Page 22 of The Dire Legacy

Alpha agrees. It's time to leave the remains of Boise. In the smaller towns, it might be easier to find safety.

The first time they brought in a person for food, I was disgusted. But, the reality of their survival hinged on it.

Eat or be eaten.

When I lived in the prison, I was ostracized and forced to live with only what I could scavenge on the trips I volunteered for.

They’ve been more accepting of me than the normal humans ever did. Most of my pack are bringing back items for me to be more comfortable. I have packs, tents, sleeping bags and more. Every vestige of luxury.

I seem to have found a special place in the hierarchy as well. I’m the only one who can use a gun. Their mutated forms struggle to hold and fire any sort of weapon. Finding them iseasy. The city is still littered with them and the wolves have gathered a significant stockpile.

“It’s easier to keep them away from the humans if we get them first. The fewer they have, the less of us die.” Alpha’s lip turns up in a snarl, exposing his yellowing canines.

“Why is it that I was raised with a “shoot first, ask questions later” way of thinking? Didn’t anyone try to talk to you?” The arsenal is impressive, though many have fallen into disrepair after twenty five years.

There are more than enough still in their cases to make up for it.

“It took me years to relearn how to talk. By then, the lines were drawn. When the virus changed us, the wolf was very hard to fight.” The large ears that frame his head flatten. “The only one I tried to talk to shot me.” He gestures his muzzle to a puckered mark on his shoulder.

“You talked to me.” We load a makeshift wagon with heavy boxes of ammunition. His large, muscular size makes the hundred pound crates seem like they’re filled with feathers.

“I couldn’t smell gunpowder. And, you were by yourself. No one sane does that.” He gives a low bark. Two of the dogs slink over and slide into the harnesses attached to the front.

Easier than horses.

My ears perk on their own to distant howls. They’re alerts.

Intruders from the south.

“It’s time to move.” He stands on his hind legs and paces through a darkened hall that leads to the belly of the parking garage.

Whimpers precede his return. Flanked by his mate and their four pups, he loads the juvenile dogs onto the ammo boxes.

“Will the rest catch up?” The wagon creaks as I sit near the back. As heavy as it is, the two giant beasts pulling it make it move with nimble ease.

“We’re splitting the pack. There’s too many to feed.” His long legs keep stride through the rubble strewn streets.

My feet barely touch the ground, occasionally brushing grass clumps as the wheels bog over obstacles. “So, half a dozen and the pups? Does that mean the rest will stay here and starve?” I’ve grown to care for most of the dogs. They’ve accepted me, even sharing their heat in the chill of the night in tousled piles of fur and legs.

I belong. But, I don’t want anything to happen to the stragglers.

“They’ll join us as we find more fertile grounds.” His nose rises into the dusk sky in a long inhale, then drops a small grunt.

He must not smell danger anywhere close.

I thought my sense of smell was acute, but he far surpasses it. And, I’ve learned to trust him.

The silhouette of the buildings against the starry sky fall further apart as the rocking of the cart lulls me in and out of sleep.

Heat awakens me. It must be late in the morning, judging by the position of the sun overhead.

“So, where are we heading?” A small furry foot is splayed across my shoulder. One of the napping pups feathers tiny breaths against my cheek as he twitches in his sleep.

Ugh, I have to piss. Gently moving the little limb, I hop off the cart onto a soft carpet of pine needles blanketing the ground.

Trees. Not a man made structure in sight.

I like it here. The towering ponderosas are much nicer to look at than the ruined remains of a civilization that fell before I was born.

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