Silver Magi 1

by D. Levesque

  “Mahna, mi medo,” it says to me. Somehow, I can understand it. “Welcome, my son.”

  “How am I able to understand you? And might I ask who you are and where I am?” I ask the shadow animal.

  “Ah, they do not teach you the language anymore? You humans have changed much these past centuries,” the animal says in a deep, gruff voice.

  Suddenly, in front of me is the biggest wolf I have ever seen in my life! This wolf is about three times as big as any I have ever seen in any zoo, or even on television. It stands as tall as me at the shoulders, and it is sitting down! Its coat is so silver, and so healthy that it glows. But what truly gets me is the size of its paws and its teeth. Shit, I will die here too, I think.

  “No, you shall not die here, little one,” it says, laughing. “You were near death, and you called upon your powers. I am but here to guide you on Earth. As you are the last of us, I shall grant you leave to be who you are. When you leave here, I would suggest you move as fast as you can to the right, or left, whichever takes your fancy. This is wisdom that will help you not die. One day we might meet again little one, but for now, you do not belong here. You are not yet powerful enough.” With that, the wolf howls at me, and at the end of its howl, I feel myself slowly go away from this place, back to my body.

  Shit, no, not my body! I am about to be shot at point-blank range. Wait, he said to move. Without thinking about it I move to the left quickly, and I hear a gunshot go off. Opening my eyes, I look, and I can see that the thug is looking for me. I am over ten feet away from where I started. Holy shit, how did I move so fast? He finally sees me, and I can see the shock on his face, but he brings his gun up to shoot again. I know I need to get that away from him, and without thinking about it, I am suddenly in front of him, with my hand around the gun’s grip, over his hand. I squeeze as hard as I can to see if I can dislodge his hand. Instead, I am shocked when I end up crushing not only his hand, but the damn grip.

  He screams out in pain. Seeing as this guy tried to kill me, rather than remorse, I feel my anger coming back. I cock my hand back into a fist and hit him in the face. What I think will happen is he will get knocked out, so I can run away. But I am surprised that his head explodes into gore, with brain matter hitting the trees behind him. I am left standing there, holding a dead body with no head. Looking down at this now mangled piece of a human being, I slowly look at my hand that is now covered in blood, brain matter, and I don’t even know what else.

  “Oh… that sucked for him,” I say.

  Then I promptly move away two steps before I throw up.

  Chapter Two

  Once I am done puking my guts out, I remember the dog. Shit. That asshole had shot it. He had thought it was my dog. But that dog saved my damn life, I should at least find it and see if it’s fine. If not, I need to bring it to a vet. Remembering the direction the dog had run in, I go to the edge of the tree line and look down. Dammit, it’s too dark. I can’t see shit. I can’t leave it out here. It might die if I leave to get help. Deciding to see what I can do, I follow where I think I saw it go, and head in that direction.

  It’s so dark I can barely see in front of me.What I wouldn’t give to have damn night vision. After about two minutes of trying to walk in a straight line by looking at a tree in front of me and going towards it, and following it up with another tree after that, I hear heavy breathing. I approach the sound slowly. It’s a bit to the left of where I was heading.

  Once I get close enough to hear it, a shadow that looks like the dog looks up at me and growls menacingly.

  “It’s all right, boy, girl. Dog. Shit. I have no idea what sex you are, but I am here to help you,” I tell it in a calm voice, trying to let it know with my tone of voice that I am not here to hurt it, but help it.

  I slowly crouch down, but instead of going straight to the dog, I sit down about three feet from it. It’s breathing pretty deeply, and I can hear a wheezing noise. Shit, it must have gotten hit in the lung. If I don’t do something, it will die.

  “Listen, here, hmm. Dog. If I don’t get help for you, you will die. So, I hope you understand me and don’t bite me. I’m going to pick you up and head back to my work building, and there I can help you. OK?” I tell it quietly. All I get back is the heavy breathing, but I see that the shadow’s head has lowered to the ground. Shit, please don’t fucking die right now.

  Moving slowly to the dog, I put my hand out, but there is no reaction. I put my hand on its fur. It’s much rougher than most dogs I have met. Then again, I have only met small dogs, and they are usually fluffy as hell. Moving my hand up and down, I pet it, but there isn’t any reaction. Damn, it might have passed out. Most animals from what I remember, lay on the opposite side than they are shot in and where the bullet entry wound is. Moving my hand slowly, I feel a wetness on the fur. I run my hand even slower now, not wanting to hurt it even more. Finally, I find the entry wound. It’s near its upper left chest.

  Fuck, I need to patch that up, so it loses no more blood. Taking my shirt off, I put it on the wound and press lightly. The dog growls, but doesn’t wake up. Since the thing is too big for me to get anything around it, I will need to just leave my shirt there and hope it somehow clots up and keeps the wound closed. Getting up and going to its backside, I slowly reach my arms under it. It wakes at that, and I can’t move since both my arms are stuck underneath its body. It turns its head towards me and growls.

  “Listen, you are dying, and I need to get you somewhere where I can help you. God, I hope you understand me, please let me help you dammit,” I say in a calm voice, which isn’t at all how I am feeling. My pulse is racing, and I am ready to shit my pants. I don’t think I have ever been so scared in my life, even with bullets coming at me. This is more personal and closer. This might be a dog, but it’s wounded. Thank God, the dog puts its head down. Slowly I lift it, and position it so it will not fall out of my arms. Jesus, it’s heavier than I thought it would be.

  Looking up at the moon and taking into account that it’s been about thirty minutes since I found the dog, I follow the moon back to where I think the building is. Slowly, so I don’t drop this animal, I head out. I have to stop twice to catch my breath and let my arms recover. It’s heavier than any dog I have ever attempted to carry, and since its head was hanging, that made it awkward too.

  After about an hour of slow going, I finally see the lights from my work office. I head towards them eagerly. Once I get to the tree line, I stop and don’t move. I am not walking out into another hail of bullets, thank you very much. After about five minutes of nothing happening, I slowly put the dog down and get a good look at it. Holy fuck! That’s not a dog. It’s a fucking wolf! It’s black and gray, and it’s long. Shit. I have been walking around with a damn wolf? Please let this be someone’s pet and not some wild animal. I get myself together slowly, and my breathing slows down. Doesn’t matter. It saved your fucking life, Brandon. Time to suck it up and help it. Wild or not. Animal control can deal with it.

  Heading out of the treeline, I feel the breeze on my skin. I forgot I’m not wearing a shirt. Running to the front of the building to let myself back in, I notice that the black SUV is still there. Looking at it, I wonder if I should take it, but then I remember that one was talking about something called the Organization. It might be bugged with GPS tracking for all I know. So not taking that. My car it is. Once I am in the building I walk towards the guard’s desk, and the security guard that is sitting there raises an eyebrow at my shirtless self. I shrug at him.

  “I had to fight off a dog, so my shirt took the brunt of it. The dog took off with it like it was a chew toy,” I tell him jokingly.

  “Damn,” he says worriedly. “Was it on the property?”

  “Nah,” I tell him hurriedly. “It was on the highway. I am just going to get changed, log out for the night, and head home. See you. Have a great night.”

  “You too,” he says to me.

  That is the longest conversation I have had with him
in the year he has worked here. Heading to the locker room, I change from my jogging sweats to my working sweats and t-shirt. I also grab my phone and my car keys. Once done, I go back out and head to the bank of elevators. Once the doors open, I get in and press 4 for my floor. Back in my office, I log back in, and send my boss an email telling him I am not feeling well and am heading home. I look at the clock. It’s close to 4:30 a.m. Not like I am missing a ton of my shift. Closing my laptop down, I put it away in the locker that they require us to keep it in at night—management shit procedures.

  Heading back to the same elevators I just came from, I head down and back towards the exit. Again, I wave to the guard. Heading to the front of the building this time and past the black SUV, I walk to my beat-up Volvo. It’s not much, but it gets me to work since there is no transportation way out here. And I own it outright. Getting in, I start it and slowly drive to the back of the building to where I put the dog—. No, wait, the wolf. Going around, I open the back door and head back to the treeline. I see that the wolf hasn’t moved. Good, I think.

  I check, and it’s still breathing, but I can tell it’s much shallower, and its breathing is more labored. Shit, it’s almost like it’s got liquid in its lungs, like blood. I put my hands under it, and this time, it doesn’t wake up. I lift it and walk towards my open back door. I slowly slide the animal along the back of my seat. Thank God for leather. I won’t have too many stains if it bleeds on the seats.

  Once the wolf is in completely, I close the door and lean against the car, taking a deep breath of the warm night air. Now what? I mean, I can drive it to the animal shelter, but all they will probably do is euthanize it. It’s a damn wolf, not a dog. Animal control will probably do the same thing since it’s an injured animal. Think Brandon, think. The first thing is, I need to get that damn bullet out. Turning around and looking at the wolf in the back of my car, I try to remember any book or video or documentary I have seen on what needs to be done for something like this. But I draw a blank. I never saw one for a shot up wolf. But wait, I remember one for a lion that a farmer shot after it escaped a local zoo. They knocked the big cat out and used forceps to remove the bullet, and then used the thread to sew the wound back up. But they used a tranquilizer dart for it. I don’t think I can buy that from a local store. Especially not at almost 5 am. I mean, I can try taking the bullet out without drugs, but I want to stay alive.

  Who do I know who might have shit like that? Wait! Uncle John. Well, he wasn’t my uncle, but he was around a lot when I was a kid. Opening my phone back up, I look up his contact info, and I press dial. After the second ring, it picks up.

  “Brandon? Do you know what time it is? This had better be an emergency, or I swear to God I will put you over my knee like I used to when you were a kid and spank the crap out of you!” says a tired, sleepy voice.

  “Hi Uncle John, sorry to bother you, but I have a kind of emergency, and I really need your help. I need animal tranquilizers and forceps if you have them, and maybe a sewing kit?” I say sheepishly.

  “What’s this about Brandon?” John says, his voice wide awake now, and worried.

  Sighing, I try to figure out how much I should tell him about tonight, but decide that I don’t want him involved. “I wish I could tell you Uncle, but I just need those things, no questions asked. I might be able to tell you later, but right now, I can’t,” I tell him evasively.

  “Are you in trouble?” he asks me, now serious.

  “No,” I lie. “I am good, just the short story is, I have an animal that I found that was shot, and I want to see if I can remove the bullet. I don’t want to bring it to animal control or the animal shelter since I know they will just kill it,” I say, skirting the truth.

  “No need to say anymore. If you are helping an animal, you got it. I was getting up in thirty minutes, anyhow, to head off to work. I will leave the stuff on my porch, and I will also leave instructions on the tranquilizers. I don’t want you killing this animal. How heavy would you say it is?” he says, now the total farmer and professional.

  “I would say about 175 pounds? Give or take 10 pounds. I was able to lift it, so it’s not over 200 pounds,” I tell him.

  “Right, I will leave instructions. I’ll also leave you some proper thread and needles to close off the wound after and some surgical gloves and some alcohol swabs to disinfect before you do anything. No use killing the beast after you take out the damn bullets. But you need to promise me you will tell me what happened soon, got it?” he says.

  “I promise Uncle John. Just right now isn’t a good time. Thank you,” I tell him.

  “You’re welcome. Call me if you have any issues, OK? Bye.”

  “Will do. Bye,” I say.

  John had been an amazing role model for me growing up. My parents, before they died in the house fire, used to travel a lot, so John was like my second father. He was partly to blame for my survival training since he felt no man should ever be apart from the forest. Though we lived in the swamps of Florida most of the time, I think, chuckling.

  Checking one more time to make sure that the wolf is still out, I get into the front seat of my car and start it up. It might be a crappy car, but at least it never had issues starting. And thankfully, it didn’t have issues now. Putting my seatbelt on, I place it in drive and head on out. I have about an hour's drive to John’s place.

  Once I am close to my uncle's place, I slow down. I have been checking on the wolf for the last hour of driving. There isn’t much of a change, good or bad. I can tell, though, that it’s still struggling to breathe. I had cracked the window to let more air into the car, but I also turned on the A/C to keep it cool. The sun is coming up, but isn’t in the sky yet.

  Turning into the driveway to John’s farm, I head to the main house and stop in front of it. Getting out of the car, I stretch some and then walk to the porch. As he said he would, John had left a box for me. I open it, and inside is a ton of gear, from surgical gloves to forceps, scissors, bandages, tape, and a bunch of other stuff. There is a small bottle and a bunch of syringes. I also see a paper with handwritten instructions. God love the man. Closing the box, I head back to the car, get back into the driver's seat, and put the box on the passenger seat. Putting my seatbelt back on, I put it back in drive and head back the same way I came. At least the ride isn’t at long, as I live halfway between work and John’s place.

  As I drive, I keep looking back to make sure the wolf doesn’t somehow wake up and try to sneak up on me. But it seems I don’t have to worry; the damn thing stays out the whole way. Though, I think I might need to knock it out before I bring it into my house. I would kill for a coffee, but I believe that going through a Starbucks drive-thru might be a terrible idea. One, for the fact that I have a wolf in the back of my car. And two, I have a wolf in the back of my car who can die any minute.

  Finally, after about twenty minutes I get to my place. It’s not much, but like my car, I own it. After my parents died, I got a small amount of money and had bought this small two-level house and my Volvo. Pulling into the driveway, I press the button to open the garage. Thank God I keep it empty. I rarely park my car in it, but I think in this case it would be an excellent idea. Once the vehicle is fully in, I close the garage door again. Looking behind me, I see no change to the wolf.

  Turning around and opening the box on the passenger side, I take out the paper John wrote on. He gave various instructions on the cleaning of the wound and such. Finally, I get to the part I want. There are instructions on how many CCs I need to give the wolf. Having seen enough doctor shows, I know how to do this part. I take a syringe out of the package and break the seal on the bottle. I then stick the needle into it and turn the bottle over. I pull back until I am just a little over the CC I need and pull it out of the bottle. I recap the bottle with my free hand and then press the plunger until some liquid squirts out, making sure there is no air. Finally, I recap the needle.

  Holding it in my hand, I open my door and head to the
back seat on the driver’s side so that the wolf’s head is away from me. I open the car door slowly; there is no reaction. I put my hand on it, and still no response. God, here goes. I uncap the needle slowly, and as fast as I can, I stick the needle into the wolf and push the plunger. That wakes it up. Unexpectedly, it’s trying to push itself at me, with its teeth snapping at me in full hate mode. But then the tranquilizer takes effect, and it shakes its head. The last thing I see before it passes out is a look of utter fear on its face. What the fuck? I don’t think I ever saw that on any animal before. That was fucked up.

  Going back to the driver seat, I get back in, get the box again, and prep another needle and put it in my back pocket, just in case. No way I want this thing waking up as I am carrying it. Going back to the back passenger door, I see it still hasn’t moved. I poke at it to make sure—no reaction, even when I poke it harder. So I go and open the door from the garage into the house. I run upstairs and open the door to the spare room. All I have in there is an extra bed. At this point, I don’t care if I get blood on the comforter. I can replace it afterward if needs be.

  Going back down, I maneuver the wolf back into my arms and move it out of the car, being careful of its head. Then slowly, as I had in the woods, I head into the house to the second-floor bedroom. I lay the wolf down on the bed so its legs face the middle of the bed. I need easy access to the wound. Going back down, I grab the box from the car and close all the doors. I then head to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water or two. Before I am even upstairs, the first bottle is gone. I stop at the linen closet and grab two of my large crappy beach towels. Once in the spare room, I close the door. The last thing I need is a wolf getting loose in my house. I open one towel on the floor next to the bed, where I will be standing.