Ashton Daigle

The full moon seemed to radiate stronger than a burning sun and, along with a cloudless sky and seemingly endless canopy of stars, lit up the night on all sides, as Jesse and Rakov made their way to Mill Creek.

It was also a quiet night. There seemed to be no night time sounds, no crickets, no wind, nothing save for the solitary sounds of their horses hooves clopping repeatedly onto the tired earth, as they traveled.

As far as plans went, they didn’t have much of one. Jesse had inquired earlier and Rakov only patted what Jesse thought was his rifle holster, which was strapped to the horse’s side. But instead, Rakov removed a slender, hollow tube that resembled a tube.

“You going to charm her into submission, like a snake charmer?” Jesse asked.

“No,” Rakov replied. “It’s a blow gun, favored by a lot of African tribes. I have darts which are coated with a powerful sedative. All we have to do is get close enough to her, and the darts will take care of the rest.”

“What if the sedative ain’t strong enough?” Jesse had asked.

“Then I guess it’s going to be a long night,” was Rakov’s reply.

They heard her long before they saw her.

They hadn’t even made it to the creek yet, but had already tied the horses and were slowly making their way through the under and over growth, when they first heard her.

It was low at first, sort of a low mournful mewl that echoed off the craggy rocks surrounding the creek in such a fashion that it seemed as if the sound were all around them; the only sound on earth. As they made their way it rose in urgency into a pitiful, desolate, howling noise; punctuated by the occasional grunt or groan.

It was the strangest, most frightening sound either man had ever heard before in their lives; at some points sounding human, others more like a wolf, and still others, like nothing ever accounted for in all of nature, through all of time.

Rakov was about to speak but Jesse gave him the signal to be quiet.

“It sounds as if she is in labor now,” Rakov persisted, in a whisper.

“I know that, but if we hurry, our approach may be masked, especially if she gets noisier as she comes closer to birth,” Jesse said.

They finally made it to the creek, but just as they did, Rakov lost his footing and almost went in. Jesse grabbed him roughly by his forearm and jerked him upright and warned, “We have to be quieter than this or she is going to hear us.”

Rakov nodded and they continued.

It was still cold out, if not freezing pretty close to it, and both men now had wet their feet in the creek water and the chill had risen up through both their bloodstreams making them shiver slightly as they slowly progressed.

The closer they got, the more terrible the noises became. The grunts and panting grew louder; but it was the screams which punctuated these sounds that were the hardest to listen to. It sounded as if she were in terrible pain, excruciating agony.

Finally, thankfully, they reached an outcropping of rock, climbed and emerged on their bellies, under the cover of a fir tree, located right near the mouth of the cave. They couldn’t have positioned themselves to a better view if they had tried; and now that they had, they were stuck, forced to watch.

Namid was lying on her side; still more or less in wolf form; but also seeming to hover between the two states of being; as if her humanity were trying to struggle through. Both Jesse and Rakov’s hearts were pounding, their bodies freezing as they lay transfixed; voyeuristic.

But even if they wanted to look away, they couldn’t. Namid screamed again; this time the proximity amplifying the sound in their ears, as her entire body buckled and convulsed.

Her head was titled to the side at an impossible angle, as if someone had snapped her neck; her tongue lolled lazily out of the side of her mouth and her eyes periodically rolled into the back of her head. She howled as her body tightened again, going through another contraction.

The strain was obvious as she clinched her whole body up again, and then a slight calm fell over her as another noise, the wailing of a screaming infant filled the night. Jesse and Rakov could not clearly see the infant, because of the way her body was positioned, but it certainly seemed to have a healthy set of human lungs. It wailed loudly as if indignant at its arrival into the elements.

Namid, or the creature she had become, barely got a chance to see the new offspring. As she craned her neck to examine it, she suddenly arched backwards, caught in the throes of another contraction; this one seeming even sharper, more urgent than those that came with the passage of the first child.

Although he knew it was utterly unnatural for a wolf to give birth to a human, there was a part of Jesse that was immensely relieved that the first child was, in fact, human. And as Namid contorted in lupine agony, a part of him also prayed the second child would be human as well.

“It is almost time,” said Rakov, who was now readying the blow gun, much to Jesse’s dismay.

“You can’t just go and shoot her while she’s giving birth,” Jesse said.

“We cannot wait for long after because she will regain strength, though,” Rakov urged. “We will certainly not live if we allow her to regain strength.”

“Just look at her, does she look like she’s regaining any strength?” Jesse asked.

But Rakov didn’t answer and again, the creature screamed out, bellowing in agony. Its breaths came in wheezing rasps though, and it repeatedly tried to lick its lips dryly, as its body began to shiver.

This went on for two more terrible hours; a seemingly endless cycle of pain; as the creature writhed, contorted and tried to give birth

“I think she’s in trouble,” Jesse said. “Something isn’t right. We need to do something.”

But Rakov placed his hand firmly on Jesse’s forearm and whispered, “I fear you are correct, but there is nothing we can do for her now.”

The creature continued to push, and moan, and contort and scream until finally, after its entire body shuddered uncontrollably there was a slight plopping sound; the wet smack of birth, slapping the cold hard stone. Although the first child continued to scream shrilly, the latter was motionless.

Exhausted, Namid laid there in a pathetic heap, panting. As her breathing normalized a little, she began to whimper, slightly from deep within the back of her throat at first, then more steady and high-pitched like a dog.

It was the loneliest sound in the universe and Jesse could feel his heart breaking and shattering over and over again.

Namid managed to get herself onto all fours, albeit she was weak and unstable. Her body was wracked through and through as it tried to catch its breath. She gently nudged the thing that had just been born, but it was still; and a terrible motionless calm fell over the whole valley.

And with all the majesty and all the sorrow of every wolf, of times as ancient as the world itself, she tossed her head back and howled mournfully.

What happened next was a blur, and even years later, in old age, Jesse Cade was unable to exactly put into words the proper sequence of events.

Rakov readied the blow gun as the creature still had its head thrust back, howling at the dwindling and dying moon.

In fact, Jesse had wanted to tell Rakov to just wait an hour; probably not even that long; because he could see the thinnest sliver of the rising sun far off to the east. Had they just waited until the sun rose, Namid might have changed back into human form. That, coupled by her weakened state, would have undoubtedly made her capture easy; possibly with no resistance at all.

But Rakov knew this. Just before he withdrew the blow gun, he even glanced at Jesse and then east, to where the strip of sunrise was beginning to spread like a slow, taunting grin. Rakov knew, he knew it all along.

Yet, it was as if there was a part of son of a bitching, stubborn Russian that wanted the fight; that saw no glory in apprehending a worn out girl who had just gone through labor for the past three hours.

Rakov had the shot, even though they were both still laying flat on their bellies. It would have been a clean shot to the neck and the creature wouldn’t have been any wiser until it felt the dart.

But instead, Rakov propped himself upright on one knee. In the process, the big Russian knocked a couple stones loose, which was all the sound the creature needed. It froze in mid howl and glanced sat them and crouched, snarling viciously at them as it arched its back.

Its entire posture altered into an attack position. Rakov fired the dart and it hit the creature in the chest. But it didn’t even flinch. It only snarled louder and then launched itself.

Jesse’s own combat skills then took over. He went up one knee, drew his rifle and fired. The bullet struck the creature in its undercarriage; probably near the chest or ribs; and it howled in pain. But nothing could stop its momentum and it landed practically on top of both men.

Jesse ducked and rolled far to the left; but still felts its claws rake a hot deep trail down his back, ripping his jacket and tearing deep into his flesh. It was only a glancing blow. He spun around and looked. The creature had clamped its jaws on; or around Rakov’s neck and didn’t let go.

A bubbling inferno of blood poured from the Russian’s throat, but he somehow, incredibly found the strength to somehow stand completely up; with the creature still lodged at his throat. Rakov’s stubby but strong fingers dug into the creature’s throat; thumb’s pressing into its windpipe and for a moment it gurgled; as if it were being choked.

But it only continued to bite down harder, driving its muzzle; burrowing deeper and deeper into Rakov’s throat, past flesh, past sinews; deeper and deeper into the gore as it shook its heavily muscled neck.

Jesse saw Rakov’s grasp loosen. He saw Rakov’s hands fell away completely and spasm in violent, ecstatic death. Rakov fell to the ground, with the creature still clamped on his neck. For an instant the creature was pinned beneath Rakov’s large frame but it wriggled out quickly and then turned to face Jesse.

But Jesse had used the melee to reposition himself. And when the creature turned to face Jesse, it saw that Jesse had placed himself between it and the still screaming infant. A mother’s rage boiled inside the creature that was once Namid; or Nadia; or whatever this age-old creature was.

It was just about to launch itself when Jesse raised his rifle again and fired; shooting it expertly in its left rear paw. It howled, snarled and limped in pain but, wincing in pain, tried to launch itself at Jesse. Jesse fired again, this time right over the creature’s head.

“Stop,” Jesse screamed.

It did. It was still snarling and it stared at Jesse with hatred in its eyes; or was it love; sometimes the two seem as one.

“Back the fuck off,” Jesse hollered, stepping forward with the rifle still resting against his shoulder, aimed at the creature. There were tears in his eyes, because he knew at once that he could kill and couldn’t kill this creature.

It growled and advanced a step and Jesse fired again, hitting it in its rear flank, near its right hip. This time, its eyes almost seemed human. Jesse knew then, at that second, that a resolution was needed immediately; because he wouldn’t be able to cope; to handle this; if it changed back into Namid’s human form.

“Get,” he hollered. “It ain’t right for you to take this baby. You and I both know that. Ordinarily, I’d say a child needs its mother. But this isn’t ordinary. If I thought this baby would have a better life with you, I’d walk away. But what kind of life would it have, always running, always hiding, always hunted and never being able to call one place home. You know I’m right. It stays with me. And in exchange, you get your life. Take it or leave it.”

The creature stared at him for what seemed like an eternity and then gradually began to back up, away from them both.

“You got one minute before I start shooting again,” Jesse said, knowing now, that the creature was intelligent enough to completely understand him. “And the next shots will count. I can promise you that.”

The creature turned away defiantly, almost haughtily, as it limped away slowly, taking its time. Jesse fired once more, just over its head; and this time it glanced back at him one last time, then turned west and ran quickly away, vanishing into what was left of the night.

When he was sure the creature was gone, Jesse crossed himself, and then quickly went to the young and still living infant; a baby boy; Logan, he thought, would be a fine and fitting name. He cleaned the child up using water from his canteen. He then sterilized his knife using vodka from Rakov’s bag and then severed the excess umbilical chord and then swathed the child up in warm blankets and built a small fire.

He held the baby, standing near the warm fire, and lulled the child into a gentle sleep. When he was sure the baby was asleep he laid it near the fire and used his knife to dig two holes; one small; the other large. When he was done he laid the still born child; a girl; to rest; and then did the same with Rakov’s shredded remains. He covered them both as best he could in the shallow graves and said a prayer and then again crossed himself.

He put the fire out, gathered up the child and left Mill Creek. The sun had risen. It was a new day.