Song of the Street Wolf

The Dog's Discovery

The next morning came quietly, and John greeted it.

The sun climbed quickly into the cloudless sky, shining its watery yellow light upon the tops of the buildings. Faint birdsong sounded from the trees planted at irregular intervals along the sidewalks, and the breeze that tugged at John's clothes foretold a cold day to come. John placed a lit cigarette to his lips.

"I need a distance weapon," he sighed to nobody in particular. He was alone, as Bone had gone off to hunt. "Could use a rifle, shoot some of the squirrels. Maybe a rat."

'And the Pack,' he thought grimly.

He tried to remember if he'd seen a gun shop in his territory. He didn't recall, but there were many streets and blocks that he still hadn't explored. 'Maybe today's the day,' he thought, taking a drag.

He tried to blow a few smoke rings, to no success. He sighed again, feeling the cigarette calm his already jangled nerves. John checked his watch; it was barely seven o'clock, and he knew that it was time to get to work. He had to check the entire western side of the border of his territory before noon.

John exited the roof of his building, stomping down a few flights of stairs to his apartment. He ticked a day off of his makeshift calendar. One year, three months, two days ATF. One year, three months, and two days since he'd seen his family. A pang of longing knotted momentarily in his stomach. He ignored it.

The machete left its spot next to John's bed, and instead settled into his right hand. His stomach growled, but he reminded himself that until he found more supplies or a new source of food, he would have to really watch his rations. Two meals a day. His stomach growled again in protest.

John went to the window that opened up in the very narrow alley next to his apartment building, cupping his hand to his mouth. He let out a low howl, focusing on getting it deep and keeping it for around twenty seconds. That was his howl to call Bone back to him; the wolfdog would never be outside the range of the call, and would know to come to John.

Shortly after, a howl of the same tone and duration sounded back, and John knew that Bone would join him momentarily in the street. He left the building soon after that.

John was sure to close all the doors he opened, and after one more solid tug at the entrance to the apartment building, to make sure no lurker could throw itself against it and enter, he was off down the left portion of the street, west towards the Party District and the Red Zone.

Unlike many other times, John didn't let himself get too absorbed in the sights of the city. He had learned to always be alert, even when it didn't seem like he needed to be. He had learned the hard way that whenever he lost focus, and let himself be consumed by his thoughts, bad things happened. Always.

After he arrived at the city, after he became the Street Wolf, John had a lot of time on his hands. At first, he mapped out his portion of the city; then he took to harassing the Pack. When they no longer proved entertaining, but mere enemies and annoyances, he had to turn to other things to occupy himself.

He had gotten good at communicating with Bone in the canine's native tongue. Growls came easily to the human, and in a few short weeks he had mastered how to rumble a guttural sound from the back of his throat to his companion. Bone would return the sentiment, and their bond strengthened.

However, howling proved to be much more difficult. After several long months, with many miscommunications and mistakes on John's part, he had finally picked up enough to be able to be proficient; he had learned to differentiate a warning howl, a hunting howl, and a just a location howl. Each sound had a specific pitch and duration..