Had the wolves moved on? It was only three hours since he had last heard their bone-chilling wails. The wind still talked to the house, despite having no snow to deliver. Its chilling fingers that blew constantly from the tops of the world seemed to play the log structure like an accordion. The fire danced to the tunes. The wolves came back.

CJ's temper had soured, and she complained about anything Harry did. She stared at him from across the room where she sat near the fireplace, not so much for warmth, but to keep an eye on the bag of gems that she stole from Skinny's lair. She looked almost comical, slouched in the leather chair, and barely able to keep her eyes from receding into slits—red and puffy.

"Make them stop Harry," she said, barely moving her mouth. Her chin was resting on her chest so deeply it looked like she was staring at her feet. She had since dressed into something more than a bathrobe, having given up on the lovemaking for the time being.

Harry did not respond.

The wolves howled altogether. Very close. Some were on the porch.

Suddenly they began to scuffle. A fight had broken out on the porch right in front of the door. He had read Jack London's Call of the Wild as a child and remembered how they fought with one another to establish the Alpha male. Those were team dogs, barely more domestic than this bunch, but still they answered to their master. These would eat him alive in a second if he had gone out to stop them or chase them away. The thought had occurred to him. Death was coming, he knew it, but who would die? He was nervous, maybe more so than CJ but restrained any outward display. Death was inevitable, but this day would propel the inevitability. Death by wolf, or death by Skinny.

Death by Harry. Skinny wouldn't win this one.

His reverie was broken. From the fireplace, it sounded to Harry like the wind had ripped a hole in the wall and blew in a violent whistling gust, but it was CJ. She screamed and pranced around the room, stomping her feet. She looked like a mother goose chasing off a predator, puffing herself up, and spreading her wings to appear more formidable. She headed for the shotgun that was leaning up against the front door.

Harry jumped out of his chair and headed her off. They struggled a bit with it, but Harry managed to take the weapon form her half-hearted hands.

"Goddamn-it all to hell," she said, walking over to the bar, as far away from the noise as possible. She leaned against it, breathing heavily. Her face was red, and her eyes stuck out of their sockets, her veins bulged. He let her get it out of her system. "Why the fuck don't they go away?"

Harry kept his thoughts to himself, no point in giving her any more ideas to stoke her imagination. He was just as batty as she was, but this outburst gave some relief to his moribund feeling of uselessness.

"They'll go soon. They can't open the doors, after all."

"Shoot the bastards." She pushed him away not wanting the contact. "Shoot them and that'll get rid of them."

Harry looked over at the shotgun leaning against the front door. He went over to the window at the far side of the porch, slid it open, and stuck the barrel outside.

They sounded close.

He could smell their wet hair and hear their teeth clamping shut. Then he pulled the one chamber.

The fighting stopped, and they all scuffled away whining. He shot again for good measure and reloaded the gun and threw the empty shells into the fire and placed it back where it had sat the whole time. He walked to the bar and found a new bottle of whiskey and poured himself another drink, but left it sitting on the bar, and went to sit down on his favorite chair next to his old pal the wolf. Before he sat, CJ ran over to him and threw her arms around his chest. They stood like that for a while until Harry felt overcome with fatigue.

"You look like shit Harry," she said, pouting, looking coy, a look that usually aroused in him a feeling of comfort, like a puppy would. He smiled back. He actually felt better, so he began to think of what they should do next. They were in danger as long as they remained in the cabin. There was no way they could return the way they came, and the road would be too dangerous as that would most likely be how Skinny would make his approach. He felt almost certain that Conner would not be the first to arrive and realized they had to do something besides just sit there. Their situation wouldn't improve on its own.

He shouted. "We're sitting ducks here," he said so suddenly that CJ jumped, spilling her drink. "We should pack and get ready to move." When she did not stir, he began gathering things he thought they would need. The first of which was the rifle and the 9mm Glock.

"How long do you think it will take Skinny to get here, figuring he already knows we're here?"

"Well, after the snow stops, if the roads are clear, it should take him about a couple-a... four, or five hours."

"That is if the roads are clear, and I'm thinking they aren't a priority around here so we should be okay for a couple of days." Harry relaxed a bit, but still wanted to pack though perhaps with less intensity.

He took a hot shower and changed while CJ packed the bags, which was something she did better than he did. In one of the bedrooms, he found ample clothing his size and picked the newest and warmest he could find.

While rifling through the closet he found several sets of snowshoes resting against the back wall. Thinking they might come in handy he placed them by the window, which looked out of the back of the cabin. He opened the window and leaned out to look around. Finally, he closed it but didn't lock it.

From the door to the bedroom, he could look out into the main room and just see the wolf sitting between the two leather chairs. He assumed Skinny would approach the cabin from the front, and that CJ and he would make their escape out the back. The house, although well built, had no back door, so he slid the window open and lowered the snowshoes. He leaned them against the back of the building. Then he went out into the main room to see after CJ.

"There's gotta be about four feet of snow on the ground out there," said CJ as she glanced out the window. She looked worried and Harry noticed. He looked over at the mantle, and saw that she moved the otter, but he said nothing.

"You should shower now CJ," he suggested. But when she looked at him wringing her hands together, he said that he could be trusted if anyone could. "I won't touch them I promise."

"Come with me," she said.

Harry had just showered, and couldn't see the point of tiring himself out, and declined the invitation. He woke to see her standing over him with the shillelagh in her hand. He went to say something, but his mouth had crusted shut. He was thirsty, and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth to dislodge the glue and free his jaw. He licked his lips and took a drink of water from the glass next to him.

He suddenly didn't feel too well. The thought of dealing with Skinny, and whoever came with him, upset him even more and caused him to relapse just a bit.

"Are you planning on hitting me with that? No? Then how 'bout another glass of water?"

"I heard something outside," she said softly. She was in her blue-velvet robe and slippers.

"What, more wolves?"

"I heard an engine of some sort down the way. I think they're coming."