The Amazing Wolf Boy

Part 64 - Aunt Fanny

My stomach sank. Why was the sheriff's department here? All I needed was to be found in the back of a woman's van wearing a smelly work shirt that barely covered my behind.

I knelt among the boxes, trying to look inconspicuous. Wind puffed through the open back door, chilling my sweaty face. I stared outside. Rita still leaned against Uncle Bob's truck. Neither the deputy nor my uncle could be seen. Their voices came from the side of the van.

"Car trouble, Mister Nowak?" the deputy asked.

"Night fishing," my uncle said. "Pond's about half a mile in the woods there."

"Catch anything?"

"Nothing we kept."

"How long you been here?"

"Got here around, oh...three o'clock." Uncle Bob's voice shifted like he'd looked around at Rita. "Wouldn't you say, honey?"

"Sounds about right," she said.

The deputy said, "Ma'am, you're bleeding."

I tensed, holding my breath. How would we explain a gunshot wound?

But she just motioned nonchalantly at her shoulder. "Yeah, wouldn't you know it? The stupid hook swung around and caught me in the shoulder. I'm going to need a Band-Aid."

"Humph," said the deputy.

"Anything we can help you with, sir?" my uncle asked.

"Have you seen any dogs?"

"No."

"How about people?"

"Only you. Why?"

"A pack of animals got onto the preserve. Jamie Miller says there were six of them. Biggest dogs he ever saw. They killed a lamb and a couple of antelope."

Rita gasped. "That's awful."

"How could dogs get in there?" Uncle Bob asked.

"That's the question, isn't it?" the deputy said. "I can't see how they could get inside. Not without help."

"Are you saying a person—"

"Unusual is all. Animals can't get out but dogs can get in? Anyway, it's not safe. Not with dogs around learning to kill, maybe on command."

"What do you mean?" Rita asked. "You think these dogs are, like, murder weapons?"

"It's an ongoing investigation. Best you don't loiter out here," he said. "Go on home."

His boots scuffed the rocky road. Uncle Bob's face appeared at the back of the van. He gave me a look that clearly said keep your head down. The doors slammed. Out the windshield, I watched the deputy's car pull away.

"I'll drive," my uncle said. "We'll leave my truck here."

"Don't be silly," Rita said. "I'm fine."

"You shouldn't be moving that arm."

"Don't baby me. I hate that."

"All right," he said, closing her door. "I'll follow you."

She started the van. The engine ran rough. She had trouble fastening her seatbelt, so I reached around and snapped it. Pain radiated from her like an aura. I wished my uncle were driving.

We pulled off the grass and headed home at walking speed. The deputy's cruiser sat on the side of the road. He stood outside it, copying down the license plate of a parked car.

The red Camaro.

I sat back, shutting my eyes. I was an idiot. I hadn't warned the pack leader away. I'd made him angry. It was a good thing I hadn't told anyone that I'd gone to see him.

Rita reached to the passenger seat and produced a cassette tape. I didn't know they made them anymore. She put it in the player, and after a moment, Carole King's Greatest Hits filled the van.

She was my mother's favorite singer. I thought of Mom driving down the street with the top down and that scarf she always wore flapping in the breeze, singing along with her tunes, embarrassing the heck out of me. Sudden tears burned my eyes. I tried to shut out the music, but it was no use. I found I knew all the words.

By the time we got to my uncle's house, I smelled blood. Rita parked on the grass then slumped over the wheel. I squeezed between the seats until I leaned over her. She was out cold.

My uncle wrenched open her door. His face fell. "Undo her belt for me."

I hit the latch, and we untangled her from the straps. She groaned but didn't complain. Uncle Bob lifted her and carried her toward the house. I jumped out of the van, hurried around them, and opened the front door.

Rita was pale and motionless. Her blouse was soaked through. Uncle Bob set her on the recliner. He untied her blouse and removed the bloodied bandage.

I stood in the doorway, staring. This was all my fault. If I hadn't riled the pack, none of this would have happened.

A truck rattled up the driveway. Howard. My uncle must have called him on his cell. He got out carrying a cardboard box.

"I see Aunt Fanny is here," he said as he passed me.

"Huh?" At first, I thought he meant Rita, but then I realized that he was referring to the too-short work shirt. Embarrassment rose in a hot wave. But as all my important parts were covered, I ignored him. Motioning at the box, I said, "What's all this?"

"My first aid kit." He grinned. "Why don't you put a big pot of water on to boil?"

I nodded and went into the kitchen. We didn't have a big pot. I remembered the mess I made cooking spaghetti in a skillet for Brittany. After a moment's indecision, I filled a cereal bowl with water and popped it into the microwave.

While it heated, I went back into the living room. Howard dabbed yellow goo onto Rita's wound. Behind him, Uncle Bob paced. His gray hair stood straight up from the many times he ran his hands through it.

"Will she be okay?" I asked.

"We need to keep her still," Howard said. "Whose idea was it to let her drive the van?"

"Whose do you think?" my uncle said.

"Do you have a clean bed sheet? Something we can cut into strips?"

"You can use mine," I said. I hated those Scooby sheets.

"He said clean," my uncle muttered as he brushed past me.

I'd never seen him so upset. The microwave dinged, and I went in to check the water. It wasn't hot enough, so I put it in for another couple of minutes. Then I went to my room and grabbed a pair of sweat pants from the dirty clothes pile.