Free Web NovelChapter 93: Chapter 93 - Coyotes
It was the last week of the hunt, the stretch of days that always felt longer than it should, when everyone was tired enough to start lying to themselves about how close home really was.
The cart was nearly full now, stacked high with bundled meat and stiffening leather, everything tied down tight and covered against the cold, the load creaking softly whenever it was moved.
They would be going home tomorrow. Or the next day. That was what Aaron said, the same way he always said it, with a certainty that never quite held.
"Just two more," he had muttered earlier while cleaning the blade, his hands steady, his eyes already elsewhere.
"Always two more," Iyisha sighed. Words slipping out of her like a reflex, sharp with fatigue and something close to bitterness, because that phrase had started to feel cursed.
No matter how much they hauled back, no matter how heavy the cart grew, there was always something missing, something needed, something just out of reach.
She carried the two buckets down toward the stream, breath fogging in front of her, boots crunching softly through packed snow.
The routine lived in her bones now. Leave at dusk, track until the light failed, wait, kill, drag the bodies back to camp, butcher them by lantern glow while blood steamed in the cold, stretch and scrape hides until her shoulders screamed and the smell of fat clung to her clothes, her hair, her skin.
Her fingers were raw, cracked despite the wrappings. Her shoulders burned constantly, a deep ache that never fully faded. But she had learned. She could make leather now. She could pull flesh clean from bone without flinching. She could judge a good cut by feel alone, by the way the blade slid, by the resistance beneath her hands.
That knowledge did not make it easier.
She dipped the dented pot into the creek, the metal sinking beneath the surface with a soft glug as dark water rushed in. The air bit at her cheeks and knuckles, sharp enough to sting. Snow piled thick around the rocks, crusted over with ice that glittered faintly in the low light.
Her gaze swept the tree line without conscious thought, a slow practiced scan she no longer questioned.
The second pot was only half full when the sound reached her.
A low, rolling growl, not loud but heavy, carrying weight and intent, close enough that it raised the hair along her arms before her mind fully caught up.
Her body froze as one.
Her hands tightened on the handle, knuckles whitening, breath locking in her chest. She lowered the pot back to the ground without a sound, careful, controlled, every movement slow not from thought but from instinct.
Her fingers found the grip of her gun, cold metal solid and familiar as she turned toward the noise and raised the barrel.
There, on the ridge, half swallowed by shadow between two trees, eyes burned yellow.
Gray fur, patchy and dull. A coyote.
It was thin, starved down to angles and bone, ribs faintly visible beneath its coat, hunger pulling its body taut. Its head stayed low, ears pinned back, lips drawn to bare teeth in a snarl stretched too wide, too desperate to be bluff alone.
Iyisha did not breathe.
Her arms stayed firm, locked in place, feet planted hard in the snow, weight settled and ready. The gun felt heavy in her grip, grounding her, anchoring her to the moment. Her heart struck once, loud in her ears. Then again, harder.
The coyote did not move.
Neither did she.
She remembered what Malcolm had said days ago, the words delivered low and calm while he checked a snare, half warning and half joke in the way he did when he wanted her to remember something without panicking.
"Coyotes might be the most dangerous thing here in winter."
Not because they were the strongest.
But because they were hungry.
Desperate.
Smart enough to wait for weakness.
Iyisha swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the cold. What luck she have.
The one in front of her still had not moved, its body crouched low, spine curved, eyes locked onto hers with a focus that felt almost intimate. But something else tugged at her instincts now, something wrong in the air, a pressure she could feel more than hear.
A shift.
A shadow.
She flicked her gaze to the right.
Another shape eased into view at the edge of her vision, slipping out from behind a snow covered log with unsettling quiet. Its movements were slow and controlled, tail held low, ribs pressing visibly against its skin. It did not look at her directly. Its eyes tracked past her instead, measuring distance, angles, escape.
Calculating.
Her stomach tightened painfully.
They were flanking her.
The first coyote took a single step forward, nothing rushed, nothing aggressive, just a test. Snow crunched softly beneath its paw. Iyisha’s foot slid back in response, barely an inch, instinctive and careful.
The reaction was instant.
The animal’s lips peeled back further, teeth flashing white, one paw lifting again as if it had been waiting for that exact movement.
Iyisha did not breathe.
Her free hand slid down to her belt, fingers curling around the grip of her knife, cold leather familiar beneath her touch, a last line of reassurance in case the gun failed her. Her senses felt painfully sharp now. She could smell them. Wet fur. Rot. Hunger.
She turned just enough to keep both coyotes within her peripheral vision, shoulders tight, muscles coiled, aware of how exposed her back felt even without fully turning it.
Then the brush shifted again.
Left.
Her body locked completely.
Her pulse hammered so hard it felt like it might give her away, a loud frantic drum inside her chest. Another shape lingered there, not fully visible, just enough movement to confirm what she already knew.
They were surrounding her.
Just circling, slow and patient, tightening the space inch by inch, waiting for her to slip, for her attention to falter, for her back to turn even slightly.
Waiting for a mistake.
The camp was only steps behind her.
She could see it through the trees, the faint orange glow of the fire licking at the dusk, the rounded shapes of the tents standing solid and real, so close it felt cruel.
Malcolm was there, just beyond the line of trees.
If she turned, they would lunge. freēwēbηovel.c૦m
If she screamed, they might snap.
More shapes bled into the edges of her vision now, low and shifting, shadows cutting through the snow with purpose. Too many. Teeth catching light. Hunger given form. The scent of blood had reached them and it had called them in.
Iyisha tightened her grip on the gun until her fingers ached, breath locked tight in her throat, lungs burning for air she would not let out.
Then one moved.
It broke from the line fast, no warning, no hesitation, a gray blur launching straight for her.
"Malcolm!" she shouted, the word tearing out of her raw and sharp, breaking the frozen air as fear finally ripped past her control.
She fired.
The sound split the forest open, sharp and violent, echoing off the trees. The coyote dropped midair, momentum carrying it forward before it hit the ground hard, a single broken yelp cutting off as its body went still.
But the recoil threw her balance.
Her heel slid on ice.
The creek was right behind her.
She felt the world tip and then she was gone, boots skidding out from under her as she plunged backward into the water. The cold hit like iron shackles, stealing her breath, crushing sound and thought into nothing. Her head went under and for a split second there was only black and pain.
She surfaced with a violent gasp, choking, lungs spasming as icy water soaked through her clothes and bit straight into her bones. Her vision swam and in the same heartbeat she realized her hand was empty.
The gun was gone.
There was no time to look for it.
A shape burst into view at the riverbank, teeth bared, body coiled and already leaping.
She screamed as it came down on her.
Her hand found the knife.
Steel flashed.
She slashed blind and desperate, the blade biting into fur and muscle, heat blooming against the cold as blood sprayed into the water. The coyote screamed, a raw tearing sound, and thrashed away from her grip, scrambling back into the snow.
But it was not alone.
Another one was there instantly, faster than she could turn, jaws snapping shut around her hand. Pain exploded up her arm, white and blinding. She cried out, trying to shake it loose, but it clamped down harder, weight dragging her toward it.
She twisted, muscles screaming, jammed her knee up between them just in time to block its teeth from her throat as it snapped again, breath hot and foul against her skin.
Her other hand still held the knife.
She drove it down.
Once.
Twice.
The resistance gave suddenly. The animal released her with a broken sound and collapsed into the snow beside the creek, twitching as dark blood soaked into white.
Iyisha scrambled back, crawling through slush and ice, soaked through, fingers numb and burning at the same time. Blood smeared her hand, stung across her skin, mixed with freezing water until she could not tell where one ended and the other began. Her breath came in wild, ragged gasps that hurt her chest.
She could still hear them.
The others.
Low growls. Movement in the trees. Snow crunching slow and deliberate.
They were not done.
They were coming closer.
