Wolverton by Julie Steimle (sites to read books for free .TXT) 📖

knew that smell intimately. Could it be deer? He had never tasted deer before.

The sound of wolves struck his ears. Howls, yips, the rush of feet, breathing. He could hear them coming. Looking around, he realized he might not be able to outrun them. His eyes quickly set on the pond. Though it was dark, Rick had no choice.

Diving into the water, he held his breath.

The current pushed him toward the outlet of the pond. Diving down deeper, Rick swam to the inlet then grabbed the first thing he could find to anchor him. He got hold of a tree root which probably was connected to the enormous tree near the edge of the pond. And he hung on.

After a while, he floated to the top for a peek, struggling for a quiet exhale and another inhale.

In the moonlight, concealed in the shadow of the big tree, Rick could see the wolves prowling on the shore. They did not see him. He was in the shadow of the tree above. Gray wolves, some of them. But there were also black wolves and lighter haired ones, which was peculiar. It wasn’t the usual for wolf packs to be mixed like that. Extremely rare, actually. In nature, packs were mostly homogenous—it wasn’t like people living together in New York after all. Wolves did not have affirmative action to guarantee ‘diversity’. It made him wonder if they had all escaped from a zoo—especially since wolves were definitely reported extinct in that area. And none of these looked like Alabama red wolves.

The wolf pack tracked around the shore, not smelling him, not seeing him despite their night vision. Their eyes were on the grasses and land about the pond besides, not on the shadows in the water. A cluster had jogged to the remains of his dinner. They snuffled at it, shook their snouts then continued on in their search at a run.

Breathing silently, Rick watched them all rush off with almost hound-like baying until they left. Quickly, he swam back up river, climbing onto the shore in hopes to fetch his clothes. 

It was quite late, taking forever to find where he had left his heavy things. The stars were all out in a nearly cloudless sky. The moon continued to move across the sky like a staring face which Rick honestly hated. It was like a mocking face, laughing at him for having to be a wolf for three days each month. But the path along the river was so unfamiliar. He couldn’t find his pants at all. Not even shirt which would have reflected against the moonlight. They weren’t anywhere. But as he looked further, sniffing around for the smell of his leather wallet, he heard the wolves cry again. They were coming up river toward him.

Dropping back into the water, Rick scrambled through the water over to the other side to search for pungent smelling plants. He had to lose them or he was never going to sleep that night. And he was so tired.

Hurrying back onto four paws on the other side, Rick dashed into the damp grasses of chicory and the ever useful aniseed which gave him a black licorice smell. And he did not stop running until he found a safe place to rest his wolf head.

Morning

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Itchy. Tired. Bitten by ants. Rick sat up and rubbed his awry head of hair, groaning. Though he usually enjoyed camping, he generally required a sleeping bag—and clothes. He had to sleep in his fur most of the night for warmth. But when it got too hot, he naturally became human again. Unfortunately, that also made it so the insects could get to his skin easier.

He looked down at himself. Blood was still on his front, despite his swim in the river right after his ‘meal’. And his skin was covered in dirt along with little raised bumps from insect bites. With a heave out of the grass, tromping barefoot back to the creek in nothing but his boxer shorts, Rick dunked himself in it and swam to the other side. He rubbed off his face and hands, scrubbing the blood that had dried in his skin so that there was no evidence that he had eaten an animal with his bare wolf teeth and claws the night before. Besides, if he were going to find people for help, it wouldn’t do for him to walk around with a bloody chin or chest.

That accomplished, he once went in search for his pants and shirt. Now that it was day, finding them ought to be a cinch. Most importantly, he wanted to find his wallet. During the entire mess the night before, he had forgotten that his wallet had been in his pants pocket. In fact, he was chastening himself for going hunting in his clothes. It was stupid, really. Normally he stripped down to his boxers which were the shade of his fur, since he didn’t enjoy running around naked and he needed a pocket for his cell phone, just in case. But of course that boss guy had stolen his phone. And he had been frazzled at the time just trying to get in the hunt to strip and leave his clothes in a safe place. But now, walking along the shore in nothing but his boxers, there was no sign of either pants or shirt. Not even an empty wallet, tossed aside, if it had been picked up by some passerby.

Pacing the shore again, going even down toward where he could see the pond and retracing his steps up again, there was no sign even that the wolves had got at them. If they had, wouldn’t there be shreds of them everywhere? Or at least somewhere? It made sense that there would be.

The mosquitoes buzzed around his face.

Rick waved them away, grumbling. This was not how he had wanted to start his summer training. With a frown, thinking over what his options were, Rick cringed. He looked around. His eyes lifted further as he worried over what he ought to do.

And then he saw it. In the distance.

Not his wallet, but buildings.

Houses.

He was near a town.

Shuddering, a horrid sinking sensation settled in his gut. He had been hunting that close to a town? His mind went to the bonfire and the smell of roasting meat. It had been a barbecue. With people. He could have bitten someone. Or killed someone’s dog. Or pet chicken. Or… who knows really? A bad something could have happened.

But now that he stared at the buildings, it being daylight and he having nothing but his boxer shorts on, an idea occurred to him. He wondered if quite possibly somebody there could help him out. He could get to a phone and call Henry. And Henry could pick him up and take him home, or at least to a hotel. Or better, take him to that Culpepper place where he could get a change of clothes and quite possibly fix that stupid fiasco at the factory.

Relief swelled over him.

Deciding on it, Rick waded barefoot through the grasses to the nearest house which was a stark white two-story thing. It was painful going barefoot over this ground, with stick and rocks and prickly bits poking the soles of his feet—but he didn’t dare go on calloused paw. He had to resist taking the shape of a wolf no matter how convenient it was, as he didn’t want to frighten any of the residents.

As he got closer to the house, passing trees and wild shrubbery, a peculiar feeling crawled over him as the view before him became less distant and he could see detail. The white house he saw was in ill repair, paneling falling apart. Peeling bleached paint, eaves and wood fencing half fallen over and some rotten. And an almost sagging roof. So were all the nearby homes. A rusty heap of a car was buried nearly in the grasses with no tires. The place had an eerie, ghost town feel to it. For a moment he thought it was one of those abandoned towns and that he had imagined the bonfire the night before—until he noticed a woman in her thirties with frizzy, pulled-back hair, rising out from a well-tended garden behind the house (masked by the tall waved of grasses) where she was picking tomatoes from off a plant and tucking them into her apron. He watched her carefully as he approached a little slower, eyeing her sun-bleached calico shirt and denim skirt. It looked like she had not gotten any new clothes for three decades. Nearby with her was a towheaded child in a large stained cartoony tee shirt, with no pants on, whining over something and tugging on her skirt hem. A little girl trotted out of the house with a basket in hand, a little newer clothes on but not in the current fashion, going down the porch steps announcing that she wanted to get strawberries for their breakfast. But then the girl’s eyes latched on Rick.

The woman nodded, yet immediately turned, following her daughter’s gaze. Staring at Rick who had halted, the woman drew in a breath.

Rick raised a hand, ducking his head between his shoulders as he called, “Sorry for trespassing. But… I got a little lost and I need some help.” Trying to be as friendly as possible.

He tried to approach slowly, hoping he didn’t look like a crazy person, half-naked and wet from his dip in the creek. He also hoped all the blood from the night before was entirely off. The creek wasn’t exactly the best mirror.

“I just need to use the telephone. I’ve lost mine,” he said, showing he was unarmed.

Leaning back, examining him carefully the woman replied, “You seem to have lost more than a telephone.”

Laughing, Rick nodded, looking down himself. “Actually… I lost my shirt, pants, and my wallet. I took a brief dip in the river there and I somehow misplaced them. I’d love help finding them, if possible.”

But her eyes took him in carefully. She gestured back to the house. “We have a telephone inside. And I can give you something to wear in the meantime.”

“Mother!” the young girl protested, eyes wide on the woman and Rick both. “Are you so sure about that? What if Dad were to see a man like that in our house?”

Turning to her daughter, though with one eye still on Rick, the woman said, “We must all be good Samaritans.”

The girl rolled her eyes, groaning with hanging shoulders, mouthing “Good Samaritans.”

But Rick’s smile crooked up. It was a kind Christian woman he had found, and that was always a boon. He mouthed “Thank you” heavenward as he walked a little faster over the wild plant life to her.

The moment his feet hit soil, the pain of rough earth gone, he jogged toward her with a grin. “Thank you very much. I will only be a minute. Hopefully my friend will still be in Alabama to pick me up and fix all this.”

Eying him over, especially taking in the long deep scars across his shoulder and back, she said, “Oh. And where are you from?”

Smiling with relief, Rick replied, “Massachusetts. So it would be a long drive back for