"Won't she need help?" Brady asked, amazed to see the wolves starting to leave.
"No. They don't climb none too well."
"How will you get to them without running into the wolf pack?" Angela asked.
The man stepped closer, big form intimidating. "You tell me, Witch," he grunted.
Angela concentrated, feeling Brady tense behind her. "Underground."
The man grunted, tossed back his hood to reveal a horribly disfigured face partially hidden by a thick, shaggy beard. Deep brown eyes glared at her.
Angela stiffened as the Witch whispered. "What payment do you expect for helping us? Nothing's free. Not before and certainly not now."
The man shrugged, eyes darting over her shoulder to Marc. "We got a broken radio and no medicine, no ammo. Got any of that?"
She relaxed. "Possibly. What else? That doesn't equal the debt."
His eyes were hard as he looked her over from head to toe. "Girls could use some clothes...maybe some books?"
Surprised, Angela gave him a genuine smile.
Marc heard the man's sudden intake of breath. He recognized the sound, that reaction to Angela, and rotated them again. "The woman is not for trade."
The huge man's hardened face tightened, and he turned away. "Can't hardly get it up now anyway," he muttered, stepping over the dying flames. "Damn diabetes. Come on. She'll have supper waitin'."
Angela and Marc exchanged a long look of uncertainty, but chose to follow the big man's shadowy form in the darkness. The corn around them was empty now, but not silent. The breeze moved through the hollow stalks, making an eerie moan that resembled the calling howl they'd heard, and Dog followed closely, his black-and-grey fur still bushed out in warning. Danger wasn't far.
Once again glad to be alive, Angela and Marc quietly followed the big man through the corn, both still unsure of his intentions. When the rows ended, revealing a dark stretch of tall, sick-looking evergreen trees, they exchanged looks that said they would be careful. The wind was cool, smelled of shit, and they both spotted the fresh wolf scat that littered the dead rows of waist high corn. This was part of their hunting ground.
"Almost there," the big man grunted, moving steadily despite his size. He stopped in front of a large clump of bushes.
Marc stayed by Angela, and Dog did too. His thick fur was flecked in blood, and they both saw the big man casting hard looks at the timber wolf. Marc estimated they had come about two clicks from the battle scene.