Page 65 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

Lost in thought, I stop at a spruce tree to tie a red cloth to it. The location is perfect for a trap as it is on the deer trail and not far from the creek. As I tie the last knot, a faint sound reaches my ear. The whining of an animal. It reminds me of the whimpering of a beaten child who can no longer find words in his pain. Black light flickers in front of me for a moment. Out of instinct, I put my hands up to cover my ears, but then I think about it and lower my arms again. I need to see what’s going on. The whining sounds like it’s from a young animal. Young ones around the RV pose a risk if the parents perceive us as a threat. It could be a fox cub or a wolf pup. Or a grizzly cub. Maybe its mother is nearby, too.

I stand still for a moment and listen intently.

I must be close. The sounds are only soft because the animal is weak. I carefully walk around the spruce to which I tied the cloth and step over several broken branches. A chipmunk darts away. Now the whining is right below me. In slow motion, I squat down and brush aside a few feathery fern leaves with the back of my hand. My heart beats faster.

Luckily, not a bear cub!

A tiny wolf cub is crawling all alone on the ground.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” The cub turns in circles as if completely lost. Its tiny legs tremble in a futile attempt to keep running, but the next moment, it falls over and just lies there.

“You’re way too skinny, you know that?” I reach out to it and it immediately licks my fingers. Its tongue is rough and tender. It’s not afraid of me, at least, it hardly reacts to me, only to my hand. This is bad. I’ve read a lot about wolves since the first pack established their territory on my land. I don’t remember everything, but this cub is definitely too skinny for its age. I carefully feel the protruding ribs, pluck a few ticks from the fur and throw them back into the ferns in disgust.

There’s no way I can leave it here. A few feet to the left, I discover a cave, directly below a mound of earth. It is unusual for a young to lie in front of it and not in it. I creep closer and cautiously peer into the dark tunnel. Silence. No sound emerges from the darkness. I lean further toward the opening. The cave appears empty, at least, as far as I can tell.

Apparently, the mother wolf left it behind. Something we have in common that immediately draws me to it. I step back and pick up the tiny bundle. I gently place my hand on its back, feeling the soft, fluffy fur between my fingers. It reminds me of Blacky. Its rough tongue is licking my thumb, awakening another memory: me lying huddled in the closet, my hand twisted in the manacle. There isn’t a spot on my body that doesn’t hurt. The monster beat me with a belt until I stopped moving. Even today, I sometimes hear the cracking of the punches and my insides convulse.

Are you crying, you wimp? Are you crying?

N-no, sir.

Then you obviously haven’t had enough, right?

And he struck me again just because his dog came to me, licked my hand, and jumped up on me. It loved me, not him. At the time, I was certain that was the real reason and not the spilled varnish.

The tiny wolf pup whines and I realize how hard I’m digging my fingers into its fur.

“What am I going to do with you?” I ask loudly, looking at the stream. It’s too weak, it won’t make it. It will fall victim to another animal. That would be the natural course of things and it would help the other being, but I don’t want to leave it to that fate.

If I were fair, I’d drown it to spare it further agony. But then I think about Blacky again, lying in the crate… I hold the pup in front of my face, examining it from all sides.

“You’re male, aren’t you?” I say. Luckily, it doesn’t seem to have any parasites. The fur doesn’t look shaggy yet and it’s clearly calling for help.

“You know what? I’ll take you to Lou and give you something to eat!” I hold it against my body with one arm and lay the other one over it as I walk back. This time, I don’t bother to move quietly through the undergrowth, but rush forward. I don’t care how many animals I startle with the noise.

“Lou! You have to see this!” I call out when I’m only halfway through the tree line. With long strides, I climb over blueberry bushes and dead wood and get caught on a branch near the ground at the edge of the clearing. I stumble forward, cursing, but catch myself in time.

Lou stares blankly at me before discovering the bundle of fur in my arms. Her eyes widen.

“Here, take it!” I don’t give her any time to reply and just place the cub in her hands as if it were natural. “A wolf pup,” I explain before she starts thinking it’s a grizzly and make a dash for the rear of the motorhome. “I found him near a cave.” For a moment, I look at Lou, who is holding the tiny wolf as gently as she would a baby. “I heard him whining,” I say, opening the RV’s rear compartment. There has to be the powdered milk I bought in abundance at a Walmart somewhere in here. There are at least twelve large packages that were supposed to last us all winter. I climb into the opening on my knees and push a few boxes aside until I find the one that says Winter/Milk/Fruit in bold letters.

“You didn’t steal him from his mother, did you?” I suddenly hear Lou ask from nearby. Apparently, she followed me.

I glance over my shoulder in disgust. “Of course not! Who do you think I am?” I shake my head in disbelief, although her question is justified. I stole her from her brothers, so why should I have any qualms about taking a mother’s pup?

I rummage around in the box with both hands. “Come on… I know I bought you…”

I impatiently pull out a few cans of preserved peaches and forcefully set them down on the tin floor. A mighty rattle rumbles through the storage space. “I figure his mom rejected him. Or she died and the other cubs were eaten. Any number of possibilities…” I feel like I have to explain it to Lou. I don’t want her to think that I simply took the cub.

I hear her say something, but judging by the affectionate tone, it’s for the cub, not me. After searching the winter containers and not finding anything, I climb a little further back. If Lou were to slam the door shut now, I’d be stuck in the storage area.

It’s a good thing she’s on the chain and I have the key.

“I think he’s hungry,” she says, somewhat at a loss.

“What do you think I’m doing in here?” I grumble, annoyed. “I’m trying to find the powdered milk. I’m positive I bought some in case we run out of canned.”

At that moment, I discover a box. Milk here! is written on it, even underlined and with a bold exclamation mark. I vaguely remember repackaging the milk shortly before my departure.

---