Edmund Graves's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

The hiker stepped past Edmund into the front room and set his pack by the door. He rubbed the puppy's head and said the walk had been longer than the map showed. Edmund closed the door behind him and turned the bolt with two fingers, quiet as a latch on a jar. The hiker did not look up. Edmund crossed to the sink and ran the tap and filled a tin cup. He kept his voice easy. He asked where the young man had started that morning and nodded at the answer without hearing it. The hammer sat on top of the icebox behind a folded rag. Edmund had put it there that afternoon without a plan, only a habit. The young man drank half the cup and looked around the room. He saw the second felt blanket folded on a chair. He saw the fresh nails in the pantry door. His hand slowed on the puppy's back. He said he should get moving before the light went. He stood and reached for the pack strap. Edmund said the pump was quicker than the tap and picked up the cup as if to refill it. He stepped between the hiker and the door. The hiker's eyes moved to the bolt. He said, softly, that he had told his brother he would call from the next town by dark. Edmund heard the lie in the pause before brother. He set the cup on the table and took the rag off the icebox. The hiker ran. He got the bolt open with one hand and the door with the other and was on the porch before Edmund cleared the table. The puppy shot out between his boots and stopped in the yard, barking at nothing and everything. Edmund followed with the hammer low against his leg. At the tree line, a wolf stood in the last gray light, broad at the shoulders, watching the porch without moving. The hiker saw the wolf and cut left toward the drive instead of the woods. Edmund caught him at the truck. He swung once. The young man went down against the tire and did not get up. Edmund stood over him with his breath loud in his ears and looked back at the trees. The wolf was gone. The road was empty. He dragged the body by the jacket collar across the gravel and into the house and kicked the door shut. He had twelve. Now he had a thirteenth in the front room, blood on his floorboards, a pack on the porch, and a puppy in the yard barking at the dusk.