Ashton Daigle

Garvey and his men didn’t waste any time regrouping. By the time Jesse, Rakov and the kid pulled up to Doc Ogle’s with Namid in tow, they were right on their heels, right along with about ten townsfolk they’d already whipped into a frenzy.

The sheriff was there, along with two or three of his men, but at this point, the damage by Garvey had been done and folks were already rolling their eyes at Rakov and Jesse, as the kid and Doc Ogle began to gently lift Namid from the back of the wagon.

Several people held torches and they, along with the gas lamp in front of Doc Ogle’s cast everything into fiery shadows, which seemed to ebb and flow with the crowd’s anxiety, as a damp sluggish snow began to fall.

“Look at her, she’s naked as a jaybird,” someone from the crowd leered, after one of the folds of blanket fell to the side, exposing Namid’s face as Ogle, Rakov and Jesse took hold of her.

One of her eyes fluttered slightly open and her upper lip curled back slightly into a vague and absent snarl, and a whispered “ah” fell over the crowd and they all stepped backwards a step, as if she were a dreaded disease.

“She’s filthier than a damn animal.”

This was Garvey, adding his two cents to the confusion.

“Look at her, she’s all bit up and she smells like shit,” he continued. “There’s no telling how many diseases she’s carrying. Do you all really want that in your town?”

A resounding no came from the small crowd, and now the sheriff stepped forward and told Garvey to shut his stinking mouth.

“All of you get,” the sheriff said.

“We got just as much right to be here as they do,” challenged one of the townspeople, the Parsons girl’s father.

“Like hell you do,” the sheriff replied, agitated and disgusted with the townsfolk. “I don’t care if you did just lose your daughter or not, another crack like that and I’ll throw you under the God damned jail. Do I make myself clear? Now I said go on, get.”

But the growing crowd didn’t leave, they only backed up to give those around the wagon a little room to work.

———— ———- ———

It slipped in and of consciousness, in pain, bleeding, hungry and cold. It dreamed - if the faded, reclining thoughts of distant lives and hunts dancing on the periphery of memory could really be called dreams. They were more like fragments; some dim and faded around the edges; like the weak, finite flesh which floated fleetingly from its vision. Others were vivid, bright and piercing in their intensity and brilliance.

It saw them, the men, as they approached. It was a half gauged moment, where it seemed as if the men would fade, oblivious to its presence. And, driven by fatigue and pain, in a split second decision it chose to hide, instead of run.

This was a mistake because moments later, it became obvious the men had seen it and they closed in and it was forced to fight. And fight it did, but in its weakened state, still snarling, trying to bite, claw and fang; but it was no use.

It felt a sharp prick in its neck and that was when all strength and wakefulness seemed to leave; and it couldn’t control its own functions so it lay; half in life and half out; lying in its own excrement; with hot urine running down its leg as its muscles shook uncontrollably.

The worst of all the agonies, though, were the smells. The man scent was heavy, like a pollutant, and was what kept it from ever fully falling into a deep slumber. One of the scents was even familiar; kind even and it struggled not to remember because to do so would deny its own existence; its own everything.

It was being moved; it knew; although it did not know how it knew that phrase and so many others which came flying into realization with speeds which were nauseating; which made it curl into a tighter ball; trying to fend off sickness.

Thankfully, sleep would overtake it for moments at a time. But each time was progressively shorter as the death scents drew nearer. By the time the men had nearly entered town; it was crazy from the death scent; driven maddeningly; wanting to shred and depart its own flesh; its own blood and marrow.

Its brothers and sisters had been burned, scorched into nothingness, except for a putrid, brownish ash, which mixed with the snow. There was another human outside and the dearth scent was strong on him. He had been the slayer; the one responsible for the bloodshed; the burning; the inescapable odors that brought it near to frenzied bloodlust; had it not been pricked by the wagon man.

Again its mind reeled and turned against itself as it realized it knew man words, like wagon…Like Jesse…The pain of these realizations were great, albeit not as great as the ringing and throbbing in its nostrils; where death seemed to just collect like a morning frost.

But there was another. A pup it couldn’t see, but could hear; being drug along and kicked by the man with the death scent; the one the other men called…Garvey; yes that was the name and it tried to form the sounds which made the name but it sounded ugly and snarled in the back of its own throat.

It couldn’t see but it heard as Garvey kicked the wolf pup and dragged it and choked it. He didn’t mean to kill the wolf pup; not like the other wolf he killed; whose proud, noble spilling blood it could still smell. It was Garvey, who killed and burned and who was responsible for the pain that wracked its every muscle and which lit every single one of its nerves into writhing, burning agony.

No; Garvey didn’t mean to kill the wolf pup; he meant to enslave it; to subvert it into an abomination of man; something against its very own nature as the wind, the stars, the moon and the night intended.

For a brief instant, Garvey had visited; and their eyes locked in knowing; before the man who’d made it sleep violently shoved him away. The suddenness of the move and the hatred it felt reeling of the man who had put it to sleep had been palpable; it almost tasted the fury; and the blood lust.

It needed to feed. It needed to escape. It needed to survive.

But it slept again; only to be jostled again and then surrounded by humans; again, Garvey was among them and he cursed at it; because he knew when their eyes had locked, that he had been marked for death; and that his bones and blood would be drug across the lands, too rotten and putrid to even feast upon.

Another of the men shouted and the larger crowd of humans backed away. Except for Garvey who was the only one arrogant enough to stand before it, as it felt strength and real wakefulness return to its limbs. It breathed intently, closing its eyes; letting the scent guide and move it. And in a single violent lurch, it twisted free of the men carrying it.

It landed firmly on its feet and launched itself at Garvey; his putrid heat; mixed with sweat, whiskey, fear and the blood of its brothers and sisters on his hands; all of this served as a homing beacon of sorts.

His body was soft; pliant; not taut and sturdy like an elk or a moose. And he shrieked under the weight of its attack; where tooth and nail erupted into a flash of power and violence. For his own part, Garvey attempted to hug its body to him; restricting its movements.

The crowd yelled; but not in horror. The humans were cheering, almost chanting like the natives of the woodlands and the far away tribes it had once known. And this too, gave it power and resolve. But Garvey was strong; and was succeeding in pinning its arms and then its….

Hand. It’s hand, like a human’s, found a leather strap about Garvey’s waist and a bone handle; a big tooth; this too it knew from far away tribes. It unsheathed it, and plunged the long tooth upwards with all its strength; and Garvey’s blood showered out, hot; steaming but also weak and feeble misguided in the winter winds.

And then it felt another stick. And this time it slept.

—— ——- ——

“You fucking little Indian whore, you stabbed me,” hollered Garvey.

Rakov had already jabbed another needle into Namid’s neck, and she was already on the decline, but with clumsy speed and agility born of injured men, Garvey stepped forward and delivered a vicious back hand. The vicious blow landed deafeningly. The crunch of the shattering bones in Namid’s face was sickening and again the gathered townsfolk gasped in horror.

Jesse was upon Garvey in a lightning flash; quickly knocking him to the ground; kicking him in a wild flurry. Garvey tried to roll away, but Jesse easily followed, delivering kick after painful kick, until Garvey’s bones resounded with a hollow crack.

“Stop it Jesse, you’re going to kill him,” screamed the kid, who grabbed the aging tracker roughly by the shoulders and pulling him away. “He ain’t worth it.”

Silence fell and everyone was breathing laboriously, clouds of steam and frost forming on their breath like ghosts.

“I told you to get on Garvey,” the sheriff finally said, snapping everyone from their stupor.

“You’re just going to stand there and not arrest them,” Garvey yelled in outrage at the sheriff.

“You’re damned right I’m not Garvey,” Sheriff Russell screamed. “You’re not a part of this town and you never will be. And you, you people,” Russell screamed, turning his attention to the townsfolk. “You’re worse than he is. He comes in here, preys on your fears, exploits you and y’all let him. You should be ashamed of yourselves, all y’all.”

“Bill,” Ogle said, gently trying to reign the sheriff in.

“No, I got things to say that have needed saying for days now,” Russell continued. “I’m sorry but each and every one of you, should be ashamed of yourselves. Y’all got the nerve to call yourself Christian but you’re right out there with Garvey, who massacred all those poor animals.”

“One of your poor animals was preying on us, or did you forget that Sheriff,” someone in the crowd asked.

“Yeah,” Garvey chimed in. “And speaking of which where is my bounty money?”

Now it was Rakov who walked into the center of the crowd.

“Shut up, all of you,” he screamed. “Especially you Garvey. You don’t have any right to any bounty money.”

Jesse knew what was coming before Rakov eve spoke and he tried, somehow to signal the crazy Russian; but it was no use.

“The hell I don’t,” Garvey shot back.

“Like hell you do,” Rakov replied. “The wolf you killed isn’t responsible for the attacks here. It was responsible for killing the Parsons girl, but not the other three attacks. There. That too is something that needed to be said. Now the rest of you go home or go to hell. We have one single living victim of the attacks; that young lady. And I full well intend to treat her and get as much information as I can so we can track and kill - the right wolf.”

This time the crowd broke up and went on home. Even Garvey slinked away, still bleeding. But he paused and turned around.

“But, but, Doc Ogle, I’m still bleeding,” Garvey said. “Whatever the hell the case may be, I’m bleeding here folks.”

“Walk it off Garvey,” said the sheriff. “Sleep it off or drink it off. I ain’t picky, but get the hell out of my sight before I arrest you.”

With that, Garvey turned around and walked back out of town, to his solitary fire and the few fools who were stupid enough to call him a friend.