Wolves of Winter

by Tyrell Johnson

Dad

  I read it again, again, again, again, till the words blurred. I folded the paper and stuck it under my pillow. Then I laid my head back and closed my eyes, paring down the words, till all that was left was: no father ever loved his daughter more than I love you.

  43

  I was a wreck for a while. I holed up in my loft and slept. Dreamed of Dad, of Conrad, of Anders, of Wolf, of Jax. He was somewhat absent around the cabins. When I wasn’t in bed, I’d see him wandering out in the mornings and coming in late. He didn’t come to see me, though. I figured Mom fussing about the cabin kept him at bay. She brought me food, tea, and, bless her heart, she read Walt Whitman to me. It was awkward, but it calmed me down.

  She also answered my questions. Every day I had more of them.

  “So Immunity never found out we were in Alaska?”

  “No.” She sipped her tea. “We disappeared quite thoroughly. Burned every bridge we could think of. They can’t know whether your father is dead, or alive and well.”

  Alive and well. If only. “Were they looking for him back in Eagle? When Immunity came?”

  “Yes.”

  “They came to our door once. I remember.”

  “That’s right,” Mom said. “I gave them a fake last name. It was risky, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “So why did you and Ken never get the flu?”

  “Ken and I were just lucky. They say it killed three out of five people. If not for your dad’s serum, it would have killed two of our four. The strain is weaker in colder temperatures as well.”

  “I can’t believe you kept this a secret, all this time.”

  She let out a breath, and I saw the weight of it, the heavy burden of that secret, drop from her shoulders. All these years, knowing what Dad did, knowing the shape of the world, unable to talk about it, pushing through in silence to keep Ken and me safe, alive. There were tears in her eyes now. They seemed to come easier to her these days.

  “It’s okay, Mom.”

  She wiped her eyes, made a noise that was both a sob and a laugh.

  “Is it?” she asked. “Is it okay?”

  I don’t know. “Yes. It is.”

  * * *

  Eventually, I went back to hunting in the morning, reading Walt Whitman, and walking in the evening. One day, Jax joined me.

  “Where you going?” he asked.

  “For a walk.”

  He didn’t ask if he could come. He just started walking beside me.

  The second time he came out, we were just north of the river, trudging along a narrow ridge, when he said, “I’ve been thinking about your dad.” It was as if he could read my thoughts. “It’s possible he helped make the serum Immunity gave me.”

  Beside us, the river murmured its sympathies. An icy wind stung my eyes. I didn’t say anything. It was more than possible.

  “I think I met him,” Jax said.

  I stopped walking.

  “There were a lot of visitors at the center where I was held. Men—scientists—coming and going, asking me questions, taking notes. But there was this one man who didn’t have a clipboard. He was the only one who ever asked me my name. He said he was sorry about my mom.”

  He didn’t ask what Dad looked like, and I didn’t say. This was enough. More than enough. Jax put a tentative hand on my shoulder, then slowly pulled me into him. I let my head rest against his chest and I cried. It felt so good.

  After that night, we didn’t mention Immunity, the flu, the past. Often, we walked in silence. But that was good too. The walks became a part of my day, a ritual I couldn’t do without. I found myself looking forward to them, thinking about them long before the sun set. We didn’t kiss, but I thought about it a lot.

  So one day, when he said, “I think I need to leave,” my stomach plummeted.

  “Why? What for?” I was shocked, hurt, confused, and I didn’t bother to hide it. An owl called out from a nearby branch.

  “I can’t stay. I need to know if there are more men back at their camp. What if there are more camps out here? If there are, they’ll be looking for me. You’re still not known to the rest of them. Your family will be safe here if I go. You will be safe. But not if I stay.”

  Were there more reasons for his wanting to leave? I wasn’t sure. “Will you head south? To the cities?”

  “No. I can’t ever go back there. Cities mean people; people mean Immunity. They followed me all the way out here. I’m still a high priority to them. They don’t just want the cure from me—they want to use me. Use what I can do. I’m sure that’s what Anders wanted.” He seemed resolved. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine.

  “Where will you go?” I was trying to be brave about it, act as though the weight of this wasn’t crushing me, but I was doing a bad job.

  “I’ll keep going north. Find Wolf.”

  “Wolf’s dead,” I said.

  If Jax was hurt by my bluntness, he didn’t show it. Instead, he merely shook his head. “He was with me for years. My only friend. I need to at least find his body. Bury him, if an animal hasn’t found him yet.”

  The wolves and crows were a fast cleanup crew. But I didn’t say that. Hope is a frail thing.

  He finally gave me a direct look, his eyes burning blue sapphire. “You know, you could come with me.”

  My mouth dropped open. Oh, those words. I realized then that I’d wanted him to say those words, I’d been waiting for them. And there they were.

  I wanted to go. I wanted to leave, explore, see the world, be with him. I knew it as intensely as I knew that I wasn’t going to. I had to head south, not north. I was the cure, and after thinking on it for days, I’d decided that I couldn’t let others die because I was afraid. I’d find the facility Braylen had told me about. The one in Vancouver. The man Sutton. I’d give him my blood. Here, heal the damn world. I opened my mouth to tell Jax, to ask him to come with me. But the words froze in my throat. I couldn’t ask it of him. It wasn’t his burden. If Immunity found him, found us, there was no hope for anyone. It would be my fault, and I couldn’t live with that.

  “I’m going to stay,” I said. My heart skydived in my chest.

  “I understand.” I wasn’t sure he did.

  “I want to go with you. I just . . . can’t.”

  He flashed a weak smile.

  “When will you leave?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay.”

  In the distance, the owl called out: Who? Who? Who?

  * * *

  The next morning, true to his word, Jax packed up his things and slung his bag onto his shoulders. A dark wall of clouds was moving toward us. Probably more snow. He shook Jeryl’s and Mom’s hands and went for Ken’s, but Ken gave him a hug. “You find some girls out there, you bring them back here, you got it?” Jax laughed and said that he would.

  He stood in front of me then; a gust of wind sent icy fingers across my face.

  “Well, see ya,” I said.

  He put a hand behind my head and held it there. I wanted to scream, cry, kick him and call him an asshole. But I also wanted him to coax my head forward and pull me into him.

  He leaned in, gently, and kissed me on the forehead, his lips lingering there, warm. He did it in front of everyone. My freckles must have glowed like embers.

  “Take care of yourself, Gwen.”

  “Lynn,” I said.

  His blue eyes pierced mine; then he let go, and left.

  Maybe Ken or Mom said something to me then. I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. I was watching Jax trudge up the hill as a deep and certain feeling settled into the pit of my stomach: I was never going to see him again.

  Damn it all to hell. I think maybe I did love him.

  44

  Seven years before, the trek from Eagle to the Blackstone had taken something like a month. I didn’t count. I was sixteen, the world was ending, who cared how many days we spent traveling, how many nights we spent under the cold, open sky?

  It was
hard walking. Day in and day out. The animals struggled. We didn’t have much to feed them, and it was difficult to keep enough water even for ourselves—this was spring, before all the snow. Ken got sick on the way. It turned out to be just a cold, but I remember the panic we felt. One by one, I imagined the rest of my family dropping from the sickness, me the only one left, alone in the wilderness.

  We ran into another family once. Grandparents, two boys in their twenties, and a girl in her teens. My age. We stopped and camped with them. They were heading to Stewart Crossing. Apparently, they had family down there.

  The girl and I went for a walk together while the rest made dinner. I disliked her immediately. She spoke to me like I was a child, like she was babysitting me.

  “No one in my family has died from the flu,” she said.

  “I had it, but I survived,” I said.

  “Good for you. That doesn’t happen much.” It wasn’t a compliment. “Grandpa says that only the weak are killed.”

  “My dad died.”

  “Oh,” she said. “He must have been pretty weak then.”

  I punched her right in the face.

  It wasn’t her fault. Not really. She was just doing her best with the life that had been given to her. But I didn’t think it through. I didn’t care.

  Blood smeared her lip. She pressed her hands to her mouth, then burst into tears and ran toward camp. I ran in the other direction. It was Jeryl who caught up with me. A younger, spunkier Jeryl. I was sitting on a stump, breaking a stick apart and throwing the pieces into the bushes.

  He put his hands in his pockets. “She hit you?”

  I shook my head. There was a lump in my throat.

  “She say mean things about your dad?”

  How did he know? I felt my chin quiver as I shrugged, eyes on the stick in my palm.

  He put a hand on my shoulder. I looked away, pretending not to be crying. The pain was so fresh. Red, raw. I still woke up every morning thinking Dad would be there, making pancakes.

  “We’re gonna make a home again,” he said. “For all of us. You’ll see. Give it time. You’ll see.”

  And he was right. In a way.

  * * *

  Jeryl was never the same after Ramsey died.

  He brooded, barely spoke, was gone for long periods of time but never brought back any game. Jeryl had loved Ramsey. He wouldn’t ever say it, but I think he blamed himself for Ramsey’s death. Conrad might not have gotten involved if Jeryl had handled things differently with him, hadn’t warned him they were coming or had made it clear that you couldn’t cut deals with Immunity. I think that ate away at Jeryl, made him feel that he’d failed his best friend, John-Henry.

  It was nearly a week after Jax left—Mom and I were cooking breakfast while Ken sat by the fire trying to smoke his pipe—when Jeryl came through the door, gun in hand. “Lynn,” he said. “Saw a moose up the western slopes yesterday. You might want to take a trip up that way.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Also saw some grizzly prints. I’m gonna go track them.”

  Ken set down his pipe.

  “Might be gone for a few days.”

  Mom dropped a spoon into an empty pot. “He’s not John-Henry, Jeryl,” Mom said, flat out.

  Jeryl shook his head. His face didn’t show it, but I saw it in his eyes. Deep pain. “Gotta go after him, Mary.” His voice shook.

  “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “Be back in a few days. A week at most.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Ken offered.

  “No, you stay. I’ll be fine. Need some time to think.”

  “Jeryl,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. I’m sorry. Thank you. You saved us. Please don’t go. You did a great job stepping in for my dad. I didn’t say any of it. God, I hope he knew.

  He nodded, then walked out the door.

  We never saw him again.

  * * *

  I like to think that Jeryl found his John-Henry bear—that they saw each other from afar. That there was a moment of recognition in their eyes. That the bear attacked. That Jeryl shot him and they died together. I like to think that they’re both with Ramsey, playing chess. Or maybe Jeryl didn’t kill him. Maybe the John-Henry bear got to him first. Maybe somewhere up in the mountains there are two bears, roaming the forests together, eating berries. Doing whatever the hell it is bears do.

  45

  Welcome to Camp McBride. Home of the McBrides.

  Everyone else was gone. Just us now. Ken, me, Mom. And I was leaving too. But I couldn’t bring myself to say good-bye. So I stalled. I kept hunting, setting traps, feeding Hector, Helen, and Stankbutt. Those ungrateful little bastards had no idea what went down, that anyone was missing, or that the world was any different at all. Maybe a little colder. That’s about it. I envied them.

  Oh, and we kept a horse. Three survived from Immunity, but two ran off, and we never could find them. Wolverine snack, probably. But there was a big brown stallion we found in the east hills with its tethers caught on a fallen log. Wasn’t easy getting him untethered. He was panicked after all the shooting. Took a lot of carrots to coax him. And a lot of feeding, walking, brushing, and caring before he let us ride him. He had a makeshift harness made of rope and an iron bit. I took him out with me a few times when I checked my traps, but I got the feeling he didn’t like me riding him, and honestly, I didn’t mind walking. I was used to it. Ken didn’t take to him at all, never rode him once, but Mom loved him. She woke up early, fed him, brushed him, then took him for a ride. It was good for her. She called him Alaska.

  Mom was cleaning our dishes from breakfast one morning while I sat by the fire, and that’s when I finally said it. I’d been trying to tell her for the last twenty minutes—well, the last few days.

  “I need to leave, Mom.”

  She stopped scrubbing. One hand held the dripping rag, the other a plate, both extended over a bowl of fire-warmed water. Her posture was stiff, her gaze fixed on the bowl beneath her. She lowered the plate, then let the rag fall between her fingers. I don’t know what I expected from her, but whatever it was, it wasn’t what came next. She looked up at me, face as red as her hair. “I know,” she said. “Maybe I’ve always known.”

  “If my blood’s the cure, I have to help, if I can.”

  “I know,” she said again.

  I walked toward her, saw the pain and the fear in her eyes. “I’m scared too,” I said. It was a relief to admit. Like exhaling after holding your breath for a long time.

  “We’re all scared,” she said. “But that’s never stopped us before. You’re a grown woman. You can make your own decisions. Your dad would be so, so proud of you.”

  I’d never heard her say anything like that before. It felt good to hear those words. Really good.

  “We could go with you,” Mom said.

  “No. No point in risking all of our lives. Keep this place running. I want a home waiting for me when I get back.”

  Mom wiped her cheeks. Could have been spray from the dishes. “You’ll come back.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I answered. “I’ll come back, Mom. I promise.”

  * * *

  “You’re an asshole, you know that?” Ken said.

  “Why?”

  “Leaving me with Mom. She’s menopausal, you know.”

  I laughed. A release of tension and emotion. We were in his cabin. He was lighting a fire in the hearth.

  “You sure I can’t come with you?”

  “Take care of her,” I said.

  “Hurry back.” He gave me a quick hug, but from Ken, it was as good as tears.

  That night, we stayed up late, had venison, goat milk, and an extra helping of strawberries. We played hearts, just the three of us. Ken won, as usual.

  I left the next morning. The sun was shining off the snow, making the tops of the evergreens look like knives. But to the east, a dark storm cloud was brewing. More snow. No surprises there.

 
I’d packed the night before. Bow. Knife. Blanket. Food. Water. One of Jeryl’s fire starters. Mom had given me an old map that she’d brought from Alaska. She told me to find the Dempster Highway and follow it south. Eventually I’d find signs for Vancouver. Then I’d have to figure it out. She also tried to get me to take her horse, but I shut that down fast. I didn’t like the animal, and Mom loved him. Maybe it was a mistake, but I trusted my own two feet more.

  As I took my first few steps away from our cabins, I saw Mom standing outside. She lifted a hand. Good-bye, Gwendolynn. Be safe. Save the world. Hurry home.

  I didn’t let myself cry.

  46

  And then I was by myself in the wilderness. The only sounds were my boots shuffling through the thick snow and a gray jay chirping and laughing in a nearby tree. I thought of Dad. Would this be what he wanted? Was I doing the right thing? Could my blood really heal the world? And if it did, what kind of world would it be? It couldn’t go back to what it once was, and I didn’t want it to. We’d make the same mistakes, ruin everything all over again. We had to be different now. Better. But how? I didn’t have the answers.

  After about two hours of walking, I came across a wolf tearing at a small hare. The wolf was all white, like Braylen’s animals, his fur brighter than the snow. His gray eyes were fixed on the warm meat. I know it sounds awful, but for some reason, as I watched him eat, it kind of made me hungry too. I drew my bow on the wolf. Wolf meat was meat after all. But as I aimed, something felt wrong. Here was a wolf hunting, killing, surviving. Doing what it had to. He wasn’t any different from me. He was alone like me. I wondered where his pack was.

  He looked up. Raw silver eyes, blood-soaked mouth, ears pointed in my direction. I lowered my bow.

  Maybe a minute passed, maybe only seconds, but eventually I moved on. Between each footstep, I heard the crunching and ripping sounds as the wolf tore into its kill. I didn’t look back to see if he would charge me. I knew he wouldn’t.