[OLD - HAS BEEN REWRITTEN] Howl You Home

Prologue

CHRIS HEARTLY never thought he'd die like this. Twenty years of hiking and he'd never had so much as a sprained ankle. He'd even managed to climb Mount Everest back in his prime- but now it was taking everything in him just to stumble forward.

The trail, narrow and slick with bloodied snow, fought against every step. The boots he wore were all but useless, the nonexistent tread letting the snow glide straight through as he bounded down. His muscles burned, screaming at him to stop - but he couldn't. Stopping would be a death sentence. Adrenaline was the only thing that kept him going. That, and the knowledge that if he was caught, by either a ranger or some woodland beast, he'd be dead for sure.

Avid hiker or not, cardio didn't matter jack shit after being stabbed.

Steam poured from his broken mouth as Chris dragged his leg. His hand was pressed firmly against the knife wound as he ducked below snow-covered branches. Snow crunched underneath his stolen boots. The snow was left flecked crimson as each jolt tore further at his already ruined leg.

The foggy winter night wrapped tightly around him and stung his lungs painfully with each rasping breath.

In the distance, behind countless rows of pine, headlights cut through the darkness.

He began to shamble faster.

Chris wasn't about to let one night gone wrong end his fun. Not yet. Not like this. Not before getting laid at least once in his miserable life.

He'd ventured out to the woods on such a snowy night to do just that. He'd staked out a cabin far out by the edge of the woods, hoping the winter wonderland would help set the mood for some unsuspecting tourist. It worked, and to his delight, she had come alone. A woman. Tall, red-headed, and utterly alone.

But his plan had gone horribly wrong.

Chris knew he wasn't a good man, but he didn't think he deserved this. Maybe he deserved being stabbed in the thigh when he tried to force his way into the cabin, claiming to be a ranger. Maybe he deserved losing his front teeth to her fists. Maybe he'd even deserved it when his target stole his car to get away, leaving him stranded and bleeding at the edge of a wolf preserve. But Chris didn't think he deserved to die like this.

No, he refused to die like this.

With his truck, Chris didn't give a shit about the forest. But now that he was bleeding, weaponless, with trees tall around him and who knew what hiding in them, Chris found himself very much afraid. The park rangers had left warning signs, and as Chris continued to stumble further into the woods, he was beginning to see why.

Another siren sounded off, closer than it had been before. He couldn't decide if the sound was desperate to find him, or laughing at him.

"Fuck!" Chris cursed as he slipped. White-hot pain rewarded him as it tore through his leg, matched only by the bitter scream that tore out of his throat - almost making it past his blood-soaked beard. He chomped down, sealing the scream behind what was left of his teeth. He refused to let whatever was out there in the woods, ranger or otherwise, hear him.

Chris was still trying to catch his breath when his curse was unexpectedly answered.

From somewhere, far too close for comfort, a howl rose. Wordlessly it carried through the trees, its somber tune cutting through the stillness. It was as if something was calling out, calling for him to sing back. Calling to the sirens that continued to echo ever closer. But all Chris could do was freeze.

Then behind him, not far away, a twig snapped, and despite his leg, Chris started to run.

Thick fog wrapped around him as he desperately swallowed lungfuls of damp painfully cold air. The fog warped the forest and blotted out all but the moon. It watched, not unlike an uncaring eye. It was as if the moon was his judge, the trees were his silent jury, and the creature, now stalking him, was his sentencing.

The sirens started to fall further behind.

The knife wound hurt, but the fear of knowing something had smelt his blood was worse. Almost worse than the fact his truck had been stolen, leaving him to shamble through the woods without any hope of rescue. It was hard enough to breathe through the fog that shouting for help would be impossible. Even if he could, it would only bring the beast, or rangers, closer.

So he hid. The momentary shelter was little more than a fallen tree grown over by brambles, but it was at least something between him and the beast. The pinpricks of thorns were nothing compared to the agony of his leg. His hand clamped harder over the wound. As his throat ached, twisting with the urge to scream, he could only cough, sending blood sputtering from his split lips. Chris didn't dare move his hand away. It was all he could do to put more pressure on the gaping wound. Just enough to stop the blood, but not enough to give in to the vile, growing, itch.

Now all there was left to do was wait. For what? Chris didn't know.

His fingers shook as he pulled out his burner phone. Even after years of avoiding the law, Chris figured he'd have an easier time at the claws of attorneys than the ones attached to whatever was stalking him. Maybe he would even be able to get away with it. The man trembled in the cold as he desperately tried to think of what to say. But as he pulled the phone out, it caught the edge of his pocket and tumbled into the snow. The screen buzzed to life. Just as Chris' hope was renewed, the screen flickered, shook, then died, taking what little hope he had with it.

He stared hopelessly at his reflection. Hard eyes that had watched as he'd taken the lives of others, now stared back with the same dark, unfeeling coldness. Chris slowly looked away. He might be a monster, but he wasn't the only one. He didn't go after kids. And until now he'd been careful with his targets. They were never saints by any stretch of the imagination, but that didn't mean he did it to make the world a better place. Far from it. If the cops happened to look the other way when his kills were found, it wasn't because they couldn't catch him. It was because they didn't care to stop him.

Christopher Hartley hadn't intended on being a killer, but like nearly everything else in his life, the dice landed that way. It wasn't that he hated his bloody hobby, far from it, but he'd always had much bigger plans for himself. Plans like not dying from being mauled in the middle of nowhere, or being stabbed by his target. He'd wanted to be an investigator when he was younger; wanted to make places safer so everyone's lives would be easier. But that had all gone out the window when he'd killed his stepfather. He'd gotten away with it by claiming self-defense. It had been the truth. But after years of having his own blood spilled, Chris had gotten a taste for spilling others.

And now, something out there had a taste for his.

Chris shook in the cold as he waited for any sign of the beast. Only the wind howled now. Even without something chasing him, the fog was so thick that Chris had lost sight of the path the moment he'd stepped off of it. He didn't dare to look down to see how much of his blood had left a trail. He wasn't stupid. He knew it was there. But a part of him held tight to the hope that if he just hid long enough, well enough, that he could make it out unscathed.

Maybe he'd turn his life around. Make something of himself. Chris held back a bitter laugh. Maybe he'd even hang up his knife and become a park ranger.

The snow held the world in silence. As he waited Chris had tried to pack snow against his wound. It hurt, but at least his hands came away wet from something other than blood. Chris wasn't sure how long it'd been when he finally realized he was finally alone. He'd gotten away. The man smiled. He'd done it. Even the sirens had faded into silence. Chris started to laugh. He'd done it! He'd-

Just as Chris threw his head back to laugh the creature leapt. Sounds of joy were quickly turned to desperate gurgling as the jury's fangs sunk into his throat.

Silence fell again until a radio crackled in the not-so-distant darkness. The wolf only flicked an uncaring ear as it continued to tear apart its well-won prey.

The nearby Ranger looked away as he holstered his gun and reached for his radio. His face twisted in dismal acceptance as he raised it to his lips. Desperately he tried to ignore the sounds of ripping clothes and wet squelching tears as the beast began to eat the now steaming remains of Chris Heartly. There was nothing that could be done now, except to write a report.

The telltale pattering of paws was the only warning the Ranger had.

The ranger fought to stay still as another wolf ran past - only for it to turn around at the sound he'd made. Bright eyes stared at him from the darkness. Before the Ranger could think to react, the creature pressed its body against his leg, bristled hide scraping against his uniform before joining the feast. As if the wolf was thanking him for chasing the meal into their very maws.

Even in the darkness the Ranger could make out the muddled form of the pack as one by one they appeared through the fog to join the feast. Each stopping to brush past him.

"There's been another one," the ranger finally said to his radio.

A wordless crackle was all that replied. But it was enough.

Knowing there would be nothing left to put in a body bag, the ranger turned and forced himself to leave. All the ranger could do now was watch from his cruiser as the wolves feasted.

He just hoped this one wouldn't come back.