Firstborn (18 page)

“To tell you the truth, bird, I'm sick of moving,” Sully said. “What I'd like is a nice, long sleep.”

Sully took a drink from the creek. When he lifted his head, water drooled off his snout and whiskers. Then there was a sharp crack, and my tree shivered. At the next crack Sully twisted around, crabbed sideways a few steps, and sank to the ground.

Furry Face tromped out of the trees. He was carrying a rifle, the barrel lowered. He came up and stood over the fallen wolf. When he nudged him with a boot, Sully didn't stir. The man squatted down to examine Sully's bullet wounds—one brand new, one a few days old—then stood up again.

“I'm sorry, fella, but I had no choice,” Furry Face said sadly. “Why'd you have to go killing cattle?”

I stayed in my cottonwood as Furry Face trudged off downstream. A dark splotch was spreading in the fur at Sully's neck.

“I guess you were about ready, old wolf,” I said quietly.

It startled me when one of his eyes opened.

“I thought you were gone,” I said.

“Playing possum,” he said.

“Can you get up?”

Sully tried but didn't make it to his feet. I caught a glint of panic in his eyes.

“Don't leave me?” he said.

“I won't,” I said, and I flitted over to a tree on his side of the creek.

He drifted in and out of consciousness all that afternoon as the bloodstain darkened his whole neck. At dusk, clouds blew in, making for a starless, moonless night. I could barely make out the dying wolf below me. Every now and then I heard a raspy breath over the sound of running water. But few things induce sleep like a murmuring creek, and I finally dozed off.

A ragged cry woke me with a start. A faint light was filtering in through the prison bars of the trees. I looked down and met a pair of yellow, terror-stricken eyes. The blood had soaked Sully's whole chest, merging with the dried blood from his older wound. I dropped down and landed not far from his head. I suspected that the “vole convention” had just been a way of getting Lamar out of harm's way, and I thanked Sully for looking out for his nephew.

“You were a good uncle to him,” I said.

Sully stared at me a moment, then laid his head down on the moldering leaves and closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell for a while, but slower and slower, till at last he was still.

IT WASN'T AS BAD AS
with Jackson's corpse. I hadn't known or loved Sully nearly as well, plus I was older now and knew how littered life is with death. But even if Sully had been lazy and spineless he'd muddled along by his own dim lights, and now they'd gone out forever. It's awful to look at someone who can no longer look back at you, who will never look back at anyone. Though at the same time, to be honest, you do feel a flicker of gratitude that it's not you.

The clouds were still thick, but more daylight was leaking into the woods, and a few thrushes and vireos began to sing, in their tuneless way. Even now it seemed heartless to desert Sully. But all at once the singing stopped. A pair of enormous buzzards flapped down through the treetops. I shot off into a tree across the creek as they landed on either side of Sully's body. It didn't take them long to start doing what buzzards do. I couldn't stop them, and it was too painful to watch, so I flapped away.

As I passed over the ridge trail—I was flying straighter now—I spotted Hope, dropped down, and landed on a toadstool just off the trail.

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” I said.

“Somebody has to get food for Alberta and the babies,” she said.

“What about Raze and Lupa and Ben?”

“I'd like to tell you they're in mourning.” She sniffed. “But if you ask me, they're plotting something.”

“You shouldn't hunt alone, Hope.”

She was small and delicate—for a wolf—and it wasn't so long ago that she'd been speared by that branch. But she shrugged her narrow shoulders and moved determinedly on down the trail. I fluttered after her. From the promontory a big herd of elk could be seen on this side of the river. A bull and a cow and two calves had strayed from the crowd. But instead of waiting in the tall grass till one of the calves wandered away from his mother, Hope went after the bull. I couldn't squawk at her without spooking her prey. She crept upwind of him almost as silently as her father would have done. The bull's uneven gait made me think he was slightly addled—he'd probably gotten his skull cracked fighting over the cow in rutting season—but this didn't make Hope's targeting him any less distressing. When Hope leaped onto the bull's shoulder, he tried to gouge her with his antlers. She clung to him tenaciously. He finally managed to knock her off, only to have her jump right back on and sink her fangs into him again. The bull writhed and thrashed but finally stumbled. Once he was on his knees, Hope went straight for his windpipe.

By the end Hope was exhausted. And after all that effort she didn't take a single bite, simply stripping off a big hunk of the haunch and lugging it back up onto the ridge trail.

When we reached the den site, Frick was drinking from the creek. The other three wolves were uphill from the den, Raze sharing a bone with Ben while Lupa groomed herself.

“Why didn't you wake me?” Frick called out as Hope dropped the meat by the den entrance. “You shouldn't go hunting by yourself.”

Before Hope could even answer, Raze had hustled down to her. “What do you think you're doing?” he said, eyes narrowed.

“Getting Mother food so she can nurse—what does it look like?” Hope said.

“You should offer me the first taste.”

Hope snorted contemptuously. Raze shot forward, grabbed her by the neck, and tossed her down the hill toward my aspen. I squawked in outrage. Not only did Raze have a size advantage, but Hope had expended every ounce of her energy bringing down that elk. While my squawk still hung in the air, Frick sprinted up the hill and attacked Raze. Raze spun away and raked Frick's scarred backside with his claws. Frick yelped and scrambled back to where Hope lay panting.

“Bring it to me,” Raze said, his voice laced with threat.

By now Lupa and Ben were standing behind him. Hope struggled to her feet, but neither she nor Frick made a move toward the den, so Ben grabbed the piece of elk and dragged it to Raze. Raze tore off about a third and started chomping.

“That's meant for Alberta,” Frick said, blood streaming down his furless hind legs.

Raze dropped the meat and gave Frick a look of cold menace. “The first taste goes to the alpha,” he said.

“And you think that's you?”

“I suppose
you
are?” Lupa said, nostrils flaring.

“Alberta's our leader now,” Frick said.

“She's suckling pups,” Lupa said.

“I hunted that for them,” Hope said angrily.

“Tell you the truth, I'm not so sure I want a bunch of Blue Boy's pups around,” Raze said. “Next year Lupa and I'll make our own.”

“You'd let the pups starve?” Frick said incredulously. “Are you out of your mind?”

Raze was on him in a flash, this time clamping his jaws around Frick's throat. Hope threw herself on Raze, but Lupa and Ben yanked her off. Forcing Frick to the ground, Raze snarled the bloodcurdling snarl of the kill.

I flew up in the air and was about to dive-bomb him when I saw a wolf come over the crest of the hill. A big wolf. At first I doubted my eyes. I flew up to the top of the hill and saw that the wolf's coat, though spattered with dirt and dried blood, had patches of blue showing through. I zipped back to my aspen and crowed.

“Father!” Hope cried.

Raze let go of Frick and jumped backward. Hope threw herself over Frick like a shield. Lupa's ears shot back, pinned against her head. So did Ben's.

Then another astounding thing happened. Alberta never deserted her suckling newborns, but suddenly there she was, bounding out of the den. She whirled around and cried:

“Blue Boy!”

Hearing Alberta say his name dispelled any lingering doubts I may have had. Blue Boy truly was here. He was wagging his tail at the sight of his mate.

“Are the pups all right?” he said.

“Didn't you get shot?” Alberta cried.

“Yes. Are the pups all right?”

“They're fine!”

“And you, Frick?” Blue Boy asked.

Frick just lay there.

“Raze was trying to kill him, Father,” Hope said.

“Why would you do that, Raze?” Blue Boy said, his eyes slits.

For a moment Raze looked as if he'd turned to stone. Then he shrugged and said, “We were just sparring.”

“Liar,” Hope hissed. “You were trying to take over the pack.”

“We thought you were dead,” Raze said, his eyes fixed on Blue Boy.

“That much is true,” Alberta said, ignoring whines from the den. “I haven't slept for two nights. Where have you been?”

“The place the humans first brought us,” Blue Boy said.

“You're not hurt?”

Instead of answering, he walked down and gave her a nuzzle. “I think they used the same kind of bullet as up in Canada,” he said.

Frick groaned.

“Have some elk, Blue Boy,” Lupa said.

Blue Boy picked up the larger of the two chunks of meat, but instead of eating it he tossed it gingerly into the den.

“Better get back to the pups, Alberta,” he said.

Alberta gave him a tender look and followed the food inside. I don't think she noticed the blood trickling down the side of his muzzle. But by the way Raze's ears pricked up, I was pretty sure
he
did.

I KNEW WHAT A MESS
Blue Boy's mouth must be —I'd witnessed the attack on the unforgiving steel bars that had left the broken-off tooth lying in the pool of his own blood. It was incredible that he wasn't dead. I'd seen humans do wonders with lame horses and sick cattle up on the Triple Bar T, but Golden Hair must have performed a miracle on Blue Boy while Furry Face was out stalking Sully.

Curious as I was about it, I figured what Blue Boy needed now wasn't questions but backup. I flew straight—or almost straight—to the rocky knoll. Lamar was curled up asleep near the foot of the knoll, where he slept when he hadn't gotten Artemis any food. I landed in a twisted cedar and squawked:

“Come with me!”

Lamar sat up and yawned, displaying his impressive teeth.

“Your father needs you, Lamar,” I said.

Lamar's face turned grim. “My father's dead.”

“No, he's not. He's at the den site. But he's in troub—”

Lamar was off before I could finish. He sprinted across the flatland, his big feet sending up sprays of moisture from the newly thawed ground. When he reached Slough Creek, it was looking more like Slough River, but he splashed his way up the flooded bank, not stopping till he reached the boulder.

I doubt the other wolves noticed me returning to my aspen. Blue Boy was standing on one side of the den, his whole body tensed and his tail straight up. On the other side stood Raze, his tail straight up too, the smaller chunk of elk meat on the ground between them. Standing behind Raze, like bodyguards, were Lupa and Ben. Down the slope Hope was standing over Frick, clearly favoring her right leg as she ministered to his bloody wounds.

“Have some food, Blue Boy,” Raze said. “It's elk, your favorite.”

Blue Boy said nothing.

“Your ribs are showing,” Raze said. “Those humans didn't feed you?”

“That's no concern of yours,” Blue Boy snapped.

“Do something to your mouth, did you?”

“Time you shut yours.”

“You don't look so good, old wolf. Did you wear yourself out?”

Blue Boy arched his neck, his fur standing on end, and let out a low snarl. “I'll wear you out.”

But tossing the bigger chunk of meat into the den must have aggravated his poor gums, for the blood was now flowing freely from his mouth. Worse, he was wavering on his feet, as if standing in a high wind, when there wasn't so much as a breeze.