Good Boy

Big Friend! Kit’s growl rattled in my mind.

“What?” I asked aloud, stirring from my nap. Kit? I focused on the thread tethering our minds. Pack-Speak.

Hurry, Friend! His whine echoed in my skull. The Loud One is gone!

Charles? Pup? I responded, adrenaline pumping through my veins like motor oil as I ran to the back of my small cabin. Gone where? Kit. To me. Now.

Yes! Pup. Gone! No. Taken!

I stifled rising bile. “NO!” I screamed, collapsing in my son’s bedroom doorway. Chilled air blew in through the shattered window. The crib was red and dripping. The room reeked of damp fur and swamp water.

My baby boy was… gone.

Kit strutted up to me and snuggled my elbow.

“Where were you?” I asked. Kit’s tail wagged as if this was all some game.

He licked tears from my eyes, his breath fouler than usual, then padded away. Outside. I heard. Came fast. Too late! Kit spun in an anxious circle. Big Paws! Took the Loud One. Chomp, chomp. Two bites… then gone! I saw but could not fight. Too big for alone. But not you, Big Friend! Together is better. Fight together! Save Pup!

Pup is gone, I replied in Pack-Speak. But we will fight together. Kill together. But first, we hunt.

Hunt! Yes! Run! This way! Kit scratched at the door. Follow, Friend. Stay close.

“Yes,” I said, crossing the cabin’s creaky floorboards. “Good Boy.” I took up my hunting knife and belted the sheath around my waist. The front door groaned open and slammed shut behind us.

Run! Kit barked in my mind, darting off into the woods.

I sprinted to keep up, rage and grief blinding me as I chased my dog through the dense forest. I stumbled over nearly every downed log in my path—snagged myself on almost every thorn bush—but I kept moving. Kept pushing forward.

By the time I reunited with my hound, we were both panting in a small glade amid the brambles. I wiped the stinging sweat and tears from my eyes and noticed something I’d been missing. Now that I could see more clearly, I wondered at the lack of trail before us. The sun was dipping in the sky, but the trees still filtered in plenty of light.

There are no prints here. “Big Paws,” you said… bear?

Kit twirled a slow circuit, sat on his haunches, and yawned—his long tongue curling. No.

No, what, Kit? Not here?

No, Friend. No bear. I lied.

You… lied? Why? Where’s Charlie?

We needed exercise! Big Friend becomes Bigger Friend… fat. Kit licked his lips. And I needed a good run.

I blinked. Then, slowly began to laugh, tension bubbling away. I rubbed my paunch, sighing in relief. “Hah.” So, Charlie’s alive, then, right? His… crib? Red paint—?

Oh, no. Kit’s tail thumped in the dirt. He’s dead. I was hungry. He's why I needed to run. 'Cause all the baby weight….

I stood there. Paralyzed. White-knuckling my knife.