Wolves and Men

His stomach crunched and grumbled at the thought of the food that was being taken away from him. What were they doing? And why did they need the carrying cases? There were quite a few of them and he knew that his burrow had been cleaned out. Even if he could get over there, there wouldn’t be anything left for him to grab. He saw one officer grab the arm of a Haz-mat suit guy. The officer was yelling something at the guy and the guy tried to turn away. The officer used his leverage to wrench the Haz-mat suit guy back around to face him. Another guy, who he hadn’t noticed before, came out of nowhere and leveled a night stick across the officer’s face, dropping him. He winced as he could hear the crunch of flesh from where he crouched in the shadows. The guy with the night stick looked out over the rest of the group of cops and turned to follow the parade of Haz-mat suit guys up the hillside. Two officers ducked down and helped the assaulted officer back to his feet. The officer dusted himself off and massaged his jaw. The two that had helped him to his feet shook their heads looking back and forth between the assaulted officer and the retreating assailant. They were yelling something but he couldn’t make out anything solid. He watched as another officer started wrapping crime scene tape around a fairly big area that enclosed his burrow.

Staying in the shadows of the trees, he began his retreat from the scene. He was cautious of his footing but also of the bright light that burned behind him. Like a frog using lily pads to get across a pond, he used the shadows of the trees to make good his escape from these invading people. He was a wraith, unseen by men, and fast. He soon left the commotion of the scene behind him, and he began to breathe easier.

As he walked his mind worked on the problem. How to survive without any of his gear? He didn’t think he could. He had learned so much living with the forest but the tools that he had brought with him was essential to that purpose. The thought of his kitchen area struck him and he started to run, silent and swift like the shadows themselves.

If the cops had found him out here in the wilderness, then they wouldn’t leave without finding as much as they could. The place didn’t seem like home anymore. The birds weren’t singing. No wolves or coyotes howled. He ran, his long strides eating distance, separating him from the invaders.

He diverted his direction to skirt around the edge of his kitchen clearing, staying hidden within the shadows of the trees. He ran around the perimeter of the clearing, using all his senses to ensure he was alone. The gentle light of his lunar mother flooded the clearing, and he could see as clearly as if it were day. His kitchen looked the same as it had when he had left it this morning. He continued to move around the perimeter of the clearing till he reached his water reservoir tarp.

He picked up the clear plastic and shook out the water that had collected there. He was probably going to need that, but he didn’t have any time. For all he knew the cops had brought dogs to track him and the dogs would have all the scent they needed from invading his burrow. He smiled at the thought of suing a cop for breaking and entering. His door had been closed and they hadn’t shown him a warrant and what had he done to deserve to be arrested anyway? Those were the thoughts of a child, and he wasn’t playing a game. If being happy out here in his forest meant that he had to hide from the cops as well as his mother, then he wished them luck. Humans were frail and he had become stronger than he had ever dreamed possible from his time out here. And he was sure that no human or groups of humans could possibly catch him. As he was folding his tarp into a square that he would be able to carry, he heard another sound that was alien to him. It was loud and rhythmic. His eyes widened in horror as he realized it was a helicopter. If they had brought in a helicopter, they meant to have him. Even if they had to capture him and bring him in like a criminal.

Placing the folded tarp on the ground he pulled out his knife and began digging in the soft ground. Of course, it would never occur to these people that he liked living out here and he didn’t want to go back. No, they wouldn’t understand that nor would his mother. The left-over fish that he had left in his burrow gave them all the evidence they needed to prove that he was alive. If he hadn’t left that evidence behind, maybe he could have evaded them long enough for them to conclude that he had died somewhere in the forest, and they were unable to recover his body. But that was wishful thinking.

As he dug down deeper, he fell into a rhythm of stab, stab, stab, and shovel with his free hand. Stab, stab, stab, shovel with his free hand.

The sound of the helicopter dominated the night. He could tell that it was still far off, but he knew that it was going to find him in this clearing if he didn’t hurry. His knife chinked at what he had been looking for. He wiped the dirt off his blade and sheathed it. He grabbed at the dirt with both hands and pulled the earth away till he could pull out what he had been looking for. He almost couldn’t believe that it was still here. Burying this had been one of the first things he had done when he found this clearing.

He brushed away the dirt and looked at his old tin lunchbox. The GI Joe insignia on the top of box was faded and he couldn’t quite make out what, or who, was on the front. The box was rusted badly but he knew that would be the case. He unclasped the locks and pried the rusted lid open. The hinges of the tin box snapped with a loud metallic ring and the box flew open in his hands.

He ripped the tape holding the plastic bag to the bottom of the tin. He looked at the bag and sighed. He opened the bag and pulled out the smaller bag inside. He held the bag up to the light and thanked himself for having the foresight to plan this contingency. He looked into the bag and the green bills with the large number one hundred on them were still intact. He shoved the bag into the inside pocket of his vest that he had sewn there when he made the thing. He had never needed pockets out here but back then the habit of having a pocket was so great that he had sown it into the skin vest, just another small thing that he had decided to do back then, for no real reason, that he was praising himself for now.

He could hear the helicopter as the rotor blades grew louder and he knew that he had run out of time. Patting the pocket with his hand he took off running. He knew that he would have to put as much distance between himself and the helicopter as possible. He knew a little bit about helicopter and cop search patterns. They would start at his burrow and slowly work their way out in a circular pattern. With the helicopter taking point it would be the real eyes of the search party and soon cops would be all over this clearing. The hanging rope and the manicured stump that he had spent so many hours sitting on would point to him having been there as clearly as if he had left road signs.