48

Pamela Moody heard the engine as the truck approached. Thought she was dreaming it at first, hearing things in the wind, which was starting to gust again. She was weak and probably delirious, inventing things. There’d been no noise on that road above her all day. Why should anyone show up now?

But it was an engine all right, low and steady, and Pam listened to it get louder above her, heading up and into the mountains. She’d made it another twenty, twenty-five feet up the side of the ravine, numbingly slow and excruciatingly painful, checking back down on the wolf every few inches, hoping he hadn’t noticed her yet.

He hadn’t. But the lip of the ravine was still fifteen feet above her, and night was closing in fast. If the wolf didn’t get her, the cold would, and Pam knew if she didn’t make the top of the ravine, whoever was behind the wheel of that truck would drive right past her, keep going, one last, cruel joke at her expense, one last Fuck you! Sincerely, The World.

Pam climbed. The engine approached, its sound a crescendo. She could hear the snow crunching under the truck’s tires, could even see the beams from the headlights above her, where they passed over the lip of the ravine and into the abyss beyond.

She was ten feet from the top. She might as well have been a mile. The truck didn’t see her. The headlights didn’t catch her. The truck drove right past, and it didn’t slow down.

She wanted to call out. Get the driver’s attention somehow. Scream. She crawled faster, as fast as her body would let her. She wasn’t fast enough. Wasn’t close enough. Even if she cried for help, the driver would never hear her.

Pam listened as the truck’s engine dwindled to silence. Wiped the blood from her palms, warmed her hands in her coat. So close; she’d been so close. She’d been stupid to even get her hopes up.

Then Pam heard something behind her. Felt something, more like, some primal instinct. She rolled over slightly, turned to look back down the ravine, where the wolf was still prowling around at the bottom, nearly invisible now in the shadows.

But he’d stopped moving. He was standing stock-still, his nose in the air, and Pam knew he’d picked up her trail. She watched, paralyzed with horror, as he scanned the wall of the ravine with his eyes, as those eyes fell on her, huddled against the rock.

Pam didn’t breathe. Didn’t move. It didn’t matter. The wolf eyed her for an eternity. Then he put his nose down, sniffed at her trail, and started across the ravine toward her little path.