Raised by Wolves

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

THE KIDS ACT pretty calm—like they’re in shock, maybe—when they’re put into the back of the police car. But the minute Chester shuts the door, they go apeshit.

The girl kicks the back of the seat with her dirty, bloody, bare feet and the boy pounds on the window again and again. His fists hit the glass with sickening thuds.

Chester puts his face right up to the window. “Don’t do that! Hey! You have to calm down! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

The boy sends his forehead crashing into the grille part of the partition. Chester winces. That must’ve really hurt.

“Where’s a frickin’ tranq gun when you need one?” Randall says. He’s rubbing his wrist where the girl bit him. It’s bleeding. He spits a brown stream of tobacco juice into the parking lot. He says, “I hope the little beast knocks himself unconscious.”

Chester smacks the window and yells, “Stop!”

The boy’s still snarling and spitting. But then the girl stops kicking at the seat. She leans over and nuzzles her head against the boy’s shoulder. Just like that, he goes quiet.

Chester waits a few beats. Then he walks around to the front of the car and slides in behind the wheel. Nothing happens. He can hear them breathing in the back seat.

Panting. Whimpering a little.

He turns around to face them, speaking through the grille. “I’d really appreciate it if you could stay calm for the duration of the ride. Do you think you could manage that?”

Silence.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it,” he says. He’s lying. “Also, while we’re sitting here, I’m real curious about your names.”

The girl’s got a thunderstorm brewing in her eyes. But she doesn’t speak.

Chester reaches way back to grade school memories, when he earned the alphabet in sign language. He spells out slowly, letter by letter, “Can you understand me?”

Both kids just glare at him. He drops his hand. All righty then. No ASL.

“I’ve got a few things to say before we start driving,” Chester says, more for his sense of duty than for them at this point. “So I’m hoping there’s some part of you that understands it. You two are in a little spot of trouble right now. Because here in Kokanee Creek, we don’t smash doors. We don’t eat things we haven’t paid for. And we definitely don’t bite officers of the law.”

He still can’t see a flicker of understanding cross their faces.

He turns on the car.

“We’re going to take a little ride now,” he says. “Try to keep calm. You’re doing good right now. Real good.”

When the engine revs, the boy starts to whimper again. And when Chester pulls out of the parking lot onto the highway leading into town, the whimpering gets louder.

“It’s okay,” he says over his shoulder. “We’re just heading over to the station.”

As the cruiser picks up speed, the kids look more and more freaked out. They start bouncing around a little. Chester can see the boy sweating in the rearview mirror, so he rolls down the window a crack. The boy lifts his face to the breeze, his nose twitching.

Chester thinks, They must be on drugs. What kind, though?

It’s just a short drive into town. They pass the abandoned lumber yard, then the Wendy’s billboard. LATE NIGHT GREAT NIGHT , it reads. TURN LEFT AT THE LIGHT .

The boy makes a noise that almost sounds like a word.

Chester turns and says, “Did you just speak?”

No answer.

“You two still hungry? You wish I could take you to Wendy’s?”

There’s silence for another second. And then the boy throws back his head and howls so loud that Chester’s ears ring.