Foster father

04

Carter Vaughn felt the warm weight in his arms suddenly begin to thrash violently. Startled, he opened his eyes to the sound of a frantic voice yelling, "Uncle, wake up! Wake up!"

Blinking rapidly, Carter surveyed his surroundings. He was on an open clearing bathed in the flickering glow of a fire. The flames cast long shadows, but nothing out of the ordinary caught his eye.

"There's something out there, Uncle! In the woods!" Oliver clung to him tightly, his small frame trembling with fear.

Carter frowned, skeptical. If there truly was something nearby—a presence so obvious that even a child could sense it—how could he not notice? His senses had been honed through years of training. Shifting Oliver in his arms, he grabbed a burning stick with his injured arm and cautiously moved closer to the treeline, letting the firelight illuminate the shadows. Still, there was nothing.

"Stop panicking over nothing," he growled, his voice sharp with irritation. "There's nothing out here."

"There is! I can feel it, Uncle! There's something there!" Oliver's voice cracked with terror, his grip tightening.

Carter furrowed his brow, glancing down at the boy. "You can feel it? What does that even mean?"

As he spoke, a chilling sensation ran down his spine, and Carter froze. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and a familiar, primal instinct gripped him. Something was watching them.

He turned sharply and followed Oliver's gaze to the towering, ten-meter rock they had been resting against. Eyes—six pairs of glowing, green eyes—pierced the darkness, fixed intently on them.

Wolves.

Even in the dim light, Carter recognized them—a pack of six, poised and calculating. Their glowing eyes flickered with a feral intelligence, and he knew they were assessing their prey.

Oliver clung to him, his sobs reduced to quiet, trembling whimpers. Carter didn't dare move. Wolves were cunning predators, and any sudden movement would provoke an attack.

He quickly analyzed the terrain. The pack had the advantage; they could easily descend the nearby slope, closing the distance in seconds. His only hope was to reach the fire and grab his gun. Wolves feared fire, and with his weapon, he could hold them at bay.

But the fire was over ten meters away, and Carter was already at the edge of the woods. The odds weren't in his favor. His injured arm and the child in his arms only made the situation worse.

The logical choice was clear: leave the boy.

Carter glanced down at the terrified child in his arms. Oliver's small hands clutched at him, his tear-streaked face buried in Carter's chest.

"Do you want to live?" Carter's voice was low and deliberate.

Oliver froze, lifting his tearful face to meet Carter's cold, unfeeling eyes.

"If you want to live," Carter continued, "get down. Stand here and be the bait."

"No! No!" Oliver shrieked, clinging tighter. "I don't want to!"

Carter pried the boy's arms off him with brutal efficiency. His gaze was icy, devoid of sympathy. "Listen carefully. I have no obligation to save you. Only you can save yourself. I'll give you a chance—stand here as bait while I grab the gun. I can't run carrying you, so I won't. If you refuse, I'll kill you now and feed you to the wolves so you don't drag me down."

Oliver stared at him, wide-eyed and trembling. His small chest heaved with ragged breaths, and a flash of anger and defiance crossed his face.

"You won't save me," Oliver whispered bitterly.

Carter's grip on his chin tightened, forcing the boy to look directly into his eyes. "If I don't, it's your fate." He thrust the burning stick into Oliver's hands. "Stay here. Wave this if they come close."

With that, Carter turned and bolted toward the fire. He shouted, drawing the wolves' attention, and pushed his body to its limits, adrenaline propelling him forward.

The pack moved, descending the slope with terrifying speed.

Carter reached the fire just as the lead wolf closed in. He grabbed his MP5 and Browning pistol in a fluid motion, spinning around to face the pack—only to find the boy missing.

The firebrand lay discarded on the ground. The wolves, drawn to movement, had chased Oliver into the woods.

Carter cursed loudly. "Damn it!"

The plan was ruined. He had intended to shoot the lead wolf, throwing the pack into disarray. But the boy had fled, taking Carter's slim chance of survival with him.

Gritting his teeth, Carter fired two bursts at the retreating pack, hitting one wolf. With no other choice, he ran into the forest.

In the dense shadows, visibility was near zero. Carter relied on the faint sounds of pursuit and fired wildly, hoping to scare the predators.

Ahead, he saw movement near a faint glimmer of light—a river. Oliver was half-submerged, hiding in the water while the wolves circled cautiously, hesitant to enter.

Carter took advantage of their hesitation, shooting one wolf dead. The remaining four scattered at the sound of gunfire but quickly regrouped to attack.

In the ensuing chaos, Carter fought for his life, taking down two more wolves with a combination of knife and bullets. By the time the pack retreated, his body was bloodied, his strength nearly gone.

Oliver emerged from the river, sobbing, and ran to Carter’s side.

"Uncle!"

Carter slapped him hard, knocking the boy to the ground. "I told you to stay put!" he rasped.

"I'm sorry!" Oliver wailed. "You're hurt! You're bleeding so much!"

Carter sat up painfully, his body battered but his spirit unbroken. "It’s nothing. Now, fetch my guns."

The boy scrambled to retrieve the weapons. Carter, leaning heavily on his MP5, limped to one of the dead wolves and smirked grimly.

"Well, at least we've got fresh meat now," he said, tossing his knife to Oliver. "Your turn."

The boy hesitated but eventually gripped the knife with trembling hands, plunging it into the wolf’s body. The warm blood splattered across his face, a baptism of survival in a merciless world.