Raised by Wolves

Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

SATURDAY APPARENTLY MEANS something special to people around here. In the woods, every day was the same: we’d wake up, we’d survive, and when darkness fell we’d sleep. But the weekend is different in Kokanee Creek. Kids don’t go to school, Lacey serves a buffet brunch at the KC Diner, and the chief drinks an extra cup of coffee before he goes out on his rounds.

He’s halfway out the door when he asks if I want to come along.

“Me?” I say, confused.

“You see anyone else around here?”

“No.” Lacey’s gone, and Holo’s still snoring upstairs.

“Come on, then,” he says. “I could use your help.”

I can’t imagine what he thinks I can help him with, but I’ve got nothing better to do. I put on my shoes.

The chief turns on the radio as we drive. I recognize the song and start singing along. “ Maybe you’re the problem… ”

“Did the wolves teach you that one?” the chief asks.

He thinks he’s funny. I shoot him a sideways glare and don’t answer. Last year I stole a radio from an illegal campsite and listened to it every night until the batteries died. But that isn’t any of his business, is it?

The chief turns off at a sign that says RABBITS and heads us up a dirt driveway alongside a stubbly pasture. A few cows are standing off in the distance looking bored and fly-bothered. As we drive up to the house, a flock of chickens scatters in every direction. White feathers swirl up into the air.

“You tend to see the gun first with these folks,” the chief says. “But if you greet it—and them—respectfully, it’ll be all right.”

“And you’re bringing me along why ?” I ask as I follow him out of the car.

The chief takes his turn not answering. He goes up to the door and knocks loudly, one-two-three . I hang back at a safe distance. Sure enough, I see the barrel of a gun come out first.

It lowers when whoever’s inside sees that it’s the Kokanee Creek police chief on the porch. The door opens wider and a woman steps out, barefoot and scowling.

“If this is about Charlie, he’s eighteen now and he don’t answer to me no more,” she says. “Not that he ever did. Just like his daddy—more stubborn than a mule in concrete, and only about half as smart.”

“It’s not about Charlie, Mrs. Hill. I’m here about your daughter, Julissa. Is she here?”

Mrs. Hill looks halfway over her shoulder like she’s checking the hall behind her. “Nope.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Her eyebrows knit together. “Earlier this week, I guess.”

“Can you tell me the day?”

“No, sir, I can’t. But she’s sixteen. Old enough to take care of herself.”

“Not legally,” the chief says. “And she hasn’t been in school since last Friday.”

“Huh,” Mrs. Hill says. She doesn’t sound concerned.

The chief turns and looks at me. Beckons me forward. “I brought along one of her friends. This is Kai. She misses Julissa a lot.”

I nod enthusiastically. Julissa! Love that girl! We go waaaaay back.

Mrs. Hill just looks at me like I smell bad. Admittedly, I might.

“It didn’t occur to you to mention Julissa’s absence to anyone?” the chief asks her.

“Hell, no, I was enjoying the peace and quiet.” She lumbers down the porch steps and starts walking around to the back of the house. “That girl’s attitude! She don’t get what she wants, she gets meaner than a rattlesnake.”

The chief and I follow Mrs. Hill into a big dirt yard lined with dozens of homemade chicken-wire cages. Inside the cages: hundreds—thousands?—of rabbits. As we get closer, they hop nervously back and forth. Their little ears and noses twitch adorably. Mrs. Hill picks up a bucket of feed and starts pouring it into the nearest cage.

“Julissa’s gone off before and always come back,” Mrs. Hill says. “I don’t think no harm’s going to come to her.”

“What if it does?” the chief asks.

“No one looked after me, and no harm came. I turned out just fine.”

It’s obvious the chief doesn’t entirely agree with her on this count. “This is an unofficial visit, Mrs. Hill. What one neighbor would do for another. But if you file a missing persons report, there’s a lot more that I can do.”

I walk over to the nearest cage. A fluffy brown rabbit sniffs my fingers. I touch its soft cheek through the wire.

“If she don’t turn up, I’ll give you a call,” Mrs. Hill says.

The chief sighs. “I hope I hear from you soon. Actually, I take that back—I hope you hear from your daughter.”

“Uh-huh.” Mrs. Hill moves on to the next cage, dumps more pellets in.

Another rabbit, a gray one, hops over to check me out. “You’ve got a lot of pet bunnies,” I say.

Mrs. Hill turns around with the bucket in her hand and shoots me a look like I’m crazy. Then she barks out a laugh. “ Pets? ” she says. “Ha, that’s a good one.”

The gray rabbit nibbles my thumb. Its whiskers tickle. If you’re not a pet , I think, then you’re—

“Come along, Kai,” the chief says. “Let’s go.”

As we walk back to the car, the chief looks worried. Angry, too.

I don’t know this Julissa person, but I can sympathize. “If that was my mom, I probably wouldn’t hang around much, either,” I say.

But isn’t a bad mom better than no mom? It’s the tiny thought that I quickly push away.

The chief gives a heavy sigh. “Being a police officer teaches you a lot about human nature, Kai,” he says as we drive away. “I know why people steal and cheat—even why they fight and kill. I’m not saying that it’s right. I’m saying that I can understand it. But I’ll never get why folks don’t do better by their kids. ‘You made them,’ I want to say to these people. ‘Why can’t you take care of them?’”

Then he looks over at me like he’s just realized that he’s said something wrong.

And sure—maybe for a second there’s another little tiny thought that goes: Why didn’t my parents take care of me ?

But that’s an old question. An old wound. I don’t pick at it anymore.

“Kai,” the chief says. “Are you okay?”

I stare out the window at the trees going by, the green world that Holo and I left behind. The world of dirt and stone and sky. “I’m just thinking about all those rabbits,” I tell him.

“Did that upset you?”

“You mean because they spend their whole entire lives in pens, and then they end up in a stew?” I say.

The chief grimaces. “Yes.”

I can still feel the rabbit’s soft gray fur on my fingertips. Still picture its bright black eyes. But nature’s nature, right? We all need to eat.

I shake my head. “Chief, mountain cottontails taste great, but they run fast . It’s a lot easier to catch a rabbit for dinner if it’s already in a damn cage.”

The chief looks a bit queasy now. But he just says, all quiet and pleading, “We don’t say that word, either, Kai, okay?”