Chapter 2

In the firelight, Jack tightened his grip on the axe.

The larger snow wolf took a step forward, then crouched low, its hind legs coiled tight like a drawn bow.

The other one circled to the side, cutting off his flank.

Classic wolf tactics — one in front, one behind. One you can see, one you can't.

Jack crouched down too.

He knew he couldn't outrun them — nobody could outrun wolves in this snow. But he wasn't planning to run.

The wolves moved in.

This wasn't a test anymore. This was the real thing.

The big wolf pushed off its hind legs and launched itself into the air, clearing the fire, going straight for his throat.

Jack threw himself sideways and swung the axe in the same motion, catching the wolf square on the shoulder blade.

Bone and metal — a dull, heavy crack.

The wolf let out a short, sharp cry, then hit the ground and skidded several feet, leaving a long red streak across the snow.

But it got back up.

There was a gash across its shoulder, blood soaking into the gray fur. But its eyes burned greener than before, and its fangs caught the firelight like white blades.

That's when the second wolf closed in from the side.

Jack was caught between them. He was breathing hard, hands shaking from the tension.

He stepped back. Then back again.

The chat went wild.

"It's over—"

"How's he supposed to fight two at once?!"

"Wounded wolves are the worst, they don't care if they die!"

"Jack, RUN!"

There was nowhere to run.

The wounded wolf charged again, fast. Jack raised the axe to block it, but the impact slammed into him and he went down hard into the snow.

The axe flew out of his hand and disappeared into the dark.

The wolf pinned him down. Its mouth was less than a foot from his face. Drool dripped onto his skin.

Jack grabbed it by the throat with both hands and held on.

He knew the clock was running out. Even if the wolf never bit through his throat, he was losing blood fast enough to finish him.

Everyone watching held their breath.

Even the chat froze for a moment.

And then, just when it looked like it was over —

Jack shoved with everything he had, threw the wolf off, and rolled toward the shelter.

Once. Twice. Three times.

He came to a stop in the snow beside the shelter, gasping.

The big wolf came at him again, a gray blur.

People in the chat were already typing "RIP."

Then the ground gave way.

The wolf was mid-air when something seemed to yank it straight down. The snow cracked open beneath it, and the wolf dropped into the hole with a long, piercing shriek.

The second wolf skidded to a stop right at the edge.

It peered down into the darkness and let out a low whine.

Then it looked back at Jack, still lying in the snow. Something cold and bitter flickered in its eyes.

Then it turned and limped away into the dark.

The chat exploded.

"WHAT."

"WHAT JUST HAPPENED"

"A TRAP. IT WAS A TRAP."

"When did he dig that?!"

"Wait wait wait — look closer. That's not freshly dug. That pit was already there."

"So he knew it was there the whole time?"

"That's why he built the shelter in that exact spot! I thought the location was bad because of the wind!"

"Why didn't you say something earlier!"

Jack lay in the snow beside the trap, breathing hard. After a long moment, he pushed himself up onto his knees and slowly stood.

He went back into the shelter first and pulled out the emergency medical kit to deal with his wounds.

His eyes were calm. He'd planned all of this.

These two wolves hadn't found him by accident. They'd been tracking him for a while now.

The first time they showed up, he'd already started thinking about how to get out of this.

After patching himself up, Jack walked to the edge of the pit and looked down.

The big wolf had landed at the bottom, its neck bent at an angle that left no question. It was dead.

He picked up his axe, wiped the blood off in the snow, then crouched down and grabbed the rope he'd set aside earlier. He started pulling the wolf's body out of the pit.

The chat had shifted from panic to something like awe.

"This guy is something else."

"Did he know the wolves were coming?"

"He used himself as bait. On purpose."

"That's insane. He literally risked his life."

"I kept saying he didn't make it this far on luck!"

The wolf was heavy. It took Jack a real effort to drag it out alone. He pulled it away from camp, and while it was still dark, he started skinning it.

Out here in the frozen wilderness, a full wolf pelt could keep him alive.

By the time he finished, the sky had gone from black to a pale gray.

He cut the meat into large pieces, rinsed them with snow water, and wrapped them in the waterproof tarp.

The organs and bones he buried in a hole far from camp.

The smell of blood would bring more wolves.

And snow wolves, he knew, hold grudges.

Jack leaned on his axe in the doorway of the shelter and stared at the gray horizon for a long time without saying anything.

Then he started packing up.

The chat stirred again.

"What's he doing?"

"Is he... moving?"

"Come on, he just got a whole wolf. Can't he just eat well for a few days?"

"He said it himself — the blood smell draws wolves."

"I get it, but where's he gonna go in this cold?"

Jack rolled up his sleeping bag, folded the animal hides, wrapped the rabbit and wolf meat tight in the tarp, and lashed everything to a simple sled he'd made from pine branches.

The axe went on his belt. He had one torch left — he took that too.

Everything worth taking, he took. The rest he left behind.

Then he grabbed the sled rope and headed north.

It wasn't just the wolves that made him leave. He'd already picked this area pretty clean within a mile radius. If he stayed, he'd run out of supplies sooner or later.

He walked for over an hour heading north. The wind picked up, driving ice crystals into his face like needles.

He kept his head down and kept moving, one step at a time, leaving a trail of uneven footprints behind him.

The chat started worrying.

"He's moving camp in this weather? Has he lost it?"

"Looks like another big snow coming. Where's he going to shelter?"

"Never mind shelter — can he even make it out of this snowfield?"

"What if he can't find anywhere? He'll freeze tonight."

"The wolves didn't kill him. He's gonna do it himself."

Jack couldn't see any of that.

He just walked. Kept walking.

His awareness spread out around him in every direction, like a radar sweeping the terrain.

In his mind, a map updated every fifteen hundred feet or so — covered in markers. Green dots for plants. Blue for water. Gray for rock.

He'd been searching for a while, but hadn't found anywhere good to set up shelter.

The wind was getting worse. Snow had started to fall.

Jack gripped the rope tighter. He wasn't sure he'd made the right call, but something in his gut told him that staying put was a slow way to die.

He was about to push on when he sensed something strange.

Not a survival resource.

A gold dot, blinking at the edge of the map.