OZ: LONE WOLF

[Dariodevil]

Oz: Lone Wolf (Act I)(12)

Oz didn't want to get up. He was comfortable, despite a full stomach. He had nothing but a pair of dirty, torn-up jeans. He felt the blades of grass tickle the back of his neck, the sunlight against his flesh, and just laid there for a while. Nothing and everything sprinted through his thoughts.

The sound of barking dogs and galloping horses caught his attention. He quickly sat up. Wherever he was this time, it was a good bet trouble was looking for him. Maybe a law enforcement party, maybe a werewolf hunter or two, he'd seen it all before. He quickly ran towards the woods, looking for a place to hide. He thought of where he might be able to score some clothes.

The pack of dogs followed him into the woods. He found a trail, and followed it. The horses' hooves and dogs' barks were behind him, but quickly approaching. He ran as fast as he could. He needed a place to hide.

Deep in the woods, he finally needed to rest. The sounds, the dogs and the horses, were far enough away. He found a stream, dropped to his knees, and quickly doused his face and chest with water. Whoever or whatever was after him didn't need to see the tell-tale signs of a hearty meal the night before. He took several deep breaths, and found himself ignoring the usual questions of when this would all be over. He accepted his fate, long ago.

As he wiped his mouth dry, he stood up. Something caught his eye, a few yards away. He walked closer, momentarily ignoring whoever or whatever was pursuing him.

The wolf was wimpering, quietly, but with dignity. Her fur was gray and white, like a storm cloud, and one of her paws was caught in a steel trap. He approached her, as she looked at him, curiously.

Oz released the trap, and watched the wolf run off into the woods.

"You're welcome," he said. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. He didn't really expect a thank-you, but sometimes, he wished he had someone to talk to. Just then, the sounds of barking dogs were closer than ever, and as he quickly started to run away, a pack of bloodhounds made themselves known. They surrounded him, barked loudly, and Oz breathed a sigh of frustration. They were letting their masters know his location. He had nowhere to run, now.

The horses quickly rode towards him. He eyed them, curiously. Two men, both in western gear. Hunters, like retro-cowboys. One of them was an older man, bearded with silver hair, deep scars on one side of his face, and a double-barreled shotgun in his hand. The others were just men, with guns. Clearly assistants of some kind, or apprentices, beholden to the elder.

The men on horseback rode towards him, eyeing the young Oz curiously, looking him up and down. The older man then turned to his surroundings. He seemed to be looking around for something. He saw the steel trap, empty, and his face seemed to harden.

"Why?" he asked, turning to Oz.

"What?" Oz replied. The older man was staring at him now, while the others were now slowly encircling him. Oz had no fear, though. There was no threat to him, yet.

"Why did you let the wolf go?" one of the apprentices said. Oz heard him, but didn't turn to address him. He continued facing the older man, their leader. These men were all looking for the gray wolf. They were just a little bit off.

"Because," he said, "I felt sorry for her."

"But why?" the older man said, now visibly upset.

"Why would you do that?" one of the others exclaimed.

"You help something out, when it needs help," Oz replied. "And I felt sorry for it."

The older man stared at him, and pointed to the scars on his face.

"I don't feel sorry for that thing," he said.

"Hey, Peyton," one of them said, "we got us a tender-hearted romantic here!" Oz ignored him, continuing to stare at Peyton. He looked at the scars on his face. They looked like claw marks. Oz's mind suddenly blanked when the back of his head met the butt end of one of their shotguns. He fell to his knees, his mind now racing. This had gotten much worse.

"Nice one, Craig!" another shouted. They laughed, as Craig got off his horse as if one cue, and started kicking Oz furiously. He couldn't fight back, he didn't have the strength, the pain was overwhelming. Strong kicks and furious stomps all over Oz's bare chest and stomach, his flesh now dirty and motted with welts and bruises. He was on the ground, doubled over in pain. He didn't grimace, he didn't cry, he didn't scream in pain, he just absorbed all of it.

The others quickly got off their horses, including Peyton. One of them was helping Oz up now, while the others stood between Oz and Craig. Peyton himself was restraining Craig, his hands on the young man's collar.

"Enough!" Peyton exclaimed.

He was on his feet now, groggy. His face, his body, all bloody. He glanced at the men now, especially Craig. Oz made sure Craig saw disgust, not pain, in his face.

"I suggest you get out of here," Peyton said, now turning to him. He was angry, clearly, but not at Oz. He wanted the gray wolf, so close, and he lost it.

"Yeah," Craig added, "get out of here!"

"The next time I see you," Peyton continued, ignoring his enthusiastic apprentice, "I'm just going to shoot you, boy. Me, or any of us. We're hunters. You got in the middle of our hunt once. Won't happen again, trust me, we'll blow you to bits and bury you right here on the property. And if anyone asks, we say you're a poacher. Trust me, no one's going to ask any questions, not in this county. Now, is that clear, boy?"

"Crystal," Oz said. The hunters got back on their horses, and rode off, with their bloodhounds close behind. Oz watched them leave for a few moments, then slowly walked over towards the stream. He knelt down, splashing his face with water again.

In the reflection of the stream, he spotted the gray wolf.

"You heard them," he sai without looking at her, "this place isn't safe for either of us."

The gray wolf ignored him, as he started to make his way through the woods, with no idea where he was, how he got there, or how to escape.

 

[Dariodevil]

Oz: Lone Wolf (Act II)(12)

Craig was carefully cleaning his shotgun. A clean gun was key, you see. A hunter needed no dirt, no shrapnel, nothing within the barrel that would offer resistance. The bullet needed to fire and hit its target cleanly. One of many lessons that Peyton had taught him. Craig himself was leaning against the window as he did this, staring at nothing in particular, wondering if that weird kid who was only wearing ripped-up jeans had left yet. They were in Peyton's office, with the old man at his desk, in a conference with the other riders. There seemed to be a difference of opinion.

"Nothin' more," one of them said, "we want nothin' more to do with you." He was one of the riders who stepped between Craig and that kid. Peyton eyed him, coolly.

"Why?" Peyton asked, "we haven't gotten the wolf, yet"¦ was it "˜cause of that kid on the trail?" He didn't look over at Craig, but Craig felt the venom in his mentor's voice.

"I'm pullin' in my dogs," the rider simply said, after a pause. The others approved, silently.

"Go to Hell," Craig spat. Peyton turned to him, and the look on his face shut the apprentice up. Peyton turned back to the riders, his hands folded now.

"I understand," the old man said, rising to his feet, "I thank you for your time." Peyton reached into the antique desk, decorated with Civil War memorabilia, and took out a cigar case. He opened it, and took out $300 in twenty-dollar bills, counting it carefully. He slipped them in a bank clip, then approached the head rider and offered him his hand.

"Good luck in your hunt," the rider said, as he and Peyton shook hands. Peyton simply nodded. With that, the riders left the office. The old man sat back down on his desk, ignoring Craig, who was eyeing him for some sign of approval, or rejection. Peyton had none. Peyton was only thinking of that damn gray wolf.

Oz was running through the ridges, now, when he noticed the riders several yards away. Instinctively, the young man hid behind a tree, and watched. He had nothing with him, not even a shirt, and the men on horseback were part of the group that left him beaten and warned to leave the area. If he knew where he was, or how to leave, he would.

He watched, and saw them disappear somewhere over the horizon. He noticed there weren't as many, two of them "“ the old man, their leader, and his lapdog, the one whose steel-toed boots rendered Oz's torso a mass of black and blue. Were they gone? How? He had to see. He continued running, climbing, ignoring the dull pain of being barefoot in the woods, until he reached a steep bluff. He gave it no second thought, running down the bluff, until an awkward step tripped him up. Oz's body fell and rolled down, out of his control, and as he put his arms around his head and wondered what he'd do if he were paralyzed, he fell over the edge and plunged into a river several feet below.

"I don't like that kid," Craig said, finally. Peyton had no response. Craig put down his shotgun, and sat in one of the chairs facing Peyton's antique desk. He recalled the first time he sat there, and listened to Peyton's story of being in The "˜Nam. Peyton had many stories, and Craig wished he lived a life like his "“ until the scars. Peyton's life changed after he was scarred by the wolf.

"Craig," the old man finally said, "remember two years ago?" He had taken out a cigar now, and lit it with a silver Zippo adorned with the Confederate flag.

"Sure," he replied, "we were on top of the world, then."

"Right. The spread was doing good, we were makin' money hand over fist." Peyton puffed on his cigar, staring off at nothing. Craig realized he was in one of his reminiscing moods. He was obsessed with the gray wolf, and Craig wanted to help him no matter what.

"It's that damn wolf," Craig said, "it's a jinx."

"Two years ago," Peyton continued, ignoring his apprentice, "your pa fell off that horse. I still think he suffered, refuse to believe a broken neck's painless, myself. Then you had your party over in Vegas. We had to sell off the grass canyon section for half, just to break even. Then that girlie you were with, Rana, she ran off with that goddamn Indian."

"I remember," Craig added, bitterly.

"Huntsman like you and I, son, we got no place in this century. We're a dyin' breed. I'm thinkin' of selling the whole damn spread." With that, Craig stood up. He was unsure what to do, he just walked over to the window.

"I promised your dad I'd take care of you," Peyton added, "and part of that's tellin' you the truth." Craig turned to him, a fire in his eyes.

"Peyton," he said, "let's kill that damn wolf. What else we got?"

Oz opened his eyes. Not dead, not yet. He calmly swam through the river, ignoring the pain ripping through his body like dozens of tiny chainsaws, and made his way to the riverbank. He climbed out, soaked, and sat down. He'd been in situations like this before, he never bothered to keep count there were so many, but he didn't know how this one would end. He was alone, as he always was, and while he was used to it at this point, he didn't have to like it.

The gray wolf approached him by surprise, slowly. He turned to see her, and slowly made his way to his feet.

"Hi," he said. The gray wolf barked. Oz put his hand out, slowly, and got down onis knees. The wolf approached him, and sniffed his hand. She licked his knuckles, bringing a smile to the young man's face. He patted her on the head.

"Come on," he said, "let's get out of here." Oz stood up, and started walking deeper in the woods, with the gray wolf beside him.

 

[Legolas]

Wow i like it so far, can't wait to see what else happens.

Katie

 

[Dariodevil]

Thanks Katie. I appreciate it. I'll have Act III and the Epilogue up eventually, one after the other. I just have to stop procrastinating... 😉

-DD