Hitchhikers (23 page)

“Leave it,” I say. I always liked Led
Zeppelin, those few times whoever I hitched a ride with liked
classic rock. The songs all felt like they were about travelling,
roaming, wandering… sort of like me, I guess.

About twenty minutes later a yellow light
appears on the dashboard. “What does that mean?” I figure it out as
I say the words. “Crap.”

“What?” Zeke leans over to look. “Oh.”

The gas gauge’s needle points right at the
red letter E, and the yellow light is in the shape of a gas
pump.

“So, uh, we’ve got no money,” I reiterate
from our previous conversation. “Any other suggestions?”

“I guess we could steal some gas.” Zeke
shrugs. “I know how to siphon gas, if we can get a hose and maybe a
funnel.”

Where on earth would we get a hose? “Or we
could steal another car.”

“We could rob a gas station, like hold
someone at gunpoint and make them fill our tank.”

“How about we call a tow truck, then steal
that?”

Zeke and I trade a few more suggestions
before we can’t think of anything more ridiculous and our immediate
dilemma sinks in. We drive in silence.

“How long after the low fuel light comes on
before the tank is actually empty?” I ask.

“No clue.”

When the car runs out of gas a few miles
later, we have no choice but to get out and start walking.

“It was a good idea, while it lasted,” Zeke
says.

“Thanks.”

For a time I wonder if it would be better if
we turned wolf and crossed the miles that way, the way Kayla always
wanted to do, the way Kayla and I did during those dark days I
barely remember until I woke to find I’d eaten a child. For the
first time I wonder what the point of leaving that injured,
helpless creature there was. Kayla said the other pack left the
little girl there as some kind of bait, and clearly it worked – I
showed up, didn’t I? – yet the other pack didn’t attack us. Were
they watching, just trying to get a good look at their
competition?

If so, what did they see? A monster, or a
pathetic starving piece of shit with no respect for human life?

Maybe Kayla was lying. To make me not feel
like a monster.

It’s better for us to be human, Zeke and I.
Maybe I can control Zeke and maybe it was just a fluke, but if Zeke
got out of control what would I do, when I can barely control
myself?

Just as I think this, Zeke growls, “I’m
hungry.”

Shit.

I look around at the desolate whiteness
surrounding us. Even if there was a rabbit prancing along right at
that moment, no way I could hunt it down, not with all the traffic
on this road and no trees. “Look.” I point to a sign up ahead.
“Truck stop, four miles. Think you can wait that long?”

Zeke mumbles what I hope is an okay.

I’m hoping for a diner where we can chew and
screw, or maybe do some dishes to pay for our meals if they’re
feeling generous and Zeke hasn’t killed anyone yet. What I get, as
I go on almost 24 hours without food, is a rest stop with a couple
of vending machines.

We break into a run and assault the machines
with little regard for the two truckers whose big rigs are idling
in the parking lot and the family belonging to the beige minivan.
The rest stop is basically two restrooms with a roof bridging the
space between and protecting the vending machines. Zeke’s muttering
gibberish and growls and I hold back, alert to see how human he
appears, ready to grab him if he begins to look too wolfish. He
smashes the glass front of one of the machines and grabs bags of
chips, cookies, I can barely see what he’s taking because it seems
like he’s grown bigger, taking up the space that was once the glass
front of the machine.

“Okay, Zeke, I think you’ve got enough,” I
say.

His head whips around and all I see are teeth
bared at me.

Just then, a mother and her school-age
daughter walk out of the women’s restroom. I see the way the mother
pushes her daughter behind her, how they cower against the wall,
fearfully taking in the two teen boys who have destroyed a vending
machine. Maybe she doesn’t see Zeke’s wolfish face pushing out, but
she knows something’s wrong and once she runs to her car with her
daughter in tow, she’ll dial the police on her cell phone and then
we’ll be caught.

“Zeke, let’s go.”

I head out the other side of the rest stop
building, toward the back of the parking lot. My brain feels a pull
when I turn away, but I pull back and then I hear Zeke’s footsteps
echoing mine.

Hunkered down behind some thorny bushes, I
try to eat some of the packaged food. It’s too salty – my throat is
dry, and I end up coughing. I wait, listening for the sound of
sirens after the minivan peels off, but there’s nothing.

“Wait here,” I tell Zeke. Not that it
matters. He’s in a feeding frenzy and I can see wrappers going down
along with the chips.

Back at the rest stop I listen for anyone
else in the bathrooms, but the two truckers from before must have
gone. I head into the bathroom.

When I catch sight of myself in the mirror,
it really surprises me that the woman didn’t call the police. I’ve
got blood on my temple – not my blood, either – and myriad bruises
and cuts on my face. I shove my face into the sink and gulp water
until my mouth gets too cold, then try to scrub the blood off. Ears
alert for approaching footsteps, I untuck my shirt and lift it to
look at my ribs.

The bandage is dark red and stiff. I pick at
the tape and slowly peel it away to check out the real damage. With
everything going on, my injuries have been the last thing on my
mind. The stitches held up pretty well, considering the changes my
body went through. The thread broke in the middle and unraveled,
leaving about an inch of half-healed skin. I touch the white scar
tissue lightly. Still sore, but healed. I just hope the inside has
healed as well as the outside.

I don’t want it to get infected, so I wash it
carefully and stick some of the tape I salvaged from the soiled
bandage to a folded up square of toilet paper that will serve as a
clean dressing. Better than nothing.

Next, my leg.

With my foot on the sink and my jeans rolled
up, I can see that my leg’s looking even better than my ribs.
Completely healed, and only the faintest of white lines where the
teeth of the bear trap bit. I yank out these stitches as well and
wash my leg. Good as new.

I gulp some more water and start to wash my
hair in the sink before remembering Zeke out there in the woods
eating snack packs of Lays and Doritos and Chips Ahoy. He’s never
been hungry like I’ve been. I imagine he’s ravenous. And who knows
if he might black out and start killing people like I might have at
his age.

Drying off my hair with a fistful of paper
towels, I rush back out to where Zeke was.

He’s gone.

The smell lurks in the air, so heavy I’m not
sure how I didn’t smell it before, when Zeke and I were eating.
They must have been here watching us even then. My shoulders slump
and I stare at the mess of cellophane and wrappers on the ground.
All I had smelled was the food.

snap out of it

They can’t be far. I was only in a bathroom a
few minutes. A quick glance around tells me the rest stop is
deserted. I take off my clothes, scowling at the cold air as I
stash them behind a tree, and

change

The scent is clearer now, painfully clear.
Zeke’s unwashed body odor drowns out that piney milk smell I once
associated with him. But there’s that black wolf smell again, that
wild musky smell. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. I don’t smell
any others.

I don’t smell lilacs, either.

I follow the scent. It’s strong here where
Zeke and I sat, spreading wider than where we had crouched. Zeke
must have put up a fight. I circle until I find a trail leading
away. Strong, so strong I can run and still follow it. Winding into
the trees, then back toward the rest stop. It stops before the rest
stop. Exhaust and motor oil fills the air.

As a wolf I can’t see as well as when I’m
human, so I change to make sure. A narrow dirt road, more of a dead
end, coming from the rest area parking lot, the perfect place to
hide a car. A car was here. I can see the tire tracks from when it
drove off in a hurry.

Footprints of several people scuffling around
are here too.

Trudging back to where I’ve hidden my
clothes, I puzzle through this. The black wolf came back, and took
Zeke away in a car. I have no idea where they’re headed. Or why the
black wolf didn’t stay to take me on.

It occurs to me that it was the black wolf
who bit Zeke in the first place, so maybe Zeke and this other wolf
have some kind of connection. Maybe I can’t be Zeke’s alpha if he
was bitten by someone else.

It occurs to me that I should have changed
back into wolf form instead of hiking back through the snow, as my
feet are now completely numb.

I get there soon enough, half running to keep
warm, and start pulling on my clothes. I don’t know if I can track
down Zeke, but I do know that if I can ever bet back home, at the
very least my mother and my aunt can help me out. And Kayla, if she
has been killed by those other wolves already.

No time to think about it. I slip-slide-run
into the parking lot, look around. A man in flannel and a down vest
is coming out of the bathroom, heading for the big rig idling next
to the building. “Hey,” I call, slowing down when I see that I’ve
startled him. “Hi. Can you give me a ride?”

“A ride?” The trucker’s gaze flickers back
and forth. He’s trying to come up with an excuse not to. I’m so
used to getting rides only from people who stop that I’m rendered
speechless for a few moments.

“I need to get to Montana,” I say. “Please.”
I finally catch his eye and plead with my own.

Montana please important Kayla Zeke need to
get there

He scratches up under his cap, where the hair
is sparser than the gray ruff around his ears. “That’s a far piece
off. I’m only going as far as Rapid City.”

“Great! That would be great! Thank you!” So
he didn’t come out and agree to give me a ride, but my enthusiasm
must have eased his fears of serial killer hitchhikers, because
after giving my second-hand clothes and lack of any supplies a
once-over, he nods and walks toward his truck.

We’ve been on the road cruising north for a
time before he says, “My name’s Roy.”

“I’m Dan.”

“What’s in Montana?”

I remember a time when someone asking me all
kinds of questions would have made me dizzy and murderous. I can
control the wolf now. I don’t have to hide now. I have a mission, a
purpose. No more running away.

“Home.”

In Rapid City Roy drops me off when he stops
at the end of the off-ramp. “Thanks,” I say, hopping down. I walk
back up to the highway, and keep walking until finally the
exhaustion catches up to me. I need food. No one’s gonna stop for
me on a highway this big, a highway peppered with signs prohibiting
hitchhiking.

I veer off, away from the road. This is all
barren, covered in snow. Rolling hills upon hills of white. I slog
through over the crest of a hill and collapse. I’m not sure I can
control my wolf when I’m this hungry. I’m not sure there’s even any
animals to hunt out here. Not many other options.

My clothes I leave in a heap on the
ground.

Sharp, the smells are sharp, crisp. The
faintest whiff of prairie dog and I’m racing across the crust of
snow, sniffing and digging and crunching down bones and fur that I
then have to cough up. Then I keep running. I’m tired but my wolf
isn’t; I give him enough free rein that he goes into autopilot,
finding north with one of those animal instincts humans lost along
the way. Finding home.

I’ve got a few hundred miles to go.

My paws hurt. When my wolf gets tired I take
over. Running and running and running. In my waking dreams I see
Kayla. Though her lips move, I cannot hear her speak.

I collapse after the second sunset. The paw
prints leading to my location in the snow are bloody. In the
darkness no dreams come, but I feel a presence in the darkness. Is
it the black wolf, come to torment me in my sleep? The exhaustion
doesn’t give me any energy to worry.

A prickling scent awakens me in the late
morning. It feels as though only moments have passed but night has
passed into early dawn. I stretch, shake off the sleep, then crouch
low to the ground while I try to discern the scent.

Smoke, from a distant chimney. The sky is a
stark blue with no hint of any fire burning nearby.

A family must be warming themselves by their
fireplace some ways off, behind the trees. I turn to continue
north, when the prickling becomes less about the smoke than another
scent behind it. A feeling.

Not a chimney. I inhale. Not a little
fireplace fire. Something big is burning. An entire house, a
forest? I can’t explain the jittery feeling chattering over nerves.
Though my stomach is empty, I close my eyes and let the wolf guide
me.

danger help save run protect the pack

I rise up and we run together, my wolf’s fear
fueling us. My pack – Kayla, Zeke? I imagine them bound and gagged,
at the mercy of the black wolf and his alpha, that unknown enemy.
Running running running – beating the ground like a war drum,
spurring me on.

And on.

And on.

In the wilderness there are no signs, nothing
to say “Wolf Point – 5 miles.” I run and run, the pounding of paws
on earth becoming the rhythm of my breathing and my heartbeat. I
stop only to eat and to rest long enough for my paws to heal.

The landscape blurs beneath us. I smell a
familiar scent – a train – and suddenly I am transported.