Page 2 of Raised By Wolves

An old man makes the mistake of turning into the aisle with his cart full of prune juice and wet wipes. He goes white as a sheet when he sees two filthy kids in tattered clothing going nuts on the junk food. He leaves his cart where it is and runs gimpy legged out the door.

The kids can’t stop laughing. The food’s still flying every which way. The floor’s a mess of crumbs and juice, dirt and glass and blood.

Dale’s moved farther away, but he’s still yelling at them. “Is this some kind of TikTok challenge bullshit? Because it’s not freakingfunny!”

The boy turns to him again. The kid’s eyes have gone darker than midnight. They don’t even look like human eyes anymore. His lips curl back from his mouth. And a low, bone-chilling growl rumbles up from his throat. It rises in volume and pitch as the kid comes toward him.

Moving on all fours.

Dale feels his bladder go slack, and the warm piss running down his leg. He turns around and runs.

CHAPTER 2

POLICE CHIEF CHESTER Greene streaks up to the Grizzly in his black-and-white. Officer Randall Pierce comes peeling into the parking lot ten seconds later.

“Wolves, Chief?” Randall scoffs, favoring a bum knee as he climbs out of his cruiser. “Brenda Lake must’ve had a few too many tequila sunrises.”

“That’s Brenda’s Friday-night problem,” Chester says. “Last I checked it’s Tuesday afternoon.” He notes the smashed front door, the glass sparkling on the ground. A wolf couldn’t do that—wouldn’tdo that.

A bear might, though. He puts his hand on his pistol.

His boots crunch on glass as he goes inside. The store looks like a tornado hit aisle two. There’s food and plastic food packaging everywhere, and a thin stream of red juice snakes along the floor. Chester looks toward the register. “Looks like Dale’s long gone,” he says.

Randall says, “I’d run, too, if I was him.”

“Police!” Chester calls to the seemingly empty store. “Come on out now. Come slowly, and you won’t get shot.”

There’s no answer.

Then Chester hears it: low growling coming from an aisle to the left. Randall peels off to come at the intruder—whatever it is—from the other side.

Chester grits his teeth. What’s he going to find? It doesn’t sound human, that’s for sure.

He spins around the endcap and points his gun down the aisle. It takes him a second to process what he’s seeing. Two skinny kids, dirty and disheveled—the girl’s shoving chips into her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in days, and the boy’s crouched down and growling.

Randall appears at the other end of the aisle. Spotting the barefoot kids, he looks so surprised Chester almost laughs. “What the—” he says.

The kids freeze. Chester lowers his gun.

“My name’s Chester Greene,” he says calmly. “I’m the chief of police, and I’m going to need you to put down the Doritos.”

The kids blink at him. They turn their heads to eyeball Randall, then back to look at Chester.

The girl reaches into the bag and shoves another handful into her mouth. And the boy—well, hesnarlsat Chester. His mouth’s orange with Dorito dust.

“The chief said ‘Put down the Doritos,’” Randall repeats.

Chester takes a step forward and the girl flinches. She looks about sixteen, with gray eyes set deep in a fine-featured face. The boy’s younger, maybe thirteen or so, with uncombed hairthat reaches past his shoulders. Chester knows all the kids in Kokanee Creek—especially the ones who do dumb shit like this—but he’s never seen these two before.

He tucks the gun into its holster and takes another step in their direction. “What are your names? Where are your parents? Where’re you supposed to be? You skipping school right now?”

The boy’s growl gets louder. The girl presses herself against the shelves and bares her teeth at him like a dog would. Chester keeps walking, low and slow. “You must be really hungry,” he says. He’s moving toward them slowly, gently, the way he’d approach an animal caught in a trap. “But you can’t just help yourselves to the chip aisle. You know that, don’t you? You can’t make messes like this. How about we go outside and talk about it?”

The boy’s snarl turns into a warning bark, and it makes the hair on the back of Chester’s neck stand up.

“Can you understand me?” Chester asks. “Do you speak English?”

They both growl at him.

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