1
The feeling of creeping heat, pleasant at first, began at Terry’s feet. He was dreaming of summer in Mississippi, where his boyhood had been spent in the sultry air of the southern bayou. The sheet that clung to his naked chest felt clammy and damp, but in sleep was no more than the humid brush of a vine against his forearms. He was unconscious by the time the exterior propane tank blew a hole, clear through his kitchen wall.
The alarm from the volunteer fire department called the villagers to action, but the house was fully engulfed by the time they gathered and hooked the canvas hoses to the hydrant. Being a member of the crew gave each volunteer a tax deduction and some pocket change, but the frightened group had always hoped never to be called to a genuine blaze. The real thing was so different from the annual training, which simply involved setting someone’s decrepit barn on fire and laughing about it later over a beer. They turned their hoses on the inferno and bent their backs to ensure it didn’t spread to the nearby barn. None made any attempt to enter the house, and few believed anyone inside could be left alive.
So focused were the men on their labors that they didn’t notice the shadow that crept quickly from the edge of the pine forest. The figure bounded on soundless paws, a sliver of moon catching gray fur as it paused before a shattered window, smoke belching from the jagged opening. In seconds, the shadow had disappeared over the sill.
Terry was oblivious to the powerful jaws that tore away the bedding, and did not feel himself being clutched by two sinewy forearms to the beast’s massive chest. It leapt from the window as the structural beams began to crumble, leaving a trail of blood against the broken pane that ripped at the animal’s side. Running on its hind paws, the animal carried its prize to the edge of the forest and laid the unconscious form gently on the ground.
As he slowly regained consciousness, all Terry could feel was a raw burning in his lungs and he gasped at the pain of each breath. Rolling to his side, he pushed himself to sit, bewildered at his surroundings. He was wearing only his boxers, and began to shiver uncontrollably in the cool of the autumn air. In the distance, he could see the flames licking at the roof of his house, and a dozen frantic forms scurrying like ants around its glowing perimeter.
A scuffling to his left brought Terry’s attention abruptly to the shaggy form that stood immobile between the towering lodge pines. The wolf’s eyes were fixed on his own, and fear shot down Terry’s spine as he scrambled to get to his feet. The wolf remained unmoving, staring intently at the man he had rescued but content to keep his distance. Smears of blood spread across Terry’s thighs but he could find no injury to account for their presence. It was only when the wolf bent to lick his wound that Terry could fathom a connection between his sudden awakening and the animal’s presence. He knew without comprehending that the wolf meant him no harm.
When it was clear that the man had recovered his senses, the wolf rose on his hind legs and gave an unearthly howl, shattering the silence between them. A distant voice returned the call and it was taken up by a dozen others, echoing through the trees and filling Terry with a blind terror. Closing his jaws, the wolf turned abruptly and was gone, lost to the darkness which was quiet once more.
Terry began his slow and painful return to a house that was now a steaming mound of embers.
The cry of the wolves did not go unnoticed by the firefighters, and was the topic of much discussion the following day when Terry went to forage for breakfast at the diner. He was greeted warmly by the owner, even though he had only moved to town a few months before and was still struggling for acceptance.
“I hear you had quite the night,” said Bob jovially as he wiped a space on the counter and offered Terry a menu. “Breakfast is on the house for anyone whose place burns to the ground.”
Terry smiled ruefully and accepted a fresh cup of coffee. “I still have no idea what started it,” he began. “I thought I could smell propane coming off the tank, but I guess it was leaking somewhere in the kitchen as well. I still can’t figure out what set it off.”
“Could have been anything,” Bob replied. “You got a cat?”
“No,” replied Terry puzzled. “Why?”
“Those things are walking balls of static electricity. Cats are basically assholes, and I wouldn’t put it past one to set your house on fire out of spite. I’m a dog guy myself.”
Terry looked at the menu as a curious group of diners took his silence as an opportunity to get in on the conversation.
“You get a look at those wolves?” asked one man, peering around his stack of pancakes.
Terry froze. He still didn’t quite understand what had happened, but he couldn’t shake the sight of that wolf staring at him or the strange patches of blood he had washed from his legs. “I saw one of them,” he finally acknowledged cautiously. “He was standing on the edge of the woods when I came to.”
“It’s a good thing you got yourself out of that house”, added another man. “There wouldn’t be much left of you otherwise.”
“Yeah,” Terry grunted. “I must have woken up before it really took off, but I don’t remember much.”
“Probably the shock,” nodded Bob. “It’ll most likely come back to you eventually, not that it’s something you’ll want to dwell on. What are you going to do now?”
“I can live in the barn and rebuild. I moved up here for a new life, so I guess that means beginning from scratch after all.” Terry smiled and shook his head. “Just a rough start, that’s all.”
The man with the pancakes pushed back from the table and came over to shake Terry’s hand. “I’m Liam, and I own the lumberyard. If you need supplies, I’ll be sure to give you a good deal and throw in a few extras for free. That’s Emmet,” he added, jerking his thumb towards a man leaning against the far wall. “He’s the guy to see for plumbing work.”
The men gradually introduced themselves and Terry tried to remember the names and faces that came along with the handshakes and pats on the back. When his breakfast arrived, he ate it gratefully and considered that the fire might have been the best thing that happened since he moved here. At least the locals were starting to warm up, and they all seemed genuinely concerned for his wellbeing. As he took the last bite, the man who had originally brought up the wolves spoke again.
“We’re going to look for those wolves tonight,” he said, looking pointedly at Terry. “The last thing you need are those brutes hanging around your place, and we always start to lose cattle when they come to town. You want to join us?”
Terry thought for a moment and concluded that accompanying the men on the hunt was probably the best way he could think of to gain their trust and friendship. “Sure,” he replied, “but my gun is a molten piece of scrap iron by now.”
“Go talk to Clyde Barrington,” said the man firmly. “He owns the outfitters and will kit you out with everything you need.”
Bob refused to accept any payment for the breakfast, so after giving thanks for the hospitality, Terry walked down the main street to the store that sold fishing and hunting goods to both locals and summer tourists. He’d shopped there once before to buy ammunition and was served by an older woman who’d been surly and abrupt. This time, however, he was greeted by a man of his own age who looked every inch a sportsman. The owner of the business had retained his summer tan and crossed the floor with the confidence of a man who knew his place in the world and felt completely at ease within it.
“How can I help you?” he asked with a smile, eyes flicking across Terry’s biceps and resting briefly on his butt.
“Well that depends,” said Terry grinning. He just couldn’t help himself. His house had burned down, he’d lost everything he owned but the work clothes he kept in the barn, yet still had the optimism to flirt with the first good looking guy he’d met in months. “Are you Clyde?”
“I am,” replied Clyde. “You must be the guy who lost his house last night.”
“That would be me. I’m Terry, the idiot who doesn’t know enough to pay attention to a propane leak.”
Clyde laughed and reached out to shake his hand. “Not sure you’re in the right place then. You probably want the lumberyard.”
“No, I need a shotgun and some ammo. The guys are going out after the wolves we heard last night, and the least I can do is give them a hand.”
Clyde stepped away abruptly and turned his back, running his thumb across the rack of guns that lined the walls of the store. He picked one out and handed it to Terry, being careful not to brush fingers as he let go of the weapon.
“This is a 12-guage pump-action shotgun, the most versatile weapon on the market and the only thing you’ll ever need for hunting,” said Clyde, suddenly all business. “This one will run you just shy of six hundred bucks. They come cheaper, but if you’re looking for something completely reliable and easy to work, this is it.”
Terry looked down the barrel and felt the weight of the weapon in his hand. He was an experienced and proficient marksman, but didn’t want to make Clyde feel like an idiot. He was impressed that he’d been offered exactly the same gun he would have chosen for himself.
“I’ll take it then,” he announced, “and I’ll need a couple of boxes of shells as well.”
Clyde was silent as he fetched the ammunition, and Terry was thoroughly confused. He could have sworn the guy was interested, but now he was acting like Terry had just taken a piss in his cornflakes.
“You had the place long?” asked Terry, trying again.
“About five years,” replied Clyde shortly, wrapping the gun and shells. “That’ll be $678.”
Terry always kept his wallet in the glovebox of his truck, which is why he still had his ID and credit cards. Laziness had proven to be a godsend, even though he hadn’t purposely planned for the event of a fire. He handed over his Visa and watched as Clyde silently completed the transaction.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” Terry asked awkwardly, picking up his purchases.
“Maybe. It’s a small town.”
Clyde followed his customer to the front of the store and Terry saw him wince as he reached to open the door.
“You Ok?”
“Sure,” replied Clyde, holding open the door and all but pushing Terry onto the pavement. “Just a couple of busted ribs.”
As he returned to his truck, Terry struggled to understand what had just happened. Reaching no sensible conclusion, he drove back slowly to pick through the smoldering remains of what had briefly been his home.