He tilted his head back and howled.
It was… well. It was a human trying to sound like a wolf. His voice was hoarse with age, and it came out as more of a yell than anything else.
But then the others joined in, their voices mixing together.
I saw a boy and a girl beating their chests as they sang the song of the wolves.
It went on and on and on as we drove down the road.
They filled the streets as the last car in our caravan passed by, walking slowly after us.
The last sight I had of Green Creek was its people, its strange and wonderful people, letting us know how to find our way home.
We drove without stopping for as long as we could, switching out drivers so everyone could get a chance to sleep. We avoided major cities. We stopped briefly in the middle of nowhere Wyoming, mountains rising up around us. We stretched our legs and ran under stars that seemed infinite in the black sky above us. We spotted a few bison, and though I knew we felt the urge to hunt, we let them be.
Carter sang along with the radio. Elizabeth joined in with Dinah Shore and Peggy Lee.
Once, at near three in the morning, when Kelly was driving and Elizabeth sleeping soundly, her head resting on her son’s jacket against the window, I looked out the back to the bed of the truck. The timber wolf lay on a blanket, head raised. Normally he was hidden in the back of a van that Aileen had brought, but he’d started growing irritated. We were on back roads in Iowa, so we weren’t too worried about someone seeing him. Carter slept next to him, head lolling side to side with the movements of the truck, the wolf’s tail curled over his lap. The wolf must have felt me watching, because he turned to look at me. He flashed his eyes in acknowledgment before laying his head on Carter’s chest.
“He’s close, isn’t he?” I whispered as I turned back around. “To figuring it out.”
Kelly looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Carter?”
“Yeah.”
“I think so.”
“You never thought about telling him?”
Kelly snorted. “All the time. Mom said he needs to figure it out on his own. But I think part of him already knows.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t smelled another person on him in a long time.”
We drove on.
Close to dawn of a summer day in early July:
“We’re close.”
Ox glanced at me from the driver’s seat. “I know.”
Gordo and Mark were in the back. “How much longer?” Gordo asked.
I stared out the window at familiar sights. “Less than an hour.” I glanced at him. “You ever been here?”
“No.” He narrowed his eyes. “Never had a reason.”
This was it. I’d never have another chance. “There are good people here. Innocent people.”
“We know,” Mark said quietly. “But if they’re not with us, then they’re against us.”
I swallowed thickly. “They may not have a choice. I know it’s stupid. And if it comes down to it, if we have to make a decision, then we need to do what we have to.”
“But,” Ox said.
I shook my head. “But we have to save as many of them as we can. Those kids, Ox. We can’t hurt the kids. No matter what. They don’t deserve this. And he will use that against us. He knows we’re coming. This isn’t like Green Creek. This isn’t our territory. It’s his.”