The sound of muted whining brought me back to myself. I’d left my truck idling in the driveway. Two dark blobs were pressed against the driver’s side window. I moved closer, and the snouts those blobs were attached to came into focus. My rescue Huskies, Fred and Sam, stared at me from the other side of the glass.
I waved my arms at them. “Get your drooly noses off the window.”
Sam yipped in response, which taunted a bark out of Fred, which Sam had to answer. By the time I reached the vehicle, they were howling.
I wrenched open the door. “Would you two be quiet? You’re going to -”
A deep, keening bay rose to answer them from far too close.
I froze, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. Sam and Fred shared a panicked look before racing into the safety of the backseat, where they huddled down like a pair of rabbits in a thicket. More howls joined the first, forming an unholy chorus. Low growls punched through the cacophony. A high-pitched yelp rang out like some sort of demonic soprano.
My skin prickled in goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold. The surrounding woods were carpeted with deep snow, causing sound waves to diffract in a way that made it difficult to judge the distance of the noises. I couldn’t tell if the animals making them were a mile away or about to burst through the nearest tree line and rush at me in a seething frenzy of fur and teeth.
The howls broke off, a low, mournful note lingering in the air long after the others fell away.
“It’s just coy dogs,” I told Fred and Sam.
They didn’t look convinced.
I climbed into the truck and shut the door. My thick gloves made it impossible to do much else, so I yanked one off with my teeth, dug my phone out of my heavy jacket, and dialed Dave’s number.
“Yo,” he said by way of greeting.
“Did you hear that?”
“Your dogs? Or the wolves?”
I sucked in a breath. “They’re back?”
“The wolves that the US Fish and Wildlife Service insists we don’t have in Maine? Yeah, they’re back. A friend of mine said they were sighted ranging down from Canada about a week ago.”
“Be careful if you come outside. They sounded close.”
“Eh. Sounds are tricky this time of year.”
“Still,” I said, thinking of Willow.
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell Jane. We’ll be careful.”
I put the truck into reverse after we hung up and backed out of their long driveway. The clock on my dash read 6:15. It was a Friday night, and I was a single twenty-three-year-old. If I lived anywhere else in the country, I might be getting ready to go out with friends or swiping right on dating apps. There were fewer options for fun in the northern reaches of Maine, and the thought of eating another dinner alone with my pets sounded a little too depressing right now.
I pulled onto the road and hit the phone button on my steering wheel. “Call Jack Hundel.”
A gruff male voice came through the speakers after the third ring. “Y’ello there,Ella.”
“Hey, Jack.”
One of the dogs let out a lowwooffrom behind me.
“You got the boys with you?” Jack’s tone changed into the higher register with a slightly hysterical edge that all canine lovers seem to favor when speaking to their four-legged friends. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s the best boy? Is it you, Fred?” In response, Fred leapt into the front seat and started jump-prancing as he barked. “Or is it you, Sammy?” Sam, not to be upstaged, started howling again. Right behind my ear.
I ducked away from him. “Jack, cut it out. They’re not buckled in. If you rile them up any more, they’ll wreck the truck.”
He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Whatcha up to, kiddo?”
“I just dropped Willow off and was thinking of swinging by before I head home.”
“Sure, come on over. I got half a chicken in the oven and just cracked open a beer.”
