Wolves, Boys and Other Things That Might Kill Me (23 page)

“I’m sure it will be delightful,” he says.

“Come on, Dad. Why is it so bad to try?”

“Might want to sell a few of those fire extinguishers to the Martins.”

“You aren’t really going to put an ad in the paper, are you?”

He doesn’t answer.

At three o’clock the phone rings. It’s Virgil.

“What’s the plan?” he says.

“Everyone is on board if the Martins will have us. I think we should try to make it girls with girls if we can, and somebody probably needs to, you know . . . train us.”

“You want to learn to shoot?”

“I can handle a shotgun, but I don’t know much about cattle.”

“You know how to shoot?”

“Occupational hazard.”

“Your dad speaking to you?”

“Is it my birthday or Christmas?”

“No.”

“Then I guess not. I won’t be able to keep this up once the tourist season starts.”

“Got it. I’ll tell the Martins. This is so great. I don’t think I could keep doing this on my own. Plus I miss you.”

I look over at my dad, eavesdropping on me with his good ear. “We’ll make a schedule at school, where you will be attending, and not flunking out, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah. And, KJ, I know . . . I should have trusted you.”

I say, “I hope you’re right.”

THE RUINS

THE BUNKHOUSE SMELLS like cedar, dust, and old mattresses. Hooks on the wall hold every contraption known to man. Shelves are filled with bottles and gadgets neatly organized. Some shelves are actually labeled. It’s like a laboratory.

I put my gear on the cot and get my shotgun out of its case. Time to go to work.

The door squeaks and Kenner walks in.

I flinch. “Oh, hi.” I haven’t gotten used to fraternizing with Kenner yet.

Kenner looks irritated. “Addie just called. She has to babysit. Typical of her.”

“She’s not coming?” I try to sound calm. “Sondra called me right before I came. She’s not coming either . . . has the flu.”

“Yeah, this is going to work. . . .” he says.

“Just give it some time. They’ll come when they can.” Excessive optimism isn’t really my thing, but somebody has to pretend this will work.

Kenner stands in the corner by the stove looking uncomfortable. “So you’re alone on your first night? Good thing you have that shotgun.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Good thing.”

“You know how to use it?”

“I can kill cans. I’m just going to use bird-shot shells though.”

Kenner smirks, “You can go home if you want, KJ. It’s kind of scary around here at night.”

“I think I’ll be all right.”

He tips his hat back on his head. “Do you want me to bring you a night-light?”

Wouldn’t be Kenner if he wasn’t giving me grief.

“I brought my own,” I say, hauling out the head lamp and the spotlight I brought from the store.

“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me,” he says. “Did you bring a blankie, too?”

I pull out a wool blanket I brought from the store’s back room. It has a few holes but it’s thick, and it blends nicely with the dust bowl decor of the bunkhouse.

“Sweet Mary.” He laughs. “I can’t wait till you see one of those beasts. You’re going to run all the way home.”

As if I’ve never seen a wolf. I smile demurely. “I guess I better get out there and look around, if I’m going to get eaten by sunup.”

Kenner pauses at the door. “You’re really going to try do this alone . . . on your first night?”

“Guess so.”

Kenner shakes his head. “That takes some nuts.”

“You already know I’m nuts.”

Kenner laughs. Not in his typically rude way, but in the way I’ve heard him laugh when he’s with Virgil. “Listen,” he says, “I’ve got a midterm in history but I guess I could come out here for a while.”

I pick my shotgun off the bed. “I’ll be okay.”

Kenner kicks at the bare wood floor. He’s not so bad when he stops being a jerk for five seconds.

I say, “What’s all this stuff in here for? On the walls.”

“That’s Will’s stuff. He’s a fix-it genius.”

“What does he fix?”

“On a ranch you have to fix everything yourself and everything breaks. Especially when you need it.”

“He’s organized,” I say.

“Yep,” says Kenner. “He put his own truck together from scrap.”

“That thing in the yard?”

“Calls it Frankenstein. And he has a boat, too.”

“I’ve seen that.”

“Yep.”

We stand looking at each other. I wish Addie and Sondra were here.

He says, “You’re going to freeze your butt off out there, you know. We could just make a run-through and then you could go out again first thing in the morning.”

“Gortex is my friend,” I say, modeling my new red tundra coat. I may not have friends in high places but I’m in retail, which is almost as good.

“You’re still going to freeze,” says Kenner.

I smile at him. “I’ll come get you if I have a problem.”

“Sure, but don’t walk around the whole night. Take some breaks. The stock will be fine,” he says. His voice is soft, virtually friendly. “And I’ll be up late.”

“Thanks,” I say.

He nods. “No problem.”

There’s a knock at the door. Will walks in wearing his rubber work boots, looking serious. When he and Kenner stand so close together I can see the family resemblance, but Will is like the concentrated version of Kenner. Smaller and all about business. “Dad needs you to finish checking all the gates,” he says to Kenner. He looks at me. “We don’t want any open gates,” he says, and walks out.

Kenner stays put until Will is gone. “I know you think that me and Will are connected to what’s been going on. But we’d never do that stuff. We just hate wolves.”

“Okay.” I don’t want to talk about it.

Kenner points to the stove. “If you need to crank that thing up, go ahead. My parents would hate it if you froze in your sleep.”

“I don’t think I’m going to sleep much tonight.”

“You aren’t,” he says. “But take some breaks.”

“Got it.”

“Who’d be scared of you anyway?” says Kenner.

“Hey, the hood is scary,” I say pulling my hood up over my head and pointing my fingers like guns.

“Yep,” he says.

 

The seven pastures hold one hundred cows apiece. I walk between the pastures flashing lights, spreading my human scent, listening for weird “I’m-being-eaten” noises, with my shotgun slung across my back like a soldier of misfortune. I wander around the pens they have for other animals, too—the chicken coop and the bum lamb pen that Mrs. Martin keeps as a hobby. Exactly as Kenner predicted, I’m cold, alone, and scared out of my wits. Luckily I’m so worried about messing things up that I’m not sleepy. But it’s only midnight, so there’s time for that, too.

The cattle smell like hay and ammonia. They bawl to each other in the cold, bumping around to keep warm. They don’t seem to mind my spotlight. They don’t seem to care about anything really. I make a mental note that cattle are not the most intelligent of God’s creatures.

My mind wanders. I see Virgil sprawled over his desk in Health and know that will be me tomorrow. I see my dad huffing and puffing around the immaculately clean shop, asking me about school, looking for a reason to complain. Then I see the wolf in the woods, that beautiful lone wolf and wonder what I will do if that wolf, or any predator, shows up looking for dinner.

For the last week I have frantically prepared for this night—I’ve done everything I can to be on top of school and work. I have begged, borrowed, and purchased the warmest gear I could find. And I have dutifully, thoughtfully, practiced my marksmanship. But that sure doesn’t mean I’m ready for what I’m doing.

Suddenly I hear a noise by the barn. A bucket falling. Two cows bawl loudly. Then another. I yell, “Hello?” My voice disappears into the dark. I put on my spotlight but can’t see anything except cattle moving in their shadows.

I lift my gun up and walk fast. I know it could be anything, and I sure don’t want to spray bird shot before I know what I’m pointing at. My mind races through the possibilities; wolf, coyote, cougar, and human. The cows keep bawling. I can relate.

I finally get to the pasture with noisy cows and frantically swing my light. If I lose one of these animals . . . the idea nearly shuts me down. And what if whoever or whatever is out there isn’t stalking cattle? I keep walking the fence line, flashing my light. I see nothing but cow butts. Then out of nowhere I see a shadow flying across the light. I send my light flooding toward the barn and find my predator. Virgil.

He waves with one hand and puts his finger to his lips with the other.

“Very funny. I could have shot you!” I say. But I’m too relieved to be mad.

He jogs over to me. “Kenner called and told me the other girls stiffed you. He said you wouldn’t go home.”

“I’m just glad you aren’t a wolf,” I say. I feel a trickle of sweat on my back.

“How do you know I’m not?” he says, raising his arms over his head and howling softly. “You should take me to the bunkhouse and examine me. . . .”

“The bunkhouse sounds good. Is it okay to leave the cattle?”

“Of course. Have you been out here all night?”

“Yeah.”

Virgil wraps his arms around my giant coat. “You’ve got to pace yourself, KJ. Didn’t Kenner tell you to take breaks?”

“But what if something happens on my break?”

“Nothing’s going to happen. I’ve been here for three weeks. I take full-fledged snoozes and we’ve been fine.”

“That was you. . . . I’m cursed.”

Virgil lets go and we walk to the bunkhouse. “I killed a few chickens before you came. We’re good.”

“I didn’t know you did voodoo in Minnesota.”

“Obviously you’ve never been to a butcher’s shop in the Midwest.”

Once we get into the bunkhouse I realize how cold I am. It hurts to thaw. Virgil helps me out of my coat because my hands are too stiff to work the zipper.

“You need to sleep,” he says. “I’ll take the next shift.”

“This is your night off.”

“I’ve had hours of sleep. And I drank a thermos full of tea on the way over,” he says, shoving me toward my sleeping bag.

“You drink tea?”

“I’ll get you up at five so I can get out of here before Mrs. Martin sees me. She doesn’t believe in coed housing.”

I climb into the bag. Everything burns and aches but especially my fingers and toes. I’m used to long days guiding with my dad, but this cold sucked the life out of me. I close my eyes. It’s hard work to freeze to death.

He says, “I can’t believe you did this alone on your first night. Weren’t you scared?”

I open my eyes. “I was too cold to be scared.”

He laughs. He puts my blanket over the top of the bag and sits down next to me on the cot. “So tell me, Wolf Girl, what are you afraid of?”

“Everything,” I mumble. “It’s my superpower.”

“Everything? You can’t be more specific than that?”

I consider my choices. “I don’t like people touching my head.”

He puts his hands in my hair. “I touch your head all the time. It’s connected to your mouth.”

“You don’t count. I let you hug me, too.”

“You’re afraid of being hugged?” His eyes are wide. “Suddenly things are making more sense to me.”

I’m too tired to care. “Shut up. I’m just cautious . . . and slightly repressed.”

“Slightly? I’ve never been with anyone like you. It’s like taking a vow of anticipation. Girls usually . . . I mean, being with you is like when I became a vegetarian, only worse.”

“Worse?”

“Way worse.”

I want to talk but my mouth is calcifying in exhaustion. “I didn’t mean to cramp your style.”

His voice comes closer to my ear. “There are cramps involved. But you’re worth it.”

“Thanks.” I feel like I’m floating, and at any moment I could spin off into some weightless point of no return. I try to burrow into my mattress. I’ve slept on thicker newspaper. Virgil traces my face with his finger. I manage to say, “So you know what I’m afraid of. What are you afraid of?”

He makes a basset-hound face.“Me? Not much, I guess. Turning into my parents. Global warming. Ruining your life.”

I’m too punchy to know if he’s kidding. I’m also distracted by the sensation that my toes are falling off. “Why are you afraid of that? I mean . . . you won’t ruin my life.”

“What if I fall in love with you? You know, over time and everything.”

I sit back up. He’s smiling so I know he’s kidding. At least I think so.

He laughs. “See?”

“We’re juniors. I’d ruin your life, too.”

“Probably. But I like ruins, they’re photogenic.” He stands up and puts his coat on.

“Virgil,” my voice is dopey. I feel awake but I’m not clear. Maybe I’m dreaming this whole conversation. “Did you just say you love me?”

“I said I’m going to take the first shift and wake you up at five. You’d better get some sleep. You’re delirious.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Virgil turns out the light.

“Virgil?”

No one answers. I close my eyes. I open them. “Virgil?” It’s dark and I’m alone. I don’t know what just happened. I think I may have dreamed the whole beautiful, terrifying thing.

 

Addie and Sondra both come on my second night. It’s like a sleepover but we watch cows instead of videos. Sondra brings licorice. At least I don’t have to do the whole night by myself. We stand rubbing our hands over a fire in a barrel outside the hay barn for a few minutes before we split into shifts. The fire throws our shadows up on the barn wall.