The Mongrel

by Seán O'Connor

  As she got closer, dragging her leg, her energy ebbing, the object became clearer. She stopped, not believing what she saw. A fence. A freestanding, chain-linked fence, blocked the road.

  The wolves went quiet. She looked around her, knowing the attack was imminent.

  The boy cried.

  She pushed forward, groaning with the madness of it, head down, battling on, not giving up. Then, without warning, she crashed into the fence and screamed for help through the links. Beyond was nothing but empty white road.

  She looked back up the hill, her gaze darting in all directions, but all she could see was grey wilderness—no wolves, no attack, and no footprints other than her own. Her breath rasped from the enormous effort it took to get to the fence.

  Did she imagine the sounds? Had delirium overtaken her once again?

  She examined the fence and the surrounding area. Just beyond it, on the side of the road, was a sign:

  ROAD CLOSED

  Below that was another sign:

  Designated hunting ground.

  Practice extreme caution.

  Fuck!

  Against the night sky were lights from what she assumed to be the nearest village, glowing in an amber haze, like a dome over the area. The fence was so high, and she shook it with her free hand, praying for the first sign of life to appear. Razor wire ran along the top of it, making it impossible to climb over. She realised without looking back that her mind hadn’t played tricks on her and her ordeal was far from over. They were coming for her. She scanned the area. To her left, she counted three, with four on her right.

  Cold sweat prickled across her back. They were bearing down on her—her body was telling her, and it wasn’t able for any form of defence. The lights were too far away, making a call for help useless, and the fencing accomplished its job of keeping the wolves and their prey inside the compound. Tears came at the thought of being so close to safety, and after everything she’d been through.

  She considered throwing the baby over the fence, but it was too high. Instead, she fell to her knees and placed him under her body. It was the only thing she could do.

  The wolves surrounded her.

  She looked up to see what she assumed to be the Alpha male staring at her. The beast was huge—twice the size of the one she’d killed. Its dark yellow eyes glared at her from above its long snout, the whiskers lifting as it revealed its terrifying teeth. It tilted its head down, signalling for its pack members to launch their attack. Erin tucked herself in and waited for the end.

  At first, there was a loud bang, followed by a squeal. A second bang came a moment later, and Erin jolted on the spot. She looked around to see the two lead wolves hitting the ground in front of her, snow puffing around them.

  Her gaze darted from side to side as she tried to comprehend what had happened. The remaining animals were as confused as her.

  Two more bangs thundered in her ears, and the wolves whined and retreated, reluctant to leave their fallen behind. One more bang had them scarpering off beyond the treeline, well out of sight.

  Erin sat up in a daze. Against the backdrop of moonlight, two tall silhouettes approached. As they drew closer, she noticed through her tears that one was wearing a sleeveless black Gillet and held a rifle, muzzle up. The other man looked to be a Garda, his Hi-Viz jacket visible beyond anything else but the moon. They were calling to her, but it sounded like someone speaking while she was under water. And she wanted to reply, but fatigue wouldn’t allow her to utter a single word, leaving the men standing on the other side of the fence gesturing and shouted down to her.

  ***

  She drifted in and out of consciousness. In brief flashes of awareness, she came to see that she was lying in the back of a truck, wrapped in blankets, her head elevated on a makeshift pillow of rough material that itched her face. Voices filtered in from outside—garbled words, as if through walkie-talkies. The smell of gunpowder was all around her. Then she noticed the road through the slit in the dark cotton curtain draped over the back of the truck.

  Next time she woke to cries. Blue lights flashed, and the curtain had been pulled aside. Her stomach lurched when she saw a female Guard outside holding what she assumed was her baby. The boy, wrapped in a blanket, was being walked around—the officer struggling to sooth the hungry child, whose squeals everyone knew about.

  The interior of the truck spun and her eyes rolled back as she faded in and out of her darkness, her mind struggling to process everything that was happening.

  “Help is on the way, miss,” a man with a thick country accent called in to her. “Stay strong in there.” It was the man in the Gillet. He wore a concerned smile.

  She could only respond with groans.

  He frowned, his mouth opening to reveal a set of bad teeth. A patch on his arm had a wolf emblem on it, with Greene Security Group underneath.

  A paramedic climbed in and sat beside her. “Hello miss. What’s your name?” He was young, and eager to help. “What is your name?” he asked again.

  Erin was unable to engage—the darkness clouding her senses again. She could barely feel the medic attending to her leg.

  “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

  A sharp pain shot up her spine and she rolled onto her back and stared up at the dark canopy. The voices and sounds faded again, and she felt herself turning inward against the distant cries of her baby.

  PART THREE

  FIFTEEN

  As the fog of sleep dissipated, Erin squinted and blinked against the harsh lighting above. The smell of disinfectant pinched her nostrils. Everything was a blur, but she persevered until things cleared up enough to see where she was. A hospital ward. The three beds opposite were empty, their curtains drawn back. A large window at the far end reflected back the room’s light with a mirrored fade.

  Then it came to her. She was in a Hospital, and by the looks of it, the place was in dire need of a paint job.

  Her mouth was bone dry, her throat raw. She remained silent, unmoving as she took stock of her situation. The blue blanket over her was raised at the end. Her leg. Of course. How could she forget that? She blinked a few more times, allowing visuals in. It was all a bit murky, but patches materialised. The doctors had worked through the night to save her life, giving credit to her strong spirit in assisting them in their struggle to prevent her succumbing to her trauma. They’d told her so when she came out of the anaesthetic. She’d had several units of blood during the operation, which lasted almost nine hours as they worked on her lower leg. They assured her they’d be able to rebuild the parts she’d lost, too badly damaged by the Geoff’s tearing jaws. It would be a long-term recovery, with extensive grafting and physiotherapy, but they assured her she’d walk again, though probably with a limp.

  They’d patched up and dressed her self-inflicted vaginal wound, placing her on two intravenous antibiotics to fight infection, which meant she wouldn’t be able to breastfeed her baby.

  “My baby!”

  She shot up in the bed, or as much as the pain in her abdomen would allow.

  “He’s safe, dear,” a woman with a soft-spoken voice said beside her. Erin flinched —she hadn’t realised someone was sitting beside her. A nurse, with Kelly engraved on her name badge. She was young, with a lot of make-up around the eyes, her red hair tied back in a neat bun.

  “But, where…?” Her words croaked—her tongue dry as sandpaper.

  “He’s on another ward,” the nurse said, laying a warm hand on Erin’s arm. “And he’s fine. Just needed feeding and rest. You’ll see him in time, but for now, you must rest as well and try to recoup your strength.” She got up and tucked the blankets in around Erin, leaving her arms on top.

  Erin didn’t argue. Even if she wanted to, she hadn’t the strength. She was still exhausted.

  The nurse offered her a glass of water.

  She too
k a sip and swished it around before swallowing, grimacing as her throat protested, but she took another, keeping the refreshing liquid in her mouth for longer, letting it get in everywhere. The tubes from the intravenous drip above her connected into twin ports in her right arm, taped up to prevent dislodgement. She wouldn’t be doing anything to disturb the process. The last thing she wanted was infection setting in.

  The nurse placed the glass on the bedside locker. “I believe you have a visitor waiting outside. We couldn’t let him in until we knew you were well enough to see him. He was very insistent about seeing you, but the doctor was adamant that your rest was more important.” She checked her watch clipped to her breast pocket. “What do you think, Erin? You strong enough for a visit?”

  “How long has he been waiting?” she asked. Even after the water, the words burned her throat.

  “Maybe an hour.”

  She grimaced again as she swallowed, then nodded.

  “No problem, dear, I’ll send him in.” She winked before she turned to leave.

  Everything was so quiet in the empty ward. She rubbed her eyes, still tired, but her vision was clear. The cream walls were in bits. The floor was a mix of dark green and brown lino and had been recently mopped, if the shine and smell was anything to go by. A framed pictured of a pope hung over the entrance. Which pope, she didn’t know, or care. Each bed was neatly made, with the drawn curtains opening up the room. A television set hung from a bracket in the far corner, a red dot signalling it was in standby mode.

  Voices filtered in from outside, and trolleys moving about, but it was low-level and respectful noise, confirming her assumption that it was night. She should have taken note of the nurse’s watch.

  To the right of the window, a door had been left ajar—most likely the bathroom. The sight of it brought a cold jab from her bladder, telling her in no uncertain terms that it required attention. She took a deep breath and turned onto her side, then pushed herself up enough to be able to lean forward and pull the end of the blanket up. Just as she thought, they’d left a frame over her leg. She lifted it off and manoeuvred her legs over the side of the bed. Whatever painkillers she was on, they were having the desired effect, but it didn’t prevent her feeling stiffness throughout her whole body. Her toes barely tipped the lino. The leg was heavily bandaged beneath a modern-looking Velcro splint. She smiled, relieved to see the limb in a clean, sanitised state. A positive start, and it boded well for a good recovery.

  The floor was freezing, but nothing like the ice and snow she’d come out of. She put all her weight on her good foot, taking hold of the drip stand to ease away from the bed into a standing position. To her surprise, she was able to balance well enough. No way was she going to test her bandaged leg, though. She’d just lean on the stand and drag the injured limb along, like she’d done from the car to the fence.

  While she could stand with assistance, she was still weak. Her good knee trembled, and her thigh actually quivered, the vibrations running through her pelvis, reminding her again how much she needed to piss. Would her good leg buckle and take her to the floor? Fuck it, the wolf hadn’t beaten her, so a few shakes would hardly be a problem.

  She took her time with each step, making the most of the steel IV rack as she wheeled it along. With a struggle and much thought, she was able to maneuverer her hospital gown out of the way while she went to the toilet.

  The burning sensation was excruciating. They’d left a gap to enable urination, but the wound was oozing a bloody mucus that seeped through the dressing. She wiped beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, sure she felt the stitching shift from the pressure while she pissed. The effort. Christ. She closed her eyes and watched flashes of her nightmare come at her again. So clear. But despite the horror, she managed to crack a smile at the thought that she’d survived and given birth to her little boy. By herself. A sense of pride washed over her. She’d overcome everything that was thrown at her and came out the other side alive.

  Philip was sitting beside her bed when she opened the door. As soon as he saw her, he leaped up. “Erin, oh my God.” His eyes widened as he looked her over.

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she lowered her head and dragged herself towards the bed, knowing he’d watch her every move. Refusing to look at him, she continued on, and was almost to the bed when he came to her aid. Too late.

  “What happened up there, babe?” he asked, stroking her hair off her sweaty forehead.

  She moved her head away from his hand and made direct eye contact. “You left me.”

  “What? I went to get help, babe. I didn’t know the storm was going to swoop in that—”

  “You left me!” she snapped. As soon as the words left her mouth, tears brimmed—visuals of her ordeal back in her mind.

  Philip remained silent, leaning into her instead, hugging her to him.

  Her emotions took over then, the tears dripping from her nose and chin. For the next hour or so, she stayed in his silent embrace, hating him for what he’d done, but unable to break away from the comfort of his arms.

  The night nurse, Linda Barkley, who Erin had met the night before, came in to check as part of her rounds. She was a stout lady, who wore her hair in a messy bun—her uniform stretched, struggling to contain her.

  Erin had read her straight away, seeing that while she was kind, she had a bulldog personality and wasn’t the type you talked back to. This didn’t stop Phil putting it up to her when he was asked to go home for the night and return during visiting hours, as per hospital policy.

  He looked her up and down, and Erin could see that he was judging the woman on her appearance, scoffing at her rotund face. Next thing, he leaned in and simply but firmly told her he was staying the night with his fiancé. His lack of aggression and calm assertiveness surprised Erin. She didn’t argue—too exhausted and lonely.

  Nurse Barkley left in a huff.

  It was the early hours of the morning and Erin was beginning to perk up, possibly a result of the anaesthetic wearing off, allowing her to think clearer.

  “Where’s my dad?” she asked.

  “I spoke to him earlier, told him I’d be here for the night. He said he’d get here first thing in the morning.” He went on to tell her about how he was unable to get back to the car because the police and the park rangers had forced road closures all around the valley.

  He shrugged. “The snowfall was the worst on record, babe. There was nothing I could do.”

  She stared at him, and he averted his gaze and looked to be lost in his own thoughts. Had to be the guilt. A little voice in the back of her head niggled at her until she listened, and agreed—his excuse of an apology lacked any real sincerity.

  “Where did you go?” she asked.

  He explained that he had no choice but to shelter in a guesthouse and wait out the storm, and was going to go back up as soon as it passed, but then got a call from the hospital.

  Not a chance was she believing that—it just didn’t sit right—but she was in no state to argue or even raise her voice. The last thing she needed was one of his temper flare-ups, and with the painkillers wearing off, all she wanted now was to see her baby, who she realised Phil hadn’t once mentioned. He convinced her to remain in the bed, and she was too weak to do anything but obey.

  As the night went on, it became clear that Nurse Barkley was the only one left on duty, sitting at the station in the corridor. She’d administered painkillers, telling Erin that she was struggling to get into one of those Stephen King novels.

  Lights were off, with just the glow from the dimmed corridor their only illumination.

  “I’m going to take a piss, babe, and then get some kip here on the chair. Is that okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer, making his way over to the toilet.

  Erin lay there, staring at the night through the window. Perplexed, she replayed everything over and over. No
thing added up. She didn’t know if it was her or Philip, but something was off, and that little voice wouldn’t shut up. Whatever it was, she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was the shock or the trauma still overwhelming her, or shades of the delirium she’d slipped into—she didn’t know. For fuck’s sake, she’d been savaged by a werewolf, and delivered her baby by herself, yet you’d never think anything had happened from Phil’s reaction—calm, even distant; definitely less tense than normal. He even moved differently about the place, gliding into the toilet with an easy-going stride, instead of his usual Alpha saunter.

  As she lay listening and watching, that little voice in the back of her mind nudged her again. She shifted down the bed to Phil’s jacket, obeying the compulsion to rummage through his pockets. She’d never done it before, and there was no rational reason for it now—just an inexplicable urge.

  She found nothing out of the ordinary—a set of keys, his wallet, and some loose change. When she opened the wallet, she saw his bank cards and driver’s license, as expected, but the picture slot was vacant. It used to house an old photo of the two of them from their second date. The cash compartment contained crumpled receipts. She flicked through them, but nothing struck a chord with her.

  The toilet flushed and her heart skipped, but then the sound of water flowing sent a wave of relief through her—at least he remembered to wash his hands. As she fixed everything back into the wallet, she noticed it—that thing her instinct had drawn her to. What she thought was a folded receipt, was in fact an airline boarding pass. A million questions flashed through her as she studied it—a one-way ticket to Canada, with his name on it.

  Phil returned and found her shaking, glaring at him.

  “You left me,” she said, her voice quivering. “On purpose!”

  Before he could reply, she held out the boarding pass. “You left me up there. How could you?”