Young Adventurers

by Austin S. Camacho

  “I got sliced by a flying beetle.”

  “A flying one, eh? What did you do?”

  I shrugged and told him how I fought them off. I tried to make it seem like it was no big deal.

  Gran’father nodded. “Two of them. Hmm. You don’t seem so cocky anymore. Well, I guess you’re growing up. You finished the Walking. Almost a man, now.”

  I smiled. “I got some things for you Gran’father.” I reached to get them out of my pack but he stopped me.

  “Tomorrow, boy. Tomorrow at the ceremony you can tell everyone about your great adventure. And then you get to go to the girl’s side. You’ll like that.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. I’d heard stories about what happens on the girl’s side after the Walking ceremony, but it confused me. The old men snickered when they talked about it.

  “Gran’father, when I was in the Zone and saw all the rubble and how desolate it was and only the beetles survived the wars, I got to thinking about the launch tube in the gray room and what it meant.”

  He gave me a questioning look. “What about it, boy?”

  “I think I understand what you meant when you said, ‘After all these years, we’ve never learned.”

  Gran’father grasped the key around his neck, looked at me, and smiled. “Well, I guess you really have grown up.” He put his arm around my shoulders and we walked into the long tunnel to the bunker.

  It was the first time I’d ever seen him smile.

  Growing up in the future can be even harder if the world has been changed by science gone wrong, and you’re a girl who is part of that change.

  WOLF DAWN

  A. L. Kaplan

  Cramps gnawed at Kara’s legs as she crouched behind a rock at the edge of the village. All day she’d skirted the area, spiraling closer from shadow to shadow as she studied the people and landscape. It wasn’t much different from other places she’d seen. Buildings clustered along one main road with a few side streets running along a small river. People moved about, some laden with packages, and others hauling small carts. Farmers tended crops and cattle, fishermen worked as their boats bobbed at the dock. A few motor vehicles sat parked in the street. Every person moved with a purpose, like a well-rehearsed dance.

  To anyone else the village would have looked normal, but to Kara, it seemed alien. If she’d been a wolf instead of a sixteen-year-old girl, her ears would have been laid flush against her head, her tail well curled down. This place pulled at forgotten memories, drew them out like a bird tugging a stubborn worm. She had to find out why.

  Basic survival skills, like fire starting, gathering roots, and tanning hides, comprised her earliest memories. The rest was a patch-worked mess with huge moth-eaten holes. All she had from her old life was a small scar behind her left ear and a necklace. Jagged edges surrounded a cylindrical core on the odd medallion. Someone had entrusted her with it, but she had no idea who or why.

  Her new life had begun when Hunt-leader’s warm tongue nuzzled her awake eight years ago, and she’d lived with the pack ever since. For years she’d been content, but she had grown restless since her first hunt two years ago.

  Kara swallowed through a sudden tightness in her throat. It was easier to face a five-hundred pound elk than other humans. Each step she’d taken today had made her hands shake more than her first hunt. In her mind, she was wolf, part of the pack, and humans killed wolves. The urge to flee was strong, but not as intense as the need for answers.

  As human chatter reached Kara’s ears, she flattened herself on the ground. The words felt lifeless, without the telepathic overlay that the wolves used. It was Kara’s ability to wolf-talk, to understand their silent language, which had drawn Hunt-leader to her.

  Memories tickled her mind, just enough to make her curious, but not enough to answer her questions. She held her breath until the people passed, then peered over the rock at them. Their woven clothes were impractical for life with the pack. Wolves played rough and could tear them to shreds in seconds. So would briars and branches.

  Bands of hardened leather circled Kara’s forearms and neck, armor against sharp wolf teeth. Softer leather chaps covered her legs. Her snug vest laced closed in front. A pair of hunting knives, scavenged from a burned out city, hung from her belt. The only other item of clothing she wore was a short, rabbit-fur skirt.

  One house in particular drew her attention. It didn’t look much different from the others, with the same weatherworn siding and ramshackle fenced yard. Not far from the back steps stood a small shed. Chickens scratched in a fenced pen nearby. Their soft clucking made her mouth water. It had been a day since her last hunt. Berries and roots weren’t as filling as meat.

  Something about the house felt familiar. Careful to keep out of sight, she crept toward it and wriggled under the fence. Threads from her tattered tapestry wove back into place as she touched the wood of the shed. Her heartbeat quickened. She knew this place.

  Laughter filled her ears as she chased a boy through the grass. A woman called and held out a tray. Her green eyes studied Kara and the boy as they ran and selected cookies. Kara smiled at the boy, then sat on the cool grass next to the steps. Best friends. Their hands intertwined as they ate. His mom made the best cookies. The sweet flavor melted in Kara’s mouth.

  “Better get those rabbits cleaned before dad gets home, baby brother.”

  “How about you take care of your own kills for a change?”

  Kara crouched down as a young man exited the house and walked toward the shed. About her age, he was slender and moved with the wiry confidence of a hunter. Despite the scowl he wore, his face was pleasant to look at, smooth with a delicate oval shape. Light-brown hair hung in a braid halfway down his back. There was something vaguely familiar about his face, but it seemed out of place with his body.

  A pair of hares hung from one hand, and slung across his back was a crossbow. He stopped at a block of wood, eight feet away, and skinned the animals in a few deft strokes. The skill with which he completed the task impressed Kara. Of course, he didn’t have to fight off a pack of wolves while cleaning his furs.

  Intrigued, she moved closer. Usually she was extremely careful of where she stepped when stalking prey. Even the slightest sound could mean an empty belly. So the crack of a twig under her foot caught her off guard. Panic choked her breath. For half a second she glanced at the offending stick. When she looked back, a crossbow bolt was aimed at her head. A pair of blue eyes stared down at her from only a few feet away. At five foot ten, he towered over her. Kara sucked in her breath, struggling to control her racing heartbeat. Crossbows killed. They killed wolves. The impulse to flee almost overwhelmed her. She growled and inched away from the deadly weapon.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “Stand up where I can see you.”

  Slowly Kara rose, poised to flee. His eyes widened. The tip of the crossbow dropped to the ground.

  “You’re dead,” he whispered. The sound barely made it out his mouth. “They said you were dead.”

  Images race through Kara’s mind. She could hardly breathe. Deep-set brown eyes under a pair of bushy brows and a thick brown mustache. Screams, gunfire, a woman with flowing brown hair. Pain. Her hands began to shake. Someone attacked her, stole her memories. She bared her teeth and backed away. This wasn’t her pack, her home.

  “Kara, wait. It’s me, Ethan. We used to play together.” He held his hand out.

  Laughter. She ran through a grassy field with a boy. A silver-gray wolf romped at her side. She was happy. Gunfire and screams overlaid the pleasant memory. The brown-haired woman placed a necklace over her head. The wolf snarled, hackles raised.

  Tears stung Kara’s eyes. She grasped the medallion that hung around her neck and struggled to hold onto the nice memories. Something bad happened, but the images were confused. Only the boy was clear.

  “Kara, Mist, come play.”

  Sunshine streamed down as she ran to Ethan’s yard. Beside her loped the silver-gray wolf. The three
of them slipped under the fence and ran through the fields toward the woods. Sitting in the shade of a large oak, she handed him a small package.

  “Remember you,” she whispered. The words felt awkward, thick around her tongue, but her mind echoed with wolf-talk.

  He smiled and pointed to his neck. “I still have the necklace you made me for my eighth birthday.”

  A small seashell hung from a leather band at the base of Ethan’s neck. Kara wiped a tear from her face. The memory of that day played in her mind. Her dad had helped her drill the hole in the shell and her mom showed her how to sew it to the leather band. Nothing had felt better than the smile on Ethan’s face when he saw it. He smiled at her now, his blue eyes watery, cheeks rounded.

  There was a way humans usually greeted friends, but the action escaped her. Too long with the pack, only wolf greetings came to her. She leaned forward and licked his cheek, then rubbed her face against him. For a second he stiffened, then his arms wrapped around her and he pressed his cheek to hers. As soon as his grip loosened, she jumped back and danced around him, then dove in for another hug. If she’d had a tail it would have been wagging. Ethan laughed, then did his own version of a tail wag. They ran around the yard just like they had as children, giggling with joy. Memories continued to trickle in. Finally, they collapsed on the grass, staring up at the darkening sky.

  “I can’t believe it’s really you,” said Ethan. “I wished, prayed, but…I don’t understand. Dad said you were killed by that wolf. He found your parents, torn…” A worried look filled his face. “I…I’m sorry.”

  “Lies.” Her voice came out like a growl and she rolled into a crouch.

  Doubt gnawed at her. So much of her memory was a blank. The wolves had sheltered her, protected her, made her part of the pack. Hunt gives life. Life is land. Land feeds pack. Pack is one. Defend the land. Protect the pack. But the image of Mist’s snarl remained.

  A shiver ran down her spine, and she looked away. An empty lot stood next door. There had been a house there, her house. Now all that remained were a few chimney stones. It reminded her of the skeletal remains of cities she’d passed. Leftovers from the pandemic fifty years earlier that killed billions.

  Ethan didn’t seem to notice her unease. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. “Mom and Dad are going to be thrilled you’re alive, Kara.”

  Kara snatched her hand back, teeth bared, head low, growling as strongly as any cornered wolf. Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Slowly, he extended his hand.

  “No one’s going to hurt you Kara. I promise,” he said, in a voice deeper than she remembered.

  It was the pleading in his eyes that finally eased the fear in her gut. She sank into their deep-blue depth. She’d trusted him once. Her hand shook as she placed it in his. Ethan’s soothing voice drew her up the creaky wooden steps. Eight years in the wild. Eight years running with the pack, living only in small dens or curled up with wolves. She’d always shied away from human dwellings.

  Lamps flickered inside the house, giving it a warm, cheery feel. Painted yellow flowers decorated the walls. Black-eyed susans. She’d seen them growing wild. No wonder she felt so drawn to them. Ethan put the rabbits near the sink while Kara darted around the room. Every sight and smell reminded her of time playing with Ethan and visiting his family. These were friends, neighbors, people who cared about her.

  “What’s taking so long with those rabbits, Ethan? Did they run away from you?” said the same voice she had heard earlier.

  The annoyed tone reminded her of hunt-leader when the yearlings got out of hand. A slightly older looking version of Ethan, with broader shoulders but the same light-brown hair, walked in and stared at her. While similar to Ethan’s the newcomer’s face was more chiseled, with a square chin. She darted behind Ethan and growled.

  “What the…”

  “Don’t yell, Michael,” said Ethan, just as the man sucked in breath to bellow. “She’s a bit skittish.”

  “A bit…” His mouth opened and closed several times before he whispered through tightly clenched teeth. “She’s also filthy and half-naked.”

  “Oh, real smooth, Michael,” said Ethan. “It’s Kara, Kara Angelharp, from next door.”

  Michael’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “You mean the girl you’ve been pining about for the past eight years? Sorry kid, but Kara is dead. She died with her parents. The wolf that slaughtered them is hanging in the living room.”

  No. Kara swallowed a lump in her throat. A wolf couldn’t have killed her parents. She was wolf, part of the pack. They wouldn’t have hurt her parents. Sweat began to drip down her back, and her stomach churned. Images whipped through her. Screams, someone called her name. A blurred figure came toward her. Ethan’s arm slipped around her, as if sensing her confusion.

  “Just go get Mom and Dad. Tell them to move slowly and speak softly.”

  Michael looked at him with one raised eyebrow. “Whatever you say, baby brother.’

  “Don’t pay Michael any mind, Kara,” said Ethan, as soon as Michael was out of earshot. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  Tension rippled through her as Michael returned with a man and a woman, both in their mid-forties. They stared at her like one would eye a rabid animal. Scars covered the neck and arms of the man, an older-looking version of Michael. She’d seen scars like that before, on an old buck the pack hadn’t quite been able to take down. The hairs on Kara’s neck prickled. Humans killed wolves. Yet, many pleasant memories of people danced through her mind. Those thoughts were what kept her from fleeing out the door. That and Ethan.

  The woman’s green eyes studied her. It was like looking at a feminine, brown-haired version of Ethan. Kara’s mind whirled, trying to remember. Mr. and Mrs. Ericson were Ethan’s parents, his family, his pack.

  “Poor child, it really is you,” said Mrs. Ericson. “What happened to you that night? Where have you been?”

  A soft puppyish whimper slipped from Kara’s mouth. Try as she might, the entire night was a blank. Tears stung her eyes, and she lowered her gaze, struggling to recall the right words.

  “Bad,” she said, shifting her feet back and forth. Her thoughts came truncated, like wolf-talk. “No remember. Hurt. Hunt-leader find. Pack is family.”

  Mr. Ericson’s face wrinkled. He didn’t snarl, but an edge of displeasure showed. Around him, the others exchanged glances.

  “No dear,” said Mrs. Ericson. “You belong here, with people.” She took several steps toward Kara, then crouched down, arms open wide. “Come, Kara. You’re safe now.”

  With wolves, baring one’s neck and belly meant submission, but for humans it was an embrace, a welcome back to a pack she had once been a part of. She remembered that now, and curled into the woman’s arms. Safe.

  Washed and dressed in more civilized clothes, as Mrs. Ericson called them, Kara fidgeted. The coarse cotton shirt hung on her small frame and the pants chafed. They covered much more skin than her leathers, yet offered less protection. She sniffed at a sleeve, then wrinkled her nose at the caustic smell of soap. Hot bathwater after years of cold dunks had felt nice, but she could have done without the scouring. Hunt-leader’s tongue was much gentler.

  Being treated like a pup still rankled on her, but part of her enjoyed the attention. It brought back bits and pieces of her past, like long unused human words. The grooming wasn’t without its aggravations. Mrs. Ericson had been just as foiled by Kara’s mass of curly brown hair as her own mother had been. After hours of detangling and trimming, she finally wrangled it with a ribbon. Kara smiled and pulled at a stray curl.

  Few things had changed in the Ericson’s living room. The couch was a little more faded and threadbare, making the black-eyed susans difficult to see. So was the oilcloth on the floor. There was comfort in each worn image, a feeble attempt to bring the outside world in.

  Everything in the house looked familiar, even the wolf hide hanging over the couch. Emotions tightened Kara’s throat and chest. Mist
had been her friend. Seeing her hung out as decoration didn’t feel right. Every time she looked at it her stomach twisted in a knot. Bared teeth, a snarl. A blur of silver-gray fur. Shooting pain in her head.

  Kara bit her lip, frustrated and confused. More of her memories had returned, but not the ones that had sent her running for the forest. She continued to fidget, missing the comforting protection of her leathers. At least she had managed to sneak her knives into the socks under the pants when Mrs. Ericson wasn’t looking. She doubted the older woman would approve. Despite the pleasant welcome, this family didn’t feel like home.

  “Yup, that’s the one that killed your folks,” said Michael. His light-blue eyes regarded her as he leaned on the doorframe. “Surprised they didn’t gobble you up, too.” He tilted his head to the side and nodded. “You’re kind of pretty all cleaned up. I’m beginning to see Ethan’s attraction.”

  Kara felt her face flush and turned away. Six feet tall and muscular, Michael was a physically attractive man, but his look was more like a predator examining a piece of meat than a pack member greeting. She perched on the balls of her feet and pulled at another escaped curl. Mrs. Ericson had called her hair impossible to tame. Could she be tamed? It was difficult to remember all the human rules, but she was determined to behave more like a human and less wolfish. That meant using spoken words instead of growls. These people didn’t hear wolf-talk.

  “Leave me, Michael.”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek and his eyes narrowed “Or what? You going to go all wolf on me? I hunt wolves.”

  “What are you doing, Michael?” said Ethan.

  Some of her tension eased as he stepped close to her side. His shoulder brushed against her and she shifted closer. This place was familiar, yet only Ethan felt solid. The rest was like walking through a dream.

  “Just having a chat with your wolf girl,” said Michael. He glanced at the wolf hide. “She doesn’t know a killer when she sees one.”