Raised by Wolves

Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

THE CHIEF LOOKS so grim as he starts to leave the house on Saturday morning that I stand in front of him and block his way. “What’s wrong?” I demand. “Is the Grizzly pressing charges after all? Are we going to jail again?”

I never should’ve let Waylon take me there, even if those doughnuts were the greatest things I’ve ever eaten.

The chief shakes his head. “I’ve been talking to Fish and Wildlife,” he says. “Ranchers in the area are reporting new wolf attacks.”

My stomach’s suddenly full of lead. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that calves are disappearing. Sheep are being killed.”

“ Here? In Kokanee Creek?” I gasp.

My wolves would never do that.

Would they?

“Apparently so,” the chief says, slipping past me and stomping outside.

I shove my feet into a pair of Lacey’s shoes and follow him. “How do they know it’s wolves?” I demand. “Has anyone seen them?”

“They don’t have to, Kai,” he says, exasperated. “When they find a bloody, half-eaten ewe, they know it didn’t die of natural causes.” He yanks open the cruiser door and gets in.

“But you said it yourself—foxes kill lambs, and coyotes can take down a calf! There’s bears in the woods, too, and cougars, and all kinds of predators—”

The chief starts the engine. Revs it a little to warm it up. Leans out the window to lecture me. “But people don’t hate those predators, Kai, not the way they hate wolves. They want to blame wolves for everything they can. Wolves are bloodthirsty and vicious and evil—that’s what people around here think.”

“That’s ridiculous!” My hands are balled into fists and I’m actually yelling at the police chief. “Wolves live in families! They play together and love each other and trust each other! And they take care of each other, unlike most of the people I’ve met. How’s that vicious?”

The chief shoves the car into gear. “When a pack of them kills the sheep you’re trying to raise up, I guess it seems pretty damn vicious.”

I run around to the passenger side and fling myself into the car. I’m not letting him leave without me. Wolf business is my business. “Then maybe someone should tell those people to quit raising their stupid livestock on land that’s supposed to belong to wolves and other wild things!”

The chief sighs. “Coming along for the ride, are you? Okay. Look, Kai, I’m on your side. I don’t want people poisoning wolves, or shooting them with machine guns, or chasing them down with helicopters. But the fact is, you can kill a wolf the minute it steps onto your property in Idaho. It’s more than legal—it’s encouraged.”

People are encouraged to use machine guns? Invited to murder animals who are only trying to live? As the chief drives away from the cabin, I feel so sick I can barely stand it. It’s humans, not wolves, who are the vicious ones.

The chief says quietly, “Just so we’re clear, this isn’t my jurisdiction. I’m not supposed to police wildlife, and no one’s broken any laws. I’m just going around to check in with folks.”

My mind races as we drive. I think of Sam I Am, shot by a man who’d tracked him for months, convinced the wolf was preying on his calves. What if there isn’t enough wild prey to feed Beast’s pups? What if the pack came down the mountainside and onto a rancher’s land? A deer has evolved to be wily and quick. A cow’s been bred to be heavy and slow. It’s obvious which one makes the easier meal.

But Beast is smarter than that. Isn’t she?

Eventually the chief turns down a dirt track that ends in front of a ranch house painted faded yellow. A man comes out, shading his eyes from the sun. He’s got a red face and a bowlegged, tough-guy swagger. As the chief climbs out of the car, he says, “You come about the vermin?”

I shoot a glance at the chief. Is he calling wolves “vermin”?

The chief shakes his head at me. Keep your mouth shut, Kai— that’s what he’s saying.

Sorry, chief, I can’t make any promises.

“Come on out back and have a look,” the red-faced man says.

I’ve never seen him before, but somehow his mean eyes look familiar.

We hop a barbed-wire fence and follow him a few hundred yards through the dirt. Then he stops and puts his hands on his hips. “There,” he says furiously. He kicks an unmoving reddened lump on the ground with his boot.

I look down at the gruesome mess of wool and flesh and guts. A cloud of flies feast on the dead sheep’s eyes. Hungry vultures circle overhead.

“If it was up to me, I’d kill every single one of them bastards,” the man spits.

The smell of rotting sheep fills the air. Good thing I didn’t eat breakfast, or it would’ve come back up again.

The chief doesn’t answer him. He eyeballs the dirt around the carcass, probably looking for wolf prints. “You’ll be compensated, Mr. Hardy.”

He’s a Hardy! I knew I didn’t like this guy.

“Uncle Sam’ll send me a check, sure. He should send me an army instead.”

I kneel down to take a closer look at the dead sheep. Immediately, relief—and more nausea—flood through me. “This animal wasn’t killed by a wolf.”

Both men look at me in surprise.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asks. Apparently he’s only just noticed me.

“This is Kai,” the chief says. “She’s… shadowing me on the job today.”

I stand up and brush off my dusty knees. “I know what a wolf kill looks like,” I tell the chief. “And this isn’t it.” I turn to red-faced Hardy. “Do your neighbors have dogs?”

“Reckon they do.”

“Then ask them where their dogs were the other night, because a dog killed this sheep.”

“How do you know?” the chief asks, surprised.

I point to all the meat left on the animal, and to the puncture wounds dotting its side. “Because wolves would’ve eaten it. Whoever killed your sheep wasn’t hungry. And those triangular wounds? Those are from golden eagles. Scavengers. Your killer went home and ate… what’s it called? Purina .”

“Bullshit,” Hardy says.

The chief’s staring at me, like I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut .

I shrug. I never made any promises, did I? And I’m not going to let my friends take the blame for some runaway mutt. Especially not when the dead sheep belongs to the father of the two biggest assholes in high school.

But then Hardy laughs. “You think it wasn’t no wolf? I got something else to show you, then,” he says.

“Not another sheep, I hope,” the chief says.

“No sirree. I got the wolf who killed her.”