Song of the Street Wolf

The Heart of the Lonely Hunter

Rain washed against John's window, filling his apartment with a soothing pattering sound. The shadows of the raindrops danced across his floor, and his tracked them with his half-closed eyes. He loved rainy days; good days to sleep in. He shifted his legs, and Bone let out a grunt. The wolfdog was asleep on John's legs.  

"No time to sleep, Bone. We have searching to do," he said. Bone whined, cocking his head in John's direction. John turned back to him, mimicking the action. Bone blinked slowly. John chuckled and shook his head, standing up.

"You know the Pack doesn't operate on rainy days. We need to take those opportunities while we can," John reminded his dog. He was right. The Pack believed that when it rained, the Spirit was grieving the loss of his brother, so the Pack mourned. Bone huffed, sitting up in the bed. John ignored his protests. He donned his fleece hoodie as well as his denim jacket. He wish he had a raincoat, and promised himself he'd spend one day looking for one, if he got the chance.

"Beans for breakfast," he told Bone, who had jumped off the bed and had padded to the window. He shot John a look and seemed to roll his eyes. "I'm aware, Bone. We had that for dinner yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. Jesus, mutt. All we have is beans and beef jerky."

At the mention of beef jerky, Bone's tail raised. "No, no. That's for emergencies. It keeps better than the beans," he chided. He held out a forkful of beans to Bone. The dog snapped it into his mouth, almost biting John's hand in the process. John jerked back, frowning.

"Hey! Every heard of the saying 'Don't bite the hand that feeds you' ?" John exclaimed. Bone smacked his lips in response, tongue lolling out of his mouth in a doggy grin. John shook his head and forked a mouthful of beans into his own mouth. He gave Bone one more bite, and then finished it off himself. Bone sighed.

"Catch something while we're out."

"Woof."

"Yes. Let's go."

John grabbed his machete, tucked his gun between his belly and the waistband of his jeans, and flipped his hood over his head. The two of them headed down the stairs and out the door of the building.

There was a high end party that he could check. He recalled it being called the Party District back when it was actually inhabited. There were bars, casinos, gentlemen's clubs, and an abundance of other things. He would have gone here before, as it seemed a promising location for hiding spots. However, it was in the part of the Pack's territory in which they patrolled frequently, so he hadn't been able to get to it.

John walked to his location today. He could take his time today since he didn't have any vaguely sentient enemies to worry about that day. Only the soulless, mindless ones, and those were easy.

The buildings slowly changed from plain brick and metal to painted and chrome. Dead, empty neon signs were everywhere, and John even spied an unsavoury statue of a woman outside of one club. He sighed; he was always a respectable man, and any of those types of public things made him slightly uncomfortable. A raindrop plopped onto his nose.

"This one is as good of a place as any," he said. "What say you?"

Bone barked.

"Good thinking." John tried the door to find it unlocked. The Pack must have picked the locks some other day. Good for John.

'I hope I find something good,' thought John, stepping into the club. It was called the Hive. It had a black floor, with yellow lined tiles in the shape of hexagons covering it. The stools at the bar were yellow hexagons as well, and John imagined what it would have looked like a year before, with glowing yellow lights everywhere and a deep, thumping bass. It would have been a nice club, one where you would dress up to meet other respectable folks. You would get drunk in style here.

"Linda! Marley! Paisley! Ashley!" John called like he always did when searching a building. If his family was there, it would alert them. If not, the would draw any lurkers out of their hiding spots for him to kill. Nothing stirred, not even the air from John's breath. He sighed, rubbing at his beard. He needed a new razor; his last one had been broken several months before, when he had used it to kill a lurker that had somehow wandered up the stairs during the night. Bone had been beaten for allowing it to get that close, and the dog hadn't made the mistake again.

"No people here, Bone. Go find some food," John said. Bone took off at a trot, nose up in the air. John knew that wherever Bone went, he'd come back, so he didn't worry much. John sighed, and went through the motions of searching a building for any secret stash of food or supplies.

"Ah ha," he whispered triumphantly. He had gone behind the bar to find a couple of jars of peanut butter, two boxes of saltines, and bag of trail mix. "Jackpot." He knew Bone would love the peanut butter; what dog wouldn't?

***

John took a sip of beer and followed it with a puff of a cigarette. He was sitting in the club, alone and sad.

He hadn't found his family. There had been no other clues, no other signs of their existence, let alone their survival. He had been trying so hard, and yet his efforts were fruitless. An entire year had been spent searching nonstop. He had prayed, occasionally. It was all he could do besides tear the city apart from the foundations up. However, if that's what he had to do, he'd do it. John hoped it didn't come to that.

"God, just tell me what to do. Give me a sign, give me something. You said You help those who help themselves, and I think I fit the part," John sighed, taking a swig. He swallowed, breathing in a long drag. Smoke spiralled from his mouth as he spoke. "Listen, I know I'm prayin' while I drink and smoke, but you know I'm a good man."

The only thing that answered was the splattering of rain on the pavement outside.

"I can only do so much. The Pack is in my way. If it wasn't for that damn group of wannabe badasses, I could comb through that entire chunk of the city without any problem," John continued. "Hell, if I could just get them to leave me alone it could work. If that Alpha guy told them not to mess with me, they'd follow me."

'Him and that snake-eye tattoo...' John thought. 'Snake... Cut the head off the snake.'

"That's it!" he cried! "Thank you Lord! I cut the head off the snake, I get the city!" Bone raised his head from the rat he was gnawing on. His tail thumped against the ground. John stood suddenly, leaving the beer half drank and the cigarette snuffed on the counter.

"Come on, Bone. I know what I have to do."