Prologue
Constable Bradley was the last to arrive to the scene of the attack. Ambulances and RCMP patrol cars surrounded the small, one story house in the previously quiet neighborhood of the second Coquitlam Reservation. He grunted as he pulled his portly weight out of his car, maybe one day he'd lay off the Tim Horton's. He took a deep breath of the cool morning air, savoring the fresh, after rain smell before his sinuses were going to fill with the stench of congealed gore. Bradley was still five meters from what would have been the front door and already could see this was going to be bad.
It was some of the worst he had ever seen. The front door, or what was left of it, was blown clean off the hinges and lying in several tattered bits across the front yard. There was a massive gash torn across one of the pieces, which seemed to match a similar one across the house's blue, vinyl covering. There were puddles of blood and flesh scattered all over the place, and the sanitation crew milling around inside told him there was more were that had come from. He spotted Sergeant Willows, a gaunt, severe looking man leaning back against another patrol car, filling out the first in what was no doubt a high stack of paper work.
"What you calling it?" Bradley asked.
"Animal attack," replied Willows, gesturing with his pen to a forensic work measuring some mud prints with a yellow tape.
"Are you shitting me?" Bradley said, "What makes you think you can get away with calling a mess like this an 'Animal attack'?"
"Because people get really nervous and start yelling down our doors when the RCMP writes down 'No fucking idea'. Besides, forensics are already taking mold samples of some tracks we found leading from the house that match claw marks found on the door. This would be a pretty shut case except…"
"Except what?"
"The door's been thrown the wrong way. Whatever did this didn't break in, it was breaking out." Another officer approached them, a younger red haired kid still fresh on the force and therefore relegated to the menial grunt work no one else with a week of seniority over him wanted to do.
"I interviewed some of the neighbors, sir. None of them reported the Issacson residence having any pets or livestock."
"How the hell do people with a house like this keep a bear in it without anyone noticing?" asked Bradley.
"Wolf," Willows said.
"What?"
"Ask James over there," Willows said, gesturing back to the forensic worker taking mold samples "Forensics says the prints are wolf tracks, and we're talking about a pretty damn big one too. Like part husky or some shit."
Bradley started to look around at mud path leading away from the house. The tracks did look like a really big dog had run away, tearing out of the front door and dragging half of a woman's leg with it. He was about to go back to get his coffee out from his vehicle when something really weird caught his eye.
"Hey James, how many fingers do wolves have?"
"What?" James asked "Wolves don't have fingers. They have four pads on the front and hind legs with a small dot in front from their claws. Why are you asking?"
"Because," replied Bradley "this one had a thumb."