A naïve park ranger on Isle Royale makes a half-hearted wish to find a way to help the wolf population of the island. Ironically, his wish comes true: He finds himself turning into a wolf. Now he must navigate a new existence full of challenges.

Hiking through the wilderness, Mike is really going to earn his pay for the next few days.

Best read from the PDF above, but the full text is below.

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Published in collaboration with  anon54701 and  ShadowAnthrax of The Lunar Foundry. Cover art by  LupinzPack, proofread by  taonas-deridran. Inspired in part by "In the Shadow of Moonlight".

Click HERE to join The Lunar Foundry on Discord, where you'll find other great wolf stories and a cool group of TF fans!

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Chapter 4
“Wild Wolf Chase”

We’ve just barely left Rock Harbor and there’s already a problem! What the hell are they doing back there?!

Mike nonchalantly turned around to the rabble behind him from his position at the head of the column of hikers. A few of the interns accompanying the Drs. Hudson were huddled around one that was sitting on the ground clutching her leg, panicked voices indicating that something was wrong.

“What’d you guys do?!” Dr. Max yelled incredulously.

“I’ve got ‘em,” Mike calmly replied. Slinging his pack from his shoulders, he opened a side compartment to retrieve a first aid kit. Jogging to the back of the formation, he knelt by the hurt individual as he started a visual scan of her.

“Hey, hey, it’s OK,” Mike quietly spoke as he tried to soothe the intern. “Anisha, right?”

“Ye-Yeah…” the woman tearily replied. “I think I b-broke my ankle!”

Mike had already picked up on something being wrong with her leg. She isn’t even wearing hiking boots. Probably just a bad twist or something… But what did she trip on? This trail is as well-groomed as they come here!

“Oh, you probably just sprained it. Let me take a look. Move your hands, I’m going to pull the bottom of your pant leg up.” Mike instructed. “All you others, back away. Take this radio and tell the station that you’ll be bringing Anisha back.”

Great. What a way to start a multi-day hike.

After pulling Anisa’s sock down, he appraised her injury. It didn’t look like much more than some swelling. “Definitely a sprain,” he diagnosed. “I’m going to wrap it in a bandage. Try not to move, I need to get it tight.” The young woman whimpered as he worked, another intern taking over the task of reassuring her.

Dr. Max sat idly behind Mike, arms crossed as he aggravatedly sighed. “Just. Perfect. I’m going to be down three interns, and we’re not even a mile away from where we started.”
“It won’t be too bad,” Mike retorted. “I’m no doctor, but her ankle should be good in a few days. The others that help her back can join us later on.”
“What are you suggesting? They walk through the wilderness, unguided, to find us? Camp is almost 10 miles away!”
“We have some extra Garmins, don’t we? I can just radio back to the station and get them to input the coordinates. As long as your interns know how to read a map, they’ll find us with no problem.”
Dr. Max exasperatedly growled in response. “Sure, whatever. Just get Anisha back, we’re losing daylight.”

The scientists hastily picked two of the interns to help Anisha back to the Ranger Station. As they slowly hobbled out of sight, the remainders continued forward at an almost breakneck pace. Dr. Max wormed his way past Mike to lead the column, turning at trail intersections by memory as he spurred the group even faster.
* * *
The pace had slowed after a little more than a mile; Dr. Max was dead set on getting out into the wilderness with daylight left. The interns-turned-porters were struggling to keep up with the relatively unladen frontrunners. Mike turned to look at them every few minutes, anxious that another would twist an ankle. The further we get from the Station, the more difficult it’ll be to get them back. Please, please don’t break yourselves…

“So, we’ve established that you’re the new guy,” Dr. Hudson piped up as she came abreast with Mike. “Have you ever been this far out?”
“Not this far,” he responded. “I’ve only been a bit further than Three Mile Campground thus far.”
“I hope you’re willing to see a side of wilderness that you’ve probably never seen. We’re going into the heart of it… F-one ninety-two is waiting for us.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ve been a bit of an explorer in the past. Used to hunt with my family at least twice a year,” Mike boasted. “F192? Is that one of the wolves?”
“Yes. We captured her over in Ontario last year. Feisty girl, probably about 3 just by looking at her teeth. Out of the seven we got, we figured that she was the most likely to wean a new pack. Strong, young… Even free of worms, from what we could tell. She was a loner for a few months after we dropped her down by Windigo.”
“What happened to her, then? Did she integrate into a pack?”
“That, and more. She got taken into the Chippewa Harbor Pack, the alpha male quickly choosing her over the reigning alpha female. We spotted her over the winter with the rest of them, and she appeared to successfully become the new breeding female.”
“Wait, don’t wolves usually mate for life? Why’d the male choose a new female?”
“Perhaps she was more suitable as a mate. Perhaps the male got bored. We don’t know why he chose her, but we can guess that it’s due to her being new blood. Inbreeding is endemic on this island, thanks to Old Grey Guy…”
“Who’s that?”
“A wolf, clearly,” Dr. Hudson scoffed. “Immigrated on his own across an ice bridge. He was so successful, so superior to the other male residents, that he outbred them consistently. From when he got here to when he died in ‘06, he left a mark on the genetics of these animals so great that you could tell his children from just a glance.”
“I see,” Mike empathized. “What’s the bad part, then?”
“He dropped the inbreeding coefficient from 81% to 9% in just one generation. That’s unheard of! We thought that would be a boon for the survival of the population here. The Middle Pack was flourishing with him as the leader. Then he started breeding with his daughter…”
“That’s not-”
“Now, over 56% of the genes in the pool here can be traced right back to him. We’re going to see a severe, unrecoverable freefall in the wolf population here if we don’t continue our importation program. That’s why we’re looking for F192.”

One track mind, and she’s being a bit rude. Best keep to Vic’s advice.

“So, it’s imperative that we find her-?”
Dr. Hudson cut him off as she continued her lamentations. “Life’s tough up here. Inbreeding, disease, lack of food. That’s what this whole study is about, what Dr. Max and I have dedicated our careers to. We’ve spent more time with these wondrous animals than you’ve been alive. F192’s collar is at the end of its life. None of the others in the Chippewa pack are collared, and we don’t want to lose her.”
“What’s the battery life on those things? They shouldn’t be dying that-”
“These new collars are nigh unremovable. Trees, rocks, roughhousing- they shouldn’t budge. The batteries last longer, too,” the scientist elaborated. “We’ve had a few die prematurely on us over the years, but the company we got these new collars from said that they’ll last at least a full calendar year. Then we begin the task of finding them, like fruit fallen from a tree.”
“...Interesting,” Mike carefully replied. “So, how do the collars-”
“She’s probably just had a litter,” Dr. Hudson continued as she ignored Mike’s question. “The whole pack is going to be hunting quite a lot to keep those hungry mouths filled. I can only hope that they’re able to find enough… Moose numbers in their territory looked a bit depressed last year.”

I really hope she won’t be like this the whole time I’m out here with them. Constantly getting cut off when I’m trying to have a conversation. Whatever…

Mike tried to internalize the deluge of information dropped on him. I had no idea it was so bad for them… I knew that the population faltered over time, but this is a severe pickle that they put themselves in… They’re animals; they don’t know any better.

Staring up the trail as Dr. Hudson rambled on, it appeared that Dr. Max had stopped at a four-way intersection of trails, waving the column forward as the porters picked up their pace.

“Let’s take a breather, gang. Don’t drink all of your water! Sit down and rest. We’re back on schedule now.”

The group threw their packs down with a collection of tired grumbles, the interns talking as they broke out some light snacks.

“Hey, Mike. Jonathan, too! Can you guys come here?” Dr. Max shouted a bit too loud as he began to fumble with the top of his pack, searching for something within.

“Guys, help me with this damn thing. I should’ve checked the batteries when we were at the Ranger Station.” Freeing a large, filled-to-bursting satchel from the pack, he gingerly set it on the ground. Flipping the flap open, he began digging through.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, holding up a small black box with a purple faceplate.

“What is it?” Mike asked inquisitively.

“This… Is our radio tracker. Have you ever used a metal detector before? The concept of operation is similar.”

Jonathan knelt down next to the device, attempting the startup procedure as he had dozens of times before. After pressing the power button, the simple screen flashed to life. He removed the accessories from the satchel, plugging them into their receptacles.

“This is the antenna,” Jonathan said as he pointed to a square-shaped plastic box with a handle screwed to the back.

“Well, duh,” Mike replied. “I know what an antenna is. Never seen one like that, though. How is it similar to metal detecting?”

Dr. Max deferred to Jonathan with a glance downwards. “It’s a direction-finding antenna. You select the collar you want to find from the loaded list, point the antenna in a direction, and listen for the beeps. You’ll use the headphones for that; The more it beeps, the closer you are to it.”

Mike squinted and grunted in the affirmative. “Easy ‘nuff. I’m presuming we’ll use the map that Jeff gave us to get a ballpark on where we’re going to be looking?”

Both men responded at the same time, “Precisely.”

“‘Bout time we got a Ranger worth their salt,” Dr. Max interjected between pieces of beef jerky. “I loved Vic last year, but she didn’t know right from left. Kept getting us turned around with the map right in front of her.”

She’s a lot better than you think… Mike defensively thought.

“The thing works. Great. Let’s get going again!” the scientist ordered with an upward wave of his hands. “Jonathan, make sure to turn it off. Don’t want to be wasting our batteries.” Turning to the group and speaking up, he continued, “Mount Franklin is to our left, a bit southwest. We won’t be going up it, we’re only halfway to our campground.”

The group collectively groaned as they adjusted their heavy packs. I should really get back up front again… Mike thought. Last thing we need is another injury.

He spoke up. “Hey, Dr. Max, I’ll take lead. Just tell me where we need to end up.”

Dr. Max’s lips drew back a bit into a grimace before he relented, showing his pearly white teeth. “Pickerel Cove. Just… Keep the pace up. We need to get there with some sun left, or we won’t be set up right for tomorrow.”

Mike stared back at him with a bit of a confused glare. Why’d he just… Grimace? That’s an odd thing to be miffed about.

Nodding, Mike spoke up. “Alright, everyone! Let’s go!” As he started down the trail, he plugged the coordinates for the Pickerel Cove Campground into his Garmin. Oh, this isn’t too bad. Only about 4 more miles. Moving the image with the device’s keypad, his relief dissipated when he turned the trail overlay on. Aw, shit… Only a mile of trail left. Backcountry the rest of the way… I hope Dr. Max doesn’t get too angry when we have to slow down.
* * *
The orange shafts of light penetrating the trees signaled that twilight was there. The group had been oddly silent as they approached the campground, the only sounds being those of their footfalls and grunts of exertion as they trudged over soggy ground. Dr. Max had wormed his way to the front of the column again, his vain attempts at spurring the group on leading to more collective groaning rather than increased speed.

As the trees thinned out, Dr. Max began to circle around a clearing. “Alright, gang, here it is. Pickerel Cove. Drop your gear and take a breather. The water on either side of us is safe to drink with your filter straw.”

The group did as they were told, stretching and rubbing their aching muscles as they took in the sights around them. We’re on a peninsula, Mike surmised. This wind coming from the north is either going to be a godsend or killer.

Everyone was breaking things out of their packs, neat piles of scientific equipment interspersed with personal belongings. One of the interns was going between packs, collecting small bags of waste. Some others filtered into the surrounding trees to forage for firewood, the remainder pitching a large, 10-man tent in record time.

Mike excused himself to fill his water from the lake to the south. He pulled out an empty bottle, filling it as he screwed a filter device onto the top of his main water bottle. It’ll take a while for this to all filter… And I could use a breather. May as well write a letter to send when I get back to Rock Harbor.
* * *
As he put the finishing touches on his letter, he glanced over to his filled bottle. Time to head back, I guess. Almost dinner time. Sun’s getting low, too. Rising, he walked back to the clearing. The camp was humming with activity, a small group of the interns huddled around the roaring campfire.

Mike stopped by the group before returning to his pack. “Hey guys, the Drs. around? I wanted to have a chat with them before dinner gets started.”

“Oh, they’re testing the equipment out. We have a spare GPS collar that they’ve been itching to try. They’ll probably be back after dark.”

After dark? Mike thought. They’ll get lost out here. Then again, they got here without a map… Oh, damn it. If they get lost, it’s my ass on the line. “Mind helping me look for them? I need to make sure they don’t get hurt or lost,” Mike worriedly blurted.

“They’ll be fine. We just leave them to it. It’s obviously their alone time,” the intern heavily stressed as he inserted his index finger into a circle he made with his other hand. The rest of the group smirked and giggled.

“Oh, I see,” Mike responded, stone-faced. Probably not, but whatever. Some in-joke or something. “Well, whatever. You guys have dinner planned? I can cook it all if you want me to; I’m starving.”

“Won’t say no to that,” Jonathan responded. “All this dehydrated slop tastes the same anyways. We’ve got a jug of clean water in the tent.”

Retrieving his meal and the water, the group continued to talk about anything and everything as they waited to eat. The sun finally dipped below the horizon, the campfire glowing brighter and brighter as total darkness enveloped the island. The entire group fell silent as something seemed to be barreling towards them from the treeline, the sounds of heavy footfalls and snapping branches loud against the gentle roar of the fire.

Mike flashed his headlamp over to the noise, flipping it to the red setting to try and preserve what little night vision he had. “That you, Drs?” he called out.

Two figures clumsily spilled into the clearing, coated in dirt and detritus. “It is!” Mike worriedly exclaimed. Are they hurt?! Dr. Max got back up, assisting his wife as he wiped dead leaves from his shirt. The group around the fire shot up, all of them rushing to their aid.

“Hufffff… Good news and bad news… Huffff…” he relayed through deep breaths. “We have a good spot to set up tomorrow. One of the hunting grounds the Chippewa Pack frequents.”

“And the bad news?! It looks like you got beat up!” Mike exclaimed as he felt his belt for his water bottle.

Dr. Max pushed his hand out as he gestured for Mike to stop. “Run in with a bull moose. We came through some bushes on our way back, and he was right in the middle of them. I haven’t run that fast in a long time…”

Mike tried to respond but was hushed by the Dr’s raised index finger. “We’re going to… Wash up and go to sleep... I suggest you lot do the same, we have an early day tomorrow.”
* * *
As the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon, the expedition began to groggily rise from their sleeping bags. Mike had been awake for an hour before the rest, thinking it better to get the fire restarted than to wallow in the back pain he had gained overnight.

Once the fire was reignited atop the bed of coals from the night prior, Mike hauled some half-full jugs down to the water for refilling. I really hope that wasn’t all for nothing… We’ll have to leave someone at camp. Can’t have an unattended fire out here. Can’t have run-ins with moose, either. If somebody gets hurt out here, we’ll probably have to call the Coast Guard for a medical evacuation… Returning to the camp a few minutes later, he was greeted by a tired-looking Dr. Max heating up a cup of water.

“You do this?” the scientist asked.
“Sure did,” Mike proudly responded.
The scientist’s eyebrows raised as he grunted in approval. “You really are worth your salt. Already got today’s water, too. Want to come work for me?” he joked.
“I appreciate the offer, but I regret to inform you of my gainful employment,” Mike quipped back.

Both chuckled as Mike filled a titanium pot to begin the long boiling process.

As Dr. Max mixed a stick of instant coffee into his hot water, it was clear that he was trying to think of what to say.

“So, you much of a hunter?”
“Responsibly, yeah. I try to make at least one deer season and one bird season a year. I only harvest to eat; never been much of a trophy guy.”
“Experienced with a firearm, then?”
“I can nail a buck from 300 yards… I’d say.”
“Want to handle the sedative gun, then? If you aren’t boasting, you’ll be the most capable of us.”

Mike’s face glowed. Here we go! Something fun!

“Sure! How different is it from regular rifles?”
“No recoil, it’s CO2 powered. You’ll only have to make a shot of fifty yards or so with the help of the scope. Shouldn’t be hard for a marksman such as yourself. Let me fill you in…”

Mike intently took notes as the scientist went over the intricacies of the rifle and how to use it.

“... And once the dart hits, just let her go. Remember, you don’t have to track this wolf like you do a deer. We can give her some time to run, get the sedatives flowing in her blood, and find her with the radio tracker. As long as she doesn’t run back to the den, we should be able to get everything we need off of her today.”
“Easy ‘nuff. When do we head out?”
“An hour or so. Let’s let the interns wake up and get some food in them first. Oh, yeah,” he interrupted himself, “I have some scent-blocking lotion. We’ll get that applied to try and mask ourselves.”

Mike caught the bottle of lotion as it was thrown to him. Now I get to do something that actually interests me. This’ll be way better than endless hiking!
* * *
The group quietly moved through the spring growth as the scientists expertly retraced their steps from the night before. They had left the more experienced interns behind, both to keep eyes on the camp and to check the surrounding area for anything of interest to the Study. Quietly ordering the group, Dr. Hudson began.

“OK… Max, Mike, you guys set up here. Jon, Emily, you come with me. Keep your radios on Channel 2, we’ll be in contact. We’re going to go bait the spot before we go out east to check the trail cams.”

With that, the group fractured again, leaving Dr. Max and Mike alone at perhaps the most tenable position for their task. A break in the trees about 15 feet wide extended for a dozen yards behind them and another 60 in front of them, leading to a small clearing in the otherwise dense forest.

“Old forestry road,” the scientist stated as he caught Mike looking around. “Used to be a big industry here more than a hundred years ago. Enough dawdling, though; let’s get set up. I wouldn’t want to miss our girl!”

Moving to one side of the cut and laying his pack down in front of him, Mike laid prone as he smacked it to adjust the contents. One here… There… Alright. Laying the gun on top, he took a cursory glance through the scope, using the other group in the clearing as a point of aim. Oh yeah… They’re clear as day up there. This’ll be a piece of cake.

“Now we play the waiting game,” Mike plainly groaned. “Time to settle in. When’s F192 usually come through here? Do we need to camouflage?”

Dr. Max withdrew his notebook from his back pocket, flipping through it. “Uhhh… A little after 12 noon, if she’s keeping her schedule. She’ll come over from the west, up by the shore, pass through this clearing, then continue back up to the shore and head east. Don’t worry about camouflage. If she even comes through, that’ll mean she can’t smell us.”

“I’m not betting on a wild animal to keep to a schedule… But you’re the expert. I know their sense of smell is really good, but won’t she still be able to see us?”

The scientist’s lips drew into a grimace again before he laid prone next to Mike, his hands groping his bag for a pair of binoculars. “If she doesn’t smell us, she won’t see us. Trust me.”

Again, with the baring of teeth? Either these guys have weird ass mannerisms, or there’s something wrong with him…

The two kept watch on the spot, occasionally checking their watches as the warm sunlight and gentle breeze whispered the desire to sleep to them.

“Hey, Dr. Max,” Mike whispered.
“Huh?” he blurted as his consciousness waned.
“What’s in these darts?”
“Uhhh…” he thought a bit too loud before returning to a hushed tone. “Xylazine and butorphanol tartrate. Less than a milliliter of drug mix, it’s potent.”
“How long’s it take, then?”
“No more than 15 minutes. Just focus on hitting her; we’ll handle the rest,” the scientist growled as his tone took on a hint of annoyance.

Mike nodded as he let his thoughts drift, staring at the gently swaying treetops. And now he’s getting annoyed with me asking about what we’re doing. I’m having a hard time reading them… Hopefully, this gets done and over soon. I wonder how much I’ll be able to exaggerate when Vic asks me about my time with the Drs…

His ruminations were cut short by a gentle nudge from Dr. Max.

“She’s here!” he quietly exclaimed.

Mike welded his cheek to the stock of the rifle, slowly closing his left eye as he made his breathing deliberate. Focusing through the magnified scope, he locked in on his target.

There she is, he marveled silently as he focused past the crosshair. She looked like any other grey wolf he’d seen: grey fur mottled with black and browns concealing a stocky, powerful frame. Looks like she’s losing the winter coat already. He waited for her to relax, her erect, flicking ears and tall stance indicating that she was suspicious of the tantalizing pile of bait left in the open.

As her head warrily bent down, he centered the crosshair over her thigh. With a gentle exhale and a slow, steady squeeze of the trigger, a loud TSCHHH sent the dart into F192 faster than she could react. The startled animal bolted into the woods with the telltale yellow dart obvious against her fur. The scientist silently patted Mike on the back as he rose to a kneeling position.

“Wonderful shot,” he congratulated in a normal volume. “Hit her square in the thigh. I’ll radio the others to meet up with us. She won’t make it far from here.”