The Wolf's Boy

Chapter Fifteen: Wandering

Kismet’s eyes fluttered open. The first thing that greeted him was a shock of pain up his side. He winced and his breath stopped for a moment. He looked up and saw the gray sky swirling above him. Kismet blinked and looked around his surroundings. He quickly realized he couldn’t move his legs or sit up. Groaning and whimpering in pain, Kismet slowly pushed off the wooden plank pinned across his chest. The wood was heavy and all his strength was gone. He assumed he had fallen asleep and the barn had folded in. He was fortunate to be alive. The boy sat up, cradling the hatchet that was still sheathed, and rubbed his eyes. His legs were covered by the water and the whole left side of his face was swollen, making his left eye difficult to open.

               Kismet pulled his knees out of the water and staggered to his feet. He looked around and was awed to see the amount of water surrounding everything he knew. The large oak that had once stood so noble and wise was torn from its roots and buried deep into the ground. The fields he had sweated over and that had served his family faithfully for years had been churned and washed away into another part of the state. All the animals he had woken up to go and feed had either drowned or escaped. The world he knew was gone. And what he feared the most was that his family had disappeared forever as well.

               Kismet sunk to the ground and hid his face behind his arms. He sat there and for the first time in months, he felt warm tears snake down his cheeks. His chest tightened until it hurt and his head throbbed until he had to stop crying. Kismet smeared his tears away and stood up. He knew his way around town, even if it had all been removed, the only difference was that he didn’t have Prestige with him. If only the wolf was with him, if only. The boy roamed in the direction he knew was towards Shirley’s house. If he couldn’t find Prestige, he could search for his love. All the way down the hill and across the brook, he had a sinking feeling that she was dead. He didn’t know what he would do if he was to find her dead. It was bad enough assuming his parents were gone.

               The boy climbed up the slippery hill and walked across the hidden stone path. He saw the brittle skeleton of the Simmons’s house standing in three feet of water. Their barn, just like his, had been smoothed to the ground. He looked behind the house and garden shed, but not an animal, or human, could be seen. Kismet made his way to the front door and walked in robotically.

               “Shirley? Shirley? It’s Kismet.  Where you at? Shirley?” Kismet crept in, poking his head out as far as he could before taking another step forward. Indeed he was a young man of seventeen, but that didn’t stop his imagination or depth of fear.  As he swished through the water, he caught sight of a flimsy piece of cotton material peeking out from underneath an over turned table. Kismet reached down and tugged the article of clothing. He gasped and released it when he felt the weight on the other end. He knew the pattern on the material—he knew it to be Mrs. Simmons’. Kismet felt tears creeping behind his eyes as he lifted the table off of the body.

               Blood stained the surface and Kismet knew for sure she was killed. He slipped his hands into the water and searched around for something to grab. His fingers soon found hair and then an arm. He grabbed the arm and hoisted the body out. Mrs. Simmons’s sweet face appeared. Her eyes were open, but they did not blink. The back of her head was gashed open and mats of blood and hair were visible. Kismet held the woman to his chest and smoothed the only part of her that still shinned, her hair. By the looks of it, it seemed that she had been struck by a wave, hit the table, and probably went unconscious. If Shirley had instead shared the same fate, Kismet knew he would have gone mad. After a moment, Kismet said a prayer and placed her on top of the table. He didn’t know where else to put her, and he knew it was no time to try and find her a proper burial.

           Kismet continued his search around the house, but found no Mr. Simmons or Shirley. He did, however, collect nonperishable food and stocked up on matches and a lantern. He knew he would need such items later. Seeing that there was no more need at the battered house, Kismet stumbled out and headed for town, where he hoped he would find his parents.  

            The boy made his way to the edge of time before he knew he had to rest and eat something. He spotted the top of a roof and stepped up onto it. He crossed his legs and plopped down. He dug deep into his pockets and pulled out some beef jerky. He gnawed the dried meat and dipped down several times to slurp up the water around him. It wasn’t long before he was satisfied and could sleep. However, putting his head on the cold wooden surface brought him no comfort. The empty face of Mrs. Simmons and the thought of his family dead haunted him. But he knew, deep down, that he would find them, and he would bring them home. It didn’t matter if they didn’t have a shelter to come back to because he would rebuild it. A tear trickled from his eye and across the bridge of his nose. He cried harder at the thought that perhaps, at that moment, Jovie or Prestige was calling for him, and he couldn’t go and find them.