Two Wolves Read Online Free PDF

s’pose.’
    They arrived at the door. Ben looked back at the car. Mum was hidden behind the starry headlight flare.
    Dad tried the door handle. It didn’t open. There was a rusted metal keyhole. Dad swore and went to the window, trying to get the tips of his fingers into the cracks and lift.
    â€˜Don’t we have a key?’ Ben asked.
    Dad did not respond. After a minute or two he banged his fist on the timber window frame and looked back to the car, squinting, his face bright white.
    â€˜Can’t we get in?’ Mum called, her door open the slightest crack.
    â€˜I’m thinking,’ Dad said quietly, then he disappeared around the side of the cabin.
    â€˜Dad?’
    For a moment Ben could hear his father’s footsteps snapping twigs and leaves and then there was nothing. Ben went to the corner of the cabin and looked down the side. The ground sloped steeply toward the sound of rushing water. The back of the cabin looked like it was up on stumps.
    â€˜Dad?’ he called into the darkness. Something moved on the cabin wall near his face. A spider, hairy, running up one of the logs. He jerked away, a strangled gargh escaping his throat.
    â€˜Dad?’ Ben called, louder this time.
    Nothing.
    Ben took a few tentative steps down the side of the building. The ground fell away quickly and he slipped, falling on his backside. He jumped to his feet and climbed back up to the corner of the cabin.
    â€˜BOO!’ Dad said. Ben screamed. Dad laughed. He had circled the cabin and returned to the front door.
    â€˜I’m gonna have to kick it in,’ Dad said. He looked at the door like he was about to fight it, then rammed his shoulder into it, making no impact.
    He turned sideways, took two steps back. He lifted his right leg and gave the door an almighty kick, right next to the handle. There was a fierce wood-splitting crack and the door exploded open. Dad fell inside, coming down on his knees. The bush fell silent. Something scurried from the cabin roof into an overhanging tree. Dad stood and felt around for a light switch inside the doorframe. There wasn’t one. He shook his head and muttered to himself.
    â€˜We bring a torch?’ he called to Mum, shielding his eyes from the headlights.
    â€˜No,’ came the reply.
    â€˜I asked you to get a torch from that garage,’ he said.
    â€˜No, you didn’t.’
    â€˜Well, I thought about it,’ he said to himself.
    Ben stood at the door and looked into the cabin. The headlights cut through the cracks between tall upright logs, lighting the room in long, thin slits.
    â€˜Comin’ in?’ Dad asked.
    Ben could taste acid in the back of his throat. The cabin had a sickening stench of mould and dead things. He pulled the neck of his school shirt up over his nose. He wanted to be back in his bedroom with the comforting smell of his own dirty clothes and discarded cereal bowls. But Ben knew that when he was a police officer he might be called to places like this every night of the week. He needed to practise. He needed to ‘man up’, like Dad always said. He took a step forward. The cabin was a single room about five metres wide and four metres deep. Something scuttled into a large, open cupboard at the back.
    â€˜We’re not sleeping in here, are we?’ Ben asked, furiously kneading his sweaty hands.
    â€˜Where else are we going to sleep?’ Dad said, turning to Ben with a smile, a thin beam of light slicing his face in two.
    Ben began to wonder if he really had what it took to be a cop. Could he do this kind of thing for a living? Maybe he was destined to be a desk jockey back at the station, eating doughnuts, drinking coffee. (Ben thought dreamily about the half-finished jam doughnut on his bedroom floor.) Or maybe he could ditch the whole ‘becoming a detective’ idea and make stop-motion movies or design games or work for Lego instead. Ben stopped wringing his hands.
    â€˜Are