be lightening up a little bit. I’m thoroughly soaked and looking forward to crawling into my sleeping bag and letting the storm snow itself out.

  Brooke is lagging behind the three of us. Her feet must be killing her, especially since there are no rescuers. It’s like if I put my all into a race, knowing I’d be able to rest afterward—only to discover I had to run another race ten minutes later: I’d be psychologically as well as physically spent.

  Shannon says, “You know, it’s possible that those wolves were just interested in the marmots. Maybe we camped right on one of their main hunting territories.”

  “Still,” I say, “wolves are wolves. They may not attack people very often, but they’re hunters and meat eaters. And we’re meat. The wolf would be like, Wow, a really big marmot for a meal, cool.”

  At the tents, we wait for Brooke to catch up. She’s got a frown on her face a mile wide. If my feet were in her condition, I’d be feeling the same way. I hope I can patch them up enough for tomorrow’s hike to make it at least a little less painful for her.

  “Brooke,” Derrick says. “How about we see if you can get any reception?”

  Brooke peels back the cover on her backpack and removes a small green waterproof bag.

  We all crowd around Brooke as she powers up her phone. In the top center of the screen the time reads 11:23 p.m. In the upper right corner the battery power reads 43%. But the most surprising reading is the two solid bars in the top left.

  “You must feel pretty strongly about your favorite color,” I say, pointing at the completely red screen, aside from the time, bars, and battery reading.

  Brooke doesn’t respond, just presses the home button. She presses it three times, but the screen remains the same solid red.

  “I don’t understand,” Brooke says. “I mean, I had a picture of me and my sisters as my wallpaper.”

  “And there are no apps,” Derrick says.

  Brooke turns her phone off and powers it back up, but the result is the same.

 
; “Could be the military,” Derrick says. “My dad says they have tools to use for every imaginable situation. And if they’re big into the rescue and recovery from the quake, they can probably take over any and all civilian systems.”

  “Maybe the red screen has something to do with the Canadians helping us,” I say. “Maybe they need a certain network for their communications.”

  “But how would we get a signal way out here?” Shannon says. “And why would Brooke’s apps disappear?”

  “The apps disappearing,” Derrick says, “that could be something internal in her phone. But the signal? Who knows? Maybe they’ve got some small, lightweight towers floating from weather balloons so they can talk to each other over large areas?”

  “For real?” I say. “They can do that?”

  “All I know,” Derrick says, “is that my dad is always bragging about systems they have that the public has no clue about. They can do anything.”

  “Whatever they’re doing,” Brooke says, “it’s not helping us.” She turns her phone off and puts it back in the bag.

  “At least it shows that they’re out here even if they haven’t found us yet,” Shannon reasons.

  Another whistle pierces our ears, followed by the howl of a wolf, reminding us that we’re not the only residents of this ridge.

  A shiver runs up my spine. I’m freaking freezing, and wet. “I think we should all warm up and get some sleep because tomorrow we’ll be walking again.”

  Back in the tent, Brooke and I get settled in.

  “I’ll help bandage up your toes tomorrow.” I pull off my soaked shirt and pants, scoot into my sleeping bag, and turn away from Brooke to give her some privacy.

  I hear her moan and groan and imagine her pants rubbing against the tops of her toes as she pulls them off. “I’m not looking forward to wearing wet clothes tomorrow,” she says. “I’m not looking forward to anything tomorrow.”

  “If the weather clears, we could always wear our rain gear and tie our wet clothes on the outside of our packs to let them dry. We’re going to be going down into that valley tomorrow, and it should get warmer the lower in elevation we go.”

  “Whatever,” Brooke responds. “I’ll be lucky if I can walk at all.”