The Wizard's Herbarium: The Wolf Child

Part 3

Chuck didn't live far. His house was a few blocks down and one block over from the bakery. By the time they reached the house, Colt had composed himself again, wrestling the demon back into its cage.

Telling Chuck's house apart was easy with the giant logging truck parked out front. The bed of the truck was empty, but it was easy to imagine the trees wedged in between the spokes.

By the appearance of the outside of the house, Chuck was right in that he did well for himself. The other houses they passed were small with gardens out front and few luxuries. Chuck's house wasn't ostentatious, but it was decently large. Comfortable, Colt might say.

"If the logging industry is so good, then why don't you drive a newer truck?" Colt asked, pointing to the smaller nearly rusted-out piece in the driveway.

"I needed something more reliable rather than the fancy things they have now," Chuck said. "That thing is also easy to fix, not as many computers in it. Needed the money for equipment for my business.

'Industry is a silly thing for guys like me," Chuck continued. "I didn't come from a fancy education. One minute the world loves you and the next it's all worried about global warming. There isn't any balance. So I save my money for the day when my business might dry up."

Chuck reached up to open the door to the logging truck. "Besides, my wife has the newer vehicle. If mine breaks down in the middle of the highway, it's not the end of the world, but she needs something that'll go for a while."

Colt followed suit and climbed up into the passenger side of the truck.

"Where is your wife?" he asked.

"Visiting her mother. She's got health problems and the nearest hospital to here is forty-five minutes away - that's when the roads aren't covered in three feet of snow. So living here isn't ideal for them. They're in the next major town, or city, I guess it is. Small city, or large town, I'm not too sure. It's got a decent population anyway." As Chuck talked, he put his coffee cup in the cup holder between them and began fiddling with things. He filled out some paperwork. Colt tried to look and understand what it was, but he'd never worked in the industry before. It was a different language to him and he gave up, turning to look out the window and sip his own coffee.

Colt watched people leaving for the day. It was rush hour, but a sleepy sort rather than the mad dash like those in a major city. Most houses were awake with lights on inside. People were having their breakfast or coffees, some were watching TV, and others were chatting. Other houses hadn't even begun to wake up yet, the blinds still drawn and the windows dark.

"Anyway, my wife will be back tonight," Chuck said. "She said she'd have dinner ready so we gotta be back on time."

"What time is that?" Colt asked, pulling his coffee up away from his face as the steam leaking through the opening at the top began to burn his nose.

"Anytime before 8pm."

The truck started up, roaring to life in the quiet town and Colt wondered how many neighbours were woken up to the sound each morning. Colt's seat vibrated under him and he reached to put his seat belt on.

Chuck chatted to him on the drive as the truck ambled through the mountain roads.

In less than an hour they pulled off the main highway and onto a gravel side-road. Another ten minutes or so and they were at a site. A few other guys were waiting, holding onto their coffees and talking in a circle.

"A friend of mine just bought the land," Chuck said, putting the truck in park and reaching into the small space behind the seats to produce a couple of plaid jackets. "300 acres of nothing but trees. So he's allowing us to log on it. Nice thing is that we're close to home. Here, this'll be warmer than that thing you've got on. Working in the forest we're in shade all day. It gets cold."

Chuck handed him a jacket and Colt put it on. He was right, it was heavy and warm. Colt had to roll the sleeves up a few times so it fit him.

"And wear gloves," Chuck continued, producing a pair of work gloves. "With no callouses on your hands, they'll get cut to shit."

Colt pocketed the gloves and joined Chuck who started a debrief with the team. Colt was introduced. There were only four other guys not including himself and Chuck. Two of them were around Chuck's age (and Colt supposed he should lump himself into that category of ages too), one seemed to be the son of one of them and the other, a local kid who looked like he was fresh out of high school earlier that spring. Chuck reminded them about environmental responsibility to which all the guys were nodding, clearly agreeing with him.

Colt finished his coffee, the liquid warming his belly and got to work. What did he have to lose?

Chuck was right. Under the canopy of trees it got chilly fast, but the borrowed plaid jacket helped to keep him warm as he moved around.

Colt soon found himself enjoying the work. It was more labour-intensive than he was used to, but having something to do with his hands kept the darkness at bay, and the crushing sadness that overwhelmed him more often than not those days. Being in the trees and smelling the pine, and nature all felt good and Colt soon fell into a rhythm.

They had him hauling and clearing stuff mostly. Colt took direction from those around him and soon found himself alone. He had no idea how long he'd been working, or what time it was, but by the time he looked up, the forest around him had suddenly grown dark as the sun went behind a cloud. It was difficult to see his work and the noise of chainsaws and the others were further away than he remembered.

Colt stopped for a rest, opening the borrowed jacket to let some air hit his skin. He looked up, hoping to see how long the sun would be gone for, and debated whether he should return to the others to look for something else to do. Colt's breathing was a little heavy, and for a while, the sound of it masked a noise that made his skin crawl.

It took him a moment to pick out the sound of a dog panting, but as soon as he did, Colt froze. He pictured a huge dog, maybe a pit bull, standing right behind him and ready to bite his face off. This better not be how I go, Colt thought to himself, before taking a breath and spinning around.

What confronted him was worse than a dog, so much worse. The thing that stood behind him was a wolf. Colt had never seen a wolf before because they were always hiding at the zoo, so he had no point of reference to tell how big they were supposed to be, but surely this was some cruel joke. The wolf that stood in front of him was a brilliant white even though winter was long gone, and its head stopped at Colt's waist.

Instinctively, Colt put up his hands as though in surrender. "Hey there. I just want to work, okay?... don't eat me. God, I hope you don't eat me."

When the wolf bared its teeth and snarled at him. Colt's heart was in his throat. He wasn't just afraid, he was scared shitless, but he'd been more scared before, and the sudden unfairness of the world came crashing down on him. Colt's fear dissolved into a burning anger.

"Fine!" he shouted, lowering his hands. "Go ahead, then. I've already been through worse and got nothing to lose. You've already taken the most important person to me!"