HYBRID KILLERS Read online

  Although I’m not an experienced zoologist, I’ve seen enough dog tracks to recognize these as belonging to the same general family. And though I found this deduction extremely disturbing, it didn’t change the facts; it could only mean that I’d been visited by a wolf.

  The idea that a wolf, or more likely a pack of wolves, since they run in packs, is in the area, doesn’t really bother me. Even a city-boy like me knows that wild animals are fairly timid of humans. But just to be on the safe side, I made a mental note to keep a watchful eye out for them. It might not be a bad idea to carry the gun with me, either, especially if I venture away from the cabin, which I’ll be doing when I go after more firewood.

  With that knowledge in the back of my mind, I returned to the snowdrift and resumed my search for the meat that I’d stashed the night before. Already, the day was growing short, and I still hadn’t eaten anything.

  To make matters worse, because of all the new snowfall, it was almost impossible to discern where the original mound of snow had been. Walking in the direction of where the mound should have been, I suddenly drew up short, and turned back toward the cabin. Looking up, I was suddenly glad that I hadn’t tried lighting a fire in the fireplace this morning. During the night, the snow had drifted back up and over the fireplace chimney, completely encapsulating it.

  My heart sank at the thought of excavating the side of the cabin out from under the snow again. Yet, if I didn’t find my meat allotment, there wasn’t any purpose to it. The chimney would still have to be cleared if I expected to use the fireplace for heating the cabin. But without meat, there wasn’t any need for the wooden locker supposedly buried beneath the huge snowdrift.

  Disheartened, I started randomly driving the short shovel into the snow, hoping to strike the frozen meat. With each plunge, the shovel slid unobstructed into the snow for as far as I could push it. Slowly, almost methodically, I worked my way around the area where I felt confident that I had buried it the night before. But after searching for more than an hour, I had nearly excavated the entire drift from the front of the cabin, and still hadn’t found a trace of my supplies. My stomach was rumbling with hunger pangs, and my limbs were growing stiff. As time wore on, I found myself driving the shovel shallower and shallower into the snow as my arms began to ache under the repeated effort. It was time to eat something, and it didn’t look like it was going to be bacon. Resignedly, my limbs quivering uncontrollably from exhaustion, I gave up for the time being and headed back into the cabin.

  My mood lifted immediately upon entering the cabin; I was both surprised and delighted at how much lighter it was inside with the wood removed from the windows. For the first time since the tragedy, I actually derived a sense of accomplishment from my efforts. It felt good, even if it felt foreign.

  In the new light, I ran my eyes over the shelves of canned foods along the back wall above the sideboard until settling on a tin of clam chowder. Along with eating utensils and knives, I found a rusty old can-opener in the single drawer built into the front of the sideboard next to the cookstove.

  After many cuss words, and a nasty scratch to my left thumb, I managed to get the contents of the can into a kettle on the stove. As an afterthought, I threw in a generous amount of salt, for good measure. While I waited for it to heat, I found an open tin of stale crackers that had been left behind. The necessary eating utensils were in the same drawer as the opener.

  With a solitary place set at the table, I poured myself another cup of coffee. Despite the new snow, and my dwindling supply of firewood, I was feeling better than I had in a long time. Brimming with confidence, I didn’t doubt for a minute that I would find the missing meat that I’d buried in the snow last evening. But first, I would eat some warm food and rest for just a minute to replenish my strength.

  Between the cloying heat emanating from the stove, and the anticipation of finally eating, my mind was skipping merrily along in a euphoric state. My meat allotment was out there; I just hadn’t looked in the right place yet. All the new snow on the ground was throwing my sense of location off, or so I reasoned to myself. Before trying again, however, I determined that I should find a long stick to use in place of the short-handled shovel. There had to be something in this cabin that I could use to probe deeper into the snow than the little shovel.

  By the time the chowder was hot, I was ravenous. After breaking a pack of crackers into a large mixing bowl, I slowly poured the entire contents of the steaming pot over them. Although there were sufficient stores on the shelf to survive for a couple of weeks, I really needed that meat allotment to live comfortably until Fred returned with more supplies. The meat was intended to be the main nourishment, while the supplies on the shelf were only meant to subsidize and offer a little variety, not the other way around.

  Within minutes, I’d wolfed down the whole bowl, scraping the spoon around the bottom so as not to miss a drop. Then, before I forgot, I put the dirty dishes in the washbasin to be cleaned later and added another chunk of wood to the stove. Before I could search for my missing meat, I would have to bring in a kettle of snow to melt; my water can was almost empty from making coffee.

  With the last dregs of the coffee pot in my cup, I sat back at the table and rested for a moment. But even before I put my lips to the edge of the cup, I could smell the burn; this was one cup of coffee that I wasn’t going to finish. From having set on the stove while heating my chowder, it had overcooked, taking on the aroma and taste of burnt rubber. But because it was coffee, and I wasn’t relishing the thought of returning to my chores just yet, I took a meager sip just to verify that it tasted as bad as it smelled. Hurriedly, I set the cup down, putting it as far from my reach as possible so that I wouldn’t be tempted to taste it again. Even now, I was left with an awful aftertaste.

  Rising, I climbed back into my snowsuit and boots before glancing around the cabin, looking for something useful. There was a bamboo walking stick leaning in the corner by the snowshoes. Grabbing it, I reluctantly opened the door.

  Expecting bright sunshine and bitterly sharp, cold air, I was taken completely by surprise when I was confronted by a pack of wolves. They were milling around, almost casually pawing at the snow near where I thought I had stashed my meat allotment the night before. With a sickening feeling, I suddenly realized why I’d been unable to find my meat earlier. They must have been here last night and found my stash. In the dark, they had carried it off. Now they were back for more. Because of their find, they recognized this place as a source of food.

  With my sudden appearance in the doorway, their natural fear of man should have possessed them to run. Instead, they only stopped momentarily to leer at me before continuing in their search; it was almost as if I wasn’t even there. Their reaction to my sudden presence in their midst was very unnerving. Or rather, the way they failed to react to my presence was unnerving.

  Moving ever so slowly, I backed into the cabin and secured the door behind me. Hurrying to the nearest window, I looked on with mounting dread as the pack of wolves continued futilely trying to dig up anymore of my now depleted meat allotment. I was in too much shock for the consequences of what I was seeing to thoroughly sink into my numbed mind.

  Of one thing, I was sure though, as I silently watched the wolves give up and head out across the clearing in the direction that Fred had taken when he left; I couldn’t stay here for the whole month on the food supplies I had on hand!

  Fortunately, I had more on the shelves than just what I brought, thanks to the last residents having left behind what they had.

  Glancing anxiously at the shelves with renewed fervor, I quickly, estimated that there was enough to last me two and one-half weeks. And even then, they would only last that long if I severely rationed myself. The bulk of my nourishment was intended to come from the frozen meat allotment, and that was gone to me.

  Sinking dejectedly into the wooden chair by the plank table, I cradled my head in my hands. My prior feelings of euphoria had all but abandoned me
, having been sadly replaced by feelings of depression and solitude. Although the fire was still going strong in the cookstove, it was consuming the last of the firewood I’d brought in from outside. If I didn’t at least bring some more in, and soon, I was going to be in for a cold spell.

  Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to see the importance of it anymore. Because I’d lost so much in my life already, it almost seemed fitting that I should lose the bulk of my food supplies too. For the first time since arriving at the cabin, I contemplated the fact that I might die up here. And now suddenly, for the first time since the tragedy, I wasn’t ready to die! It just didn’t seem fair!

  Getting to my feet suddenly, I strolled forcefully across the expanse of the cabin, coming to a halt at the foot of the cot. Bending over, feeling the folds of fabric that comprised the snowsuit resisting my movements, I slid the footlocker from beneath the cot. Throwing the lid back, I reached in and retrieved the gun. With growing anger and determination, I checked to make sure that it was loaded. Satisfied, I rose and strode back to the window.

  Scanning the snow-covered expanse in front of the cabin, I debated waiting for them to return. Grimly, I had decided that if the wolves could take my food, then I would have to take one of them in its place. I knew I wasn’t thinking rationally, but I was mad!

  For the first time since the tragedy, I was mad as Hell! It wasn’t fair that so much bad had to happen to me. Well, no more! I was taking back control of my life. No more was I just going numbly along for the ride!

  Not seeing any sign of the wolves, I got the snowshoes down from where they were hanging, and methodically checked the bindings for weather cracking and wear. Although I didn’t know much about snowshoes, I knew it was imperative that the bindings not break and leave me stranded in a worse predicament than I was in now.

  Fortunately, someone had the foresight to wax the bindings against the dry heat generated from burning wood. Instead of being weak and brittle, they were soft and pliable, ready for use. Satisfied, I set them by the door and went in search of anything else that might come in handy.

  While looking through the utensil drawer, a small scrap of my sanity returned, questioning my intentions. In all of my life, I’d never gone hunting, never killed anything. The thought of killing an animal that was only doing what came naturally was stirring my conscience and raising a protest like so much bile in my craw. It wasn’t right. There were other options. Furthermore, I couldn’t truthfully say whether I would be killing the poor beast for its meat, or out of anger, a simple act of striking out against all the injustices against me, perceived or otherwise.

  Slowly, I turned away from the sideboard and sank back to the chair at the table. Already, it was growing chilly in the cabin as the fire was burning down; I could feel it on my face, even though the suit and boots protected the rest of my body.

  This was only my second day on the mountain, and already I’d reached a crossroads in my life. One certainty lay before me; I couldn’t remain in the cabin and wait for Fred to return with more supplies. To do so, meant almost certain death. My options were limited. I could hunt down and kill a wolf, which was a disgusting idea, even if I could get over the idea of eating a relative of the dog family. Or I load up everything I can carry, and hike back to Sandy’s cabin.

  As appealing as the idea first seemed, the more consideration I gave it, the less I grew to like it. Although the thought of seeing Sandy again was exciting, I wasn’t sure my pride would let me bring my burdens to her doorstep. Even if she didn’t disdain me for showing up on her doorstep unannounced, with both of us sharing her supplies, we’d have to begin rationing immediately. Could I set my pride aside long enough to accept her generosity? And even more importantly, would her generosity be willingly forthcoming, or would it be resentfully given?

  I had to ask myself how I would feel if she showed up on my doorstep unannounced. Would I greet her with open arms, willing to set my own troubles aside for the time being, so that we could face the hardship together, as a team? My answer was a resounding yes! But how could I be sure that she felt the same as I, or even remotely like I did?

  Reminiscing back to the time outside her cabin when we first met, I forced myself to remember every detail. And the more I remembered the more certain I grew that she wouldn’t resent my unannounced arrival. In fact, if she felt just a small part of what I was feeling, she would be glad to see me again!

  Though I wanted desperately to believe that it was really possible, it was a hard pill to swallow. Because of the tragedy, not to mention the solitary lifestyle that I led before it, my social skills were rusty at best. It didn’t help, that my first experience with a woman eventually ended in divorce. And just because we produced a beautiful, loving daughter, didn’t mean the marriage was perfect; it was far from it!

  But that was in the past, and many years from here. If my ex-wife were in that cabin back there, I would stay here and rot! But since she isn’t the woman back there, I will hike the distance, and look forward to our reunion with joy. First, though, I must find something so that I can carry as much of these supplies as possible. By the end of the month, we might appreciate even the most inconsequential item.

  Unable to come up with a backpack, I emptied my ditty bag of unnecessary items and headed toward the shelves. My first priority was the items that could be eaten without needing preparation. These I stuffed into the bottom of the bag along with the rusty can opener. To the top of this heavy pile, I added a bath towel, all-weather matches, some of the old newspapers, and a dry set of clothes. These last filled the bag to bursting. If I tried to fit anything else in, I risked busting the seams out.

  After hefting it to get a feel for the weight and bulk, I lugged it over to the door and set it next to the snowshoes and walking stick. Next, I put the last of the kindling in the cookstove and opened the vent, bringing the flame up. Almost immediately, I could feel the rising heat emanating from the metal cooking surface.

  Standing back, I closed my eyes and luxuriated in the warmth as it flowed softly over my face. When I opened my eyes, I noticed that the room had grown dimmer, the shadows falling through the windows longer and paler. The day was almost over. It would be full dark soon. In the mountains, it took just minutes for night to fall as the sun dipped behind the horizon. Since I would need as much daylight as possible, it was much too late to set out. There was much too great a chance for getting lost, or falling down and breaking a limb. Either of which could mean the end for me.

  Instead, I decided to use up some of the supplies that I couldn’t carry with me. Since there wasn’t much left on the shelves, my eyes went immediately to the large sack of pancake batter sitting by itself. The thought of stuffing myself on pancakes, and then getting a good night’s sleep, suddenly sounded too good to resist. Just the thought of food made my mouth water; I desperately needed to eat. At the first light of the day, after a restful night on a full stomach, I’ll set out.

  Although I wasn’t sure how long or arduous my journey would be, I had sense enough to know it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. In so far as getting a weather forecast, the short-wave radio was useless to me. Weather conditions changed so fast in the mountains, it could be bright and clear sunshine one minute, and the next could be a full-blown blizzard. Besides, I didn’t feel as though I really had a choice. My back was against the wall.

  Maybe after eating and resting, I would come up with a new idea, something that didn’t involve infringing me upon her. Even though hers was the nearest cabin that I was aware of, and thus the most obvious choice to head toward, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would be imposing upon her good nature. If I thought there was any chance of reaching Fred and his wife without intruding on Sandy, I would attempt it first. Or would I? Did I really not want to see her again?

  While I gathered the pancake mix and necessary utensils, my mind continued debating the woman that I’d just briefly met. The vision of her eyes looking into mine remained in the forefron
t of my thoughts. Without understanding why, I knew that I had to see her again.

  I suddenly froze in my tracks, my thoughts of Sandy overridden by the reality of footsteps tearing across the roof above my head. After listening for a moment, I came to the conclusion that the wolves’ hunger had over ridden their fear of man, and they had come back in search of more food.

  There didn’t seem any point in going out and scaring them away, since they’d already done all the damage they could, when they stole my meat allotment. At least, I thought they’d done all the damage they could to me. But either way, going outside in the dark to scare them away seemed to be nothing more than a fruitless effort and waste of time; I was making pancakes.

  After mixing all the pancake batter in a large bowl, I shoveled it out in uniform heaps on the stovetop, pouring piles until the bowl was empty. Looking over the multitude of steaming cakes, I knew that I couldn’t possibly eat them all. Yet, my thoughts were such that I would leave what I couldn’t consume tonight and again in the morning, in a heap by the front door. My intentions were to entice the wolves into hanging around the cabin under the pretense that this is where the food was, rather than following after me. Although I wasn’t afraid of the wolves per se, as long as I had my revolver handy, I didn’t feel in the least bit threatened by them. However, if I should get lost, or worse, I could do without the added danger that would be created by their presence.

  Ignoring the sound of their feet treading across the roof, I filled a plate with pancakes and smothered them in syrup. They could have used some butter, but I was unable to locate any. It might have been with my missing meat, or it might never have gotten packed. Nonetheless, they were delicious, the best pancakes I could ever remember eating.