Under the Northern Lights(49)
I was so entranced in my visions of Michael bathing that time leaped ahead in bounds, jumping forward in bursts of hours instead of dripping forward second by second. When I noticed the daylight fading and darkness starting its inevitable descent upon the woods, I was surprised; I was usually well past done with my work before nightfall, and while the bears were sleeping, other animals were quite awake.
Hurrying back to the cabin with my arms full of wood, I wondered if Michael was back from the trapline yet. I usually heard him when he returned, but I’d been so caught up in my thoughts today that I had a feeling he could have easily sneaked past me or noisily lumbered past me, and I wouldn’t have noticed. My smile was huge when I nudged the door open with the toe of my boot. I only had a millisecond to consider how odd that was—I usually had to set down my stack and wrangle the door open; the lever often stuck—before I realized something was very wrong.
A soft, menacing growl echoed around the small cabin, and every hair on my body stood straight up. I knew that growl, knew it to the very core of my bones. Similar to a dog’s, but wilder, more feral. A wolf. In the cabin. I only had a heartbeat to wonder how that had happened before I spotted the furry beast. Our eyes locked, and my blood went as frigid as the icy river where I’d pulled out our drinking water.
The heavy logs fell from my arms as fear sapped all the strength from my limbs. My legs felt like rubber. I couldn’t keep them straight, but I somehow remained standing. While the creature let out another terrifying snarl, I scanned the cabin. Had the animal gotten a jump on Michael? Was he already . . . gone? I didn’t see a prostrate, bloody body, though. There was relief in that, but what I did see filled me with anger. Everything in the cabin was ripped apart like the beast had been on a wild rampage. Containers had been chewed open, their contents strewn everywhere. Dishes had big gashes in them where they’d been gnawed on; my new mattress was torn to shreds, the mossy interior in bits and pieces around the cabin; and every piece of nonperishable food had been consumed—only the empty packages remained. In just one afternoon, this lone animal had destroyed almost everything Michael had worked so hard to put together.
My eyes flashed back down to the creature, a vile curse on my lips, but it took a step toward me, silencing me before I even spoke. Knowing I couldn’t stay in a startled state, I jerked my shoulder, swinging my rifle around to the front of me. Chambering a bullet, I pointed the weapon directly at the wolf. I expected it to lunge at me, go for the throat, but it hesitated, like it knew what I was carrying and knew exactly what the gun could do.
Fingers shaking, I jerked the barrel of the gun at it. The wolf flinched but didn’t back down. “Go!” I shouted. “Get out of here! Don’t make me hurt you.” Weapon still trained on it, I moved away from the door so the wolf could go outside. “I don’t want to kill you,” I murmured. “But I will, if you leave me no choice.” I was hoping it was full, having gorged itself on our food, and wouldn’t want to try to take me for dessert or because it was scared.
With its teeth bared and low rumbles emanating from its chest, the wolf took another step forward, but toward the door this time. Relief filled me at seeing that it was heading for retreat, not attack. “That’s a good doggie,” I said in singsong. “Move along.”
The wolf stopped, and the sound coming from it grew in intensity. I retreated a half step, quickly telling the creature, “Not dog . . . sorry. Wolf . . . pretty wolf. Now please go home.”
It snarled at me once, then turned and fled out the door. I slumped over in relief, then ran to the door and threw my weight against it, slamming it shut. I fell to the ground with my back to the door, keeping it securely closed. My entire body started shaking with nerves. That could have gone so differently. I could have been ripped to shreds, lost for good, and all because I hadn’t made sure the door was securely latched. Life here was so fragile—one second you were fine, safe, and secure. The next you were on the edge of death, fighting for survival. It was like constantly balancing on the edge of a precipice, hoping you didn’t fall.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there on the floor, recovering. The rifle was stiff in my hands, and my arms ached from keeping it taunt, rigid, ready for action. Even though I knew I was probably safe now, I couldn’t relax. I was too scared that the wolf would return, find some secret hole, or chew through a wall. Or maybe there was another one in the cabin, hiding, biding its time until I let my guard down. I knew wolves didn’t work that way—if there was one still in here, I’d know it—but my brain couldn’t convince my body to calm down. My sanctuary had been violated, and nothing felt safe.
As I ceaselessly scanned the room, looking for danger, I felt my back being shoved by the door. Panic surged through me. Had the wolf figured out how to open it? Was its strength so great that it could push the door back—and me with it—with pure brute force? Or were there more of them now, working together? Instinctively, I pushed against the door, digging in with my heels to keep it closed.
The weight against the door increased in strength, then a voice said, “Mallory? Are you blocking the door?”
I immediately scooted away so Michael could open the door. The loss of resistance was so sudden that Michael burst through the door like a bullet being released from a gun. He ran into my legs and nearly tumbled to the ground on top of me, but thankfully, he managed to save himself at the last minute.