The Grey by Mackenzie Jeffers Ian

Author:Mackenzie Jeffers, Ian
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-01-31T05:00:00+00:00

7

We move a little faster without Ojeira, though we’re more tired and more afraid than before, if that’s possible, because we are getting fewer, with regularity, and it seems like a clear road to none of us left at all. Sneaking away while they watch Ojeira die buys us a few steps and nothing more, and I don’t know what we bought them for, entirely. They could be on us now, already, around us in the dark, or a minute from now. I don’t have a sense anymore of where we’re headed except what feels like away, west is a gone dream, as if we could ever or could have ever walked to the coast. Maybe we’ll see the sun a few minutes again, and find west again. Maybe we won’t.

But we keep going, and all I want is to get a minute to think, before they’re on us again, but it’s hard to think. I think about trying to make a deadfall. I’ve never done it but I know how it’s done, and I know the ground is too hard to dig and we have no bait, and I can’t think of any other kind of traps we could make or what to make them with. I stop, look back, think of waiting for them, picking a place where we can wait and go at them, like madmen, but not as mad as walking along like stalking-goats, like this. But I don’t know that they’re going to follow in our steps anyway, they don’t have to, they could be to our flanks, or circling ahead, and still know where we are, and stay on us, without us knowing at all.

Something’s gone out of me. Leaving Ojeira, or the last fight, or fear going through me, circulating, like blood, or the sight of the dead wolf, on the snow, that made me sick when I should have yelled, like the others. I’m so frozen and stupid by now I don’t know whether to believe what I’m thinking, or if it matters. But I get that in my head I suppose, waiting for them, as if we could surprise them, which we wouldn’t. That’s what I would do if I was trying to kill us, get ahead of us, and wait for us to walk along up, like the idiots we are.

I don’t know what I have the courage to do, at all, anymore. By now we’re good and haunted by them. They got another of us, we’re into our fear with both legs, and up to our middles, and we’re all praying by now, to one thing or another, if we didn't start that when the plane was going down. Maybe we did all die on the plane, and we’re walking in a dead dream. The wolves are saying I am your death, come to get you, I am every wrong thing you’ve ever done, things you’ve killed, things you’ve left behind, come for pay. They aren’t wolves, they’re ghosts, of all I’ve done, taking revenge.

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