Wolves of Winter

by Tyrell Johnson

  I reached the top of the hill. The pine, fir, and spruce trees were bent like old men, carrying their burden of snow. A few dead birch, poplar, and cottonwood trees stood closer to the river, their spindly branches sleeping out the cold. Everything was so clear, so sharp under the light of the stars, you could cut your finger on it. It really was a beautiful place. You just had to get over the freezing weather, the darkness, the loneliness, the cabin fever, the boredom—oh God, the boredom—the shitty food, and the repetitive routine.

  I heard rustling behind me and turned. Bounding up the hill was a white figure. An animal. Wolf. Not a wolf. But Wolf. He charged at me, and for half a second, I thought he’d gone feral. My hand dropped to my Hän knife at my belt. He nearly barreled into me, but kept on going a few feet before turning around. He paused, staring at me. His tongue was out, flopped to one side like it was too heavy for his mouth. I didn’t know what to do. Did he want me to throw a stick or something? He circled the snow once or twice, then sat, leaning up against my leg, panting. He was surprisingly heavy.

  Dogs are weird.

  With every breath, his shoulders push, push, pushed against my leg. I put a hand on his head. He thrust his nose into my forearm as I scratched his ear. His thick fur was slightly wet from the snow. Even through my gloves, it felt like three wool sweaters in one. He was made for this place. Made for winter.

  Eventually, he lay down in the snow like it was a warm bed. A paw on my foot. I didn’t mind. I sat next to him, feeling his breath move in and out. It was odd, having company like this. It got me thinking. I wondered how long Jax and Wolf would stay, wondered how far north they’d go, wondered what life would be like running off into the wilderness with a dog and a stranger.

  8

  At school in Alaska, before the flu, Mrs. Burk kept us up-to-date on what was happening in the wars. Mrs. Burk was a large lady—fat, actually—but she was nice. I always felt a little bad when the other kids made fun of her.

  The wars had been going on since we left Chicago, since I was twelve. With new technology, cities being bombed, different factions and groups taking power, peace treaties attempting and failing, it was hard to keep track of everything. And really, it didn’t matter anymore—the lines we drew for ourselves, the differences we created, the fear and hatred we felt simply because there were oceans and deserts and forests between us. The fear of the unknown. The fear that the other guy had a bigger stick. Once the flu hit, none of it mattered.

  “Can anyone tell me who wrote the Treaty of Twelve Countries?” Mrs. Burk asked. I was in the ninth grade. A year after we left Chicago, a year after the wars started.

  Chassie Emerson raised her hand. My friend Amanda and I hated her. She was a bitch who already had perfect boobs. “Australia.”

  “Correct, and was it passed?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Chassie, let someone else answer. Why wasn’t it passed?”

  Browning, a small kid named after a shotgun, raised his hand. “Because the US and China didn’t vote.”

  “Good, and why not?”

  “Because they were too busy trying to kill each other.”

  “Chassie, please.”

  When the flu reached the States, we were issued gloves. Every day after class, we’d remove the gloves, wash our hands in the sink just beneath the poster of an elephant with a caption, “Knowledge Is Power.” Then we’d head home. When things got really bad, we were given masks. When the stores closed down, Mrs. Burk handed out government-issued nutrition bars—brown, thick, tasted like grainy chalk. When fewer and fewer kids showed up for class, she started to teach us how to make animal traps. I already knew from Dad. When there were only three students left, she gave us books and told us to read them. Then, one day, Mrs. Burk wasn’t there, the principal wasn’t there, only a few teachers, a few students. Soon after, the school was just an empty building.

  How does that song go? School’s out for summer. School’s out forever.

  * * *

  The next day, Jax was sequestered to Jeryl’s loft. Mom came and went, bringing water, a wet cloth, fresh bandages. I should have gone out to hunt, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to miss anything. I had no idea what could possibly happen, but all the same, I didn’t feel like leaving, not with the excitement of a new person holed up with us.

  Ramsey went fishing, Ken went to chop some more wood for storage, and Jeryl stayed around, his rifle never leaving his hands. I hung outside, sitting on the stump by our cabin, watching Wolf sniff around in the snow.

  Eventually, Mom asked me to do a few random things. Feed the animals, get her a fresh cloth, thaw some meat, melt some of the snow over the fire for drinking—during the warm season, we boiled water from the river; the rest of the year, we used the abundant amount of snow all around us. The day was both boring and exciting. Boring because the tasks weren’t anything fun or challenging, exciting because having Jax there—even though he was stuck in Jeryl’s cabin—was something new. Something different.

  I took Wolf for a walk around the hills surrounding our homestead. And by “I took Wolf for a walk,” I mean I went for a walk and Wolf followed me. Without Jax around, he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. I didn’t mind the company. Maybe I didn’t dislike dogs as much as I thought.

  That evening, we sat down for dinner and the conversation was hushed. After, Mom brought out a deck of cards, and we played hearts. It was like, hey, everything is fine, everything is normal, we’re just a family playing some cards, and it isn’t the end of the world, and there’s no stranger next door, and he isn’t going to change anything about our lives.

  Ken won the first round. Unfortunately, he often won. Dumb luck.

  Mom stood after the cards had been collected. “Gotta bring our guest some food.” She said guest with more than a hint of frustration, which I knew was directed at me.

  I stood with her. “I’ll do it. You stay. Keep playing.”

  All eyes snapped to me. You could almost hear the sound. Snap.

  “No, it’s fine,” Mom said.

  “I’ll do it. I don’t mind.”

  She watched me. She didn’t want to say that she was scared for her daughter, who just happened to be a grown woman, and I didn’t acknowledge that I knew she was scared, that I knew she didn’t want me to go, that I knew she didn’t trust Jax.

  Jeryl leaned forward in his chair by the fire. He hadn’t been playing cards—he usually didn’t. “Lynn, I think—”

  “It’s not a problem.” I walked to the table and grabbed a hunk of the leftover meat, some potatoes, carrots, and the strawberries Mom had thawed. I turned to the door.

  Ken was smirking, Ramsey looked sick, and Jeryl looked like he was—gosh darn it—going to stand from his chair. He didn’t.

  “Be right back,” I said, then flung the door open and stepped into the frozen night.

  * * *

  Blood was pounding in my ears. Maybe it was the fact that I knew no one wanted me to be there. I could picture them squirming in their seats. Did they think he was going to kill me all of a sudden?

  I pushed open the door to Jeryl’s cabin, then walked up the stairs, careful not to drop the plate of food. It was cold now, but I doubted he’d be picky. From the open loft, I could see candlelight rippling across the wooden beams. When I reached the top of the stairs, Jax was sitting up in the cot with a book in his hands, staring at me. I don’t know why, but I’d pictured him sound asleep. Seeing him awake and eyeing me was unnerving. His blue eyes were darker, twilight-sky dark, like they’d changed colors. I decided he was, in fact, attractive under all that beard.

  “Brought you food,” I said.

  “Thanks.” He put his book down.

  I stepped up to his bed and handed him the plate.

  “Shit. I forgot a fork and knife. I’ll be right back.”

  “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” He took the meat in his hands.

  I stood there, not sure if I was supposed to leave or
stay. I eyed the book he’d set down. Moby-Dick. The only book Jeryl had taken with him.

  “Any good?” I asked.

  He looked down at the book. “Uh, I dunno. Not yet.”

  “I read it a few years back. There’s an entire chapter on whale blubber.”

  He stuffed a bite of venison in his mouth. “Don’t spoil it for me.”

  I smiled. “How’s your leg?”

  “It’s all right.”

  “That’s good.”

  He took another bite. “I appreciate all your family is doing for me,” he said. “I realize they don’t want me here.”

  “They don’t.”

  “Can’t blame them. What are these?”

  “What are what?”

  He pointed to his plate.

  “You mean the strawberries?”

  “Huh.” He plopped one into his mouth. “Wow. They’re sweet.” His eyes met mine, and I looked away.

  “You don’t know what strawberries are?” I asked.

  “I know what they are. Never had them.”

  “You grow up under a rock or something?”

  “You might say that.”

  His mouth changed shape slightly.

  “The other group you saw. Who were they?”

  “Just a random group. Two families, I think, and a couple of friends or random people who joined them.”

  “Where did they live? How did they survive?”

  “Lived in a mall. Mostly scavenging. There’s still food in the cities if you know where to look for it.”

  “What are the cities like?”

  A bright red smear of strawberry juice spilled down the side of his mouth. I watched him wipe it away. I wondered if underneath that beard his lips were as soft as they looked. Weird thought. Stupid. “I avoided them mostly. Didn’t want to deal with the people there.”

  “Why?”

  He frowned, confused that I didn’t understand. It annoyed me. What was his deal? Did he really need no one?

  “The world is a very different place now. People aren’t like they used to be. They’re desperate. Violent. Put enough of them in a group together and things can get ugly.”

  “But there are people in the cities. Lots of them?”

  “Not lots. Enough.”

  I was about to tell him that his answers were vague as hell, that I wanted specifics, when I heard the door open. I looked down to see Jeryl, his eyes darting up at us.

  “Thanks, Gwen,” Jax said, “for the food.” He popped another strawberry into his mouth. I could practically taste the sweetness against his tongue.

  “It’s Lynn,” I said. “My name is Lynn.”

  9

  Time stopped. After we left Alaska, our watches died. Well, Mom’s and Jeryl’s watches died. The rest of us didn’t have any. Jeryl had an old-looking gold watch that his grandfather had given him, and Mom had a small silver one that Dad had given her for their anniversary. But when those died, time blurred into categories. Morning, afternoon, evening, night, predawn. This was surprisingly not that big of a deal. We only ran into problems every once in a while. For example, Mom told me she needed my help with the animals, so I had to be back by midmorning. Well, when the hell is midmorning? Is her midmorning different from my midmorning? And what about in the deep winter, when the sun barely crests the mountains? Turns out, my midmorning is something like her early afternoon, so she was pissed when I got back.

  This blurred time made you patient. If you had to wait for someone, well, then you had to wait for someone. There was something relieving about it, though—not having every hour, minute, and second ticked out and given a name, all according to a mechanical device. It was like unchaining the world, letting it do and be whatever the hell it wanted.

  * * *

  Jax stayed another week.

  I didn’t see him for two days after I brought him that plate of food. He camped out in the loft while Jeryl and Mom took care of his every need. I think they were barring me from going inside again. The third day, he was upright and walking. Wasn’t limping at all, which seemed odd to me.

  “Look who’s crawled out of his cave,” I said. I was sitting on my stump, waxing my bow with what was left of my bowstring wax, pretending not to care that he was out and about.

  He looked at me like he didn’t understand what I meant.

  “Leg feel any better?” I asked.

  “Getting there.”

  He walked on. I felt like an idiot.

  We all started to get used to him in our own ways. Mom didn’t glare so often, and Jeryl set him to work doing small tasks. I even saw Ken laughing at something he said. Ramsey avoided him. I think he felt threatened. We all got used to Wolf too. The dog followed Jax around like a magnet, but when Jax wasn’t about, Wolf would nudge my hand or push up against my leg. He was as friendly a dog as they came. Even Mom started petting him. “You’re going to make us a fine meal someday,” she’d say. She didn’t mean it.

  I went out hunting like regular. Got a crow—which is crap eating, but during winter, you can’t be picky—and a white fox. Broke an arrow, though, which is always a sad thing. We didn’t have anything that could fix them right, so at some point, I was going to have to figure out how to make my own.

  One evening, Jax joined me, Ken, Mom, and Ramsey for a game of hearts. Jeryl had gone off to bed or to do whatever Jeryl did in the evening. Mom poured us goat milk, because how do you play hearts without a tall glass of goat milk? Jax didn’t know how to play, so we taught him the basics. Ken won the first round, and I won the second, so I was in a pretty good mood. I didn’t win often. The third round, Jax shot the moon, which basically means he won all the points possible. Shooting the moon is incredibly difficult to do for experienced players, let alone newbies. Could have been dumb luck, but I’d watched his face when he played. He was concentrating, thinking hard, with his blue eyes narrowed and his hand running through his beard like my dad used to do. It was unsettling.

  “Never seen anyone shoot the moon before,” Ken said, shaking his head as I gathered up the cards. “Didn’t think it actually happened.”

  “Maybe we don’t try for it enough,” I said, looking at Jax as I forced the old deck into an even pile.

  “Maybe he cheated,” Ramsey said. We would have laughed, but the way he said it, it was no joke.

  “Wouldn’t even know how to cheat,” Jax said.

  “Bet you carry the cards up your sleeves.” Ramsey’s eyes surveyed Jax.

  Ken laughed then. “You think he brought an extra deck with him? Just to beat us for no money down?”

  “Why not?” Ramsey asked.

  “And the deck just happened to match ours? Don’t be a dumbass, Ramsey.”

  “Ken, Ramsey, enough, both of you,” Mom said.

  “Let’s see your sleeves.” Ramsey pointed at Jax’s wrists.

  Jax shook his head. “Didn’t cheat, just playing the game.”

  “Fine then, prove it,” Ramsey said, standing up. “Come on.”

  “Ramsey, sit down,” I said. The fire had grown too warm, the air too stale. I tried to shuffle the deck nonchalantly, but the damn cards folded between my fingers.

  “I just want to see. No big deal, if he didn’t cheat.”

  Jax lifted his arms, grabbed his sleeves, and rolled them back. There were no cards, of course, but on his left arm was a tattoo. Numbers running down beneath his coat. A one, a two, then a jump to seven. A weird-ass tattoo. Something from the wars?

  “Are we good?” Jax asked.

  Ramsey swallowed. “What about in your coat?”

  “Oh God.” Ken stood up now, facing Ramsey. “Let it go, little Ramsey.” He called him that when he wanted to bust Ramsey’s balls. And Ramsey hated it. I could almost feel the heat burning off his red cheeks.

  Ken went for Ramsey’s shoulder, and Ramsey batted his hand away.

  “I’ll head in for the night,” Jax said, standing up.

  “You don’t have to.” Surprisingly, it wa
s Mom.

  “That’s all right, I’m tired anyway.”

  He started to make his way between the two boys. Ken stepped back to let him pass. Ramsey didn’t. Jax bumped Ramsey’s shoulder on his way by. It was a slight thing, but it was enough. As Jax turned toward Ramsey, probably to apologize, Ramsey cocked a fist. Jax had time to duck, to raise his hands, to fight back, to at least flinch, but he did none of those things. It was like he didn’t care.

  Ramsey’s knuckles struck Jax’s chin, sending his head snapping back, but Jax held his ground. Ramsey clutched his fist to his chest, his face a mix of pain and anger. He’d probably never punched someone before, probably didn’t know how much it hurt.

  “What the hell?” I said, as Mom shouted, “Ramsey!” and Ken said, “You little shit!” Ken grabbed Ramsey by the collar. Jax was moving then, his hand clasping Ken’s arm. There was a wildness in his eyes I’d never seen before.

  “It’s fine. It’s fine,” Jax said. “My fault. I bumped him.”

  “Like hell it’s fine,” Ken said, turning to Ramsey. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Ramsey looked like he was going to say something, then decided against it, turned, and hurried out the door. I felt bad for him. He was jealous, that was clear enough. With Jax being the new non-McBride man on the scene, maybe he felt territorial around me.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Mom said as she pulled the door open. An icy wind batted our fire and knocked a card off the table.

  “And I’ll kick his ass,” Ken said, following Mom out.

  Jax and I were alone.

  “You okay?”

  Jax moved his jaw around. “I’m fine.”

  “He’s usually not like that,” I said.

  Jax nodded. “Life is tough these days. Sometimes people aren’t themselves.”

  I stared at him for a moment, searching for something else to say. “You need some frozen meat for your jaw?” I finally asked.