Matthew awoke to the scent of hamburgers. Licking his lips, he rolled out of bed and crept nervously into the kitchen, looking for the source of the delicious smell. He tip-toed toward the table, vaguely wondering where Alfred was. Suddenly, a large shape ploughed into him, tackling him to the ground. "Mattie!" Alfred cried, hugging Matthew tightly and ignoring his protesting gasps. "I know you were kind of upset yesterday so I made us burgers!"
Groaning in pain, Matthew wriggled out of Alfred's grasp, breathing deeply as he did so. That American was stronger than he looked. "It's early morning, why did you cook hamburgers?" He inquired timidly, almost regretting asking. Noticing Alfred's hurt look, he smiled and added, "Not that I'm complaining, I'm starving!"
Alfred pretended to pout, picking himself up and walking to the kitchen table. "Are you saying you don't want the hamburger I made for you? 'Cause you know, I'll gladly eat it."
Matthew sprung up, wincing at the pain in his ankle. He hadn't noticed when he was in bed, but it was still tender. Suddenly worried that the loud blond would carry out his threat, Matthew limped to the table, exclaiming, "Hands off, I haven't eaten like this in forever!" Alfred set a large plate of burgers in the middle of the table, taking one for himself and motioning for Matthew to do the same.
Chuckling, Matthew watched as Alfred devoured his meal. Hungrily, Matthew bit into his own burger, not knowing what to expect. He hadn't had food like this before, as Francis rarely fed him, and when he did it had been mostly soup. He found he liked the taste, but not nearly as much as Alfred did. Smiling slightly, Matthew wondered if the American ate anything other than burgers. He wasn't fat and he seemed to be in good shape, but the sheer amount of junk he consumed made this almost impossible to believe.
After breakfast, Matthew showered and checked his ankle, prodding the swollen flesh and wincing occasionally. It didn't appear to be broken, but it was a faint purple colour and it hurt to put any pressure on it. Trailing his fingers up his leg, he found that most of his cuts had been bandaged and washed. His fingers gently traced what appeared to be a bullet wound. Closing his eyes, Matthew thought back to his escape. Francis shouting, running frantically across the grounds in the wake of his men, and giving the order to shoot. He shivered; that had without a doubt been one of the most terrifying experiences of his life. How could Francis shoot at him? Didn't he realize that if Matthew died, he would have no one to torture, and therefore no means of entertaining his guests at his many lavish parties? Matthew smirked to himself, Francis had tortured him for twenty years before ordering his death, and yet Matthew alive and free, living in a cabin with his newfound friend. Francis's guests would be really impressed, he thought sarcastically. Matthew hadn't even remembered his bullet wound until now; Alfred had done a good job of bandaging it. Upon closer examination, Matthew found that the bullet had merely grazed his calf, tearing the muscle but not causing any permanent damage. Borrowing a tenser bandage from Alfred, Matthew gently wrapped his swollen ankle before changing into some of Alfred's old clothes.
Glancing out the window, Matthew's thoughts drifted to the events leading up to his life in the cabin. He saw the thick blanket of snow that covered the ground and felt hope rising in his chest. Maybe the snow was deep enough to cover his tracks. Maybe Francis would lose interest in him and he could continue living here with Alfred. Maybe he wasn't worth the effort, and Francis would call off the search. Maybe he would be happy, in time. It all seemed too good to be true. Matthew decided that he had to see for himself. If his tracks were still visible, Francis would be on his way, destroying anything and anyone who got in his way. But if the snow hid his trail, he could be free. He strode out into the main room of the cabin, passing Alfred in his haste. "Hey, what are you doing? You should be in bed, or watching movies with me or something. You're supposed to be injured. Where are you going?" He asked, jumping up from where he had been lying on the couch.
Rushing to the closet, Matthew pulled out a pair of heavy winter boots and a thick ski jacket, muttering a quick goodbye to a very confused Alfred.
.oOo.
Panting slightly, Matthew trudged out into the woods, trying to find any traces of his frantic escape. The woods seemed much bigger in the daylight, and although the thick canopy blocked out most of the light, small patches of bright sunlight shone through the gaps in the trees, creating yellow speckled patterns on the fresh snow. Kicking up snow, Matthew wandered deeper into the woods, oblivious as to where he was headed. As far as he was concerned, he was bound to run into his tracks eventually, and he could always follow his own fresh tacks if he got lost. After an hour of hiking through the snow, he stopped for a break. Looking around, he realized he was in a much deeper part of the forest. The trees were all large conifers, plunging the ground ahead of him into semi-darkness. Suddenly afraid, Matthew recalled the wolves Alfred had mentioned earlier. He definitely would have remembered passing through here. Turning, he made to head back the way he came, freezing when he heard a low snarl from the darkness behind him.
Slowly, Matthew turned around, afraid of what he might see. Stifling a scream, he looked into a pair of evil yellow eyes. Not more than a meter away from him crouched a massive wolf, snarling softly. Its jaws were enormous; saliva dripped from its massive canines as the wolf continued to stare at the young Canadian.
Matthew's mind went blank at the sight of the wolf. Panicking, he let out a scream frantically backpedaling away from it. The wolf followed his every move, silently padding through the snow, following at a distance. Matthew couldn't understand. Why wasn't he dead yet? Why was the wolf simply following him instead of ripping him to shreds? After several seconds of agonized thinking, the answer came to him: Wolves hunt in packs. As if the wolf could read his thoughts, it let out a short growl, fixing its gaze on something behind the young blond. Matthew froze as another growl came from behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw three other wolves making their way towards him, their nimble bodies slipping through the trees and over the snow without a sound, save for their hungry panting,
Trembling, Matthew resigned himself to the fact that he was going to die. Really, it wasn't a bad way to go. Maybe the wolves would be kind enough to bit his neck first, maybe snap it if he was lucky. Francis had beat him to the brink of death many times in his past; being mauled by wolves almost sounded nice in comparison. Matthew looked at the wolves, staring the largest of the pack in the eyes. He had made it this far; it seemed a waste to give up now. He should be trying harder, but really, there was no point. The wolves could definitely outrun him, and he had no weapons to fight them off with. He would just tire himself out and make the situation more miserable than it had to be. Almost laughing to himself, he contemplated this statement. He really wasn't much of a fighter; that was for sure. Escaping Francis had been one thing; that had been relatively easy. A sudden jump and a quick sprint and he was free. But fighting a group of wolves? That was too much. He really wasn't cut out for this much violence on a regular basis. With a sigh, he rolled his head back, pushing the hair away from his exposed neck. Closing his eyes, he waited for the end.
.oOo.
Cliffhanger (Kind of)! So I'm going to be introducing Ivan soon, because people have been wondering where the hell he is.
Thanks for the reviews and comments, they're greatly appreciated. :)