Pack Animals
- Author or artist: Jillian Clemo
- Publication: Alchemy
- Year: 2026
- Author or artist: Jillian Clemo
- Type: Fiction
The mud on the ground felt lumpy and cold under my feet. Big chunks of
dirt made up our farm as we had just harvested the potatoes a few days prior. I
ran, feeling the wind in my hair, enjoying the sound of it whistling past my ears
as gusts whizzed by trying to play with me. The ground was slanted at an angle
providing more of a challenge for my balance as I weaved in between the two
rows of grape vines, barren for the season. Their naked brown mess of branches
backlit by the solid gray sky, the overcast a preview of the weather for the next
few months.
The horizon was broken up by the silhouette of an ominous forest. It was
hard to explain but the forest always gave the feeling that if you stared at it for
too long or, god forbid, went inside of it, you’d end up on the receiving end of
the terrible misfortune it seemed to promise. This feeling was accented by the
neighbor’s house, just over on the next plot of land about a quarter of a mile
away which brought a whole different kind of bad vibe. His small house sat
on its own, the faded off-white paint peeling, trying to hide itself under the
sagging water-damaged roof. The old man who lived there never seemed to
smile or laugh and whenever you’d see him, he was either toiling in his field or
glaring out his grimy window at us. One time I overheard my brother telling
his friends that one day the old man’s wife just disappeared and nobody knew
where she went, but about a week later a small, unmarked grave appeared in
the side yard.
Seeing my brother further down the field, I ran straight towards him as
fast as my legs would carry me. He was busy combing the field for potatoes
that had been missed, but looked up in time to see me barreling towards him
like a bullet. He laughed and braced himself as I approached, then at the last
second he jumped out of the way, his brown hair getting swept up by the
wind trying to join our low-risk game of chicken. Brother turned around,
about to run after me, but stopped in his tracks when yelling sounded from
the distance. We both stopped as we noticed Mother walking across the
field towards us. She looked displeased, but then that was always her default
expression. Potato farming wasn’t exactly what she would call her dream life,
but so far she’d only saved up enough money for the two rows of grape vines.
When she had married Father they had spent their combined savings, plus
some hefty loans, on buying this land with dreams of turning it into a vineyard.
I didn’t remember Father, but Mother always got sad when she thought of
him.
‘The soil here is acidic, we’ll make a fortune selling to wineries’ he said.
Then left me with all the debt from his dreams. I approached her but she
walked right past me as if she didn’t see me, though I saw her eyes flick towards
me as she passed. Instead, she went up to Brother and began telling him that
she was going into town to sell some of the harvest and to continue combing
the field until dark. Brother nodded solemnly as she turned and began walking
back towards our rundown farmhouse as abruptly and stiffly as she had
appeared. Once she was far enough away Brother kicked one of the bigger
lumps of dirt nearby and looked over at me.
No fun for us today I guess. He turned his head back to the Earth and
continued combing the ground for stray potatoes. I watched for a minute
before going back over to the grape vines to resume my weaving challenge. Just
as I was about to take off, a howl split the calm morning air. I turned toward
the sound just in time to see a pack of wolves at the top of the hill. They
hovered at the edge of the farm for a few seconds before retreating. They must
have sensed something I didn’t, because they made their retreat just as quickly
as they’d appeared. Brother looked paler than the overcast sky as he looked at
the horizon, making sure the wolves were gone for good.
As we calmed down I suddenly noticed the neighbor approaching us. He
looked like he hadn’t eaten a full meal in ages, and he looked like he had lived
through plenty of ages as well. When he began getting closer, I noticed the
double-barreled home defender he was carrying with him as he walked over
with the speed of someone who had all the time in the world.
Brother appeared next to me standing defensively. He uses that for killing
wolves and other varmint.
Good thing I’m no varmint then.
I glanced again at the top of the hill as if the wolves might be there again
when the deafening boom of the shotgun ripped my attention back to the old
man. I scurried away in the opposite direction of the acrid gunpowder smell
filling my nose. After a few seconds I remembered Brother and turned in time
to see him tackle the old man to the ground before he could line up a second
shot at me. I ran back to help him as they struggled in the dirt. Brother wasn’t
particularly strong, but the old man seemed to be growing weak after years of a
poverty diet and hard labor.
That damn thing is attracting the wolves! The old man yelled through
gritted teeth glaring sideways at me. I bared my teeth at him and continued
my charge. His hands were occupied when I reached him, both clinging as
hard as they could to the shotgun trapped between him and Brother. Instinct
took over and I bit one of his arms. He yelled and flinched just long enough
for Brother to twist the shotgun out of the old man’s grip. I let go and started
backing away in case the old man decided to try something. I must have bit
him harder than I realized, because the taste of red iron was in my mouth. The
man held his bleeding arm and glared at me with a hatred that told me the
stories about him were all true. His gaze snapped to Brother with an added
hint of fear in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide.
Well, what are you going to do then? Shoot me?
Brother just stared at him blankly, but still breathing heavily waiting for
his breath to catch up to the action of the past minute.
What are you waiting for? Just do it already! Sweat was beading on his
forehead.
I looked at my brother to see what he might do, he looked down to lock
eyes with me. I had never seen him look so serious before. Then he looked back
at the old man and took a few large steps to close the small gap between them,
and before the old man could say anything Brother raised the shotgun in the
air and brought the butt of it down decisively onto the old man’s head with as
much force as he could muster. The old man’s head slumped over as his feeble
body fell back to the ground, face up towards the sky. From afar one might
assume he was cloud gazing or taking a midday nap, if it weren’t for the fact
that he was laying in a field of mud with a bloody arm. For a minute, or maybe
ten, we watched the rise and fall of the neighbor’s chest while we processed
what had just happened. Finally, Brother sighed and broke the silence.
I’m not looking forward to explaining this to Ma.
I leaned against him to offer some comfort. After a short few moments
I heard the flurry of paws hitting the ground in the distance and whirled
around. I winced and let out a yelp as the motion of turning revealed an injury
I had only just realized I had. The hair on the back of my neck bristled seeing
the pack of wolves reappear at the crest of the hill. Brother had taken notice of my renewed panic and turned to look up the hill as well. He bent down by the old man and searched his pockets to search for spare shells, knowing he probably showed up armed to the teeth just to shoot at something half his size.
The wolf at the front of the pack stopped to sniff the air and then looked
down the hill at us. They must be looking for the source of the blood they
smell from the injuries on the old man and I. Weak prey are always an easier
hunt. The wolf in front looked back at his packmates for no more than a
couple of seconds. Instantly, they began spilling over the top of the hill toward
us as one cohesive unit. Two split off to the sides to flank us, one on each side,
while two others headed directly at us. Hundreds of pounds of gray fur and
muscle charged towards us with razor sharp teeth bared. Orange and yellow
eyes bright with the thrill of the hunt focused in on their quarry.
I braced myself trying to look as intimidating as I could, snarling back at
them. Brother was standing next to me already taking aim at the wolf leading
the charge.
Bang.
My ears were left ringing as I tried to concentrate on the wolves flanking
us. I honed in on the one coming in from the right and tried to focus past the
overwhelming smell that had filled my nostrils from the blood on my teeth.
The empty shells falling out of the gun barely registered to my overloaded
senses as Brother began loading another round in it. He had seen it done
before as everyone living in the country has at some point or another, but had
never had to take up the action himself. In his clumsy, novice-laced panic he
dropped the shell he was trying to load.
Shit!
I knew it must be a grave mistake he made, because Mother would
wallop him for that word. I glanced quickly to see the wolf he’d shot at had
gotten hit in the front leg and shoulder and had tripped over itself. He was
now whimpering in the dirt as his packmate slowed down to check on him.
Once he recovered from the initial hit, he turned tail and began running, his
packmate following close behind.
I turned my attention back to the beast on the right, who was just about
to reach us. As she got closer, I decided I’d just think of this as another classic
game of chicken, I tensed up, heart racing as my hunter got closer. Her mouth
opened to grab me— teeth reaching out as she advanced— and I jumped to
the side. A call so close that I felt the hot breath on my face when I dodged out
of the way. She was a hunting machine primed by mother nature though, and
she quickly stopped and wheeled around to get another go. So focused was
this hunter, though, that she didn’t see Brother already swinging the shotgun
towards her like a baseball bat. There was a loud but dull thud as the metal
barrel hit a large fur covered head. With a yelp, my pursuer turned to follow
her friends back up into the forest.
This left just the final wolf, who had been more cautious than the rest of
his friends. He slowly circled us, deciding his best course of action while we
waited for him to make a move. With his head bowed low I was eye-level with
him, trying to sense his intentions through his bright, wild eyes. Similar to my
own, but wild in a way I couldn’t interpret. He noticed the old man on the
ground and slowly began creeping towards him. Taking cautious side steps, he
inched his way over towards the unconscious body— never taking his eyes off
of us. Slowly, we backed away from the unconscious figure, willingly giving up
responsibility for what happened to him as the wolf reached him and grabbed
one of the scrawny legs in his mouth and began slowly dragging him away. As a
sign of truce, Brother placed the shotgun down on the dirt. But it wasn’t until
the wolf had reached the grape vines that he took his eyes off of us and began
speeding up his ascent towards the forest. Once he neared the treeline, a few of
the pack reappeared to help him drag their dinner home.
I collapsed to the ground, the adrenaline couldn’t enable me ignoring my
injury any longer. Brother kneeled down and inspected the injury.
Looks like there’s an exit wound, we just gotta stop the bleeding and I
think you’ll be okay. Looking about as tired as I felt, he sat down next to me
and looked around at the gun and the various spots of dirt discolored by blood
in the field around us. Do you think Mother will believe me when I tell her
what happened? He looked over, watching me inspect my wound. I don’t
think I would’ve been as brave if you hadn’t been there with me. I guess that’s
why they call dogs ‘man’s best friend’ huh? I was too drained to reply to him,
and instead started licking my wound to attempt to clean up a bit of the blood.
Brother watched me for a minute before looking up thoughtfully at the gray
mass of sky and reaching out a hand to absentmindedly scratch behind my
ears. Well, let’s get some rags for you then. Come on. He said before standing
up. I reluctantly got up as well to follow him back home, limping next to him
as he walked at a pace I could keep up with. Aw man, I just realized this means
I’ll have to spend tomorrow combing the field for the rest of the potatoes now.