“Alright,” I agree and look down at the menu.
By the time the coffee comes, we’re ready to order. It’s easy to sit with Jack and just talk. I got lucky catching a ride with him, and I can almost forget why I am here in the first place.
It’s still another few hours to Whitehorse, and I offer to drive after we’ve eaten. It’s the least I can do. Jack settles comfortably in the passenger seat, making jokes about first-class service, while the miles stretch ahead of us.
I try to remember that this isn’t some kind of holiday for me, but it’s hard not to laugh at Jack’s good-natured jokes or feel entirely at ease in his company.
If only he knew what I’d done. Would he be this nice to me, then? I don’t deserve this man’s kindness, and I feel guilty for taking it.
By the time we reach Whitehorse, I’ve learned that Jack is a veterinarian, and he comes here on business once a month. He invites me to stay at the Bed & Breakfast where he always stays, but I ask him to drop me off at one of the motels.
I’ve already taken up too much of Jack’s time, and I don’t want to get him involved in case the cops catch up with me. I do, however, slip a hundred Dollar bill into the truck’s sun visor.
“You take care, Logan,” Jack says to me, pumping my hand.
“Thank you for everything.”
Buddy wriggles and wags his tail when I pet him goodbye. My backpack feels heavier today as I walk away and towards the motel's reception as Jack drives off.
“Room for one,” I request, hoping Jack was right about this being the cheapest place in town.
It looks alright; clean carpets, neat furniture in the reception, a presentable clerk at the desk. There are pictures of the mountains on the wall and tourist brochures in racks along the side.
“How long are you going to stay?” the dark-haired clerk asks.
“A month, maybe.”
“I can give you a special long-term rate for locals.”
My luck is holding. It’s almost too good, and I wonder if I should worry.
“That would be great, thank you.”
The clerk gives me my key and sends me on my way with directions on how to get to my room. It’s the last room on the right, and the walls of the long wood-paneled corridor press in on me as I hurry towards the room.
The room is small, with a single bed, a kitchenette, and a separate bathroom. Even here, the wood-paneling makes the room seem smaller than it is.
I pull open the curtain to let in some light. The mountains in the distance beckon me, and I know I need a run. My body vibrates with anticipation, and I quickly sort out my few things and then head out.
The clerk at the front desk points me towards the nearest hiking trail, and I follow it for an hour before I veer off and disappear into the wild.
It’s colder now - maybe 15 degrees - but I don’t hesitate to take my clothes off. I fold them neatly, make sure my room key is safe inside a pocket, and then hide them underneath a rock.
Goosebumps cover my entire body as I stand there, naked, and take a deep breath. For now, I am free. I may not have a pack, but I am not dead, either.
I drop down to all fours as my body shifts. My blond hair turns into light grey fur, and my face elongates to form the muzzle with which I can finally voice my growls.
Chapter 3
“Kimberly, we’ve got to go.”
My father’s bellow reaches me around the house, and the bitch jumps in fright.
“I’m coming, Dad,” I shout back at him, patting Artemis to calm her down.
He knows I’m still in the nursery. We have a sick dog, and it’s my job to give her antibiotics in the mornings. Just because it’s ‘town-day’, he thinks everything must work on his time.
“You know we have a lot to do today,” dad scolds me when I get into the truck. “There are only so many hours in the day, and we have weather moving in.”
I turn to him and mutely look at his ruggedly handsome face for about half a minute while he steers the truck down the drive. He looks back at me out of the corner of his eyes.
“What?” he asks.
“Didn’t you sleep well last night?”
Dad grumbles.
“Because if you are going to be grumpy all day, I’ll get out now, and you can do town-day by yourself.”
He’s silent for a moment, then grips the steering wheel with a dramatic white-knuckle grip, opens his blue eyes as wide as they’ll go, and starts pleading.
“Don’t leave me, Kimberly. You wouldn’t, would you? Not an old man like me. I am at your mercy. Be kind to this old man. I am all you have. Please. I beg of you.”
That does it. We both laugh, and I forgive Dad for his grumpiness. He’s an awesome guy, just not a morning person. To be honest, I’m very much like him - in personality, as well as looks.
“So, what’s on the list for today,” I ask once we’ve settled in for the forty-five-minute drive to Juneau.
Living out in the country is wonderful, but it has its drawbacks. It’s so far from any town that we don’t even have proper street access out here in the Alaskan wilderness.
Our property has been in our family for generations, though, and we wouldn’t dream of moving. We have been here so long that our ancestors acquired permits for us to live out here in Tongass National Forest.
My father, as his father and grandfather before him, has a ranger’s license, and it’s just one of the jobs he does besides being a musher and running the business.
It takes us thirty minutes to connect to the road that goes to Juneau, which is the nearest city, and where we do all our shopping. With winter on its way, we need to stockpile, as our property is not accessible by car during the snow months.
“Vet supplies from Petco,” Dad replies, a frown forming on his forehead, “and a whole lot of stuff from Costco.”
“Oh yay,” I say sarcastically, enjoying shopping for groceries about as much as my dad.
It’s cozy warm in the truck as we drive the winding road down the mountain. The forest is a profusion of fall colors, shrouded in a hazy drizzle. They’ve forecast rain for today and tomorrow, with a chance of bad weather by later this week.
I love these drives into town with dad - the silence before the storm. Our parents raised us out on the farm; my two brothers and me; homeschooling us and teaching us everything there is to know about our business.
“Shit,” my father suddenly yells.
The tires of the truck crunch on the gravel of the dirt road as the brakes lock, and I slam hard into my seatbelt.
As the back of the pick-up swings out, my dad releases the brakes and corrects the steering. I watch wide-eyed as we swerve around a startled black-tailed deer.
It stands there for a second longer, then leaps off into the trees. My heart hammers wildly as Dad swings the other way and brings the truck back under control.
He stops on the verge of the road, and we take a breath before we carry on driving.
“You alright?” he asks, tucking a blond curl that’s come loose from my ponytail behind my ear.
“Yeah,” I rub my neck, “you?”
“Fine.”
These things don’t happen often, but they do happen. Besides the fact that we don’t want to hurt the animal, the danger is real. If we get injured in an accident out here, it could be hours before someone from home realizes something has happened.