Wolfen

by Alianne Donnelly

  “So the wolf had no choice; he had to kill the grandmother to break her awful spell. But even after she was dead, the spell remained. Only love can break a curse that strong. When the girl saw her dead grandmother, she became scared and called on the woodsman to hunt the wolf down.”

  Sinna frowned. “That’s even worse!”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Fairy tales aren’t meant to end with ‘happily ever after.’”

  “Only you would come up with a love story that depressing.”

  Bryce chuckled. “Can’t take any credit for this one. Tiny Bree-bee told it to me. Aiden read her Little Red Riding Hood when she was growing up, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why the wolf would hate the grandmother so much he had to eat her. So she wrote her own version. In verse. She made a ballad out of it, like those ancient Norse bards used to sing: The Wolf’s Lament.”

  Sinna smiled. “Is she one of your pack?”

  Bryce nodded. “Twelve years old, and already telling the boys her age what to do.”

  She chuckled. “I’ll bet she is.”

  Some of his good humor faded. “She didn’t always have it so easy. When she was born, our den was still under human control. Bree’s mother was sick and died shortly after the takeover, and we didn’t have any milk to feed her.”

  Aiden had told Sinna about that part, the day their human keepers had pushed Bryce too far. He’d said, at the end of it, nothing outside of the cages had been left alive.

  Sinna could believe it. But she couldn’t believe he’d have harmed his own pack. Bryce was not a monster—despite having fought so many of them, Sinna couldn’t believe he’d become one himself.

  Even now, he spoke about the little girl with such depth of affection, it made her heart ache. “Tiny little scamp,” he said, “could almost fit her into the palm of my hand. Never cried, never fussed, just looked at us with those big eyes of hers. So trusting.” Bryce wasn’t a beast. He was only hurt. And hurt could heal.

  “But she’s okay now,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He sighed heavily. “She’s okay.” He sounded weary to his soul just saying it.

  “You care for your pack very much.”

  “I do.”

  “What are they like?”

  “Loud, rowdy. They like to play games and solve puzzles. Most of them are pretty social; they sleep in a central chamber together. Only married couples and a few oddballs choose to live on their own. The den has solid walls, built back in the days of rebar and cement, so you know they’ll hold. We get electricity from solar, like the mule, and running water from the river. The main structure is a massive three-story central lab. We repurposed the cages to house livestock, and dug channels for irrigation. We have a decent-sized wheat field, a garden for vegetables and herbs, and an orchard with apples and such.”

  “Sounds like a fairy tale.”

  Bryce squeezed her hand lightly. “It’s amazing what people can do when they set their minds to creating, rather than using.”

  She hummed in agreement, and a huge yawn muffled her answer.

  “You should sleep now.”

  “You too.”

  He gave her another backward nuzzle. “Good night, Sinna.”

  “Bryce?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you for the story.”

  A pause. “You’re welcome.”

  20: Bryce

  I watch the sun rise against the backdrop of a barren landscape. There’s nothing here. What life there used to be, the converts ravaged like a plague of locusts before moving on. Without animals to graze and insects to fertilize the earth, the plants withered and died. Trees dried out and toppled. I see patches of blackened earth where a fire cut a swath across the land.

  This is as inhospitable as North America gets.

  And it stretches in every direction as far as I can see.

  ~

  In the light of day, the mule looked even worse. The batteries were low, so the entire car should have been pitch-black. Instead, there were patches of light gray around the web of shallow scratch marks, and stark white surrounding the deeper grooves where it was no longer salvageable. Where paint had peeled off completely, metal showed through, dull and dented. The damage would hurt them going forward. Bryce estimated forty-three percent usability for solar power, give or take, which meant it would take more than twice as long to charge up.

  He let Sinna sleep in while the sun did its job. They’d be stuck here for hours, anyway. In the meantime, he gathered the arrows he’d whittled last night and cut up a bit of duct tape for fletching. The wooden shafts were dry, brittle, and heavy, and they probably wouldn’t fly far, but Bryce wouldn’t be picky. He liked the reeds much better. They were perfectly straight and sturdy. Too bad he’d only found a handful still usable. Everything else around here was basically tinder. Making a fire at night would be tricky.

  By the time he’d finished, he had twenty decent arrows and ten pretty good ones. He retrieved the collapsible bow from the truck’s compartment and looped the string in place. It was a simple, lightweight recurve bow that could take a lot of abuse without falling apart. Bryce nocked an arrow and sighted down its length to a toppled tree. The arrow had a slight curve to it. He adjusted his aim and loosed, watching the shaft quiver through the air to hit the target. It struck hard wood, cracked, and fell to pieces on the ground.

  “Wha’s goin’ on?” Sinna came out of the car, knuckling her eyes. She yawned hugely and stretched, bending this way and that, cheeks flushed from sleep and brown curls mussed in a crooked ponytail. A dark smear of blood streaked down the side of her jaw and, like him, she was covered in dust and grime. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

  Sinna had come through some pretty shitty odds to be here, whole and unscathed; been through enough to make most people bitter and withdrawn. Yet there she stood, smiling at him quizzically as if nothing was wrong. So much innocence. So much trust.

  It terrified him.

  Because Sinna had seen him at his worst, and instead of running away, she’d flung herself right into his arms. He could have killed her; had been a fraction of an inch from ripping her apart in his daze. If he’d been a second too late in coming to his senses, she would have been gone.

  The thought of that, the mere idea of her not being around, pissed him off.

  Bryce handed her the bow. “Do you know how to use this?”

  She frowned. “In theory.”

  “You’re about to learn the practical application.” He marked a target, then measured out fifty paces.

  “I guess last night’s chat session is over,” she called.

  Bryce didn’t appreciate the reminder. He still couldn’t believe he’d said so many words in one go. A minor brush with death, and he’d turned into a fucking Chatty Cathy. Next thing he knew, he’d be blathering on, nonstop, like Aiden. He shuddered to think of it.

  “Fine, then,” Sinna retorted to his non-answer.

  Bryce ignored it and waved her over.

  “But just so you know,” she added when she came to him, “I liked it. Not that it matters.”

  It did matter. And that was a problem. Since he didn’t know what the hell to do with it right that second, though, Bryce opted for a more familiar subject: weaponry. He pointed out the target roughly fifty yards away. “Anything that far out, you shoot. Anything closer, you drop the bow and run. Got it?”

  Sinna looked at the bow. “Why?”

  Bryce swore she only asked to make him answer. “Because,” he said tightly, “if you let them closer and miss, you won’t have enough time to get away.”

  Sinna smiled in satisfaction.

  Bryce glowered. He positioned her on the mark, adjusted her stance and hold. “Don’t clutch the handle; it’ll make your arm twitchy. Hold the tension in your shoulders, not your wrist. Turn your elbow outward or you’re going to skin yourself.” Thinking better of that, he jogged back to the mule and tore out a patch of upholstery to use as an armg
uard. By the time he got back, Sinna was twirling the bow like a baton.

  Bryce snatched it out of her hand, and set it down to fit the armguard. Once he had it tied securely, he held up an arrow.

  “Don’t I need the bow first?” Large hazel eyes blinked up innocently.

  Bryce grinded his teeth, refusing to be sucked into her good humor. “Tip, shaft, fletching, nock,” he explained shortly. Only then did he retrieve the bow. “That little bead in the middle of the string is called a nock set. You put the arrow below it, fletching out. One finger above, two below.” He guided her through the first nock to demonstrate.

  Finally realizing the gravity of the lesson, Sinna dropped the jokes and paid attention.

  “Settle the shaft on the arrow rest and pull the string back. Farther.”

  “This is like trying to do a chin-up, one-handed.”

  “You’ll grow into the weight with practice.”

  She released the tension on the string and glared at him. “Before or after my arm falls off?”

  Bryce ignored her. “Pull back until your thumb touches your jaw.” He wrapped his hands over hers to help her draw back to the correct position. “Good. Now hold it there while you aim, and then just relax your fingers and let the bow do the work.”

  When he released her, Sinna loosed, but flinched her face away from the string. The motion shifted her arm sideways, and her arrow flew way off course.

  Bryce handed her another arrow, and readjusted her stance. “It helps if you keep your spine straight. Don’t stand too wide, and don’t cock your hip. This isn’t a fashion contest. You should be able to draw a straight line from your foot, through your hip, up to your shoulder. Now just turn your head sideways—don’t tilt. Raise your bow arm…draw back…and loose.”

  The arrow struck the target dead on. “Cool!” Sinna whooped.

  “Again,” Bryce said, all business. “You can celebrate when you do that fifteen times in a row.”

  They kept at it until well past noon. By then, Sinna’s arm shook so much, she could barely lift the bow, let alone draw it back. And she was getting frustrated, which made her shooting worse. Bryce wished he could take it easy on her, but they didn’t have the luxury of time. Sinna needed to build up her strength. He couldn’t be with her all the time; they might get separated, or worse, he might wolf out again. She needed to learn to defend herself, and the bow was the best fit for her. It was a long distance weapon, easily maintained or manufactured if it got lost.

  And Sinna was something of a natural with it. After only a couple of hours, she managed to hit her target eight times out of ten. She might not become a championship archer, but that was damned impressive, so Bryce decided to give her a break.

  The mule had charged enough for them to get going. Pale gray all over was the best they could hope for now. With any luck, it would keep them going until sunset. Bryce loaded everything back up, strapped on his knives, and got behind the wheel. His first priority: find food and water. To that end, he followed his instincts rather than the main road and veered off their southerly course toward a more mountainous, wooded area. More signs of natural life meant a better chance of finding fresh water.

  Sinna made clicking sounds with her mouth. “So… Nice day today.”

  Bryce scented moss, which meant moisture. He focused on the landscape for any sign of running water.

  “I mean, it’s been fun so far. You know, can’t lift my arms or anything but, yeah. Fun.”

  Animal tracks in the dirt. From a moving vehicle, Bryce couldn’t tell whether they were fresh, but it gave him hope they might get to eat tonight.

  Sinna sighed. “Fun. Fun. Fun.” More clicking sounds. “Hey, how about a song?”

  Bryce’s ear twitched. “Quiet.”

  “Oh, come on, no one’s said a word in hours!”

  Bryce stopped the mule, and covered Sinna’s mouth.

  He heard the soft hiss of a stream, but in the truck’s confines he couldn’t tell from where. “Stay here.” Outside, his senses opened to the world. Bryce closed his eyes to better focus. That was no small creek; it was the promise of a good-sized river.

  Sinna scrambled over the seats to the driver side and stuck her head out the window. She looked at him askance.

  “Turn the engine on and follow me,” he said. “But not too close. I need to hear where I’m going.”

  “Uh, right.”

  He waited until the engine whirred to life before he set off at a brisk pace. He picked his path carefully, making sure it was wide enough for the truck to pass through. Before long, he came to an outcropping where he held his hand up for Sinna to stop. The river lay a hundred feet below, at the bottom of a ravine. There was no way the mule could make it down there and back up again. He crouched close to the edge to scout out a possible route. Upstream was only rock, and more rock. They might have a better chance following downstream instead.

  Bryce returned to the mule, and waved Sinna back into her seat.

  “We have water?” she asked.

  “Not yet.” But soon.

  He drove them through the forest for a while, close enough to see the ledge but far enough for the ground not to give way beneath them. The tree canopy was thick; very little sunlight filtered through. In going this way, they might not have enough power to get back to the road, but there was no help for it. They needed water more than they needed the mule right now.

  As the sun began its slow descent, the ground finally began to slope down. Once level with the river, Bryce found them a good place to stop for the night. They still had a few hours left to the day, but in the woods, it would get darker faster. They needed fire, a shelter, and something to eat.

  The moment he stopped, Sinna flew out of the truck and fell on the stream, dunking her whole head into it. When she surfaced, her ears and nose were red with cold and she was laughing with glee. Bryce joined her to drink his fill, though didn’t have her flare for the dramatic. He cupped water to his mouth, then more to spill over his head and the back of his neck. “See if you can start a fire. I’ll go find us food.”

  “Roger that.”

  They’d cut a pretty loud swath through the woods and the pickings were slim, but Bryce managed to catch a couple of squirrels and a rabbit. It would have to do. By the time he got back, his catch cleaned and gutted, Sinna had a nice fire roaring and roasting sticks ready to go. “Nicely done,” he praised.

  “Likewise,” she returned. “You wanna go wash up while these cook? I know the blood is bugging you.”

  He made a noncommittal sound in answer. Sure it bothered him, but if washing up meant leaving Sinna alone and unprotected, it could wait until morning.

  “Go on,” she urged. “I’ll make sure the fire is nice and hot when you get back.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll scream if there’s trouble.”

  “All right,” he relented. “I won’t be long.”

  He went a safe distance downstream so he wouldn’t contaminate their drinking water, into a small, natural indentation in the riverbed that created a churning basin. He stripped in a hurry, and tore off a hunk of soft moss to use as a scrub brush. When he submerged, the icy water knocked the breath out of him, and he laughed under water at the beauty of it. He scrubbed his face and neck, then his arms and torso to get rid of the worst grime. It didn’t take long to almost get used to the cold, so he took his time with the rest, savoring the feel of icy water running over clean skin.

  Though he would have liked to have stayed longer, worry over Sinna made him come out as soon as he was done. It was then that he realized he had nothing to wear except his filthy clothes. Hell no. A quick wash wouldn’t hurt anyone, and he could dry out by the fire. He grabbed his clothes and went back to the stream. Laundry day, medieval style: a simple matter of scrubbing fabric together and beating it with a flat piece of wood. Nothing fancy, nothing high-tech, but it did the job.

  “Hey, Bryce, did you fall into
the river or something?”

  Without thinking, Bryce shoved to his feet and turned around.

  Sinna stopped in her tracks so fast, she slipped on dry foliage and almost fell on her ass.

  “I thought you were going to tend the fire.”

  She stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “I, uh…was.”

  Bryce looked down at himself. What the hell was she staring at? “What?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Scowling, he wrung out his pants just short of tearing the fabric, then stuffed his feet into them.

  Sinna shook her head hard and looked away. “I was. Tending the fire. I mean, I am. The fire is fine. I…” Her gaze drifted back to him, and to the zipper he’d left half undone. What, she’d never seen a naked man before?

  Bryce pulled up the zipper all the way, wrung out his shirt and put it on, but didn’t bother to button it. “You what?”

  Sinna blushed and turned her back. “I came to tell you the food is done.” Why was she acting so weird?

  He scratched his head and picked up his boots. “Okay, thanks.” Cloth would dry quickly, but the soles of his boots would not. He could walk back barefoot and wait to put them on later.

  “Yeah, you’re welcome.” She waved awkwardly. “And now I’m going to go back. To the fire. Because I’m hungry. Okay, bye!” And then she ran.

  What. The. Hell.

  21: Sinna

  There was a bright side to a man who didn’t like talking: he didn’t ask questions.

  When Sinna returned to the campfire, Bryce was only a few steps behind. Damn his super speed and long-legged stride. She perched across the fire pit from him and stayed there for the rest of the night, staring at the crackling logs. He watched her, and more than once opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.