Raised by Wolves

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

POLICE CHIEF CHESTER Greene streaks up to the Grizzly in his black-and-white. Officer Randall Pierce comes peeling into the parking lot ten seconds later.

“ Wolves , Chief?” Randall scoffs, favoring a bum knee as he climbs out of his cruiser. “Brenda Lake must’ve had a few too many tequila sunrises.”

“That’s Brenda’s Friday-night problem,” Chester says. “Last I checked it’s Tuesday afternoon.” He notes the smashed front door, the glass sparkling on the ground. A wolf couldn’t do that— wouldn’t do that.

A bear might, though. He puts his hand on his pistol.

His boots crunch on glass as he goes inside. The store looks like a tornado hit aisle two. There’s food and plastic food packaging everywhere, and a thin stream of red juice snakes along the floor. Chester looks toward the register. “Looks like Dale’s long gone,” he says.

Randall says, “I’d run, too, if I was him.”

“Police!” Chester calls to the seemingly empty store. “Come on out now. Come slowly, and you won’t get shot.”

There’s no answer.

Then Chester hears it: low growling coming from an aisle to the left. Randall peels off to come at the intruder—whatever it is—from the other side.

Chester grits his teeth. What’s he going to find? It doesn’t sound human, that’s for sure.

He spins around the endcap and points his gun down the aisle. It takes him a second to process what he’s seeing. Two skinny kids, dirty and disheveled—the girl’s shoving chips into her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in days, and the boy’s crouched down and growling.

Randall appears at the other end of the aisle. Spotting the barefoot kids, he looks so surprised Chester almost laughs. “What the—” he says.

The kids freeze. Chester lowers his gun.

“My name’s Chester Greene,” he says calmly. “I’m the chief of police, and I’m going to need you to put down the Doritos.”

The kids blink at him. They turn their heads to eyeball Randall, then back to look at Chester.

The girl reaches into the bag and shoves another handful into her mouth. And the boy—well, he snarls at Chester. His mouth’s orange with Dorito dust.

“The chief said ‘Put down the Doritos,’” Randall repeats.

Chester takes a step forward and the girl flinches. She looks about sixteen, with gray eyes set deep in a fine-featured face. The boy’s younger, maybe thirteen or so, with uncombed hair that reaches past his shoulders. Chester knows all the kids in Kokanee Creek—especially the ones who do dumb shit like this—but he’s never seen these two before.

He tucks the gun into its holster and takes another step in their direction. “What are your names? Where are your parents? Where’re you supposed to be? You skipping school right now?”

The boy’s growl gets louder. The girl presses herself against the shelves and bares her teeth at him like a dog would. Chester keeps walking, low and slow. “You must be really hungry,” he says. He’s moving toward them slowly, gently, the way he’d approach an animal caught in a trap. “But you can’t just help yourselves to the chip aisle. You know that, don’t you? You can’t make messes like this. How about we go outside and talk about it?”

The boy’s snarl turns into a warning bark, and it makes the hair on the back of Chester’s neck stand up.

“Can you understand me?” Chester asks. “Do you speak English?”

They both growl at him.

Chester’s still making his slow progress when Randall launches himself toward them. He’s big and fast, in spite of his bum knee, a former Utah State wide receiver. The girl’s faster, though. She dodges him as the boy trips him, and Randall lands hard and goes skidding on the floor toward Chester. The kids pounce on him like starving wolves on a goddamn elk.

Randall roars in rage as fists pummel him and nails rake his face. As Chester rushes forward to protect his fellow officer, Randall tases the girl. She falls off him, convulsing, her eyes wide in shock and pain. Randall gets to his feet. He’s going for the boy next.

“Stop!” Chester shouts. “They’re kids .”

“That effing little animal bit me,” Randall whines. He slips on the spilled Gatorade. The kids skitter away down the aisle and around the corner. “She could be rabid!” He reaches for his gun.

Chester says, “Keep it holstered,” as he creeps forward.

If he can corner these two, he can calm them down. Talk sense into them. Maybe they were hiking and got lost. Maybe they were in a car accident. Or maybe they’re high on something synthetic and weird and need a junk-food fix. All he knows is if they were actual criminals, they would’ve gone for the cash register.

He finds them cowering in the back corner of the store.

“Hey,” he says in a half whisper. “We’re not going to hurt you. Randall’s sorry about the Taser.”

They’re huddled together, shaking. The boy makes a sound that’s more like a whimper.

“Just put your hands where I can see them. Let’s go outside together, okay?”

Chester’s less than ten feet away from them when they run.

They’re so freaking fast he barely sees them pass by as they dart for the exit. Chester lunges forward, sprinting faster than he has in years. He takes a flying leap and catches the girl’s ankle. They go down. He rolls to the side and gets his hand around one skinny wrist, and then snap , he’s got one cuff on. Before she can fight him off, he gets the other cuff on.

Randall’s got the boy by the front door. He’s cuffed too, and he’s spitting and snarling. But he calms down when he sees Chester leading the girl toward him.

They have the same gray eyes. The same high forehead.

Siblings , Chester thinks.

But who the hell are they? Where the hell did they come from? And why haven’t they said a single human word?