The next few days are a kind of blur. I get on the bus going north and ride it as far as it goes, which isn’t that far and is also uncomfortably close to Quinton. So I just start walking north and away from Quinton. The last thing I need is to run into somebody who knows Alice or the Tremblays or has anything to do with them and God forbid, knows who I am.
It’s not so bad, the walking. I buy myself the cheapest crap I can find to eat at gas stations. The only reason I go to gas stations is, I’m sort of used to them. Growing up at Hardwidge, sometimes we’d walk down into town and buy a treat at the gas station because it was the closest place and once in a blue moon, we’d go to McDonald’s. I pass more than one of those McDonald’s as I’m walking and my mouth waters but it feels like a waste of money. Instead I go for cheap trail mix because I can carry it easily. In Lynwood, just outside Quinton, I realize I’m going to need to shift and live as a wolf for a while.
I haven’t shifted in a long time. I haven’t shifted in months. It doesn’t make any sense, I guess, because I was raised to believe that true shifters should live like wolves as much as possible. But I guess I haven’t felt like a true shifter in a long time. Or anyway, I don’t even know what that means anymore. I feel as if I was lied to, made to be somebody else, and I went along with it. I don’t want to be that person anymore. But if I’m not that person, then who the hell am I? It makes me feel apart from my wolf in a way, so I haven’t shifted. I feel as if my wolf and I are strangers now.
On the other hand, it would be a lot easier to live like a wolf for a while. If only to get far away.
I head toward some woods one cold night and I delve in. The cold, crisp air is comforting. It’s been so long since I’ve been outside in the wild. If I kept going into Quinton and up into the mountains there, I’d find that place where I kept Alice in that cave… I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s the last place I want to see and yet… I feel as if I have to make myself see it.
In the woods, I sit down in the dirt, staring for awhile. I need to shift and hunt. I know I do. I feel like my wolf is ashamed of me, is what it is. It’s a terrifying thought.
“Pathetic piece of shit,” I mutter to myself.
In the dirt, I see a little glimmer and I squint, and dig around the shiny thing stuck there in the mud. It’s a broken fragment of a mirror and I hold it up now, seeing myself under the moonlight here in the dim woods.
I haven’t looked at myself in a mirror since probably the last time I escaped and even then it was a shitty, dirty gas station bathroom mirror. But this piece of mirror is oddly shiny and clean for sticking up out of the mud and the moonlight is bright when I look at myself.
I hardly recognize the man I see in the mirror. He’s thinner, and he looks about ten years older than I remember. I was always considered a pretty good-looking guy back at Hardwidge. I have a good to pretty good muscular built. Or I did. Now I’m more wiry than muscular. My brown hair seems darker than it was, all grown out and long, nearly touching my shoulders. My face is gaunt, my brown eyes haunted. My once handsomely sharp jawline now looks too sharp, almost skeletal. I have new lines around my mouth.
I’m twenty-eight years old.
I swear I look forty but maybe it’s the mood I’m in that’s making me see this old man in the mirror; this weathered old asshole full of ghosts and regret. I don’t want to look at him anymore and I toss the mirror away.
It’s time to shift. I can’t avoid this anymore. I feel like my wolf is curled up in the corner, ignoring me. It’s a weird way to feel. I’m used to my wolf being riled up and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Maybe I’m not apart from my wolf at all. Wouldn’t he be just like me and wouldn’t that make sense? My wolf feels he doesn’t deserve to run. Well, maybe I agree but this is a matter of survival.
It takes me a few minutes. I have to coax him out. My wolf isn’t the snarling, growling warrior I always fancied him to me. Not anymore anyway. Now he’s got his tail between his legs, his head ducked down. I shift slowly and painfully and it takes some concentration, but eventually he comes out.
I take some time to get him used to the woods, since it’s been so long since I shifted. I pace around, sniffing and getting my bearings. I don’t smell any other shifters or threats nearby, thank God. The last thing I want to do right now is stumble into some fight over territory. I just need to hunt and get some meat in my stomach and then I’ll be on my way. As a wolf I’ll be able to run for much longer without a break and sleep in the woods. It’ll save me a lot of money even if it will take a while to get out of Washington state.
I stretch my legs and urinate and then I start trotting around, sniffing for prey. I let myself run finally and I admit, it’s the best I’ve felt in a few years. I don’t remember a run ever feeling so good and it makes me realize how shitty I felt before. I’ve been on the edge of real fatigue and sickness keeping my wolf back. Now I stretch my legs and feel the cold air in my fur and it all comes back to me; the thrill of a good hunt and a good run. It’s a fulfilling kind of satisfaction that I can’t find anywhere else.
I kill a deer and eat well and then I trot around for a bit before full out running through most of the night with some breaks in between. It’s tiring but in a good way that I haven’t been tired in a long time. I focus on my run and on my direction and on scent. There’s plenty to keep my mind occupied which is good because I’m so fucking tired of thinking about myself and what I did. It’s all I think about all day. If it’s not that, it’s memories of Hardwidge and not all of those memories are good. Now I just concentrate on putting miles between myself and Mulligan and Quinton. But when I come up on that mountain…
I think about just running by. The last thing in this whole world I want to see is that cave and those woods. Which makes me think I need to. Finch let me out because he thought I was truly remorseful. I guess I am. But that doesn’t mean I deserve to avoid my past. So I grit my teeth and run my ass up that mountain to the cave where I kept my sister and where I beat her when she wouldn’t be quiet or when she tried to run off. Because that’s what Hardwidge shifters do.
When I get there to the clearing where Kyle and I would sit and talk about the pack we would build together, it all comes rushing back. I can see Alice, whimpering and afraid. I remember how completely convinced I was that I was doing the right thing to preserve the Hardwidge way of life which I absolutely believe should be the way of life for all shifters whether they want it that way or not. It’s getting toward winter and it’s bitterly cold up here now but my fur is keeping me warm enough as I trot over to the cave.
The rope is still there.
I can see her there like a ghost; Alice tied up in the cave. I should have protected her…
Thwap.
I can hear the echo of my knuckles backhanding her because she talked back. I can see her tears. She was hungry and cold and she was so scared… I remember her getting like that when she was young back at Hardwidge, when she had trouble hunting or she couldn’t shift. I’d make fun of her. I’d try to give her tough love and show her how to hunt or make her fight for some of my meat. I thought that was the way to be because that’s what was done to me. But it doesn’t excuse anything. All my fear and regret lurches up in my stomach and I retch there, in the sharp, cold of the wood. I throw up again some of the meat I just ate.
It’s going to be a long winter.
It takes me a little time to get back into the habit of living as a wolf but soon enough I’m catching dinner on the regular and I’ve made it pretty far from Quinton.
In a few weeks, I’m in Canada.
I still don’t have a plan and sooner or later I’m going to have to stop going north. I don’t much fancy living in Vancouver. But then it occurs to me: Alaska. Alaska seems like where I’ve really been heading. I wasn’t consciously thinking of it, but it makes sense. I have to get out of the Pacific Northwest. Alaska is good for shifters. There’s enough space to find a place of your own without stumbling into a fi
ght over territory (I hope so anyway). I just gotta be careful once I get there and figure out the lay of the land.
It’s going to take me forever, of course.
I’m thinking about this one day in Vancouver. I like to run sure, but running all the way to Alaska seems like a nightmare. I’ll do it, of course. Maybe such an arduous and long run would do me some good. It’s gonna be rough though in this cold and we’re heading into November. It’s not going to get warmer any time soon. I’m trotting along the highway in the bitter cold, thinking about it, when I finally notice the big trucks going by.
Big trucks...heading north. Oh.
I’ve never hitchhiked before but I’ve heard about it. I wouldn’t be too worried about safety. God knows I can take care of myself. At worst, I’ll get in a scrap but it would be worth it if I could skip some of this long run, especially around areas where food is scarce.
I’m on a long stretch of highway with woods on both sides. The night before was pretty good. I went into the woods and ate some elk and had a good sleep once I was able to find a warm spot. Now would be a good time. I’m lucky nobody’s paying me any mind. I’m not sure how common it is to see a wolf on the highway in Vancouver but if trouble comes or a car swerves, I can hop over the wall and jump into the woods. I pick up speed and run down a highway, intending to get to a good turn off where I can pick up a ride. A wolf walking down a highway is definitely a bad sign.
It takes me to that evening and I end up walking in human form for a couple miles. I don’t know how humans do anything when they can’t just shift into something more convenient. After two miles I feel like I’m going to freeze to death but then the jacket I left the Mulligan with is from warmer weather and I don’t have the money yet to buy something better for living as a human.
“Where to?” I ask the trucker. The trucker is an older guy with a big gray beard and not lacking in muscle. He looks like he’s not afraid of sketchy hitchhikers.
“Goin’ to Anchorage,” he says around a fat cigar.
“That’s perfect,” I say, nodding, I realize I’m still catching my breath as I stand there on the road in front of yet another gas station. My ears are freezing. My whole face almost feels numb with cold. My fingers are going numb too. I squint up at the trucker way up high in the cab of his eighteen-wheeler. “Can I ride with you?”
“Sure,” he says, shrugging. “I’m bored. Hop in.”
I climb into the cab and almost immediately I start to think I’ve picked the wrong truck. It’s not because the guy is scary, it’s because the guy is not scary. The guy, by the way, is named Cal. Cal is from St. Louis. Cal has two kids and an ex-wife. Cal does not stop talking. He doesn’t need much from me in the way of encouragement to keep talking. In fact, I don’t say much at all as Cal drives on. At first, I’m pretty annoyed. Then Cal’s voice just becomes a kind of background hum along with the 70’s rock softy playing on the radio. I dip in and out of paying attention and sometimes it’s almost entertaining. He tells me all about his divorce. She cheated on him with their accountant.
The drive from Vancouver to Anchorage, even considering the incredible time Cal is making, takes days. I get to know Cal pretty well. The truck has two beds. We stop for food every once in a while and it’s a little awkward when my stomach rumbles but I only order whatever’s cheapest on the menu. Cal spots me fries. On the third day, I finally ask Cal why he’s letting me come along all the way to Anchorage and buying me food (which I definitely don’t deserve).
Cal tells me these drives get incredibly lonely and also he believes in God and God would want him to help me. Then Cal talks about God for the entire rest of the ride. By the time we get to Anchorage, I know all about his church. His human religion. It doesn’t have anything to do with shifters. I don’t really have an opinion on it but apparently if I’m ever in St. Louis I’m supposed to stop by the First Baptist Church on Holland St. and stop by his house for supper.
So I got that going for me.
When I step out of the cab in Anchorage, after hours and hours on the road without a break, I feel like my wolf is about to bust right out of me whether I want him to or not.
“Thanks for the ride, Cal,” I say, nodding up at him.
I rode with the guy for about four days and somehow managed to say almost nothing about myself or where I come from. Cal didn’t seem to mind. I hope everyone else is like that.
“Good luck, Jason,” Cal says winking at me as I step down to the street.
And then there I am in Anchorage. I still have no plan except to find a spot that feels right, I guess.
That night, I walk around Anchorage, trying to get a feel for it. It’s near enough to a place to run but it doesn’t feel right. It’s still too big, too much of a city. I barely know how to navigate the human world to begin with, much less how to figure out cities. I end up running again.
I run around for a day just looking for the right spot and that’s how I finally end up walking from a state park on and on until I get to a tiny fishing town on the peninsula called Grayling.
Grayling doesn’t look like much but it’s just a few miles from the woods and it would be easy to run back and forth shifted and not be seen. The town is right on the water and there’s not much to it; bait shops, a couple dive bars, general goods stores, a diner, a few offices, and a bunch of crappy looking housing. It’s not nearly as picturesque as the other Alaska towns I passed on my way here. But I kind of like that about it. It’s small and gray and it’s not crowded. I kind of like the water even though I’ve never lived near it. I go on a run in the woods nearby and then I walk around the town and get a feel. The docks are busy with men hauling in nets of fish. Everyone looks kind of cold and dour but also like they’re not going to pay you any mind and that appeals to me.
I also smell shifters. I smell them everywhere and they must smell me too but they’re not looking at me twice.
It’s tricky because the last thing I want to do is get on the wrong side of the tracks but I don’t get humans and if I’m brutally honest with myself, I’m scared of them. It would be good to be around shifters and I have to think a place like this must have more than one lone wolf around already. Maybe they won’t mind me. It’s worth trying, anyway. At worst, I’ll get into a fight or whatever. Then, I can leave again.
I’ve got fifteen dollars in my pocket now and I’m shuddering from the cold. I’m going to have to shift tonight but I think I’m going to have to figure out how to live like a more assimilated type of shifter. It’s the opposite of everything I was taught at Hardwidge but then, look how Hardwidge turned out.
I think about this as I walk down Grayling’s main drag which is all of five blocks. There’s a dive bar on the end of it. I haven’t had much alcohol in my life. Sometimes after a fight, we’d find some booze and knock a few back, me and my pup friends. But it was considered a human kind of thing. It’s supposed to make you feel good though, or at least make you feel numb. If I had some money, I’d buy myself a drink. But it’s the sign on the door of the bar that says Casey’s that makes me raise an eyebrow.
HELP WANTED.
I’m pretty sure that means they got a job opening.
Just so happens, I’m desperate for a job.
If I can just pass myself off as somebody who wasn’t raised practically feral, I might get it.
And hopefully, everyone in a place like this can leave me the hell alone.
Chapter Three: Carrie
I’m still sore from the last fight and nine hours of working on my feet at the diner didn’t help my sore leg. Shifters heal up quickly, sure. But there are limits. Three or four nights of brutal fights can be a lot to heal up from depending on how the fight goes. But I’ve toughened up a lot over the years. Besides that, if I fight tonight, it’s a triple pot which means if I win I’ll get a decent take. Which for me means, any take at all.
The diner in Grayling is on the main drag across from a line of bait and gear shops and about a half mile from t
he house I rent with Pop and Laney. The benefit, I guess, of living in a miniscule town in the middle of nowhere is that I can walk most places. I’m never late for anything anyway. When I get off work, I throw my coat on over my uniform and pick up my duffle bag to make my way to the gym at The Ring. Now it’s time to work another several hours on top of waitressing, and that includes training to fight. These young pups come in, actually wanting to fight in the ring and they think it’s going to be so easy. Fight a couple times a night and clean up, no problem. They think they don’t need to train in human form because they’re shifters, as if one body doesn’t affect the other. I take the time to train until I feel like I’m about to die and it makes a huge difference. I should know, I’m the best fighter The Ring has right now.
The evening is already looking gray and grim with winter setting in but the light coming from the boats on the docks and reflecting off the water always look pretty and the fog across the peninsula is rolling around in a gray-green mist. I take a deep breath as I trudge my way block after block to The Ring, nodding hello to the same old townsfolk I’ve seen here since birth. Here and there a wolf, trots on by.
There are hardly any humans living in Grayling at all. We’re a shifter town. The humans that do live here know but they don’t tell anything to anybody because the kind of humans who live in Grayling are happy to live somewhere they can mind their own business. Grayling isn’t what you’d call a friendly type of town. Maybe that’s because we’re all wolves, and maybe that’s because of our alpha. Hard to say. But then, I’ve always lived here and I hardly remember life before Remmy was the alpha, so what do I know?
Jason's Mate Page 2