The cells struggled for meaning.
The teeth were embedded in a human foot.
The cells linked to recently stored memories. A mangled face. A deputy's comment.
Oh, God! A wolf? I was unarmed. What to do? Threaten?
The animal stared at me, its body feral and emaciated.
Run?
No. I had to get the foot. It belonged to a person. A person with family and friends. I wouldn't abandon it to scavengers.
Then a second wolf emerged and positioned itself behind the first, teeth bared, saliva darkening the fur around its mouth. It snarled and the lips quivered. Slowly, I stood and raised the rock.
“Back!”
Both animals halted, and the first wolf dropped the foot. Sniffing the air, the ground, the air again, it lowered its head, raised its tail, took a step in my direction, then sidled away a few feet and stopped, motionless and watching. The other wolf followed. Were they uncertain or did they have a plan? I started to retreat, heard a snap, and turned to see three more animals at my back. They appeared to be slowly circling.
“Stop!”
I screamed and threw the rock, catching the closest animal near its eye. He yelped and twisted, scampering backward. The others froze for a moment, then resumed circling.
Placing my back to the fallen tree, I twisted a branch from side to side, trying to detach it.
The circle was getting smaller. I could hear their panting, smell their bodies. One of the group took a step inside the circle, then another, flicking its tail up, down. It stood staring, soundless.
The branch broke, and at the sound the wolf jumped back, then stood again and stared.
Grasping my branch like a baseball bat, I screamed, “Beat it, you scavengers. Get out of here,” and lunged at the lead wolf, swinging my club.
The wolf easily jumped out of the way, retreated a few feet, then resumed circling and snarling. As I was readying my lungs for the loudest yell that had ever escaped them, someone beat me to it.
“Scram, you goddamn fur balls. Yo! Haul ass!”
Then one missile followed by another landed near the lead wolf.
The wolf scented, snarled, then spun and loped off into the underbrush. The others hesitated, then moved off behind him.
Hands trembling, I dropped the branch and braced myself against the fallen sourwood.
A figure in Tyvek and mask ran toward me and heaved another rock in the direction of the disappearing wolves. Then a hand went up and removed the mask. Though barely visible in the twilight gloom, I recognized the face.
But it couldn't be. This was too improbable to be real.
“NICE SWING. YOU LOOKED LIKE SAMMY SOSA.”
“The goddamn thing was getting ready to go for my throat!” It was almost a shriek.
“They don't attack live people. They were only trying to drive you away from their dinner.”
“Did one of them explain that to you personally?”
Andrew Ryan plucked a leaf from my hair.
But Ryan was underground somewhere in Quebec.
“What in hell are you doing here?” Slightly calmer.
“Is that a thank-you, Goldilocks? Maybe Riding Hood would be more appropriate, given the circumstances.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, brushing bangs off my forehead. Though I
“Nice do.”
He reached for my hair again, and I parried the move. As usual when our paths crossed, I was not looking my best.
“I'm scraping up quarts of brain matter, and a wolf pack was just sizing me up as a candidate for joining the dismembered, and you find fault with my styling gel?”
“Is there a reason you're out here by yourself?”
His paternalism irritated me. “Is there a reason you're here at all?”
The lines in his face tensed. Such nice lines, each placed exactly where it ought to be.
“Bertrand was on the plane.”
“Jean?”
