Free is a curious concept. I am free from chains, yes, from the confines of my cell, from the harm that Olly would inflict on me. But free, truly free? Perhaps not... Once I hit the trees, I hear Johnson calling to me. He is behind me, not able to run as fast as I can while in human form. I can barely make out his words, but it sounds like, 'stop'.
Stop? Why should I stop? I come screeching to a halt as I see exactly why, there is a long fence weaving through the trees, barbed wire clasping to thick wooden poles. I bop into it a bit and it pricks me, I can feel the sting against my side as I slide to a stop. Is it silver? Could it be Wolfsbane? I don't know yet but it burns. Take a step away and huff as I lick at my pelt, it can taste it, it's definitely Wolfsbane. I want to lean over and rub my pelt in the snow to wipe it off, but I can't.
Johnsons coming up behind me. I don't turn and fight, I run. Staying along the fence hoping with each step that I'd get closer to an opening. A hole underneath. A break in the chain. Even a spot where I could jump over.
I hear footsteps coming crunching in the snow on the other side of the fence. I duck down into some thicker bushes digging my nose into the snow, hoping that my thick coat will be disguised enough in the shadows of a thin winter evergreen. The bush shakes and snow falls off the leaves.
"I just don't get what we are doing in a barn in the territory of the biggest pack in North America. Tell me how that makes sense?"
"It doesn't, man."
"Right? That's what I've been saying. What I've been trying to say. Olly doesn't listen. No one ever listens."
"Yeah, well, what can you do about it?"
They talk as they pass on but I can sense someone behind me
Johnson is behind me, he ducks down into the bush next to me. I'm growling, I'm preparing for a fight. He wraps his hand around my nose to clamp it shut and I nip at him, breaking his skin just a bit. He tugs it away and presses it into his chest.
"Let them pass," He whispers. "We'll break for the garage, we should be able to make it out of here before their patrol leads them to the front gate."
The men aren't looking out into the horizon, they are talking to each other, soon enough, they go around a corner towards the front of the building and as soon as they do Johnson is moving back towards the back end of the building, in the distance I can see a barn, I'm thinking it's the garage. I ignore him. As soon as the other men come around the corner I take off running towards the front gate.
"Wait!"
I don't stop to listen, freedom is so close, I come around to the front of the house and I can see the gate at the edge of the property calling to me, it's further than the barn, and Johnson wanted me to wait for him there, but with the door wide open...
I sprint across the yard reaching for the open gate with long strides. When suddenly the snow jumps up in a stream to snap at me, another bullet comes whizzing by and bites into the ground just a few feet to my right. I came to a near stop sliding. I'm too far away from the gate and it's nothing but open road ahead of me after that, even the forest near here is sparse. I need cover. I turn around and race my way back towards the house, not looking back and whoever is shooting at me.
At the house I pause, contemplating if I would be safer inside rather than out, but I cannot bring myself to jump through a window or change and open the door. Now that I am at the house, I am closer to the barn. And on the other side of the barn is a sparse forest but it had thicker bushes. Maybe... Just maybe...
I race across the white yard watching bullets wiz by and splash the snow up and into the air. I'm already limping from the bite in my shoulder, just before I reach the barn, there is another bite to my foot which slips out from under me. I fall forward, spinning as I slide into the barn, bringing a small pile of snow and dirt and strands of hay across the concrete with me.
"I got her! I got her! Stop shooting!" I hear Johnson shouting. The bullets stop, and all I can hear is my heavy breathing and his footsteps, followed by others, I can barely move. I'm tired and I've been shot three times and raked with Wolfsbane. I cannot help but whimper and I try to stand, but without being able to put much weight on my foot or my shoulder it's too much and I fall back onto the cold ground inching along the floor.
There is a noise behind me and it's Johnson again.
I growl as he comes near me. But he doesn't hesitate to pick me up and place me in the closest truck. He climbs in next to me and before he can close the door the other men are rounding their way into the barn. He kicks the truck to life pleading with the gas to take off, and when it rumbles we burst forward, pushing the men away from the vehicle with the threat of being ran over. In a moment, we are out on the road and speeding down the highway.
My entire body was shivering, not from cold, just shivering. There were odd sounds, and I realized they were coming from me. Whimpers leaked through my muzzle as a breathed heavily in the front seat.
"We'll get you safe," he says, turning on the heater. "You should change back, so you can put pressure on your wounds.
I can't think, not really. All I think about is the pain, and how similar it was to getting shocked. It's similar to the initial jolt of the cow prod each time I move my shoulder as I breathe or twitch my foot that is hanging off the side of the seat as we hit bumps in the road. Is this all worth living for? Am I truly free? Will I ever be safe?
"I forgive you," I hear him say, "for not trusting me, for attacking me. I understand, and I forgive you."
He forgives me?
I try to concentrate on the movement of the truck instead of my pain, because if anything, I can anticipate movement and adjust to help alleviate the pain I might feel. It turns left, then again, and right, we're going straight, and for a moment, I was able to forget the past few weeks of trauma, in my mind, I was back in our old pickup with my father, the smell of the old dusty seats and burning heater. The rumble of the engine which is too loud to talk over, but you could easily hear the music if you cranked it up loud enough... Sadly, there was no music, instead, just silence... I focused on what I could to keep me sane.
"We're almost there," He says loudly, "we'll get you back to your old pack, they can help you there." He pulls up onto a large hill and I feel the truck tilt backwards and sputter as the tires squeal against the snow. Pumping the gas, he rolls back and hits it hard, lurching the truck forward and over the hill of snow in our way, I roll off the seat, hitting the stick and shifting us out of gear and we fishtail back down the hill over the other side.
"Shit!"
We slide down plowing over a snow bank and off the road, landing with the tip of the truck glancing off a large rock. We spin. The truck comes to a halt as the side of it smashes into a tree and I hear the windows shatter and fall. The whole thing shudders as the engine dies.
"Fuck!" He screams and all I hear is screaming. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
My head is dizzy, and the sound is distorted. Everything sounds like drums in my ears as my heart pulses dangerously. I'm able to lift my head up, I smell the blood before my eyes can adjust and I see it running down his face. His eyes are beginning to glaze as his hands are scratching at the steering wheels which has lodged his body into the seat behind him. He is slumped forward, his face smashed into the wheel and he looks at me considering me for a moment.
"I won't make it out alive," he says reaching out for me. He breathes through clenched teeth.
I feel my heart racing more, and all of the blood is going to my head. I can feel it gather and press against my eyes as the world gets darker and darker.
"Please, forgive me..." He says but I can barely hear him. He is quiet for a long moment and my eyes close with his silence.
"My wife," he says suddenly, enraged and he begins scratching at the steering wheel again as I drift away from him, his words, his sounds of agony and into my safe darkness.
"Please wake up!" He shrieks. "Wake up!"
My eyes lull back open and he is suddenly somehow closer now than he was before. He hands are covered in blood and he's slumped towards me as he reaches out and stroke the top of my head.
"Wake up," he says quietly. "Go find help." He starts pushing weakly at my face with his finger tips to coax me. "Go get help."
I didn't know if he wanted me to find help for him, or for myself. I try to stand, my muscles don't feel like they are responding to me, like they are asleep, but they move slowly, but still all the same. I'm pull myself back up onto the seat, pieces of glass crunch under my weight. I'm not able to open the door, but the windshield is mostly gone. I pull myself up onto the dashboard and out to the hood of the truck. My back legs are shaking. The glass under my paws cause me to slip and I tumble off the hood and into the snow.
"Miss Four?" He says weakly.
I huff to let him know that I am still here. I get back up and take a few steps forward, noticing almost instantly that I was within my packs boarders and they had been here recently and were patrolling, and to my surprise, I smelled my father. I lifted my head and started to struggle, whimpering even more as I lurched myself forward in the snow.
We are down wind, and their scent is being carried to me, but I know they won't be able to smell me from where we are. Hoping to God that it is my father who finds me, I howl.
I throw back my head and let the sound tumble into the air, all my hurt and pain is tossed in and I am as loud as I can possibly be. I howl again, and again, rolling my head back as I take steps forward toward their scent. Behind me, I hear Johnson scream and it sounds like he is trying to mimic a howl. The door to the truck rusts open and he howls even louder.
I hear the pack, off in the distance, I hear another howl, it's a short yip, something to tell me that they heard me, they are coming.
I'm in a frenzy, yipping, letting out a high-pitched whine as I call towards the sky for help.
Johnson is in the snow behind me. I've only taken a few steps forward and I can still hear him.
"Four!" He shouts. "Help me."
I turn to look at him and he is laying in the snow. His head is raised but the rest of him is hidden in white. He's maybe a car's length away from me, but his arm reaches out and towards me again.
I growl at Johnson when he reaches for me but not out of fear, out of anxiousness. He'd done his best to save me, to help me get home. I didn't want him to die. When I growled I stepped away, turning to face him as a large black shape rushed past me from behind and tackled him to the ground. I'm slow, but I jump at this shape, smelling him, I realize it's my father. He knocks me off and away easily and only stops when he hears me whine from the impact of me hitting the ground.
Others in different forms surround us. Ulric is the next I see, he is in human form and he's glancing at me. He steps in between me, and my father and Johnson.
I'm barking. But it's hard for human ears to understand what I'm saying. To the wolves around me, all they hear is emotion. Pain, anger, fear.
What I'm trying to say is 'stop', but, I say nothing.
"Samuel," Ulric warns, "He's not fighting back."
My father doesn't stop, even though Johnson is in fetal position with his hands over the back of his neck, my father is still biting at him.
"Samuel. Enough!"
Cole does nothing. In fact, other than myself and Ulric, no one seems to mind watching this carnage.
Ulric steps forward and grabs my father by the scruff pulling him away from Johnson and his weak screams.
I hear him gasping for breath between his screams and I nudge toward him, but Cole steps in front of me and stops me.
There is nothing I can do. In moments Johnson will be dead.
"Four. Please."
I try to step closer, but Cole is in front of me again. I cannot fight him.
At the sound of Johnson's pleads my father is ripping into him again, tearing him into in pieces and for a long time, his blood lust gets the best of him.
The sounds that ensue are thick and wet and dripping with anger against the ground. Johnson is silent and has been for a while now, now he is just wetness smacking the ground.
My head is tired. My body is weak. There are bullets in my body, and silver in my bones and memories I never wanted in my mind.
As the sounds stop, the forest is quiet, and it's the first true peace I'd had in what felt like months.
All eyes turned to me. My father was the last to look at me, his muzzle glistened a dark red in the light against the black fur. He rolls his nose in the snow and stomps his paws, ridding himself of what is left of Johnson. He walks to me, sniffing me. Growling at me.
If he were in human form, I know what he would say.
"Remember the rules, Child! Don't change, don't fight, don't die."
And here I am dying in the snow. I may have just broken, every single one of his rules.