Chapter 3
The gate locked behind me.
The sound traveled through the frozen ground and into my knees.
I stood inside the lower run with Nolan's revolver in my right hand. Snow blew across the open strip between the fence and the trees.
Seven wolves watched from the timber.
They did not charge. That made it worse.
They lowered their heads and spread out, testing the wind, while my pulse beat against the bite of my wedding ring.
Above the gate, a camera tilted toward me.
Nolan and Camille were watching.
I opened the cylinder.
One bullet.
For fourteen years, I had kept the first casing in the top drawer beside our courthouse photograph. Nolan had turned it into a promise.
Now he had put the promise around Camille's throat and handed me the replacement.
One clean shot before the wolves reached me.
That was what the bullet was for.
Camille's voice came through the speaker mounted above the gate.
"One round is enough if you use it correctly."
My fear rose so fast that my vision narrowed.
I imagined teeth at my face. I imagined being alive for the first few seconds. I imagined Nolan turning away before it ended and telling himself I had made the final choice.
The revolver became heavy in my hand.
For one terrible moment, I understood the comfort he was offering.
No waiting. No tearing. No morning in which Camille wore my coat and carried his child through my house.
My thumb found the hammer.
Then the nearest wolf stepped into the light.
It was lean beneath its winter coat, one ear split along the edge. A tracking collar circled its neck. It had been fed at this gate often enough to know what the bell promised.
Nolan had not given me mercy.
He had given me the work of killing his wife for him.
I lowered the gun.
"No," I said.
The camera could not hear me over the wind, but I said it again.
"No."
If Nolan wanted me dead, he would have to live long enough to know he failed.
The wolf came closer.
I backed toward the service fence, keeping my shoulders square. Running would turn me into prey. Looking away would give it my blind side.
The fence met the outer wall at a narrow angle ten yards behind me. A steel feed gate sat inside that corner, wide enough for one animal at a time.
I moved toward it.
The wolf followed.
Another shape slipped out of the trees to my left.
My mouth filled with the taste of metal. I wanted to fire. Every nerve in my arm begged me to spend the bullet and make the first animal stop moving.
I kept the barrel down.
The split-eared wolf lunged.
I turned sideways and jammed the revolver across its mouth.
Its teeth struck steel. The impact drove my shoulder into the fence. Hot breath flooded my face as it snapped around the barrel.
I shoved upward with both hands, forcing its head against the wire, and kicked at its ribs.
The animal twisted free.
It landed three feet away, snarling.
I still had the bullet.
From the control building, Camille appeared behind the glass. Even at that distance, I saw her lean toward the microphone.
"She won't use it," she said.
Nolan stood beside her.
He did not answer.
The side door of the feeding shed opened. A guard rolled a plastic bucket toward the lower gate.
The smell reached me before the liquid did.
Blood.
"Don't," I shouted.
The guard hesitated.
Camille's voice came through the speaker.
"Do it."
He looked toward Nolan through the glass.
Nolan gave one short nod.
The bucket tipped.
Animal blood splashed across my coat and boots, warm for half a second before the wind found it.
The wolves changed.
The split-eared animal rushed first.
I swung the gun, but it came in beneath my arm. Its jaws closed around the heavy sleeve above my left elbow.
The force took me off my feet.
My head struck frozen ground. White light burst behind my eyes.
The wolf pulled backward, dragging me through the snow. Fabric tore. Then teeth punched through wool and skin.
I screamed.
It was not a brave sound. It was high and raw and mine.
My right hand lost the revolver.
The gun slid across the ice and stopped beneath the feed gate.
I looked up at the control-room window.
Nolan stood behind the glass.
For one stupid heartbeat, I waited for him to raise his hand.
He did not move.
Fourteen years earlier, he had reached for me through blood and torn winter grass. I had crawled close enough for him to lock both hands around my wrist while the wolf circled us.
"Don't leave me," he had said.
I had promised.
Standing under the control-room glass, I understood how carelessly he had spent that promise. He had kept my faithfulness like a weapon in reserve, certain I would still look to him when he hurt me.
The gun lay beneath the feed gate, six feet beyond my reach.
I shoved my good boot against the steel frame. The wolf tightened its grip on my arm, and I screamed again.
Through the glass, Nolan watched. I wanted him to stop it so badly that I hated myself for looking.
Then I saw the angle of the gate. If I could pull the wolf across it, I might make it let go. Might was all I had.
A second wolf broke from the trees.