Episode 2 – Part 2

I SEE A BAD LON RISIN’

OR

THE WOLF WHO CRIED…WOLF?

 

When Lowell entered the Safe Haven, Murray had coffee waiting. It was exactly the kind of gesture one so desperately wanted in life and exactly the kind one seldom received.

“Five cream, five sugar?” asked Murray. It was an old joke.

“Or just black is fine too,” said Lowell, completing the routine. He thanked Murray with his eyes and sipped the beverage gratefully. He drew in his breath, letting the aroma of the coffee wash over him like electricity. “Now what’s this about my dope from Chicago being wrong? And, do I really have to go back to Spooner?”

“Yup, I’m afraid the scouting report from Chi-town is wrong my friend. And yes, I’m afraid it means you’ll be heading to Spooner.” Murray looked at Lowell, looked at his hands as they gripped the coffee cup a little intensely. “Look pal,” reasoned Murray, “I’m going to venture that poor little coffee cup didn’t do anything to you. Loosen your grip. You wanta take your frustrations out on something, take ‘em out on Spooner.” His logic was a sort of deadpan humor which served to refocus Lowell’s anxiousness.

“Yeah. Yeah…I got it Murray,” said Lowell, meaning it. “But do I really have to go back to Spooner?”

“Afraid so my friend, I’m afraid so. I mean, I really am afraid. Well, kind of afraid…” Murray was being cute. He was sometimes put out, sometimes even bothered, but they both knew he hadn’t been afraid in decades.

“Afraid of what?” asked Lowell.

“The wolves,” said Murray. “The wolves…They’re back.”

…

Fitz was running along the pathway connecting the north end of Spooner with the south end. It wasn’t a very long path, just under two miles in length, but it was surrounded by forest, the creek, and the abandoned grain tower from eons past. The path was new and so most people hadn’t discovered it yet. He was alone. This was his preferred state of being as Fitz was quite certain that he was better than almost every other person he’d ever met. He cruised through the section of the path leading to Spooner’s famous Little Dam and he hoped there wouldn’t be anyone fishing this late in the evening. He really didn’t like people.

Fitz had run a marathon once. He hadn’t finished, but he had been in tenth place through twenty miles. In Fitz’s mind this meant, for all practical purposes, that he had actually finished tenth in the race. Or, perhaps it would have been ninth? Or seventh! It didn’t matter. Because he hadn’t actually completed the race and so the only ‘place’ he finished in was “Did Not Finish” or “DNF.”

Fitz spat at the ground. It hadn’t been his fault that he’d gotten a stupid cramp at mile twenty one. Who gets a cramp at mile twenty one? Especially when they’re about ready to break the three hour barrier for a marathon? But he hadn’t broke the three hour barrier because he hadn’t actually finished the marathon. Because he didn’t finish the marathon he didn’t even break the four or five or six hour barrier. No, because he didn’t finish the marathon, Fitz had been issued the sterling time of 0:00:00.

Because of this (or perhaps because of his almost constant bragging that he’d been in tenth place through twenty miles) everyone in Spooner, especially everyone in the much ballyhooed Spooner running community, started calling Fitz, “Zero.” Or, if they had the time or devotion, they would call him, “Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero.”

He really didn’t care for people.

And he knew he would have won that goddamn race if he hadn’t cramped up. Stupid cramp. Fitz spat.

He had entered six more marathons and eight more, shorter races after that fateful day, but he had never fished any of them either. In many of the races he’d either led the race or been among the leaders but inevitably he would either cramp up or he would see that he wasn’t going to win, and so would walk off the course. This had led to another nickname for him, “DNF.”

He hated people.

He looked to his left and saw the Little Dam was deserted. Fitz smirked a bit to himself. Clouds were opening and closing and as the sun dropped further and further beyond Chief Osceola’s eternal reach, Fitz saw the moon rising higher and higher above him. Shadows were dropping their touches upon each rock, each shrub, each branch. The charming woods was becoming a fairy tale jungle. Fitz ran, undaunted.

And then–a blur!

To Fitz’s right and below, came the first claw. Then as he yelled, a second came from behind the shrubs to his left. Like Gary, like Aimee, Fitz flew.

But unlike them, Fitz landed. Fitz landed well.

Without breaking pace, Fitz planted his right hand on the ground to regain balance and in one fluid motion, used his own momentum to bolt his body upright! Looking over his shoulder he swore he could see two wolf like creatures but, while they were hunched over, their front claws still reaching out for him, they clearly were standing on their back legs! Nothing made sense–nothing except running as fast as he could!

Fitz swung his head back around, ready to dart up the remainder of the path and over the bridge on the Big Spooner Dam and out to first street and then to main street. But his eyes filled with a kind of unholy sadness as another one of these wolf beasts was now roaring on its hind legs ten feet in front of him!

Fitz issued forth some sort of insane screaming yelp, so terrified, and yet so startling that the wolf creature in front of him hesitated for one fraction of a moment too long and Fitz ducked under its arm as he saw an awful claw just miss his spiffy running jacket. Fritz turned for the bridge but there was one problem.

A fourth wolf creature was sitting on its haunches, growling, and gnashing its teeth…on the bridge.

Fitz instinctively slid to a braking halt, his expensive running shoes grating through the dirt on the north side of the path. Now his left arm slid down gracefully as he used his left hand to pirouette around, facing the other three wolves!

With trees on either side of him and a wolf man creature troll sitting on the bridge, Fitz knew he had but one small hope: The Little Dam!

As the four wolves began howling and screeching, as one of them even seemed to be laughing with a maniacal glee, Fitz made the run of his life, and he made it for his life! Accelerating to full sprinting speed, Fitz cruised past the closest wolf thing. He could see its eyes were yellow and seemed smooth as glass. A heavy arm came swinging at him again but it seemed to have a hard time moving it and Fitz ducked right under its attack for the second time in under a minute.

He didn’t bother looking back, rather, Fitz focused on the two wolf freaks in front of him. They had formed a sort of primitive barrier, hunched over side by side, their stiff tails jutting out from their jeans…their jeans! But they had great hairy arms with great claws on each hand–what were these things? Running as fast as he could towards them, Fitz focused on their faces. Even in the ever diminishing light, he could see their long wolf snouts. Of this he was certain! And they had the same glassy eyes of the one he’d just ducked. And they were howling, he could hear their voices burgeoning up and out of their furry necks!

Fitz stared and stared at them and kept their eyes on his own as he ran closer and closer to the wolf monsters! Opening his own mouth and howling his own horrendous howl, Fitz was just about to slam right into the wolf blockade, right about to hurl his sprinting body at the terrible duo, was just about to smash into his canine attackers when, at the very last moment–

He slid right under them.

Yes, Fitz slid down and between their blue jean covered legs. His slide had been quite good and his momentum carried him a good four feet right past the wolf apes. Turning his head around he could see the two of them were still standing there, quite in shock, trying to figure out just where their prey had gone!

Without another moment of hesitation, Fitz let the rest of his momentum bring him back up onto his feet and again he was in a full throttled sprint. Now going the opposite direction from the wolf gang Fitz continued sprinting on the path. But then, suddenly, he hooked a sharp left and without breaking stride he bounded through the short group of shrubs and through the lined rows of trees leading to the Little Dam. Cursing and screaming while listening to the wolf hounds’ hollering and howling fading as he got further and further away, Fitz ran right across the Little Dam. It was just a crude, cement bump of a dam, and it always had a pretty good stream of creek water cruising over it but Fitz knew that if he ran fast enough, he could cross it without slipping. If he could just make it to the drainage culvert on the other side, he’d be golden. Those things, those hairy, clawed, wolf things, they were two far behind him now–if he could just reach the culvert–there’d be no way they could catch him!

Yelping and concentrating on all the people he really did not like as a sort of fuel, Fitz looked like one of those magical lizards, running on top of water. Step by step, he zipped right across the long length of the Little Dam. The moonlight was now flipping off of the creek’s current and the gentle rush of the water’s gurgles had replaced the now dissipated howls.

Fitz, in utter relief, started laughing, started giggling, started guffawing in a way he did not know was possible. Coming to the end of the Little Dam and approaching the entrance to the large drainage culvert, he dared not slow down. He gleefully entered in the large circle of the culvert and despite its darkness, found a peace of mind and sanctuary he’d not thought possible.

Still cruising, Fitz heard his soaked feet sloshing through the sludge of the culvert, booming like marching soldiers’ boots. Now Fitz was pumping his arms as he neared the end of the culvert, leading to the backyard of the Cook’s property, leading to first street, leading to sweet, sweet safety. With his feet clomping and his arms swaying to their beat, Fitz began laughing singing, “This is one race ol’ Fitzy DNF Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero is going to finish, finish and win!” He repeated his Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero name over and over and over and over and over as he reached the end of the culvert, the finish line of safety!

And as Fitz reached the opening at the end, a large hairy figure stepped in front of it, screamed and swung a vicious claw at his head, cleanly separating it from his neck.

The hairy figure got first place.

 

And Fitz got another DNF, his last.

 

 

NEXT UP! THE EXCITING CONCLUSION OF EPISODE 2!

PART 3

HOWL LONG WILL YOU LOVE ME, HOWL LONG INDEED?

OR

BLUE MOON, YOU SAW ME HOWLING ALONE