Wolf #1: The Pack [COMPLETED]

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Heceta Beach is a small coastal community on the Oregon Coast, about a hundred and eighty miles south of Portland. Technically, we are part of Florence, a small city with a population of nine thousand. In truth, people from Heceta have always seen themselves as an entity of their own, which always causes stir among census and tax collectors.

Unlike Florence, my hometown is less densely populated. A lot of the homes are scattered along the coastline. Or are like mine and on the border of the Siuslaw Forest. It isn't the kind of small town where everyone knows everyone's cousin-second-removed, but it is pretty hard to avoid one another's business.

The only ones who escapes the buzz of the gossip mill are the families that live in a dense forest that hadn't been claimed by the federal government, back when they created the national parks. Dad has always said they were off-grid hillbillies, but I have never been able to dispute or confirm his claims. No one knows exactly everyone who lives up there in that isolated pocket of Heceta. It's just one of those places that no one ever really bothers to visit—not when we all live and breathe saltwater.

"Great, thank you," My dad says to his client on the phone, "I appreciate your understanding... Thanks, Greg. I'll call you when we're through all this. Bye."

We're driving to the boatyard to take inventory and to secure any boats for the upcoming storm. My mother is stretched out in the backseat, fast asleep. Like me, it's all she's done since Step died. The only one who seems to still be functioning is my dad.

I look out towards the sea. It's quiet today—barely a soul out on the white sand. The sea is subdued as well, almost flat like a lake. But the clouds are darkening with every passing minute, and I can smell rain in the air.

"It's going to be a bad one," My dad murmurs, glancing out at the sky too, "You think you can handle securing the boats on the east jetty? I'm going to let your mother sleep so we're each going to have to take a jetty."

"Fine," I keep it short or else we'll argue again. He sighs and turns into the parking lot to our docks. Before he has even put the parking brake on, I open the door and hop out of the car.

"Amelia!"

Everything I need is in the boathouse. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll slip on the docks and drown. Except...one glance at the dark, murky water has me rethinking my dark thoughts.

With the ropes in my arms, I haul them down to the boats on the east jetty. Being from the east coast, my dad grew up with hurricanes, so he knows how to keep a boat secure in any kind of storm. And although our storms never are as strong as a hurricane, we still take the necessary precautions to keep our end of the beach safe. It's one of the reasons why our docks are the most popular. If nothing else, my dad is an incredible sailor.

The wind picks up quickly, whipping my hair in and out of my eyes. I finish tying the sail boats up and quickly look around to make sure that everything was in order. My stomach only grows queasier the longer I stand on the dock. They are slowly becoming submerged by the building waves.

The sea is no longer the calm it had been an hour ago, and I can see that we are making this in the nick of time.

"Amelia! Help them out!" I'm having difficulty keeping my hair out of my eyes. My father is pointing at a boat coming towards his jetty. He's still busy with his boats, since he had taken the dock with the larger catamarans and sailboats.

I sprint to the end of my dock as my father points the sailboat to me. I wave them down and run to an open piling for them to dock at. During storms, we have everyone secure their boats to pilings—which are like pillars that are secured deep in the ground and a lot more secure than the docks themselves.