Chapter 18: Wolf at the Gate

The Wolves stopped their bikes in a line along the wire, and the engines died one by one.

The silence after was worse than the noise.

I stood at the open gate on Route 9, with Niall at my left shoulder and the oldest of the old men at my right.

Behind us on the porch, Fergus stood alone with his cane.

The three men Niall had turned stood in the yard with their shotguns pointed at the ground.

The big man and the fifth old man had gone to the barn.

Nobody had told them to.

Twenty bikes, and twenty cuts, and the sun coming up gold over the quarry.

My father rode at the front.

He swung off his bike, and he took his time about it.

He was fifty-one, six foot three, and his beard had gone a little more gray in three weeks.

The silver wolf ring flashed on his little finger.

He took off his sunglasses and folded them into his cut.

"Hello, Tom," Fergus called from the porch.

My father did not turn his head.

"Not now, Fergus."

"You'll talk to me when I say so. You're standing on my road."

"It's a county road."

"It's mine this morning."

My father's eyes found me through the wire, and they filled.

"Mae," he said.

He said it the way he had said it every morning of my life.

My chest closed up.

"Baby girl. Look at you."

I did not answer.

"Are you hurt?"

"Look at my back," I said.

His eyes stayed on my face.

"Come home, Mae."

"Da. Look at my back."

"You're safe now. I've got you."

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