Page 38 of Dark Roads
I stood, put the rifle to my shoulder, and looked around, scanning the trees, the shadows. Cougars aren’t like black bears, who usually run off at the sight of humans. Or grizzlies, who rush thundering through the bush with a roar. Cougars stalk their prey or even lie in wait. You didn’t get much notice before they attacked. I might be able to fend it off with my knife, if the gun was knocked clear of my hand, but one swipe from a two-hundred-pound cougar could kill Wolf.
I held on to the bandanna around his neck and stepped up our pace, while still searching the woods for movement and noise. Wolf was tight against my legs, a whine leaking from his throat. We were rounding the last bend when I saw it.
A cougar. Thirty feet in front of us, tawny brown and huge, perched on the moss-covered rocks to the side of the trail. Its yellow eyes focused on me. It lowered its head.
“Get out of here!” I couldn’t shoot without letting go of Wolf, who was barking and lunging forward. I yelled again, raised the rifle with my free hand, waving it like a stick, andstomped my feet. The cougar didn’t even flinch. I took a few slow steps backward, tugging on Wolf.
The cougar pushed itself to all fours and eased off the rocks, shoulders bunching and head still low. It was on the trail now and moving closer. I had to shoot.
“Wolf, stay!”
But as I let go of him to lift the rifle to my shoulder, he rushed past me, sprinted at the cougar, barking as he stopped in front of it. The cougar swatted the air and snarled, revealing its fangs.
My mind stalled. I screamed, “Wolf! No. Come!”
Wolf danced back. The cougar swatted at him again. Hissing. My finger fumbled on the trigger. I focused. Wolf was in my shot. I raised the rifle to the sky and let off a round.
The cougar backed off a few feet—Wolf was still barking and baiting it. I let off another shot. The cougar took a hard left and leapt through the woods toward the river. Wolf followed.
“Wolf, stop!”
They were gone, crashing through the thick ferns and bushes, the tangle of underbrush. Branches closed after them. I raced toward where I’d last seen Wolf, scrambling over rocks and through shrubs that tore at my hair, my clothes, my skin. Panting, I broke out of the woods and found myself standing high above the river. I scanned the trees, trying to hear Wolf over the rushing falls. Where was he? Then I saw a flash of black and spotted him in the distance.
He was chasing the cougar across an old fir tree hanging over the water. The cougar abruptly stopped and pivoted, swatted at Wolf. He yipped—a high-pitched cry that yanked my insides. I raised the gun, sighted down the long barrel, and pressed the trigger. The bullet struck the wood and sent splinters flying into the air, but it spooked the cougar. It leapt into the poolbelow. It popped up and swam downstream. Wolf bolted into the woods.
I hurried along the bank of the river, slipping on moss and struggling over the rocks until I reached the log. I dropped to my knees and crawled across. When I’d made it to the other side, I whistled and called for Wolf. I searched the dirt, grass, and plants. Blood drops, red and glistening. Ihadto find him. I tracked him through a meadow.
“Wolf! Come on, boy! Where are you?”
I stopped and held my breath, straining to hear over the birds and the breeze. A soft whimper. He was close. I followed the sound and found him cowering under a bush. He was panting hard, his eyes wild and panicked. I dropped to my knees and gently stroked his face.
“You dumbass. Why did you have to be so brave?” I tried to sound calm and soothing, but my throat was tight with tears. The cougar had left two gouges on his front shoulder. They weren’t to the bone, but I needed to clean them. I took my first-aid kit out of my backpack and opened the sterilized pads, then held them against the wounds while I wrapped a Tensor bandage around his quivering body. It was hard not to jostle him and he yelped, his head snapping back to nip at the air, then he licked at my hand, begging for forgiveness. I rubbed his neck.
“It’s okay. You can bite me if it helps.”
I pulled him out, slowly, then hefted him over my shoulder. He yelped again, and I couldn’t hold back the tears. What was I going to do? I couldn’t make it back over the log—not with the extra weight. I’d have to circle around and hope the cougar wasn’t hunting us.
By the time we’d made it downriver, I was out of breath, my shirt and hair soaked with sweat. I crossed over the river where the water was shallow and the rocks close together. I kept watch for the cougar. It could still be near. We were easy prey now.
I carried Wolf up the trail on the other side, stopping to take breaks. I thought about making a stretcher, but I didn’t have my hacksaw and had no way to strap the wood together. I staggered the rest of the way to the cabin. Wolf had stopped bleeding, but he was in pain, his body trembling. I made him comfortable on the bed and cleaned the cuts and bandaged him. My first-aid kit had a bottle of CBD oil. I wasn’t sure of the dose, but I dropped some into his mouth.
Wolf didn’t want to eat, so I crawled in beside him, my chest and stomach against his curved back, and his haunches cradled in my lap. I stroked his head, his soft ears, his snout.
“You’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
He twisted his neck and licked at my tears, then dropped his head onto the pillow. I held him in my arms and buried my face in his soft fur.
I stood outside the cabin bundled in my parka, the hood over my head and a scarf wound around my neck. The snow was a few inches deep already and coming down fast. Flurries blinded me. I tugged the scarf away from my mouth, fumbled for the mic button on the VHF radio.
“Come in, 250H. We need help. Wolf’s injured. We need medicine—antibiotics.” I released the mic button, waited for an answer from Jonny.Please, please, please.But there was only crackling static. I looked at the sky, heavy with snow. Maybe the signal wasn’t getting through.
Wind whipped the snow into my face, pushed me back into the cabin. I slammed the door. Wolf didn’t look up from his bed in front of the stove. I opened a packet of smoked salmon, clunked over to him in my boots. For two days I’d only managed to dribble broth into his mouth with a syringe so I could keep him hydrated. I waved the salmon under his nose.
“Try it, just a little, please?” He opened his eyes, blinked at me, and turned his face away. I lifted the bandages for another look, but I already knew what I would see. The wounds were red and puffy. I cleaned them again, applied fresh bandages, and left him by the fire.
I packed my bag, grabbing at things—food, water, emergency supplies, the radio—and shrugged it onto my back. The Smith & Wesson went into my holster, the rifle strapped to my back. Then I gently wrapped Wolf up in a wool blanket and lifted him into my arms.
We took the dirt bike until the snow got too deep, the tires spinning, then I had to abandon it on the trail. I took Wolf out of his crate and set him on top of the snow. He was more alert now, confused, and pulled himself to standing. He tried to limp toward me.
