Dark Lands Homecoming

Dark Lands: Homecoming

Authors Note: This story is a side note to The Charmer, meant for those of you who wanted to know Wiley’s story. It’s not meant to stand alone, so if you don’t already know how her story ends, you’ll have to read TC.

She hated parties.

Parties were full of happy, smiling people. Wiley James had never fit into that crowd, so she ditched her boss’s birthday bash and ran off to the hills.

Literally. Sometimes a girl had to go AWOL.

It started out like any other adventure, with her dashing off a note and leaving coordinates for her roommate and best friend, Jasmine. Nearly as crazy as Wiley, Jas would roll her eyes, grumble, then load up her Jeep and track Wiley down. Lemming, Wiley’s search and rescue dog, would be helping. It was good training for the dog, and a much needed vacation for Wiley.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d left a note for her good-natured friend to find after work. When Wiley had the itch to go, she waited for no one. Sometimes she thought she might explode if she didn’t run into the woods. They were her solace, her grounding place.

Some people relaxed by flying to the Bahamas. Wiley preferred to tackle the Alaskan hills.

She grinned as the cab dropped her off on a deserted highway. She shouldered her pack and wondered how anyone could have dubbed her state “Seward’s Icebox”. Sure, it was frozen for six months out of the year, but the endless sunshine of the midnight sun and the crisp golden days of fall were breathtaking.

Compared to places where the thermometer topped 100 degrees for half the summer, she thought Alaska was heaven. After all, it was easy to toss another log on the fire. What could you do in the desert to ward off the sun; sit in your refrigerator?

She smiled every time she talked to someone who hated it here; more wide-open spaces for her to play in. Less people to notice how odd she was. There weren’t many women who liked to explore wolf-infested woods alone in late September with winter closing in. Even fewer who would call it ripping great fun to see no one but wildlife for days.

Jasmine blamed her friend’s oddities on growing up an orphan, but Wiley knew better. There was something wild inside her, something that needed to be free.

Something more than human.

She hid it well, of course. She smiled as she inhaled a breath of crisp, cold air, testing for scent traces of the game that had recently used this path. No one could tell by looking at her that she could smell as well as any dog, and no one knew how well she saw in the dark. And nobody, not even Jasmine, whom she loved like a sister, knew what she could turn into in the darkness of the night.

But no one needed to know. That’s why she was out there, stomping through the woods. As long as she burned off her emotions with constant work and rigorous exercise, no one would ever know what she was. The darkness inside, the monster that lurked behind her eyes, was a secret only the night could tell.

Rusty-red brush crunched under her feet, mixed with golden birch leaves. Though she could move silently when she wished, she relished the snap of twigs underfoot. Today was a day for noise, for release. She playfully kicked a loose rock and felt herself relax for the first time in days. Coming out there had been a really great idea.

She walked for a long time, until even the long daylight of the Alaskan day failed and she was using night vision alone. Satisfied she was isolated enough to remain undisturbed, she gathered wood and started a fire.

Ringed with birches, the hillside clearing had a lovely view of the night. A half moon rose in the clear sky. Stars, long hidden by the midnight sun, twinkled in the cool black expanse. Somewhere in the valley, a wolf howled.

She shivered and threw another stick on the fire. Closing her ears to the sad wail, she heated some water. Dinner tonight was hot cocoa and MRE, or Meal Ready to Eat. At 1250 calories each, the freeze-dried packet of chicken a la king held enough food substance to keep a hungry soldier on the march, or to seriously constipate a couch potato. All she had to do was rip open the packet, add boiling water, close it, and wait six minutes. She’d heard of other kinds that came with their own heating element and were ready to heat without adding water, but they didn’t sell that kind at her local five and dime. They did sell trail mix and protein bars however, which she’d stocked up on for breakfast.

One experience of eating reconstituted egg powder was enough. Even the dog put her nose under her paws and whined when Wiley offered it to her. Scrumptious, it was not.

While she waited for the water to boil, she assembled her tent with practiced ease. Jasmine would strongly disagree, but Wiley thought the tent beat their apartment any day for simplicity; toss in a sleeping bag and voila! All the comforts of home.

As long as nobody ate beans for dinner, they were in good shape. Jasmine was never going to let her live down the “Night of the Living Chili”; three cans of extra spicy chili and no Beano in sight.

Well, a girl couldn’t plan for everything.

She’d just turned back to the fire to check the water when she saw them. Eyes. Dozens of them, glowing just outside the firelight.

There weren’t many things that could sneak up on her, much less a dozen, and only one thing that traveled in packs. Unless one believed in monsters…

Wiley was inclined to be concerned.

Drawing a slow breath, she reached for her sidearm, a .357 Redhawk revolver, grateful she always carried it in the woods. Like all true Alaskans, she never left home without it. A girl never knew when she might stumble on a cranky sow with a cub. A bear could and would attack. A rifle would be better equipped to take on bears, but they were bulky. At least the handgun was better than throwing rocks.