Wolves Read Online Free Page A

situation. “Did you see the children?”
    â€œYeah. I saw them.”
    Jay shakes his head. “They’re done.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThe kids,” Jay says. “They’re done. They’ll be dead or sold off in a month.”
    Huxley feels an old familiar pull in his soul. He wants to say something back, but he has trouble forming the words. After a moment he hitches himself onto his elbows. “Okay. We’ll follow them—their tracks, anyway. See where they’re going. But we’re not going to sneak in and try to take their water. They’d kill us.”
    Jay rises from the dirt, slowly, and watches the slavers pass into the east. Because that is where the slavers go—they go east.
    â€œFine,” Jay says. “But we’ll need water eventually.”
    Huxley brushes dirt from his stomach, tries to shake it out of his pant legs. “We’ll find water. We’ll figure it out.”
    The slavers disappear into the horizon, leaving only their tracks to be followed. They are careless, these slavers. Because they have nothing to fear. Because they are the apex predator here. And the people of the Wastelands are the prey.
    But Huxley is not prey. Maybe once he was. But in the time it takes for a man to lose everything he loves, he can grow claws and teeth.
    I want what Jay wants. I want to make them bleed.

Chapter 4
    It is close to sundown when they hear the gunfire.
    Huxley and Jay stop in their tracks and stand stock-still in the roadway.
    A breath. Another three beats of Huxley’s heart. And then by some collective, silent decision, he and Jay both hunch down and move to the side of the roadway, off of the shoulder and into the old ditch that runs the side of the road.
    Ahead of them, the sound of gunfire rolls, crackles, back and forth like an argument.
    Maybe two miles away. Maybe even less.
    A part of him wants to get up. Wants to run, but not away, like he would have before. He wants to run toward the sound of the guns.
    From beside him, Jay squirms. “If I had a fucking gun, Hux … If I had a fucking gun …”
    â€œI know,” Huxley whispers.
    Is it just his imagination, or are those screams?
    His fingers go to his neck, scratching at that same spot. He doesn’t register it until it starts to hurt. Is there anything we can do? Anything at all besides lie in the fucking dirt?
    â€œWe should get closer,” he says, suddenly, coming up onto his hands and knees.
    Jay looks at him. “What are we gonna do?”
    He isn’t asking because he’s afraid. He’s literally asking because he wants to know Huxley’s plan. This is a man that doesn’t care about the odds. His anger, his rage at the slavers is palpable in the air. He will do anything to make them bleed. Even if it’s foolish.
    Don’t be foolish. Don’t be rash.
    Huxley gets up to one knee. Jay follows suit. Huxley points east. “We can creep up. While they’re fighting. See what there is to see.” He realizes he’s breathless. He gulps air between sentences. The cool night air doesn’t stop him from starting to sweat. He puts a hand to Jay’s chest. “We’re not gonna rush in, okay? We’re not gonna do it, no matter what. Unless …”
    â€œUnless there’s an opportunity.”
    Huxley nods. “Unless there’s a real good opportunity.”
    Jay has risen all the way to his feet. “Okay, brother. Let’s go.”
    They move quickly, keeping low to the ground. It is tiring on their already taxed bodies, but fear and hatred keep them moving. They can be powerful fuels. They can stretch the body and mind. They can make a man go farther than he ever thought he could. They cannot sustain a body, but they can trick a body into thinking that it isn’t dying of thirst, isn’t starving.
    They stop every hundred yards or so to look around, and