Wolves Read Online Free PDF

people are dead. I hate it. I hate that the slavers did this. But they can’t use this shit anymore. And the only way they’re ever going to get justice is if we live. And if that means eating their food and drinking their water, then fine. It’s survival, brother. They died because they were weak. We are strong. We will live. And we’ll make them bleed. For this and everything else.”
    Huxley grinds his teeth, but nods.
    Jay points to the oxen. “See what you can get off those things. I’ll see what else I can find.”
    Huxley sets to work on the ox nearest him. The slavers didn’t bother to take the rib meat, which there is plenty of. Huxley pushes the huge gut bag out of the way with his foot and finds that there is even some loin left from the slavers’ hasty hack job.
    Huxley has an armful of bloody, dripping meat when he hears Jay utter a quick cry.
    â€œWhoa! Hey!”
    Huxley spins, bloody knife in his sticky hands, and he nearly drops the armload of meat in the dirt. Jay is at the pile of bodies and he looks like he’s jumped back a bit. Now he’s peering back at the bodies. From the pile, Huxley can hear a low mumble.
    â€œHoly shit,” Jay mutters. “Hux, this guy’s still alive.”
    Huxley shoves the armload of meat onto the oxen’s ribcage to keep it from getting dirt on it, and he runs to the pile of bodies. Jay is already there, pulling the top body out of place. Huxley can see a hand moving, just slightly in the tangle of limbs. The live one is two bodies down. As Huxley helps Jay pull the bodies away, he notices they are all dark-complected. He hadn’t noticed it before.
    Mexicans, most likely.
    The man underneath the bodies is older, his face a craggy mess of wrinkles. He is covered in his own blood and the blood of his family and friends. He has been shot through the chest, twice. Somehow he clings to life.
    Jay stares at the man, but speaks to Huxley. “He must’ve pretended to be dead.”
    Huxley cannot imagine. Lying under the people you loved. Waiting for the enemy to leave. He wants to weep for the man, but he can’t summon up the intensity of feeling. Everything is numb. He still feels nothing.
    The man’s dry lips part, and he points with a shaking hand. East. Of course. “Los lobos,” he mutters. “Ave María purísima. Los lobos.”
    Huxley shakes his head. “I don’t understand. English?”
    The other man blinks, fights pain for a second. His eyes go wide. “Agua,” he says, spying the water skin slung over Jay’s shoulder. “Agua, por favor.”
    Huxley understands that. “Water? You want water?” He reaches for the water skin.
    Jay smacks his hand away. “What are you doing?”
    Huxley looks at the other man. “He’s asking for water.”
    Jay puts a protective hand on the skin. He speaks under his breath, as though the Mexican can understand them. “Huxley, this guy’s dead.”
    â€œHe looks pretty alive to me.”
    Jay bares his teeth with frustration. “I mean he’s going to be dead. Giving him water would be a waste.”
    â€œIt’d be mercy.” Huxley reaches for the skin again.
    Jay jerks it away. “Mercy would be putting him out of his misery, not giving him the stuff we need to survive. I’m fucking serious. I’m not giving him the water.”
    â€œAgua,” the Mexican murmurs. “Por favor.”
    Huxley still holds his bloody knife in his hand.
    Jay glances at it. “I’m not giving him the water. You gonna kill me over it?”
    â€œI’m not gonna sit and listen to this guy moan for the next hour until he dies.”
    â€œThen kill him.”
    â€œI’m not gonna kill him.”
    â€œThen deal with it.”
    Huxley looks quickly between the dying man and Jay. His lips are tightened to a bloodless line. His jaw muscles bunching as he grinds his