Part 4
Through January, the howls came and went. Sometimes Ash slept through them; sometimes he stood so still at the window that Jack could see only his breath moving. June stayed close, and Jack kept the bolt fastened until daylight.
On his rounds he marked damaged trees and checked boundaries, work he could have done without looking at the map. Yet he found himself stopping over tracks he once would have classified and passed. A set of small prints following a larger one held him longer than the broken fence he had come to inspect.
One afternoon he returned to find Ash worrying a deer bone between his feet. June lay nearby, watching him turn it until he found a better purchase. When Jack crossed the room, she lifted her head and shifted between his boots and the youngster.
He knew that movement. He had seen it beneath a rock ledge ten years earlier.
He had been working a predator-control assignment then, carrying a rifle along a spring drainage. A female wolf came out from under the ledge and stood across his path. Her coat was thin, and she kept looking back into the dark behind her.
Jack had shouted for her to move. She held her place, showing her teeth without advancing. He remembered the distance with sickening accuracy: close enough to see the mud dried on one foreleg, far enough that he could have backed away.
He fired. When he looked under the ledge, three pups lay pressed together, their eyes still shut. He left them there and continued his route.
A week later another worker found them dead. Jack entered the result in a report. He could not remember the exact wording, only that he had written it neatly and eaten supper afterward.
Now June’s shoulder touched Ash’s. Jack sat down before taking off his coat. He had spent years remembering that assignment as a number on a page; the distance between his boots and the den had returned with it.
June came over and laid her muzzle on his knee. He kept his hand on the back of her neck, feeling her swallow. Across the room, Ash abandoned the bone and joined them, pressing at Jack’s fingers for the attention he had begun to expect.
“I saw them,” Jack said. His voice barely reached the stove. “All three.”
Neither animal could answer him. He stayed where he was until the damp hem of his coat had soaked through his pants, then hung it up and gave them their supper.
The next morning the dispatcher announced a records inspection. Pete was already on the lower road. Jack looked from the handset to Ash, who was stretched across the warm boards with the bone beneath one foot.
He had less than an hour.
Under the kitchen lay a small storage cellar, dry and cool, with vents above ground level. Jack moved the canned goods off a low platform and spread blankets there. He brought food and water, led June down the steps, and waited while Ash considered following her.
The wolf stopped at the second step. Jack moved aside, leaving the way clear, and June came back far enough to touch his nose. Ash followed her down at last, nails scraping the wood.
“Stay quiet,” Jack whispered. “Please.”
He knew they could not understand what an inspection meant. He settled them together, left the little light on, and climbed out. Then he lowered the hatch, laid the rug over it, and pushed the empty storage chest into place.
The engine reached him before he finished arranging the logbooks. Pete came in stamping snow from his boots, carrying a folder under one arm. He glanced at the stove and held his hands toward it.
“Road’s better than last week. Still got that leaner over the bend, though.”
“It’s on tomorrow’s list.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want somebody wearing it.”
They sat at the table. Pete compared fuel totals, checked the maps, asked about a boundary marker Jack had replaced after the storm. These were familiar questions, and Jack could answer them accurately. It was a relief that almost made the rest worse.
The floor gave a quiet creak beneath Pete’s chair. Jack stopped mid-sentence, waiting for another sound. Pete looked up from the page.
“You all right?”
“Didn’t sleep much.”
Pete nodded toward the empty space beside the stove. “Where’s June?”
“Out running. She’ll come back.”
Jack slid the next logbook across before Pete could ask anything else. The hand doing it looked steady. He kept the other flat against his thigh, pressing down whenever he thought he heard movement below.
For almost an hour, Pete turned pages. He found a date Jack had omitted from a maintenance entry and waited while he filled it in. Beneath them, the cellar remained quiet.
When the folder finally closed, Jack nearly stood before Pete did. He caught himself and asked whether the man wanted coffee for the road. Pete said he had a thermos in the truck.
“Your records are always easy, Jack. Appreciate it.”
Jack walked him outside. He waited until the engine faded beyond the bend, then came back so fast he caught his shoulder on the jamb. The chest scraped across the floor as he shoved it aside.
June looked up when the hatch opened. Ash was pressed against her, head low, watching the square of daylight. They had remained quiet in the unfamiliar room, and Jack had no way of knowing whether trust or fear deserved the credit.
He went down and sat on the lowest step. Ash put his nose against Jack’s sleeve, then made a small, strained sound. Jack held the coarse fur at his neck without pulling him closer.
“I’m sorry. Come on up.”
He moved the chest against the wall afterward. June drank, Ash ate, and the cabin gradually resumed its ordinary sounds. Jack left the open inspection folder on the table until evening.
Later he took Ellen’s photographs from the closet. There was one of her beside the river, another in his oversized coat, her hair caught in the collar. He remembered complaining that she had stretched the cuffs, and the memory brought a laugh before he had time to prepare for it.
He chose that picture for the shelf. The others went back into their box, which he set beside it instead of returning to the closet. When he finally slept, there were photographs in view and two animals breathing beyond the foot of the bed.
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