by J. Thorn
He looked up and noticed that the sun had dropped closer to the horizon, as if touching the tops of the trees to ignite them. Darkness crept closer, surrounding the far edges of his vision. Samuel felt the chill of night coming, and realized his exposure could kill him. Along with the chill came the resurgence of instinct and the will to live.
***
The night came silently, stealing the remaining light from the forest and replacing it with an insufferable coldness. Samuel shuddered. He could no longer control the muscle spasms that racked his body and occupied his mind. The yellow tape, the shoes, the hunger. None if it mattered while his brain searched for a solution to the numbing cold brought by the night.
Samuel reached into his pocket, where he had stowed the mysterious artifacts. His hand found the lighter, which he pulled out. Again he wrapped his thumb and finger around the igniter, although the dropping temperature made it more difficult for him to strike the flint. He tried again, once, twice. On the third strike, the lighter coughed forth a weak flame. It flickered over the pinhole at the top of the metal. Samuel felt the brief burst of warmth, and before he could place his left hand over the top of it, the flame died. He shook the lighter and struck the flint again. The green flame returned, and Samuel pushed the tiny lever on the front of the lighter until the flame rose slightly higher than it had before. He smiled and reached back into his pocket, removing scraps of paper from the wallet and holding them over the flame. At first, the paper did nothing but curl and twist from the heat. But after a few moments, the flame leapt from the lighter. He dropped the lit paper to the ground and pushed dead leaves on top of it. Curls of grey smoke floated upward, stinging his eyes and burning his nose, and Samuel cried from the smoke. He could smell it. He was alive. Within moments, the confined space between three pine trees blazed with yellow and green flames. Samuel was standing closer to the bonfire than he should have. His instinct told him to stand back, and yet the heat did not burn him as it should. Samuel shoved the lighter into his pocket and scurried past the fire, gathering pine needles, dried twigs, and branches. He was not sure why, but he knew this fuel was needed to keep the fire going, to keep him alive. Within a matter of moments, in units of time that Samuel could no longer measure, he sat basking in the glow of a roaring bonfire. He felt its warmth and closed his eyes. His stomach growled, protesting the sudden hunger brought on by the activity.
Samuel laid his head on the empty backpack and curled his feet closer to the fire. He felt warm, and safe, and still very alone, until the howl pierced the air.
Samuel scurried through the hastily made camp and gathered the articles dumped from his pockets. As he stripped his clothes to the ground to rid himself of the scent, his body shivered. His mind reeled as instinct took over. He could not remember how he knew, but he recognized the howl of the alpha male. He knew the pack was coming. He knew he would die.
The cold air bit into his back as the paltry fire warmed his front. He took inventory of all of the clothing he could gather from the abandoned tents, counting three shirts of various sizes, two pairs of shorts, and one pair of athletic pants. He ran to the pile and put the athletic pants on, followed by a pair of the shorts. He picked up the T-shirt that he had worn and took a whiff. He could taste his own body odor, but it did not carry the musky, organic, overpowering scent it should have. Nevertheless, it was closest to his body’s scent and would have to do. He set the undershirt aside and pulled the clothing over his head until he stood dressed, with only a pair of shorts and a T-shirt left on the ground. He ran to one of the pine trees standing guard over his haven, unable to find a single knotted branch or knob that would serve him. He knew that the clearing would soon be attacked by a pack of wild wolves, and he ran from one tree to another until he found what he needed, grabbing the stained T-shirt and wrapping the neckhole around a thin branch. He then snatched the shorts from the ground and wrapped them over a piece of peeling bark. The clothes on the tree sat higher than an average human, but he did not think the wolves would discern that detail in the heat of the hunt.
Samuel heard the soft crunch of the forest underbrush. He looked back and forth at the trees and over the fire, spotting one low-hanging branch within his grasp. His fingers fell a few inches short of the bark, and when he heard the low, earthy growls, he realized he had seconds to make a decision. Samuel jumped and grabbed the branch with both hands while swinging his legs as high as he could. Several objects fell from his pockets and clattered in a pile beneath the tree. As he glanced down, Samuel saw the first set of yellow eyes materialize from the dark recesses beyond the fire. He squinted and heaved upward until he sat on the branch with his feet dangling five feet from the ground. The alpha male came first.
***
It smelled the burning wood long before its eyes found the origin of the flame. The creature nuzzled its nose deep into dank fur and flicked its ears twice before turning its muzzle toward the sky, letting loose with a growl that sounded more human than beast. Within moments, the rest of the pack surrounded the alpha male. Sets of yellow eyes darted back and forth through the hulking, black trunks. They seemed to disappear and reappear as though floating through the night.
One has found flame.
The pack settled and circled around the leader. With his fur rankled, he bared his pointy teeth at the slightly younger, more aggressive males.
My kill, then your carcass.
Although not the egalitarian split most of the creatures desired, it was the way. It had always been the way, and would always be the way.
The alpha male trotted across a felled tree, the trunk resting on a rocky outcrop jutting twenty feet high. He approached the zenith and stopped, catching the scent of fire, smoke, and human in the air. While he did not share the same sense of time and space as other mammals, the wolf registered surprise. He had not expected man to still be here, and if he was, he had not expected man to enter his domain.
Blood.
The rest of the pack reared up behind the leader, letting loose with several rounds of howling, barking, and gnashing. Several of the larger, older creatures snapped at the females. They tore away chunks of fur, along with the sense of calm that the pack had recently shared. The leader had called for blood. The hunt was on.
The alpha male leapt from the trunk, his sinewy frame propelled through the trees as if by an otherworldly force, pulling his front legs back until they almost met his hind legs. The creature sprinted, and the pack followed at the acceptable and respected distance. The alpha male would not find a challenger this night—the first blood would belong to him. The pack undulated, a brown, grey, and silver mass weaving through the trees and toward the fire springing up from the forest floor. Some of the cubs whimpered and ran beneath their mothers, for they had yet to witness the power of flame.
The alpha male crested a slight rise and slowed his descent toward the valley, scanning the horizon to see the thin, white line of Brother Moon. The creature stopped, his tongue flicking across his frozen muzzle. He lifted his head up and howled again.
The top arch of the moon poked above the tree line, but would rise no farther. The alpha male knew. He mourned the loss of the sky god hanging over the valley and illuminating the kills. Brother Moon held his gaze low like an insolent child, a bit lower each cycle.
The pack scampered behind the alpha male and waited. The creatures paced about with deep growls as they too gazed at the bright epicenter of the valley, cursing the unnatural flame and drooling at the prospect of tearing its creator apart.
The alpha male dropped low, ears up. He moved methodically through the trees until the faint aroma of burning pine reached his nose. The creatures had not lost the scent. Not yet. The others followed with growling bellies and cautious optimism. The feast would be the first in a long while. Mothers would push their cubs back from the killing spot and toss them the battered entrails left after the surge.
The alpha male continued to lead. The crackling of the burning wood became louder,
but remained muffled in the heavy air. He listened for the guttural tone of a human voice, but did not hear it, and he sniffed the air again, this time detecting the source of the scent.
Alone.
The younger, more aggressive males became excited by the thought. Single prey meant greater success in the kill. The wolves nudged each other, even going so far as to bare teeth to preserve the attack order. After the alpha male had eaten, a battle would ensue for the bloody remains.
The alpha male spun with his hackles raised. He growled and bared pointy, yellow teeth at his pack. They would fear him or be consumed by him. At least that was how it had always been. The others cowered, especially the females and the cubs. A few of the more mature males skittered to the side but did not retreat. They sized up the alpha male, sensing that they too might someday lead the pack. Someday.
Now.
He reared his head and howled. The rest of the pack imitated the alpha male until the sound consumed the dead of the night. He raced from his lead position toward the fire, with the pack following, dashing between trunks, through the remains of yellow tape, and over lonely shoes with decayed laces. He sprinted over forgotten bones and rotted, canvas tents. He kicked the artifacts of the world to the side, where they tumbled into silent obscurity.
The fire grew as the alpha male led his pack to the fight. It had been a long time since human blood had spilled in the valley, and the alpha male basked in the anticipation. Although his eyes had lost range and focus, he was able to detect the human form against the tree on the far side of the fire. The yellow and green flames distorted the shape, but not enough to confuse the alpha male. The pack snapped at each other’s tails as they followed the leader to the kill zone. Females, cubs, and old wolves became lost in the instinctual euphoria of the kill.
He flew from the path, dashed around a fallen limb, and turned straight for his prey. The alpha male’s eyes lit, his snout pulsing with the chemicals of the human scent. He made one final lunge to the right of the fire and skidded to a halt in the dry dirt at the base of the tree. His head twitched back and forth at the shirt and pair of pants tacked there, and he did not need to communicate his disgust and disappointment to the pack. His belly growled in protest of the ruse.
Chapter 2
The leader approached his prey and looked up. The rest of the pack filled in behind the alpha male but kept their distance from the unnatural fire. The creature paced around the flames, sniffing the objects on the ground, and then craned its neck upward at the feet of the human.
It must come down. That is the command given and the one I must follow.
The rest of the pack whined and shuffled about. Several of the cubs lay on the ground, enjoying the meager warmth provided by the man’s fire, while the male wolves stood behind the leader and looked up into the tree.
“Leave me alone,” Samuel shouted to the beasts below.
He thought he could hear the alpha male chuckle. The sound escaped the wolf’s muzzle like a short guffaw.
“Get out of here.”
The wolves stood at attention, staring up at him. One would break off, circle its tail, and then come back to attention at the base of the tree.
Samuel looked up into the pine. Branches sprouted from the base of the trunk like a pinwheel extending up into the blackness. Tendrils of smoke raced between them as the fire burned down to yellow coals, releasing the hiss of water inside the damp wood. Samuel reached for the next closest branch and climbed higher, until he sat on a wider branch, taking a deep breath and looking down at the pack twenty feet below.
We wait.
The alpha male dropped its hind legs to the ground, and its ears came up. The other hunters did the same, while the female wolves attended to nursing cubs. The pack formed a circle around the base of the tree.
Samuel felt a rumble in his stomach, and a pain gripped his side. He could not remember the last time he ate. He rubbed the blooming bruises on his neck, the painful reminder of his time inside the noose. Samuel looked out from the trees, convinced that he had found temporary refuge from the pack. A sliver of the moon appeared above the canopy of pines, blossoming like spilt milk into the night sky.
Are wolves nocturnal? They’ll go back to the den once the sun comes up, Samuel thought.
Samuel watched as a new light crested off the horizon. He did not see the blazing orb of his sun. He did not feel the warmth of the day. Hours passed, and yet the light failed to chase back the darkness, seeping upward until a dull grey blanket of mist descended on the forest. A quick pulse of memory shot through his head, a late-afternoon thunderstorm at the shore. The feeling lingered, but the specifics of the memory did not. He looked down at the pack. The females and cubs slept in bundles of fur, and most of the hunters rested their heads in their paws, all except one. The alpha male remained sitting, his eyes focused on Samuel.
***
As the light faded yet again, Samuel felt the first cramps clutching his muscles, threatening to eject him from his safe perch. His stomach threatened to turn in on itself. He closed his eyes, unsure whether the hunger pangs could keep his mind off the muscle cramps or whether it was better to focus on the cramps to take his mind off of his hunger. Samuel’s tongue felt as though it were wrapped in cotton. Sweat dotted his forehead, while his feet felt cold and dead.
It weakens.
The wolves pushed up onto all fours and began circling the base of the trunk. The alpha male reared back and howled. The cubs awakened with new fervor, hunger, and bloodlust. Two hunters leapt onto the base of the tree, as if threatening to climb it. They jumped back and forth, growling and snapping at each other’s tails.
Samuel closed his eyes, and the world swam beneath him. He lost his sense of perception and fell from the branch, lunging out and grasping another to stop his plummet. The branch slid beneath his fingers as he looked down at the ground below, feeling dizzy and expecting the ground to rush up and snatch him from the precipice. Samuel reminded himself not to look down, wondering why that seemed to be the best advice for a fear of heights. The hunters saw the movement, and the other wolves sensed it. The entire pack ran around the base, barking and growling in a frenzy. Samuel hung by one arm, his left foot five feet from the ground. He felt the sting as a pine branch opened a gash in his side, and blood dripped into the open maw of the alpha male.
Not this way, he thought, wincing.
He drew a deep breath and forced the pain from his mind. He considered giving up until the thought of the pack’s teeth tearing at his flesh cleared his head. His mind raced through questions, possible reasons for the wolves’ unending pursuit. But in that moment, he realized it did not matter. He would have to survive before he could have the luxury of reflection.
Samuel shook his head, fighting the haze and scrambling to reach a higher position. The alpha male lunged upward, clamping his jaws on the heel of Samuel’s shoe and shaking it left to right, rear paws digging into the dirt with every backpedal. Samuel kicked with his opposite foot but lacked power behind the motion. His toe bounced off the skull of the alpha male, agitating him more with each strike.
The other wolves crowded the alpha male, snapping at Samuel’s foot in support of the leader. Samuel felt his grip loosening and his pants being tugged downward by another wolf that now also had a hold. He looked up at the branch, the tree about to fulfill his destiny of death in a way the noose could not. As his right hand released and another wolf climbed to his knee, a crack echoed through the valley. Samuel crashed to the ground as the wolves froze. They spun to face the sound as another shot whistled through the air and a slug lodged in the pine tree mere inches from Samuel’s head.
We will come back.
The alpha male turned to snarl at Samuel before bounding over the remains of the fire and though the trunks of the pine trees. The hunters, the females, and the cubs followed with their tails tucked between their legs.
Samuel looked over the fire with blurry vision. His breathing slowed, and he sense
d motion. A dark swath moved over the reemerging fire. It stopped and hesitated. The flames jumped back to life, and Samuel squinted in the light. Again the fire burned with a paltry, green hue, but compared to the blackness preceding it, Samuel shielded his eyes from the glare.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Close your eyes. We’ll talk when your body has recovered.”
Samuel rolled onto his back and laughed. Floating ash danced overhead against the black-velvet sky. Bare tree branches reached for it like bony fingers.
“The wolves, they’re coming back,” he said to the visitor.
“They will. They always do,” came the reply.
Samuel smiled again and closed his eyes. He would sleep, or he would die. Either outcome would rest his weary mind.
Chapter 3
Samuel felt the nudge of the boot in his ribs and rolled over onto his back. The grey, gauzy haze still hung in the sky. He put a hand to his throbbing forehead and wondered how long it would take to feel normal again, if ever. Samuel detected movement across the remains of the night’s fire, and a pulse of fear raced through his chest. The tree, the wolves, and the howling—especially the howling—resurfaced in his head. He gulped the air and recognized the movement of a fellow human. Samuel squinted as he sat up on his elbows.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Does it matter?”
He shrugged. “I guess not.”
He watched the stranger from behind. The man sat on a felled trunk, wearing a tattered, black overcoat mingled with dried leaves. He wore a black, cloth headband tied at the back of his head above a ponytail that was streaked with shooting bursts of grey.
“Who are you?”
The stranger turned and faced Samuel. His eyes sat deep in his skull, surrounded by dark blooms of age and fatigue. The headband crouched low over his eyebrows, and the stranger’s nose sat crooked, in between two red cheeks and lips melded together into a thin line. A bruise ran from his left ear, down across his throat, and then up underneath his right ear.
