Free Cry of the Wolf by Juliet Chastain Page A

that they actually would shoot a human being—or might they? They were vicious enough and probably drunk as well. “You have no right to be here,” she cried.
    Grinning, Billy swung his rifle around and aimed it at her. Joel made a derisory snorting sound.
    He said, “That so? We’re just cleaning up the vermin for you. Keeping you safe. The big bad wolf could eat you up, little lady. You should be grateful.”
    “It’s illegal to kill gray wolves. Don’t think I’m not going to report you.” Of all the people on earth, why did these two creeps have to live next door to her?
    “They were killed on your land, sweetheart. Who’s to say it wasn’t you that killed them? Maybe planning to make yourself a nice little fur coat from their skins,” Billy said.
    “I don’t even own a gun.”
    “Well, maybe you should.” Billy stepped closer to her and then closer still—too close.
    She could smell the alcohol on his breath and stepped back.
    “A little lady like you living all alone.” He threw his gun aside. “Why, look there, that’s the gun you borrowed from me. I lent it to you on account of I thought we were friends and you needed a little protection.” He lunged forward, grabbed her and, pressing her against his oversize belly, tried to press his mouth to hers.
    She managed to turn her head away, but he only held her tighter. Somehow she freed one arm and tore at his face with her nails. With a yelp he stepped backward striking her so hard on the side of her head that she flew backward a couple of feet and fell to her back in the snow.
    “Hey, Joel, come here,” she heard him call. “Come see what I caught.” Billy came toward her, pulling off his belt. She tried to slither backward away from him. Terror filled her. “Bitch scratched me! She needs a good beating. I’m gonna enjoy giving it.” He lifted the belt to strike her.
    A silent gray form flew at him, bringing him to the snow-covered ground just a few feet from where she lay. Just seconds later, a single gunshot rang out, and the animal somersaulted away from Billy Coughlin and lay still on the ground.
    Joel Coughlin ran to his father. “You okay, Dad?”
    Swearing profusely, Billy Coughlin pushed himself up, his neck and shoulder bleeding.
    “Son of a bitch!” Joel spat and slammed his rifle butt down on the animal’s hip. The wolf flinched, its breath ragged, but its gaze never left Joel. Laura scrambled over to Billy’s rifle and came quickly to her feet, clutching the gun in her hands.
    She aimed the gun at Joel and said, ice in her voice, “Get off my land. Get off my land now!” She put her finger on the trigger and held the gun up to eye level the way she’d seen it done on TV, the way she’d seen the Coughlins hold theirs. She’d never held a gun in her life. She hoped like hell that she looked like she knew what she was doing.
    Joel seemed to think that she did. He threw his gun to the ground. Hands in the air, he backed away, then turned and walked quickly in the direction of Billy’s truck. Billy staggered to his feet, holding his bloodied neck. “I’m injured,” he croaked, “I can’t walk that far.”
    “Get going,” Laura snapped, and he did—slowly, defiantly. He stopped to kick the wolf. As he prepared to kick it again, Laura, aiming at the sky, pulled the trigger. The recoil almost knocked her over, but Billy Coughlin didn’t notice because he was running away from her.
    Laura lay the gun down in the snow and knelt beside the wolf. “Poor wolf,” she said softly. “I am so sorry.” Tears ran down her cheeks as she saw the fur matted with blood on its—his, she saw that the animal was a male—side. She knew that she should keep her distance from wild animals, especially one as dangerous as a wolf, yet she felt compelled to stroke his head and neck, careful not to touch the wound on his shoulder. “You saved me. I know you didn’t mean to, but you did.”
    She put her ear to his chest. She could hear