When Wolves Cry

Taking a quick three hundred-and-sixty degree scan of the area, he saw nothing.  Even though ready for danger, he felt none.  Relaxing a little, he started a slower search of the immediate area and located the only place someone could hide and still be in a position to watch the.tree.  Since the tree was for him to find, he reasoned the watcher would set himself to keep it in view to study his reactions.

Well, if reason holds sway, it’s right over there, CH thought to himself as he glanced down to the ground so that he could step without making noise.  He’ll never know why he looked down, since if someone was watching him, it wouldn’t matter how much noise he made, but he did.  At the base of the tree he had been ready to scar a few minutes ago was a footprint.  A human footprint.  Not whole but the toes back to the ball of the foot.  Not large, maybe one of a woman or child.  Whoever left the message carved in the tree stood on the ball of their foot to carve the tree.  It helped to reinforce CH’s idea the print was a child’s.

“Who’s there?” CH asked, feeling a little foolish speaking to the trees.  “If there’s anyone there, say something.  I won’t hurt you.  I just want to know why you’re playing with my hunting party?  It’s extremely dangerous to be screwing around where you have a chance of getting shot.  If we don’t know where you’re at when you’re playing your pranks, then we might hit you accidentally.  Is anyone there?”

Walking towards the only acceptable hiding place as he talked, CH watched for any movement from the concealment.  Closing in on the brush where he thought whomever it was might be hiding, he saw movement. Something that blended in with the brush was moving in there.  Not knowing what it was, even if he did not feel any danger, he kept the rifle ready as he inched closer.

Closing in, CH had no idea what he expected to find in the brush.  Would it be one of the Indian kids from the reservation?  What the fuck was he thinking, the reservation was sixty some odd miles to the southwest.  They didn’t see any vehicles on the road and CH knew the road they came up on dead-ended where they parked at the top of the mountain.  Shit, there was no way any fucking living thing could get up here without their knowledge.  Becoming slightly apprehensive now, he stepped up to the brush and parted the living entanglement in front of him with the barrel of the rifle.

Between the small shoots of brush the rifle barrel had separated, CH saw the fur of an animal.  One that didn’t run at the sight of the Indian peering in at him.  Reaching up with his right hand, he curled his fingers around the twigs he figured were interrupting the view he wanted.  Pulling the twigs to the right, CH was now eye-to-eye with what he was seeking.  The eyes entered his mind, scared him and searched his soul.  This feeling and more were rushing through him as his eyes locked into the yellow orbs of the wolf staring at him.

“Hey, scout, are you there?  Com’on, scout, answer,” CH could hear Sean saying over the radio.

When CH started walking towards and talking to the brush he figured concealed the person watching him, he moved the microphone of the radio to the side.  He didn’t want Sean and the others to get worried listening to him ask the trees if they were alive.  Now he didn’t have a choice.  He either had to answer Sean or he was sure Sean would head down the side of the gorge to find him.  Letting the brush slip back to its original position, he compensated by moving his head left so that he could still see the yellow eyes in the brush.  Searching with his right hand for the mouth piece, he couldn’t find it.  Glancing quickly to his right shoulder, he saw the microphone had hidden itself under the collar of his coat.  Lifting the collar, he freed the mike and again faced the brush.  No yellow orbs were there, nor was there any hair to designate where the eyes should be.  The animal was gone without a sound and had done it in the two seconds CH took to look at his shoulder.