Defect - By Ryann Kerekes Page 0,41

me without seeing me. They are heading in the opposite direction I’ve been going and my stomach lurches. Have I been going the wrong way this entire time? I close my eyes and concentrate on the run with Will once again and I’m able to calm myself. This has got to be right. I don’t know why they’re going the other way, but I’ve got to trust myself. I keep going, alternating between jogging and walking for the next few hours.

I reach a clearing that’s fenced in, like a fence you’d have around an animal pen. It’s quiet, too quiet. The only sounds I hear are my own heartbeat, my own breathing. I don’t see much of anything inside the pen, just an old tire, and some piles of straw and twigs, but I don’t like the looks of this. I take a step back from the pen, deciding to go around the side of it. Something about a pen in the middle of nowhere feels wrong, and I want to be away from it.

I begin walking along the fence, and I can see a mound of animal bones inside. I don’t want to know what’s been living in there. I take another step, when I hear the gate click, and the door to the pen swings open with a groan. Almost as if on cue, a wolf appears. It locks black eyes on mine and studies me from inside the pen. My knees begin to tremble and feel like they’ll buckle underneath me if I try to run. I try to think through what I know about wolves, but come up blank.

This one is shaggy gray and too thin, its ribs visible. It’s hungry. Whoever kept it here ensured that. Its snarl rips through my chest, evoking a fear unlike any I’ve ever known. My eyes sting, my breathing much too quick. “Nice wolf.”

I wonder if I can make it to the gate before it does. I inch one foot closer. The wolf’s head cocks to the side to watch me, but it stays put in the center of the pen. I slide the backpack off my back and unzip it, keeping my eyes locked on the wolf’s. I reach into the bag and find the pancake I saved this morning. My fingers are shaking as I pull it from the bag. The wolf takes a few steps forward, watching me with interest. Suddenly, its lips pull back in a low growl. I can see its teeth.

I take another step closer to the pen, doing my best to judge the distance, and fling the pancake over the fence. It lands with a soft thud in the dirt. The wolf walks forward to inspect it, and I spring for the gate, hoping to close it in time. My sudden movement fixes the wolf’s attention back on me. The pancake did nothing to distract it. It lays cold and uneaten in the dust. I’m still a few feet away from the gate, locked in a staring contest with the wolf.

It jogs toward me, and I forget all about closing the gate. My fingers fumble for the knife at my waistband, just as the wolf lunges for me. It’s much bigger up close and its musky smell fills my nostrils. I’m knocked on my back, pinned underneath it. The force of the hit almost makes me lose my grip on the knife, but I curl my fingers around it and manage to hang on. The wolf snaps its jaws in my face and I turn my head, trying to wiggle my way free. Without hesitating, I plunge the blade deep into the wolf’s side. Its flesh gives easier than I expected, and I pull the knife out and stab it again and again, until I feel warmth on my hand and the wolf collapses on top of me.

I scramble from under its lifeless body and kneel next to it. I watch the dark stain grow around us, but I still don’t move. It takes several minutes for my heart to stop pounding and when it does, I realize I’m crying. My cheeks stream with tears, and I let them come. When the gravity of what I’ve done hits me, I lurch to the side on my hands and knees and get sick. I cough and cough until there’s nothing left in me.

I sit beside the wolf a long time, until I notice that I’m cold and realize I need to keep moving.