Page 51 of Raised By Wolves

I shove my feet into a pair of Lacey’s shoes and follow him.“How do they know it’s wolves?” I demand. “Has anyone seen them?”

“They don’t have to, Kai,” he says, exasperated. “When they find a bloody, half-eaten ewe, they know it didn’t die of natural causes.” He yanks open the cruiser door and gets in.

“But you said it yourself—foxes kill lambs, and coyotes can take down a calf! There’s bears in the woods, too, and cougars, and all kinds of predators—”

The chief starts the engine. Revs it a little to warm it up. Leans out the window to lecture me. “But people don’thatethose predators, Kai, not the way they hate wolves. They want to blame wolves for everything they can. Wolves are bloodthirsty and vicious and evil—that’s what people around here think.”

“That’s ridiculous!” My hands are balled into fists and I’m actually yelling at the police chief. “Wolves live in families! They play together and love each other and trust each other! And theytake careof each other, unlike most of the people I’ve met. How’s that vicious?”

The chief shoves the car into gear. “When a pack of them kills the sheep you’re trying to raise up, I guess it seems pretty damn vicious.”

I run around to the passenger side and fling myself into the car. I’m not letting him leave without me. Wolf business ismybusiness. “Then maybe someone should tell those people to quit raising their stupid livestock on land that’s supposed to belong to wolves and other wild things!”

The chief sighs. “Coming along for the ride, are you? Okay. Look, Kai, I’m on your side. I don’t want people poisoning wolves, or shooting them with machine guns, or chasingthem down with helicopters. But the fact is, you can kill a wolf the minute it steps onto your property in Idaho. It’s more than legal—it’s encouraged.”

People areencouragedto use machine guns? Invited to murder animals who are only trying to live? As the chief drives away from the cabin, I feel so sick I can barely stand it. It’s humans, not wolves, who are the vicious ones.

The chief says quietly, “Just so we’re clear, this isn’t my jurisdiction. I’m not supposed to police wildlife, and no one’s broken any laws. I’m just going around to check in with folks.”

My mind races as we drive. I think of Sam I Am, shot by a man who’d tracked him for months, convinced the wolf was preying on his calves. What if there isn’t enough wild prey to feed Beast’s pups? What if the pack came down the mountainside and onto a rancher’s land? A deer has evolved to be wily and quick. A cow’s been bred to be heavy and slow. It’s obvious which one makes the easier meal.

But Beast is smarter than that. Isn’t she?

Eventually the chief turns down a dirt track that ends in front of a ranch house painted faded yellow. A man comes out, shading his eyes from the sun. He’s got a red face and a bowlegged, tough-guy swagger. As the chief climbs out of the car, he says, “You come about the vermin?”

I shoot a glance at the chief. Is he calling wolves “vermin”?

The chief shakes his head at me.Keep your mouth shut, Kai—that’s what he’s saying.

Sorry, chief, I can’t make any promises.

“Come on out back and have a look,” the red-faced man says.

I’ve never seen him before, but somehow his mean eyes look familiar.

We hop a barbed-wire fence and follow him a few hundred yards through the dirt. Then he stops and puts his hands on his hips. “There,” he says furiously. He kicks an unmoving reddened lump on the ground with his boot.

I look down at the gruesome mess of wool and flesh and guts. A cloud of flies feast on the dead sheep’s eyes. Hungry vultures circle overhead.

“If it was up to me, I’d kill every single one of them bastards,” the man spits.

The smell of rotting sheep fills the air. Good thing I didn’t eat breakfast, or it would’ve come back up again.

The chief doesn’t answer him. He eyeballs the dirt around the carcass, probably looking for wolf prints. “You’ll be compensated, Mr. Hardy.”

He’s a Hardy! IknewI didn’t like this guy.

“Uncle Sam’ll send me a check, sure. He should send me an army instead.”

I kneel down to take a closer look at the dead sheep. Immediately, relief—and more nausea—flood through me. “This animal wasn’t killed by a wolf.”

Both men look at me in surprise.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asks. Apparently he’s only just noticed me.

“This is Kai,” the chief says. “She’s… shadowing me on the job today.”

I stand up and brush off my dusty knees. “I know what awolf kill looks like,” I tell the chief. “And this isn’t it.” I turn to red-faced Hardy. “Do your neighbors have dogs?”

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