Page 68 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

“You should give him a name,” I say thoughtfully.

She shakes her head vigorously. “No.” She smooths the bag with her fingers, increasing the flow of milk. “I can’t name him knowing you might drown him.”

“That’s exactly why you should name him.” I think back to the time the Bones called me Hoover. Hoover for Hoover Avenue, where Ramon found me starving behind a dump back then.

“Why?” she asks, genuinely surprised.

“You want him to die without a name?” I retort.

Lou looks at me and then at the cub, a sad look in her eyes. “Names make it harder. Names bind you to things. Names give meaning.”

“If he doesn’t have a name, it means he isn’t important.” I hear Ramon’s voice in my mind: Everyone should know his name, Hoover. Names are like a fucking birthright or something like that. You may not know your mom, but you should at least know what name she called you, right?

I’m still holding the young wolf. Glancing back at Lou, it seems like she’s actually thinking of a name for the little one. “Maybe not necessarily Princess,” I say, smiling.

“So, he’s a male…right?” Lou squeezes the remaining milk out of the bag with both hands.

“Yep.”

I wait a moment until the pouch is completely empty, then pick up the cub and set him back on the fleece sweater. His eyes are closed. He may fall asleep now that he’s finally had enough.

Lou lovingly covers him. “How do you know so much about wolves?” She looks tenderly at the bundle of fur on her lap.

I lean back and look at the cub as well. “I’ve spent a couple of summers in the wilderness and read up on a few things, but you also learn a lot through experience.” For example, how to howl with the wolves.

“Do you think he’ll make it?”

As soon as she asks, the pup retches.

“Dammit!” Cursing, I pick him up. “I hope he doesn’t have roundworms.” I don’t have medicine for roundworms with me. The little guy vomits dryly a few times, then a whole load of warm milk spills onto my hands and drips onto the floor. I wait a moment, hoping he calms down, but he continues gagging until he’s thrown up more than he could have drunk.

Lou bites her lower lip tensely.

“I think there’s probably no point,” I say softly, stroking the little one’s head. “He’s too weak to keep the milk down.”

“We gave him too much,” Lou replies quickly. “He should not have had that much at once.”

I look at Lou and push down any feelings. I don’t want her to notice that I’m wavering. “Sorry, I don’t think this little guy’s going to live.”

“You’re not giving him a chance!” Lou’s eyes fill with tears in a matter of seconds. “You don’t even want to try.”

Again, her tears leave me completely helpless, messing everything up.

“I just don’t want him to suffer,” I reply more harshly than intended.

“But I’m suffering and you don’t care about that. You haven’t drowned me in the lake yet.”

Her words catch me so off guard, I wince. “That’s different!” I snap.

“No, it isn’t. Give him a chance! Please.” A tear rolls down her cheek.

“Lou…” I don’t even know what to say. Her reaction overwhelms me. I look from her to the pup in my arms and can’t tell at the moment which of the two needs help more urgently.

“Please!” Lou’s chin trembles. “Please, let’s just try! I’ll feed him every hour if I have to. A few drops each time. He can sleep in my bed and I’ll carry him around and keep him warm.”

I suppress a smile. “Maybe I should get sick one of these days too…” I try to joke and hold the pup in front of my face. “What do you think, big fella?”

He hangs there limply as if he has already given up.

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