I look up. The big wolf’s looking down at us, from the rise, and the others with him look at us too, staring. They don’t rush in at us, they just stare. I stumble to my feet and look at him, breathing, and I look at Ojeira, who again, somehow, is alive, still. He keeps gasping and breathing and looking at his middle where they were tearing at him and once again it is hard to believe he isn’t dead yet, again, and he starts almost laughing a sort of gut-hollow laugh and everybody is whooping.
“Yeah, you fuckers, fucking yeah!” Ojeira yells, which is surprising, from the sight of him, because they did get him pretty well, but he’s whooping now, lying there. Bleeding, facing it out to the wolves watching us, and I’m wondering what it takes to kill Ojeira. He tries to get up, but flops back again, still laughing.
“Fuck you!” he yells, lying there.
I look up. The wolves are watching. The big one looks at me, it feels like, staring and staring, and then sudden as that he turns and strolls into the dark, and I can’t see him at all, and the others flow after him like smoke, again, and they’re gone. I stare into the dark, we all do, waiting, looking all around, but we can’t see anything, or hear anything else of them. Bengt and Knox whoop and jump around like idiots again.
“Yeah! Fuck you, fuckers!” they yell again, and Henrick’s smiling. Not really smiling. Sort of a shocked and beaten half-happy. Tlingit too. Then I see Tlingit look to Ojeira, and his face drops. Ojeira’s eyes are still open but he looks cloudy, suddenly not there, and I hear him trying to breathe, but he does not sound right, and he just does not seem to be there any more. It’s hard to tell by the fire but he looks like he’s turned white, or grey, or whatever you call the color when you’re dead. But he’s still breathing, somehow, even when he’s dead he won’t die.
I go and look at him, lift his jacket, the shreds of it, his sweater, everything’s soaked in blood, and I see he’s all ripped, they got into him, I don’t know how they did so quick, get so much of him, because it was all damn quick, and I know I broke my promise, we got them off, but we took too long. I tell myself we got one, but it doesn’t help Ojeira much. His legs all ripped too, deep in the thigh. I thought we’d have more chance to save him. Bad calculation.
I look around the dark again, the blood on the snow, our knives and sticks scattered everywhere, bloody now. Ojeira’s out.
“He’s going,” I say.
The others stare at him. He’s breathing, but less and less, a kind of shallow gravel noise.
Then I see the big one, again, closer to us, but on the other side of the slope, watching. The other wolves come, flank him, watching us too. The big one looks at me again, I think, and he leans low, like he’s going to come in at us again, and I don’t know if I’m ready yet but it won’t be a choice, I’m sure.
I stare at him, waiting, breathing steam, and I haven’t picked up any of the sticks or knives, like an idiot, but one is not too far from me, I dip down to get it in my hand without taking my eyes off him and we all stare, like we did before, and the big one takes a step in at us, down the slope, very slow, pointing, and I think now he’s going to really charge but he just looks at me, showing his teeth, pulling his nose back, staring.
I have this brave theory that if we charged them we might scatter them, run them, get another one, even, but I am not as brave as my theory is, and I don’t believe it as much as I would have to, to try it. I tense to go, once, but stop, my courage leaking, dumping out of me, in buckets. I’m still stupid enough to say it.
“We could run at them,” I say. “Scatter them maybe.” The big one is up front. He looks like too much to run at. The others don’t have anything in their hands, I don’t think.
“We can wait with Ojeira, or go,” I say. “Maybe they’ll stay and watch him. Maybe he’ll buy us a few minutes.”
“For what?” Henrick says. I don’t know. To think. I don’t say anything. I don’t want to tell them what to do.
“You sure he’s going?” Tlingit says.
I nod.
“He’s going before we get him anywhere,” I say. “He isn’t going home, anymore.”
We all stare at Ojeira a minute. We don’t try to find his wallet or say anything, we just look at him, and Bengt and Knox look at me, like hurt boys, again, then Henrick too, even Tlingit. Hurt boys, staring at me, and doing it anyway. Great are my ways.
We could leave without trying to get any more of the sticks or knives but I’m almost more afraid to do that than I am of trying to get them. I move as slowly and as lightly as I can, like a ghost drifting, to where the rest of my sticks fell, behind me. I reach down, pick them up, watching the wolves. They react a little when they see the sticks, and I point them down, to look less threatening. The others move too, as much as they dare, get sticks, knives, watching the wolves, like me. The sticks ahead of us we’re going to leave there, rather than step toward the wolves. But I see my knife, ahead of me, between me and the wolf, and I have to choose leaving it there or getting it. I edge toward it.
“Fucking leave it,” Henrick says. I think he’s right. But I look at the wolf, and edge a little more. He stares, and low-growls, and I stop. I start again, he growls a little louder, but I’m there, now. I reach for it, my eyes on him, and he snaps forward a little just as I snatch it up and I back up, and stop, and he stops too. I wonder now if I’ve offended him enough he’s going to run on us. I stay still, watching.
I start backing away. The big one advances on us, a little, and I stop, and I look at him, and since I’ve lost my mind I lean in, a little, almost stepping in. I’m trying to say ‘Don’t come after us, we’ll fight you.’ He stops, watching us, and we back away more, and only turn around to guess where we can put our feet in the dark, the rest of the time looking at Ojeira, lying there, breathing, as much as we’re watching the wolves, and we keep backing away and backing away until finally we feel we’re far enough we can dare turn forward, and dare walking, leaving Ojeira there with them, to save ourselves. If I get any of the others out alive at least they won’t have to damn themselves, I’m doing that for them. Seeing Lewenden off, letting Feeny go, Reznikoff, Ojeira. Somehow they’re on my head. I look back at the wolves watching us leave, watching Ojeira like a curiosity, as if he’s going to do something other than stop breathing.
We keep going, step after step, looking back at them, at Ojeira, as long as we can see him, waiting for the wolves to come at us. But step by step, more and more trees and dark are between us, and finally we’re just walking, slogging, leaving the wolves and Ojeira behind.