Wolf Running

by Toni Boughton

  The cab was a garish purple that flashed at her through the blowing snow as she skied over to the massive vehicle. The driver’s side door seemed a thousand feet above her as she kicked loose of the skis, sliding them and the poles under the truck. A built-in step brought her up to the handle. She tugged on the lever and the door swung open easily.

  The dead trucker behind the wheel snarled weakly, his yellow eyes rolling in his mold-colored face. Beneath the remnants of a reddish beard he snapped his teeth hungrily. Nowen gripped the large side mirror with her left hand and pulled the hunting knife from its sheath with her right. She drove the blade into the Rev’s forehead, the well-honed metal sliding through flesh and skull with ease. The Rev slumped, his body toppling forward. She leaned to the left and used the knife as a handle to twist the dead weight forward and out. As the Rev tumbled to the ground she yanked the blade free.

  She stepped up into the cab and slammed the door shut. The roar of the bitter wind dropped to a low murmur. The interior of the cab smelled terrible, a cross between the decaying man and old fast-food bags. She grabbed a handful of napkins from a wrinkled paper bag and wiped the knife clean before re-sheathing it.

  A thin curtain behind the driver and passenger seats concealed a little nook that was in better shape than the front of the truck. Most of the floor space was taken up by a bed. Small cabinets lined the walls above the bed, and there was even a tiny refrigerator that hung open and empty. A check beneath the forest-green blanket revealed clean sheets and a firm mattress.

  Nowen shucked her backpack and sat on the bed with a sigh. Damn, she thought as she unlaced her boots and kicked them to one side, this storm is going to slow me down even more. Next to come off were the parka and then a crimson and black ski suit, dumped in a pile on top of the boots. Clad only in thick socks, a sweater and a pair of jeans she searched through the cabinets. She found spare blankets and took two of them up to the driver’s seat. She threw one over the seat and sat down, pulling the other blanket around her as she watched the snow fly in horizontal bands across the windshield.

  Still so long a way to go. Whoever I was before, I definitely wasn’t an athlete. Nowen retrieved the map pages from her parka and pored over them again. Either I wait until winter ends and the snow melts, or I get some faster transportation. A vision of worried blue eyes drifted through her mind. No. I’m not waiting any longer. I’ll drive. She smiled a little at that. The couple of times she had attempted to drive back in Laramie had ended disastrously. Her shattered memory was strange, she’d discovered. Some things, like fighting and killing, came very easily, her body moving through the motions automatically. Other things, activities that seemed normal and mundane, confounded her. She had tried driving both a stick shift and an automatic transmission and found that her coordination completely deserted her behind the wheel. After running a third car into a telephone pole Nowen had decided driving was not for her.

  I don’t have much choice now. A sudden gust rocked the cab. Beneath the blanket she’d grown warm and now she felt sleep crawling over her. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, plans and options running through her tired brain. Just before sleep claimed her she saw, deep inside, a pair of amber eyes open in the darkness. The eyes looked at her, wild and knowing. No, she said, and turned away.

  Chapter Twelve

  Now

  The blizzard had blown itself out in the middle of the night. As fast as the cold weather had moved in it moved out, and Nowen walked through a bright warm morning. The snow was melting, the tops of the dunes and drifts that slumped across the road getting soft, and the skis were turning into more of a hindrance than a help. When she hit a long bare stretch of pavement she eagerly kicked free of them and left them stranded in the snow.

  The highway hugged the base of steep hills on one side and fell away into wooded gorges on the other. White-frosted pines marched away toward the horizon on every side, and the heavy ‘whump’ of snow falling from the trees echoed through the quiet morning. There were surprisingly few cars here. Most were still covered in snow or had been wrecked sometime in the past. Nowen could see Tie Siding ahead, a junction where the highway joined with smaller rural roads. A sprawling two-story building with a high peaked roof sat in the middle of this little web, and the sun sparked off a large blue pickup truck parked just in front of the building. Just behind the truck was a brick-red SUV. In the small parking lot were other vehicles and Nowen thought her chances of finding something she could drive would be better there.

  By the time Nowen reached the building, which advertised itself as a post office/flea market/convenience store, she was warm enough to shed the heavy parka and unzip the top of her ski suit. She tied the parka around her waist and approached the pickup.

  Despite the dirty water that spattered the front and sides the truck looked to be in good shape. A snowplow blade was attached to the front, and a boxy camper was hitched to the rear. Dirty water? She thought suddenly, and placed a hand on the hood. The metal was warm, but whether that was from the sun or the engine she couldn’t tell. She looked over the parking lot and realized that only the truck and the SUV were completely snow-free.

  I’m being watched. The feeling was abrupt but sure. Nowen looked back at the post office. It sat with shaded eyes staring back at her. A faint noise, at the range of her hearing, drew her attention to the camper. It was off-white, with a blue swirling stripe down the side and an elk-head silhouette near the roof. The window curtains were drawn, but the sensation of being watched was stronger than ever. She reached back and yanked the hatchet free from the straps that held it to the backpack. Wrapping a hand around the smooth wood handle she walked toward the camper. The hatchet head swung next to her leg, in time with her steps.

  “Hey!” A man shouted as he burst through the front door of the post office. He jumped down the few steps that led up to the building’s porch and headed toward Nowen, one hand outstretched. In the other he held a shotgun, barrel pointed at the ground. Behind him, two more men came through the door.

  “Oh, man, I don’t believe it! You’re not a dead-head!” The man said, smiling widely. Nowen studied him as he stopped in front of her. The clothes he was wearing-jeans, red flannel shirt, sleeveless puffy vest - looked brand new. He was a couple of inches shorter than she was, with crew-cut brown hair and a beefy build. He reached his hand out to lay it on her shoulder and she took a half-step back, just out of reach. Her avoidance didn’t seem to bother the man; if anything, his smile grew even wider. The sun threw rainbow sparks off the mirrored shades he wore.

  “Wow, just incredible, huh? Seen nothin’ but dead-heads for a while, and then here you come just walkin’ down the highway!” His manner was affable but his unending grin and hidden eyes were putting Nowen on edge. The other two men, dressed in a similar fashion and wearing similar sunglasses, joined him. They, too, were armed.

  The first stranger spoke. “I’m Matt, and my buddies here are Tuck and Oliver.” Tuck was shorter than Matt, with thinning grey hair and a slight build. He carried a long-barreled rifle. Oliver towered over his companions and Nowen by almost a foot. His massive shoulders strained at the seams of his shirt, and his shaved head glistened in the sun. “So what’s your name, honey? And where did you come from?” Matt said. Nowen ignored him to look over his shoulder at the camper. She thought she’d seen one of the curtains twitch.

  “Hello? Cat got your tongue?” Matt snapped his fingers. “What’s your name, sweetie?” When she didn’t reply he continued, the broad grin never leaving his face. “No problem, I can do the talkin’ for both of us! Headin’ south, huh? Colorado? Well, hell, that’s where we’re goin’ too! Why don’t you ride along with us? Plenty of room in the camper.” He motioned back over his shoulder.

  The fine hairs on her arms rose. She shook her head slowly and moved further away. Matt’s smile faded slightly, and he ran a hand over his forehead. “Now, what’s wrong? Don’t you trust me?” As he talked the other two men moved to
either side of him. She took another step back, keeping all three men in her field of vision. “Been on your own for awhile, huh? Tryin’ to go it alone, with all the dead-heads, that can be trouble. I know, honey, I been there too. You get all weird and stuff, don’t know who to trust.” Behind the group of men the camper rocked slightly.

  Nowen pointed the hatchet at the camper. “Who’s in there?” Her voice sounded strange to her, and she realized absently that these were the first words she had spoken aloud in months.

  Matt looked at the one called Tuck. The older man cleared his throat, and Matt turned back to Nowen. His pleasant smile had shifted to an uneasy grin. Again he wiped his forehead. “So, you want a ride south, or not? We’re movin’ along here pretty soon, and it’s a long walk to Colorado.” While he’d been talking Nowen had watched Tuck nod at Oliver. The big man was now walking casually away from Matt, and she realized that he was trying to circle behind her. She tightened her grip on the hatchet’s handle and addressed Matt.

  “Who’s in the camper?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.” Tuck spoke this time. His words were clipped and forceful. Matt swallowed loudly and glanced away from Nowen.

  “You’re right. It doesn’t concern me.” Tuck’s eyebrows rose in astonishment as she turned her back on him and headed to the highway. She’d made it past where the big man was standing, mouth agape, and was almost at the pavement when she heard Tuck shout “Get her, you idiot!”

  Nowen whirled, flipping the hatchet so the blade faced inward. Snow exploded as Oliver launched his mass at her like a runaway train. She planted her feet and raised her weapon, waiting for the right moment to strike. Behind the big man she could see Matt racing to join in. Oliver’s massive arms reached for her, and she swung.

  The flat of the hatchet head slammed into his rib cage. Oliver cried out, more surprise than pain in his voice. The blow slowed his forward charge but didn’t stop him, and the heavily muscled arms closed around Nowen, trapping her arms at her sides. He squeezed and her arms went limp, the hatchet dropping from her nerveless fingers. She smashed her forehead against his nose. His cry this time held nothing but pain as blood burst from his nose in a red flood and gushed down his face.

  The warm liquid dripped across her mouth and she automatically licked her lips. The wet metal taste slammed through her body. Wild eyes opened in her mind; feral strength rushed through her veins. Nowen bared her teeth in a vicious growl and arched her back against Oliver’s hold. She could feel his grip giving way and she pulled her knees up to his abdomen, bracing them there for leverage as she pushed.

  A movement to the side drew her attention, and then Matt was there, the sun flaring off his shades, the shotgun raised on high. He brought it down, butt-end first. Nowen jerked her head to the side and the stock connected with her collarbone instead. The pain only brought the wolf closer to the forefront. She could feel her body trembling on the edge of violent change as she growled again, louder this time, thrusting all her weight against Oliver’s grip. Someone shouted “Hit her again!”

  This time the blow hit its mark. Lambent amber eyes winked out as a sickening agony bloomed above her right ear and planted bright spikes through her head. Black oblivion threatened to drag her down as her entire body went limp. The tight grip relaxed and she collapsed at the big man’s feet, her arms and legs no longer hers to control.

  Through a dim haze Nowen heard Oliver speaking, his voice nasally. “Bitch broke my nose! I’m gonna kill her!” She was roughly rolled onto her back. From behind her half-lidded eyes she watched as Oliver squatted next to her. He grabbed her by the chin and squeezed, his words low and furious. “I oughta snap your neck, you goddamn bitch. Who the fuck do you think you are, breaking my nose? Huh? Huh?!” The big man shook her roughly, and Nowen fought to stay awake beneath the rising wave of pain that swamped her with each movement. She could hear Matt yelling as Oliver drew his fist back, and then Tuck shouting “Stop!” just as the fist slammed into her face.

  Then

  She is running through a forest at night. The world is alive with a thousand different sounds and smells. Small creatures flee through the rustling underbrush and overhead wings whisper through the trees. A fat hare darts in front of her, an easy catch, but she ignores it. There is a different prey she hunts tonight. The wind is her friend, bringing her the stories of all the little lives around her, and her enemy, hiding the scent of her quarry from her. Finally she catches a whiff of terror and the chase is on. Pale skin flashes through gaps in the trees, leading her deeper into the woods.

  Nowen woke slowly, the dream forest fading away in the bright sunlight that poured through the open curtains. She lay on her back on the couch and stared at the water-stained ceiling. One wavering brown line formed a strange butterfly, with mismatched wings and long trailing antennae. She had traced the butterfly with her eyes many times over the past two weeks.

  There hadn’t been much else to do as she waited her ribs to heal. An exploration of the house, conducted with a slow, shuffling step, had revealed small details about the previous occupants. Unopened mail from veterans’ organizations and a bookcase overflowing with romance, western, and religious books. Pictures of a white-haired couple either alone or surrounded by smiling people, taken in front of forests or at picnics or in this house. Furniture and dishes and clothes all well-used but obviously well-cared for. And no clue that she could find as to where the people had gone.

  The kitchen had yielded food in the form of a lot of canned stuff, both home-canned and store-bought. The water in the kitchen still ran, but she filled every spare container she could find, just in case. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom held a lot of prescription bottles with names she couldn’t even pronounce. She did find a large bottle of aspirin, and it now sat in the living room next to the couch for when her pain got too bad.

  Nowen had considered using the bedroom, but the living room faced east and on sunny days got the lion’s share of warmth, with the help of a large bay window. She closed the doors to the bedroom and bathroom to keep the heat from being squandered, but not before raiding the closet for clothes.

  Nowen turned carefully now onto her left, gritting her teeth against the ache on her right side which had lessened some but which still prevented her from doing much. Breathing was no longer painful, but walking around was a chore and standing up was intolerable after just a couple of minutes. The enforced inactivity had given her a lot of time to worry over questions for which she had no answers.

  She knew where she was - the mail had told her she was in Wyoming, in a city called Laramie. But she had no idea how she had gotten here, no idea how long she’d been gone from Exeter, and still no memory of before she woke up in the hospital. She felt like she was putting a puzzle together blindfolded, and all the pieces were the same shape. Every detail of the last day in Exeter was crystal clear: Jamie in the field, Nowen running from the Revs, going down among the undead like a deer to the wolves. And then - nothing, nothing until she found herself lying naked in a field next to a dead antelope.

  She had turned each piece of the mystery that was her life over and over in her head, poking and prying and coming up empty-handed. And then, she’d found how easy it was for her to put most of the questions aside, to set them on a high shelf in her mind where they didn’t bother her. Life lived day-to-day was easier to handle.

  I can deal with not knowing who I really am, she thought now, as she watched a line of clouds stitch themselves across the morning sky. Either that memory will come back, or it won’t. I can deal with not knowing how I got here. I’m here now, and that’s what counts. Nowen raised her arms; the skin was smooth and unblemished. I start to have trouble dealing with how I’m here and still myself, and not a Rev. The image of the little girl in the blood-spotted dress flashed before her eyes. She bit me, and she wasn’t the only one. How did I survive? Am I immune? Is that even possible? I never saw anyone who was bit by a Rev that didn’t either die or turn into a Re
v. But it could have happened to someone somewhere, right?

  A pressure in her bladder was a welcome distraction, even though it would mean a painful journey outside. She levered herself up in increments until she was standing and then made her slow way into the kitchen. By the back door she slid her feet into oversized tan work boots, checking the outside thermometer as she did. The metal sign, shaped like a crowing rooster, showed the temperature was just above freezing. With the sun out and no wind the cold would be tolerable, so Nowen decided against a jacket, trusting that her thick sweater and jogging pants would be sufficient.

  She let herself out the door and stood on the minute back porch for a moment. The air was clean and crisp, and she breathed as deeply as she could before she headed around to the side of the house. The snow was deep and undisturbed here and this was where she had made a make-shift latrine. By the time she had finished and shoveled snow back into the hole she had dug her ribs were screaming with pain and the twenty feet back to the kitchen door looked a mile long.

  Nowen had made it all the way to the porch, already thinking longingly of the couch, when she slid on a patch of ice. She kept herself from falling by pure chance when one wildly flailing hand latched onto the door knob, but the strain on her ribs was almost too much to bear. Agony dragged its claws along her side. She fought for consciousness, bracing her hands on the door to keep from collapsing. She fixed her watering eyes on her hands, using them as a focus point while she tried to outlast the pain.

  And then watched in horrified amazement as bands of black fur wound up her arms, almost covering them completely before disappearing back into her skin.