The Last Lone Wolf: Ruska’s Story

          Ruska crouched at the edge of the hunter’s camp with murder in her eye. She watched carefully as the hunter sat on the one bare patch of earth and brought his gun across his knees. Ruska suppressed a shudder, and the taste of metal coated her tongue. The hunter held a handful of prepared bullets in his gloved palm and prepared to reload his gun. Ruska’s golden eyes flashed. This was the ideal time, when she could be sure the gun held no ammunition. She had done this so many times, to so many hunters, that she thought it had almost become an art.

          Adrenaline rippled through her like electricity. She lowered her head and braced her legs against the cold ground, ready to spring.

          A four-legged tan blur shot through the camp and began tearing at the hunter’s food storage space beneath the snow with his claws.

          “Hey!” the hunter yelled in angry surprise, dropping the ammo. The bullets rolled like marbles.

          He jumped to his feet and brandished the butt of the gun like a club. He ran towards the dog, who looked up and then began dragging a hunk of dried meat away in his teeth. “You! Dirty! Little!” the hunter cried, narrowly missing the dog’s head with the gun with every word.

          Ruska took her chance and lunged into the campsite, knocking over everything and strewing ashes from the dead fire.

          The hunter slammed the gun into the dog’s side. The dog hit the snow with a high-pitched yelp, and the hunter picked up the meat. He turned around, only to drop it again at the sight of a wrecked campsite and a ferocious wolf.

          Ruska narrowed her eyes and bared her teeth. The hunter’s hand slipped against the gun, and the color of his skin matched the whites of his eyes. A strangled cry barely passed his lips: “Oh…my…”

          Ruska sprang at him and knocked him onto the snow, ripping and tearing at his clothes. He screamed, and pushed the gun against her teeth to hold her back. The metal ground against her canines. She backed up and spat, and then she saw the hunter fumble for something in the snow.

          He picked the bullet up and shoved it into the gun. Ruska’s heart flooded with cold fear, and suddenly she was staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle.

          She froze for a heartbeat, and then she bolted, her paws drumming against the hard earth. A gunshot made her flinch, and though the shot went high and wide, it triggered the memory of the first time she had heard a gun go off this close. The shot that had started this whole business.

          Ruska dropped down behind a snowdrift and lay still, panting. Her heart gradually stopped hammering against her chest and became slow, soft throb.

          “What’s the matter with you?”

          She looked up. Beside her sat the tan dog that had tried to steal the hunter’s food. He now sat there staring at her sideways while chewing the slice of red meat that hung out of his mouth. She stared back at him, nonplussed. “After all that, you still managed to get the food?”

          “That was the whole point, wasn’t it?” Suddenly his brown eyes widened, and he hastily backed up a few paces. The meat slid from his mouth to the snow. “You’re not going to attack me, too, are you? We can split it if you want. Or you can have it all, I’ve kind of lost my appetite. You weren’t hunting, were you?”

          Ruska sighed, and then thought about it. “Well…yeah, I guess so. But I wasn’t after his food. I was after him.”

          Now the dog’s eyes were almost popping out of his head. “You eat humans?”

          She shook her head irritably. “Oh, please. I attack hunters so they’ll either run out of supplies and go home, or give up hunting altogether. Most of them are after wolves. I have to protect myself and my kind.”

          The dog’s eyes lit up. “Hey, I’ve heard about you! You’re the one everyone’s calling The Last Lone Wolf, what with all the other wolves disappearing.” He tipped his head sideways. “So you didn’t kill four hunters at once, and you don’t have a craving for human flesh?”

          Ruska was dumbfounded. “Uh…no,” she said. Wow, bad news traveled fast. And now she had made a name for herself? The Last Lone Wolf. It was probably true, considering how all the wolves who were in packs had disappeared (Remus’ doing, no doubt), making lone wolves an even greater, more valuable target. “Where did you hear that?” she asked.

          “My owner, Jake, told me,” the dog said, “I used to be a hunting dog, but I ran away. I got sick of being under collar and leash and being bossed around for no reason. That was all a few weeks ago.” He pawed at the meat. “My name’s Teke. You sure you don’t want any?”

          “Ruska. And yes, I’m…” Her stomach chose that particular moment to growl loudly. She struggled to keep her face from going rubescent. “Well, maybe just a piece.” She hadn’t eaten for more than a few days. She hadn’t realized how hard it was to hunt without back-up. It was almost even more difficult to admit she needed help.

          Teke nodded and ripped the meat in half. He took his half and flipped it up into the air with his tongue, then caught it and practically swallowed it whole. Ruska gaped at him, and then shook herself and ate her piece. She tried to eat slowly, but she ended up scarfing it down so fast she almost choked. Her stomach accepted the food and gurgled for more, but she would to be satisfied.

          Ruska’s head jerked up as her ears caught the faint rumble of helicopter blades. Then there was stillness, and her ears swiveled and turned as they strained to hear the harsh sound. But there was nothing.

          “So what’s your story?” Teke asked, licking his lips. “You just woke up one day and started terrorizing humans?”

          Ruska’s stiff smile was distracted as she listened hard for the whipping of helicopter blades against frigid air. “No. A hunter shot at my family, my pack. When I heard the gunshot, it was like instinct took over. I had to run from it. My family probably thought I was scared, but I wasn’t. I had been thinking about going out and ridding Alaska of hunters, because how else will we ever be safe? I guess I just needed the right jumpstart to get going.”

          “You know, not all hunters are bad,” Teke said quickly, “Some hunt for sport, but most are just trying to stay alive.”

          Ruska glared at him. “How does that help us?”

          He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “I wasn’t sure you knew that. Everyone’s just trying to survive. Not everyone can win.”

          Ruska snorted, not really sure what to say. She found herself wondering if he knew she had felt terror chill her heart that day she had run away.

          The whir of copter blades sliced through their conversation. Ruska jumped to her feet and looked over the snowdrift at the paint palette of a sky, with mixed orange and pink and gold. A helicopter blocked the sky’s beauty, and Ruska could make out four red letters on its plain side: APAA.

          “What does that mean?” she muttered aloud.

          Teke slid next to her to watch, too. “I don’t know,” he said, “But I do know some hunters hunt from those things. They just stick their rifles out the window and shoot. It’s pretty pathetic.”

          “It’s sickening, is what it is,” Ruska spat, “We can’t even defend ourselves when they’re up there!”

          “I think that’s the whole point,” Teke said with a shrug.

          Ruska bared her teeth, and then watched the helicopter shrink into the distance. Where was it heading? “Eagle Pass,” she mumbled. The name sounded familiar…Then it hit her. “Remus!” Ruska cried. “Her vision’s coming true! She isn’t nuts!”

          “What? Visions? Remus? What?” Teke sputtered, “Who’s Remus?”

          “My