Wolves Read Online Free

Huxley whispers. “Just let them pass.”
    Jay doesn’t respond.
    Another ten minutes go by, and now the wagon and the riders have drawn abreast of Huxley and Jay. The only thing that moves on Huxley is his breath, just barely stirring the dusty ground.
    The rock jabs at him.
    Don’t move. Don’t get noticed.
    There is fear in him, still. But also anger. A burning thing. He finds himself thinking about the look on Jay’s face, taking a sort of inspiration from it. But what could they do? There are nine riders, and a driver on the wagon, and every one of them will be armed. They will have rifles or scatterguns, and they will have revolvers.
    Huxley has nothing but his knife.
    And he suspects that Jay doesn’t have anything.
    They’d be gunned down before they could run ten feet.
    No, Jay. There is a time for blood. And this isn’t it.
    One of the slavers on horseback is scanning around, and his eyes land on Huxley.
    Huxley stops breathing.
    Don’t breathe.
    Don’t move.
    If he could’ve stopped his heart from beating, he would have done that too, but it’s only beating faster. He can feel his muscles trembling from being locked in this position for so long, the cords at the back of his neck aching and making his head shake.
    The slaver will see him. He will see him moving, trembling in the shrubs like a scared desert hare and he will call out to his comrades and they will gun Huxley and Jay down without a second thought. Because they can, and for no better reason.
    The slaver looks away. He’s seen nothing.
    Huxley feels weak with relief.
    The wagon passes by. The driver is a woman, which is unusual. The slavers are a cruel lot. He wonders what this woman had done to earn their respect. What blood was on her hands? Whose wives did she murder? Whose children did she take? She is a tall thing, and Huxley thinks she could be beautiful in a cold sort of way. She has long, raven-black hair that she keeps in a braid that goes all the way down her back. A rifle lays in her lap, a bayonet on the end.
    As the wagon passes, Huxley can see the cargo in its covered bed. There are two children there. A boy and a girl. They are dressed in rags and their faces are dark with soot and dirt. Where they’ve come from is a mystery. And where they’re going is a mystery too. Two children seems a meager prize to Huxley. Perhaps the slavers ran out of supplies. Perhaps they felt they’d ventured too far into this ocean of sand. Perhaps they just planned to cut losses and pillage on their way back east. Who knew what their motivations were? Who knew what timelines and schedules they kept, what meetings they had to make to swap flesh and barter?
    Huxley realizes his fingers are in the sand, delving into it, clenching it.
    He imagines it is one of the slavers’ throats. How he would like to get his hands on them.
    But not now. Not yet.
    The children stare out the back of the wagon. The landscape goes by underneath them, receding like a tide. Everything they ever knew is gone. Now they are in the desert. Now they are heading toward … 
    What?
    Where do the slavers go?
    â€œWe could follow them,” Jay whispers as the last rider in the group passes by.
    Huxley shoots him a look. “What do you mean, ‘follow them’?”
    Jay turns his head, his eyes looking feverish and crazy for a second. “Follow them. See where they’re going.” He looks back after them, even as the image of the first horseman begins to shimmer in the heat coming off the road. “I bet they have water.”
    Huxley reaches up a shaky hand and rubs a bit of sand from his beard. “We can’t just waltz in and take their water. There’s only two of us. And we don’t have guns. They have guns. They have lots of guns. They would murder us.”
    Jay makes a face. A sort of sneer that lasts for only a moment, as though he is just briefly disgusted by the