Aurendel - Strays

Kate felt foolish. She shouldn't have stayed at Jack's house alone with Harold. She had no idea when Jack would be back--probably late, maybe not til nearly dawn--and she really didn't think she should wait for him. It was fully dark outside, and, like an idiot, she'd decided to walk over instead of drive. Sure, she had her little flashlight in her purse, but . . . She fidgeted nervously, crossing and uncrossing her denim-clad legs.

Harold was humming along with the music on the stereo. A very nice hum, actually, right on key. His fingers tapped the beat on the arm of the sofa. Kate cleared her throat, interrupting his tuneful reverie. "Um, Harold," she began. He stopped humming and looked at her. "I think I should be going home now," she said.

"Oh." He seemed disappointed. "I'll walk you home." He reached for his crutches.

"Don't be silly. That's a long way to limp--a good half mile."

"I can do it--no problem."

Kate shook her head. Why do men always have to prove how tough they are?

"What if something happened to you on your way back?" she retorted. Seeing that he was going to insist, she plowed ahead with her argument. "Look, I know the way between here and there like the back of my hand. I could find my way blindfolded, let alone at night with a flashlight. I've done it before. Nothing's going to bother me, but you could trip over a cypress knee and further injure your ankle."

"All right," he said.

Kate was surprised. She'd expected more resistance. Frowning, she added, "Don't even think about following me."

"Would I do that?" he countered, his pale grey eyes very wide and innocent.

She didn't buy it. "I'm serious."

"I know."

Kate got up, and didn't bother trying to tell Harold not to get up to let her out.

"Will you be over tomorrow?" he asked.

She sighed. "I suppose. Jack will want to tell me about his hunt: brag if it's successful, complain if it's not."

"When can we expect you?" he asked, almost shyly.

"I guess not til dinner. After morning hours at the clinic, I've got lunch with a girlfriend. We'll probably go shopping afterwards. Jack hates that kind of thing, so I never ask him to join me."

"Jack has lots of dislikes, doesn't he?" Harold observed.

"Yeah." She smiled. "Good night."

"Good night, Kate."

As Kate stepped off the front porch of Jack's house, she pulled her flashlight out of her purse, and stepped out briskly, following its yellow beam. Her path paralleled the curving shore of the lake, but was far enough into the woods to avoid being too boggy. Still, she had to watch for the tell-tale growths of water hyacinth and alligator lily among the cypress and sweetgum trees that showed where water was apt to stand. A vague unease troubled her as she moved off toward the drier pine woods approaching her small house, watching her step to avoid the small, bristly seven day itch plants. She was about halfway home when she realized that her uneasy feeling was the sensation of being watched, of being followed.

Kate thought about stopping, but realized that would be foolish. Instead, she tried to look about surreptitiously while speeding up slightly. She tried to listen for footsteps behind her, but all she could hear was cicadas, whip-poor-wills, and her own breathing. She suddenly spun about to face her stalker, hoping to blind him with her flashlight's glare. There, behind her, was . . . nothing. No one. She was losing her mind. She continued her way back home.

Then she heard the sound of a twig breaking underfoot. Not her foot. She looked down to confirm that fact. As she turned she called out "Who's there?" and swept the beam of light back and forth. This time she caught a glimpse of eyes in the dark between the trees. Green, glowing eyes. Animal eyes. A panther? Or . . . Damn. Wouldn't it be ironic if the three hunters never laid eyes on their quarry, but it pursued her?

Kate carefully stepped backward, away from the eyes. They vanished into the darkness, and she started walking again. Remember, Kate, she told herself. Wolves seldom hunt humans if other game is available. Don't run--that will make it chase you. It can smell your fear--don't panic.

She was almost home when she saw a shadowy figure silhouetted by moonlight slip between the trees parallel to her. Not behind her. Right up with her. That was hunting behavior. She could see her porch light from here. Just a short sprint, no, don't run. Don't run--that's prey behavior. Walk. Calm. Stay calm.

She couldn't help it. She gave in to instinct and broke into a run, gasping for breath, heart pounding. She dared not look over her shoulder. Without breaking her stride, she shoved her flashlight into her purse and grabbed her housekey. Stupid, stupid--why lock up in the middle of nowhere? It would've been safer to leave it open, in this instance! She skidded onto her porch and jammed the key in the lock, expecting any second to feel the furry weight of the beast at her back and its teeth on her neck. In an instant, she was inside, slamming the door. Panting, she looked out the small window in the door. There was a huge black wolf standing in her front yard, plainly visible by the light coming from the porch. It was standing on three legs, its right hind foot held up, obviously injured. No wonder she'd outran it. She sighed with relief. As she watched, it turned and headed back the way it'd come.

The three hunters followed the beacon of Kate's porch light to her house. Jack didn't hesitate, but led them up to her front door and knocked loudly. The door opened almost immediately. Kate was pale and shaking.

"You mighty hunters missed your chance," she snapped at them. "It was just here, in my yard."

"Just now?" asked Fisher. "It's lame--if we hurry, we can catch up with it."

Kate shook her head. "Actually, more like a quarter of an hour ago."

Jack placed a steadying hand on her arm and gruffly asked what was wrong.

"As I was walking home from your place, it followed me. I think it was hunting me."

Jack fought to control his outrage. How dare that animal frighten Kate! Meanwhile, Fisher tried to soothe her. "I doubt it was hunting you," he said. "Since we're guessing it escaped captivity, it may associate humans with food, and followed you in hopes, not that you'd be dinner, but that you'd give it some."

Kate's laugh had an hysterical edge to it, but she did stop shaking. Fisher asked her where she'd seen it and inspected the ground at the spot she indicated. "Well, we're catching up," he said. Calling "Let's go!", he started following the tracks toward the lake. Taylor tipped his hat at Kate, then followed. Jack paused for a moment to watch her go back in and close the door before he walked after the younger men.

They walked quickly, keeping their eyes peeled. Jack hoped he'd spot the wolf first, maybe warn it off. But suddenly he heard a dreadful sound: a terrific yelp and wild splashing. Not pausing to curse, he seized Taylor's flashlight and ran, pelting heedlessly through underbrush, toward the source of the noise. Branches slapped at his face, and he barked his toes and shins on cypress knees, but he kept running, fighting the stitch in his side and the ache in his chest that reminded him painfully of his age. He skidded to a halt, puffing and blowing, at the edge of the water, where the muddy ground revealed to the flashlight's beam the story written in prints and marks, a tracker's cuneiform to decipher. He heard the other two men panting for breath behind him. Wordlessly, he sat--almost dropped--on a fallen cypress log that hung half in, half out of the water. His guts tied themselves into a cold, leaden knot as Fisher, between gasps, read the story to Taylor.

"Here's the wolf's tracks, down to the water to get a drink," Fisher explained, taking the flashlight from Jack's unresisting hands and using it like a lecturer's laser pointer. "Now this scrape here, that's a gator throwing itself onto the bank. Notice, there's no wolf prints coming away from the water." His face grim, he concluded, "It never had a chance. Gators seize their prey in their jaws, drag it underwater, and hold it til it drowns."

Taylor nodded, then looked at Jack. "You ok, Jack?"

"Just need to catch my breath," he wheezed. He rose from the log slowly. "Guess this hunt is over," he announced, and began walking back home. "If you boys will follow me, I'll give you a lift back to Fisher's truck down at Elzey's place."

He remained silent as they walked, not saying a word until they got to his truck parked in front of his house. "Hope you all don't mind the tight fit," was his only remark as they climbed into the old Ford. The uneasy silence persisted until he dropped them off, where he only spoke to bid them goodnight.

"Don't take it so hard, Jack," Fisher said. "We did the best we could. ‘Nature red in tooth and claw,' and all that."

Jack nodded, and the two waved their goodbyes as he drove off. He didn't really want to go home to an empty house. In the morning, when he'd have benefit of daylight, he'd have to go back and look for remains. Maybe he ought to go back to Kate's. No, she wouldn't understand unless he explained, and if he told her the truth she'd think he was crazy. He'd go home, where a bottle of Wild Turkey was waiting in his pantry to keep him company.

When he got there, his porch light was on, just as he'd left it. The front door was unlocked, just as the wolf would've left it. With a sigh, he stepped into the dark living room and hit the light switch. And froze, staring.

In his own chair, its feet propped up on his ottoman, its hair dripping dirty lake water all over the upholstery, grinning from ear to ear, sat That Wolf. It waited for him to say something, and when he didn't, it casually asked, "Hunt called off, Jack?"

Jack let out his breath explosively. He hadn't realized he was holding it. Then he burst into a diatribe. "You mangy, flea-bitten cur! You deceitful, no-good, chicken-chasin' mongrel! Why, I oughta . . ." He became incoherent with anger, and his would-be threat trailed off to silence.

"Why, Jack," it said through its teeth, an ironic edge to its voice and a green glint in its eyes, "I didn't know you cared."

Heedless of the wolf's anger, Jack plowed ahead. "Whatever gave you the damnfool idea to mess with an alligator?" he demanded.

"I got the idea from you, Jack," the wolf said.

That pulled Jack up short. "What?" he exclaimed.

"I read your short stories. Remember the one on alligator wrestlers?"

Jack was flabbergasted. "You didn't! How?"

"When it came up on the bank, I jumped into the water and Changed as fast as I could. Then I just did like you used to, held its jaws shut and flipped it over, and then swam underwater and got out where you and the others wouldn't see me." It threw its arms up over its head in a join-popping stretch, looking inordinately pleased with itself.

"You idjit! You could've got yourself killed!" Jack shouted, and the wolf stopped smiling.

But Jack stomped off to the kitchen, straight to the pantry, ignoring the sound of crutches thumping behind him. In the kitchen, Jack poured himself a tumbler of bourbon and knocked it back swiftly. Then he looked at the wolf, which had followed him, and got down a second tumbler. He poured two drinks, placing the second glass on the counter in front of the wolf. It shifted its weight onto one crutch, freeing a hand to lift the glass and sniff its contents, making a face as it did so. It set the glass down untasted, and looked at him.

"I knew what I was doing, Jack," it said, gently.

Jack took a sip of bourbon before answering. "It was a stupid risk. And for what? You'll be leaving soon," he paused for another sip, "and as long as you're here, on two legs," he gestured absently, "no one would know a thing." He looked the wolf right in the eye. "Why'd you do it?"

The wolf thought a minute. "You're right. It wasn't necessary." Then it grinned. "But it was fun!" It lifted its glass of bourbon in a toast, knocked back half the tumbler's contents, and nearly fell off its crutches choking. Jack caught the wolf and steadied it until it stopped coughing. "I'm all right," it said, though its face was red and its eyes watering. Jack removed his hand from the wolf's shoulder, giving it a little pat.

"It's late," Jack announced. "I'm going to bed." He downed the last of his drink and headed for his room, leaving the wolf standing there, leaning against the kitchen counter. It wasn't until after he'd climbed into bed that Jack realized he'd forgotten to ask the wolf why in hades it had followed Kate.