Mother and the Wolf

Only a small lantern lights up the little tent in the middle of the forest. The mother lies between her three children, casting shadows on the tent canvas with her hands, weaving her fingers to create monsters and heroes.

"-Then the monster knocked on the door. Knock, knock."

The tent flaps in the wind outside. The synthetic sleeping bags crackle inside the tent as they wriggle closer to her..

"Mom, don't use that voice, more scary!" demands Todd, the youngest.

The mother changes her tone, making her voice deep and growly so the children giggle. She rubs the sleeping bags for extra warmth.

"The monster was huge," she says.

"With tentacles?"

"Sharp fangs that can eat everything?" asks the middle child, Theo.

"No, ugh. That’s too spooky for mom. What if the monster just wanted some food instead?" the mom suggests, but the children disagree.

"It's supposed to be scary, mom."

"Yes, mom. It needs blood!"

"I won’t be able to sleep tonight. How about this? The mom goes to the door and says to the monster, 'Go away!'"

"What about the dad?" Todd asks and Theo pops up from the sleeping bag next to her. The mother lets the shadows on the tent fall apart when Theo asks about their dad, trying to shush them, stroking the little ones' foreheads.

"He's not here anyway," says Henrietta, the eldest, trying to read her own book, her own story, claiming she’s too old for bedtime stories. The mother glances briefly at her eldest daughter before returning to the little ones, losing focus and asking about their dad.

"Let’s finish this story first," she says, feeling the air escaping from the sleeping mattresses. Even if she had patches, she wouldn’t know how to use them. She doesn’t even know how long the solar-powered lantern will last.

"The dad was on a business trip and had to work all the time. So boring."

The youngest kids agree. So boring. They forget she hasn’t answered their question.

"But do monsters listen to moms?" asks Theo. The mother brushes grass and spruce from their mattresses..

"Of course! All monsters have a mom too, so moms are the only ones they listen to."

A snort comes from the eldest daughter the mother ignores.

"So the children and the mom got to live peacefully without monsters at their door," says the mother, kissing both children on the cheeks. The eldest turns away when she tries to kiss her goodnight.

"The health authorities advise against close contact," the daughter quotes from the pamphlets and ads, hiding her face behind the book that’s already water-damaged after the mother forgot to secure the rain cover when they first set camp.

"Watch your brothers? I need to step outside for a moment," the mother asks, putting on her sneakers. The daughter doesn’t respond.

"Henrietta!" the mother is raising her voice.

"Alright, Tina," says Henrietta, not looking up.

"Good," says Tina, trying not to cry right there. Henrietta asks when their dad really is coming and the mother tries to tell her soon.

"You said he’d come later."

"Henrietta, that’s enough! I said soon!" Tina yells. Henrietta, wide eyed, looks like a little child again.

"Let’s try to make the best of this," she says, un-zipping the tent door, making her voice low, deep, calm. Henrietta puts on headphones.

"I hate camping.”

"Bitch," Tina mutters so she doesn’t hear.

Outside in the fresh night air, Tina tries to stifle the sobs she’s been holding back while she double-checks that the rain cover is secure. It looks crooked and pitiful. The sobs become more insistent, and she’s unable to conceal them as coughs. Only when she gets deeper into the trees, the light from the small lantern inside the tent barely visible, does she stop. Covering her mouth she lets the sobbing take over her body, tears streaming, snot running, forcing her to crouch.

When there are no more tears, her nose wiped, and throat sore, she pulls herself together, wipes away the tears and rises from the ground, the cold air harsh against her wet face. Every sound around them feels threatening. She’s always been afraid of the dark, even earlier today when they ate hot dogs in daylight, with birdsong and sunshine she feared the shadows of the forest. Even at home in their city apartment, she was scared at night, afraid of being alone. Now she’s both.

"Good evening," says a voice behind her, and she spins around. Between the trees, with the moon behind him, a man is looking at her. He holds out his hands, showing they’re empty.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I didn’t see you until I was close. It’s a dark night."

Tina's pulse pounds against her palm placed on her chest. He’s a thin man, his gaunt face is hidden by a long, scraggly beard. He’s dressed in hiking clothes and wears a cap, leaving his eyes in darkness.

A backpack he’s taken off his back rests against his legs, too small to hold things like a tent, food, or other survival gear. Yet, he looks like he’s been in the woods for a long time. Tina glances towards the tent, regretting it as he follows her gaze.

"You’ve found a good spot," he says calmly, looking around the small clearing close to a narrow river. The man sniffs, turning his head toward the tent again.

"Smells like you have plenty of food for camping. Are you a good cook?"

"Not really, no."

"No... I used to be. But there’s not much cooking out here in the woods."

"Oh. Yeah. No, I guess not," says Tina, taking a step to the side, blocking the view to the tent. He doesn’t seem to notice, sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, long overtaken by moss.

"It’s been mostly water lately or watery broth when I manage to light a fire," he says, taking a big gulp. Water trickles from the corners of his mouth.

"Yeah, there’s not much food to spare these days," says Tina, sitting slowly on the moss as well, searching with her hands behind her, grabbing hold of a stick, clinging to it.

"Better than in the cities, I guess," says the man, staring toward the place Tina and the kids had left last week.

"Have you been here long?" asks Tina and he smiles.

"Long... Since it all began."

"That’s a long time."

"It is," he replies after a long pause.

"And you? How was it when you left?"

"We left last week. When the schools closed."

"You have kids?" the man asks and laughs seeing her face. "Relax, I'm not that hungry," he says, laughing coarsely at his own joke, taking a swig of water. "Say, would it be okay if I sat here for a few minutes? Catch my breath? I haven't met anyone in a while, and it would be nice to have a little chat."

"The kids are asleep; I should get back to them soon, I—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I just need some information about the world out there. It's been a long time since I heard anything."

"We've been here a few days already, so much might have changed since then—"

"How many deaths were we at when you left?" he asks. Tina takes a long time to compose an answer. "Hard to say. We lost... we lost internet and TV signal weeks ago. So, I'm not sure. But of course, there were…" she takes a deep breath, "many at the end. Very many."

"Awful, being wiped out by something as stupid as the flu. How weak humans have become."

She says nothing so the conversation will end, but he doesn't move, adjusting to a more comfortable position, glancing at the camp again.

"Tell me... You wouldn't happen to... Maybe I could ask... to borrow a little bit of food?"

Tina fights the urge to follow his hungry gaze to the tent. She grips the stick tightly.

"Sorry. I have to save some for my husband. He'll be hungry when he gets back and we didn’t bring much else," she says, her heart pounding from the lie. The man looks back at her, studying her. Tina fears he can read her thoughts.

"He's not here?" he asks. Thump, thump, thump.

"He's on his way back."

"From where?"

A pause.

"From the car. We forgot something in it."

The man doesn't break his gaze. X-ray vision. As if he's reading her mind.

"It's late to be walking in the woods now. Dark and hard to see the trail," he simply says and continues drinking.

"Mmm," says Tina.

"It's good to be together. A whole family. It's wise to gather with more people. It can be quite lonely wandering around alone, more dangerous, too! You never know."

"No, that's true," Tina replies.

"Yeah, I have kids myself, I have a picture of them somewhere," he says, rummaging through his pockets, pulls out a photograph and takes a couple of steps toward her. Instinctively, Tina lifts her hand toward him, gripping the stick behind her back.

"Don't come closer," she says, surprised at how strong her voice sounds. The man stops abruptly, holding out the photograph. She can't make out what's on it. Standing like that for a few moments, he sighs and lowers his arm, putting the photo back in his pocket.

"I'm not going to bite, just wanted to show you."

Tina sinks back into the moss. A shot of adrenaline surges through her, and it seems she can now see more of the dark forest around them, the river grows louder, the man clearer. His movements seem more predictable.

"We have a rule about keeping two meters apart. It's standard procedure," she says, shaking like from a caffeine shock.

"I'm not afraid of the infection, if that's what you mean," the man says.

"I am. I have kids."

"I'm not sick."

"Sorry, it's nothing personal, but necessary. A precaution."

The man slips back into the shadows of the trees, nodding.

"I understand. You have to put the kids first," he says.

"I have to," Tina responds.

"You're a good mother. Protecting your kids out here in the woods. Not everyone has the strength for it."

"You find it when you have to," Tina says, quickly glancing at the tent as the man looks away. He sits still now, staring in the opposite direction of the tent.

"Where are your kids?" Tina asks. He doesn't react or look at her. Just stares into the dark forest. A gap in his backpack opens, and Tina glimpses something shiny sticking out. She leans in to get a better look.

"Do you think there's any fish?" he suddenly asks, turning back to her.

"What?" Tina says, jerking back.

"Fish. In the river. Do you think there's any good fishing here?"

"Fishing? No idea."

"Maybe your husband doesn’t fish much?"

Tina bites her lip, tasting iron, her thoughts racing so fast she can't sort them. "No, he... We're not really into fish."

"Really?"

"No, you know. Kids and fish," Tina says, trying to laugh. It sounds more like a cough.

"Oh, I see. But in these times, you probably eat whatever you can get?"

"Maybe, yes. We might have to soon. We've managed fine so far."

"I can see that," he says, thinking for a moment. "You know, if you want, I could stay here, teach you a bit about fishing. I've been here long enough to pick up a few useful tricks."

"Thanks, but we're managing. My husband is good at that sort of thing, we're in good hands."

"Right... Where did you say he was again?"

Tina's brain stalls for a second. Her thoughts swirl—what did she say?

"At the car," she says, and the man nods.

"Where did you park?" Tina doesn't answer, unable to think fast enough. The man laughs.

"I'm only asking because I’ve spent some time at the parking lot by the tourist information. It's not far from a little town, you know. When I need new supplies and such."

"Yeah, we're parked there," Tina says. The man nods thoughtfully, scratching his beard.

"I think a car came by a couple of days ago. Almost a week, maybe. A dark Volvo. But that couldn't have been you, just a woman, no man. And her three kids, of course. But no man. Maybe they camped nearby. Have you seen them?"

"No," Tina says, forcing herself not to look toward their tent.

"Maybe they moved on?"

"Maybe,"

The man sits for a while, observing her. But he doesn't say more on the subject. Tina looks around. Between her and him are three sticks, the same size as the one behind her back. But he doesn't lean forward to take one. He packs up the little he has.

"I should get going,"

Tina notices how unsteady he is, how his knees shake when he puts weight on them. His thin arms slings the backpack over his shoulder. His stomach growls, looking at the tent.

"Have a good evening. Give my regards to your husband when he gets back. Lucky kids with a mother like you," he says. She grips the stick tightly.

"Yes, it's late. You have a good evening too."

He nods her farewell but he keeps looking at the tent. She grips the stick harder.

Much later, Tina gets back to camp. She takes off all her clothes outside, puts them in a bag, and ties a double knot. She meticulously washes her hands, rubbing sanitizer into every crease, under every nail. She puts on fresh clothes and tosses the bag with the old ones among the trees. Inside, the lamp is off, and the children are asleep. Tina leans over the youngest, his calm breaths soothing. She kisses his forehead and strokes the middle one's brow. She adjusts the sleeping bag better for the eldest daughter and lies down between them. Without a sleeping bag, the tent is cold, but they have only three. Henrietta lifts her head.

"Where were you?" she asks. Her voice is low, more a fearful whisper than a question. The mother places her hand on Henrietta's, stroking it and shushing her soothingly.

"I was just outside. Looking at the stars."

"It's cloudy."

"It cleared up."

"Dad's not coming, is he?"

"We'll have to wait my love. We'll have to wait and see."

"He's not on a business trip, is he? He had a bad cough that morning he went," Henrietta says.

"Shhh… time to sleep now, sweetheart. We have to get up early and move on tomorrow," the mother says. Henrietta wipes away tears.

"Mom, what's that?" she asks. The mother touches her sweaty skin and sees dark stains.

"Is it blood?" Henriette asks, raising her voice, causing the little ones to stir. The hushes again, a melodic lullaby.

"Just a scratch, my dear. It's just a scratch…"