Wilding

Wilding Under the bright full moonlight, Jack watched the ridge, as the wolf came into the clearing. Jack was on the ridge opposite, downwind, and concealed in a pine grove. The cross hairs of his scope were on the canine haunch. The dart silently crossed the several hundred feet between them and the wolf snarled in rage. It spun around looking for a target but could find none. Jack stepped out of the blind and shouted, “Hey, Wolf!” They locked eyes for an instant, and then the wolf was flying. Downhill, over treacherous terrain, it raced with stunning agility and grace. Like a puma, it leapt over the wide stream in the gully. With astonishing speed, it tore up the opposite slope toward Jack, who said a quick prayer to himself that both the distance and the dosage be of proper measure. In a matter of moments, the wolf was almost upon him. It screamed its rage, and leapt the final short yardage. Jack backed up a yard or two. The wolf fell to the ground and slid on the thick blanket of pine needles, to a stop at Jack’s feet. Jack returned his side arm to its holster. He quickly dragged the animal into the pine grove, to the thickest tree. He retrieved the items of bondage from the nearby cache. He dropped his jangling burden beside his conquest, the noise of it ringing through the trees. He wrapped chains around the wolf’s limbs and throat, and then placed the heavy padlocks in strategic fashion. Some chain had been afforded slack that a lock pulled tight. That was for later, when loosening would be required. This was exhausting work, given that this wolf weighed nearly two-hundred pounds. Ridiculously large by known standards. Though Jack was unimpressed, laymen and biologists alike would be astounded by this, were they ever to see it. That would not happen though. Jack was an old hand at this. When it was securely encased in more wrappings of chain and more locks than might seem necessary, Jack placed the homemade rebar muzzle over its snout, and then went to work chaining the assemblage to the tree. It was a male, freakishly large, and its coat was a uniform brown. No variation in color, no markings one would expect. This was no timber wolf. It would be a while before his captive would awaken, so Jack placed his dart rifle back in its soft case and produced a meal from the large pockets of his camouflage jacket. He removed his ham sandwich first from its pepperfilled plastic container, then the zip lock bag, and then unwrapped the six layers of plastic-wrap and aluminum foil. He ate his dinner and drank his bottled water in silence. This wolf would most likely die here tonight, but Jack was not hasty. There were rules about this kind of thing, and this one would be given a fair chance. Jack needed more information. An hour. The wolf began to show signs of life. The tranquilizer was wearing off and the aroma of the ham was having an effect. The creature was raging before it was even fully awake and when it had a sense of its situation, it screamed in a very unwolfish manner. It was a terrifying death knell, to

which Jack had become immune over the years. But back at the beginning of his career, that sound had haunted his dreams. The wolf was unable to do more than snarl and scream as it struggled. He was so tightly bound that his movements were restricted to fishlike flopping, and flailing its limbs. Jack had enough of all that noise. He shouted, “We can’t begin until you shut the hell up!” The wolf went quiet and threw daggers Jack’s way, as it panted and continued to test the limits of its bonds, though thoughtfully now. “I’ll open that one,” Jack said, indicating the lock that held the loose chain tight across the animal’s chest, “and you can get on with it. But don’t be stupid.” He removed his .44 from the holster inside his coat and pointed it. The wolf relented in his struggle. Jack rose and moved over to the still and wary beast. Without breaking eye contact, he produced a key, slid it into the lock, and turned it. It popped open, he removed it, and the chain went slack as he stepped quickly back, aiming his big gun at the wolf’s skull. A few minute later, he was aiming it at a man’s skull. “Hey, Ed.” “Hey, Jack.” Ed Moran was now looking sheepishly at Jack. His appearance was ridiculous, naked but for his garb of lock and chain and that muzzle pressed against his face. Jack didn’t lower his gun. If Ed were to change back now, that canine form would have a chance at slipping the bonds that had been loosened to accommodate the different shoulder configuration. This was serious. Both lives were on the line here. If Ed were to attempt that, he would be dead before he made any headway. Unbound, there would be no reasoning with him. Jack would shoot him at the first sign of transforming, and Ed knew it. “I haven’t harmed anyone, Jack. Just wilding. I’ve only been taking deer. No one knows about it. Except you.” “That’s pretty lame, Ed. Even for you. “ “She’ll never forgive you, Jack.” “It can’t be helped, and you know it. What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll fail?” “No. Go ahead and get it over with.” “No pleading and begging?” “Did you think I would?” “No.” Jack produced a small glass bottle from his inner coat pocket. He threw it at a rock near Ed and it smashed to pieces, its contents splashing mostly on Ed. Jack stepped back a few paces and leaned against a pine. The gun was aimed and he watched Ed intently. “Yours, right? Playing it safe.” Ed asked. “Easy access. Where else would I get it?” “Yeah… Well, I’m not going to die tonight, Jack.” “Hope not.” “You bring your silver bullets?” Jack laughed. “How’s the truck running, Jack?”

“Good. You were right. The new plug wires did the trick. Thanks for that.” “Anytime.” “I hope so, Ed.” “How’d you find out?” “Carol knows.” “No, not that she would have told you.” “Her eyes did. So I’ve been tracking you. She’s wilding too.” “Never.” “If that’s all, she’ll be okay. You too. Just pass the test.” “No problem… The rules are wrong, Jack.” “Rules are rules, Ed.” “Ridiculous. Regulated wilding? It’s an oxymoron. And it’s not natural.” “Necessary. You can take it up with the council… if you pass. We’ll see.” “Well, we have seen, right? I passed. Let me up. Come on. Time’s up!” “A few more minutes.” “I’m cold.” “Tough. I brought some clothes for you.” “You’re a prince.” “You took that woman, over in Springfield. “No.” They spoke for a few more minutes and then Ed lost it. He reverted quickly to his prior state. Jack shot him through the head as he was slipping a foreleg free. Now, he had a very large wolf carcass to dispose of. He was glad it wasn’t a human corpse, but these days, the discovery of a dead wolf with a bullet in its skull would bring every animal-activist in the world down on this remote hamlet. First with astonishment at a wolf being in New England. Then the discovery of a new breed. There would be outcry at the poaching of what had to be an endangered species. And what might lab and blood work reveal about this creature? No, this had to be done right. Jack would dispose of Ed properly, away from prying eyes, and so protect the secret of Ed’s ilk. Fortunately, that ilk was all on the same page, regarding this method of containment. Ed had shown remarkable restraint. Jack couldn’t recall anyone ever having held out as long. It had always been a matter of seconds, maybe a minute at most. How close had Jack come to releasing Ed? Close. They were a tricky lot, and could shift shape at will, whenever. But once they’d gone feral, fresh human blood at the full moon was their kryptonite, which made Jack, he supposed, Ed’s Lex Luthor. Jack was going to miss Ed, and would mourn later. Ed had gone feral. He’d preyed on humans and that was that. There were rules. Wilding was bad enough, but once they’d gone feral, there was nothing for it, and it only progressed…like cancer. Jack had taken others in the same fashion, only to discover they’d merely been wilding. They had passed the test of blood and moonlight, to be released into the punishing arms of their peers. His sarcastic last words were still echoing in Jack’s skull. “When we were kids, you were my hero. My protector. Stronger, but wilder too. When the time comes, and it will, Jack, who’ll track you? Mom?”