I sat at the kitchen table, and picked at my corn flakes as I read the paper. Josh came in and shoved me over, nearly spilling the bowl of cereal.
"Sam Sam, move it! Just because you're back from college doesn't make you queen of the table!" He set down his bowl and went to fetch the milk and cereal.
I flicked a corn flake at him. "Of course not! I would never take your title from you!" I grinned as he flushed a dark red. He, like me, had inherited our mother's petite feminine features. He had always been touchy about that.
He glared at me. "Shut up!" I rolled my eyes, but scooted over when he walked back over. I finished scanning the headlines. Some pervert had raped a six year old and dumped her body in a ditch. Sicko. I folded the paper and tossed it on the chair to my right. After a few minutes, Don came in, and sat down across from me.
"When did you get back?" He rubbed his eyes and cocked his head to the side.
"Last night. You were passed out on the couch when I got back." I scratched my neck and stood up. I picked up my bowl of cereal and walked around the table, hugging him with one arm. "Missed you guys at college." I walked to the sink and deposited the bowl, arching my back as I stretched. Just then, the phone began to vibrate a few feet from my head. I jumped, and, realizing what it was, leaned over and picked it up.
"Hello?" I fought back a yawn as I answered.
"Anna?" The person sounded curious, and spoke in a warm baritone voice.
"No, this is Samantha." I furrowed my brow. Who did we know who didn't know my mother was dead?
"Oh, hey Sam. Will you put your dad on the line?" I looked at Josh and cocked my head.
"Sure." I covered the mouthpiece with my hand and tilted my head back. "Hey dad? Phone!" When I heard the click of him picking up, I hung up.
So this mystery person also knew I preferred Sam to Samantha. Who was it? I quickly jogged up the stairs and rapped quickly on Dominic's door. "Dom?"
"What?" I walked in, and chuckled at the sight of him blinking at the light from the door.
"Who do we know that doesn't know mom is dead?" I sat down on the foot of his bed and curled my legs up to my chest, resting my chin on my knees.
He yawned loudly, and stretched. "I dunno. Look, if you want me to think, you have to go get me coffee. I can't think without it before one in the afternoon."
I stuck my tongue out at him. "Drink juice. It's a hell of a lot better than the over sugared crap you call coffee."
He stood up and began to rifle through his drawer for a shirt. He finally pulled on a black wife beater. "Just because you like the coffee so hot you can't taste it, and bitter enough to make even Dad wince, doesn't mean everyone else does."
I stood and gestured for him to lead the way. "Just call me unique." I smirked at him.
"Just call you nuts." He stepped out the door of his room, and I looked over to see my dad walking out of his room. Even in his forties, he filled the doorway with his body. The years of working as a cop had been good to him.
"Sam! Just the person I needed to see." I raised an eyebrow. He began to walk down the stairs, and I followed him. When he got to the kitchen he gestured to the table. I sat down in a chair.
"Who was on the phone?" I leaned back and looked at him.
He rubbed his hands together. "Do you remember the Olympic Peninsula?"
I nodded and furrowed my brow. "Yeah, I bagged a twelve point elk there. Why?"
"Well, the police chief in Forks, is having a little trouble there. Apparently there is a pack of wolves attacking hikers." He raised his eyebrows.
I thought I knew where this was going, but I let him continue. "The chief, Charlie Swan, remembered us from when I was in school with him, and when we went up to hunt. He needs a good hunting team to help him comb the woods. Animal Control wont do it, and he has permission to kill on site."
I began to shake my head. "No. You know my rule. I'll hunt the hunted, but never the hunter." I raised my hands to shoulder height and bit my lip. "No."
He sighed. "Please? I owe him a favor, and your just as good a shot as me, if not better." I glared at him. "Please?" He clasped his hands together, pleading.
I stared at his face, and let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine! I'll go." I looked at him. "What should I bring?"
He thought for a moment. "Bring your Winchester." I raised my eyebrow.
"A bolt-action rifle? For a wolf? How big are these guys?" He sighed.
"We never know. Also, bring your Millennium."
I looked at him. "Why the fuck do I need a pistol! I'm not going to hunt with it, and if a wolf gets close enough that a pistol is a viable option, I'm fucked anyway!" I glared at him.
"Watch your language! I just want you to be safe." I sighed. "Did you unpack?" I shook my head. He gestured behind him, and rubbed his forehead. "Bring your stuff down, with the guns. We'll be driving up there when your ready."
He turned to Dominic, who was groggily making coffee for himself. "I expect you can get Josh, Don and Rick to school?" He blinked, and gave him the thumbs up, the turned back to the coffee maker.
I ran up the stairs, and went to the gun safe. With a practiced flicked of my wrist, I opened it. The smell of gun oil hit me, and I sighed. Memories of my father cleaning guns and the feel of the harsh kickback from firing filled my brain. I reached in and grasped my Winchester, which felt glossy under my hands. I looked in the closet the right of it, and found the case. I slid it in, and turned back to the gun safe.
My Millennium sat on the top shelf, in a plastic case. I opened it, and pressed it in my waistband. I could get ammo in Forks, and the feel of the cold metal pressed against my russet skin was comforting.
I walked to my room and picked up my bag. It was small, and I tossed the strap over my shoulder. I jogged down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The guns both were calming, but the thought that I would be hunting wolves was insane. I never hunted anything that fought for it's survival, and my grip around the strap of my bag tightened until I could feel my nails digging into my palm. With forced patience, I loosened them.
"Dad? I'm ready to go." He was sitting on the couch, a bag packed. He must have packed while I was getting the guns. I looked at him. "What are you bringing?"
He stood up, and picked up his bags. "My clothes. I'm borrowing my guns from Chief Swan." I nodded. "What are you going to do on the ride there?"
"Sleep. I'm still tired from the trip here." I had flown from Maine to here, and I was exhausted. We walked outside, and dad popped the trunk. I tucked the rifle and my bag in it, and he set his bag next to mine.
"Where's the pistol?" He surveyed the bags in the trunk.
I smoothly pulled it from my waistband and pointed it to the tree twenty feet from us, my sights line up on a knot in the wood. "Right here." I was tempted to pull the trigger, but instead I returned it to the side of my waist, quickly checking that the safety was on before hiding it. My jacket covered my waist, so no one could see it, despite how close my jeans were to my form. Not tight, but cut so that even a moron could spot the shape of the pistol.
"Your gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing that." I knew he was referring to where I held my pistol. It wasn't a new topic.
"I always check to make sure the safety is on." I opened the passenger door and sat down, buckling my seat belt and shutting the door.
"But what if you forget once?" He sat down in the drivers seat and started the car. It began to rumble under me.
"I wont." I looked at him, insistent. Dad sighed, but didn't say anything else. I settled into my seat and closed my eyes as he pulled out of the driveway. In a few minutes, the gentle hum of passing traffic and the engine lulled me into a deep sleep.