The snow fell light and slow that evening, a whisper against the window of the KLMR control room. Mark leaned back in his chair, soldering iron cooling beside him, when Cal Tanner’s voice came through the door—nervous, breathless.
“Uh, Mark… you might wanna hear this.”
Mark frowned, pushed up his glasses, and followed him to the little ham receiver at the far end of the room. A faint voice hissed through the static on 98.3 FM, the frequency just below their own.
“If you can hear this… please, we need help. We’re trapped. They won’t let us leave.”
The message looped. Same cadence, same pause, same soft crackle. Over and over.
Thane, standing in the doorway with his arms folded, listened silently. “How long’s it been broadcasting?”
Cal rubbed the back of his neck. “Hard to say. I only caught it by accident. Could’ve been hours, could’ve been days.”
Marta appeared a moment later, coat half-buttoned, the snow melting in her hair. “Location?”
Mark zoomed the receiver’s frequency map. “Signal origin points to Plains, Montana—south-east. Maybe seventy miles.”
The room fell quiet except for the static. Then Thane’s gravel voice cut through it.
“Get Holt. And tell Gabriel to bring the truck.”
By dawn, the convoy was ready. The flatbed truck idled outside Libby’s gate, exhaust rising in curls through the morning mist. Mark was at the wheel, Gabriel rode shotgun, and Thane stood in the bed beside three ferals—Holt, Rime, and a younger female named Kira. All three wolves had volunteered eagerly when the call went out. Sable, though she stayed behind, had ordered them to obey Thane’s word as Alpha.
The tires crunched over the snow-packed road as they headed out. The silence of the wilderness was broken only by the rumble of the diesel engine and the occasional low laugh. Gabriel leaned out the window, wind in his fur, yelling back, “You sure this heap’s gonna make it through the pass, Mark?”
Mark smirked without looking away from the road. “It’s fine. She’s got more life in her than you think. Like me.”
Thane half-grinned and turned his eyes to the horizon, where the white peaks of the Cabinets cut against a pale blue sky. The drive stretched long—miles of snow-laden pines, frozen rivers, and abandoned farmhouses. The wolves in the bed sniffed the air constantly, ears twitching. Holt, massive even among his kind, clutched his thermos of coffee protectively.
Gabriel turned back to him. “You really can’t go an hour without that stuff, can you?”
Holt bared his teeth in a grin. “Coffee make world bright. Holt need bright.”
Rime snorted. “Bright make Holt talk too much.”
The laughter carried briefly across the flatbed until Thane lifted a paw. The mood changed. Ahead, the road descended into a valley thick with fog. The scent of smoke lingered faint but distinct.
They entered Plains by midafternoon. The town looked half-eaten by winter—snow piled high against dark storefronts, the main street scattered with drifted trash. And yet somewhere nearby, a generator hummed.
Thane motioned for the truck to stop. He dropped soundlessly into the snow, claws slicing the crust.
“Stay sharp. No chatter,” he murmured.
The ferals fanned out instinctively, Gabriel unslung his rifle, though he knew it was mostly for show—Thane’s claws were weapon enough. They moved through the silence, ears tuned for movement, until the low drone of a radio reached them. The voice again:
“If you can hear this… please, we need help. We’re trapped. They won’t let us leave.”
Inside an old hardware store, a radio transmitter sat on a counter—looping the same message, powered by a sputtering generator.
Mark crouched beside it. “It’s pre-recorded. Someone set this to repeat.”
Thane’s hackles rose. “Then where are they?”
The answer came in the click of rifle bolts behind them.
A dozen figures emerged from the shadows—dirty, thin, wrapped in scavenged coats. The lead man wore a cracked motorcycle helmet and carried an old M4.
“Well,” he drawled, “look what wandered in. Wolves and all.”
Gabriel stepped slightly in front of Mark. Holt’s fur bristled like a thundercloud.
The raider leader smiled. “You’re gonna take us to that shiny little town of yours. Heard you folks got power. Food. Warm beds.” He waved the rifle toward the door. “Truck’s outside, ain’t it? Good. You’ll drive.”
Thane didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on the man’s visor.
“And if we don’t?”
The leader shrugged. “Then I start shooting, and we see how long it takes a wolf to bleed out.”
A long, cold moment passed. Then Thane smiled—a slow, dangerous curl of the lips.
“You really don’t want to find out.”
In one blur of motion, he lunged. The rifle snapped in half with a single twist. Holt moved next, plowing into the raider line like a snowplow of fur and fury. Kira tackled one through a window, Rime yanked another’s weapon free. Gabriel’s claws raked through the wooden counter as he vaulted it, knocking a raider into a shelf.
The fight was over in less than thirty seconds. Silence fell heavy and absolute except for the sound of a few men groaning in the snow.
Thane hauled the leader up by his collar and growled low, voice like gravel dragged through fire.
“You lured people here to rob them?”
The man’s visor had cracked; one terrified human eye blinked up at him.
“W-we didn’t—no choice—food’s gone—”
Thane cut him off. “You always have a choice.”
He dropped the man into the snow and turned to the others. “Find the townsfolk. Now.”
They found them in the school basement—cold, thin, and terrified. Twenty people huddled around a barrel fire. A young woman stepped forward, trembling.
“You’re… you’re not with them?”
Gabriel shook his head softly. “Not even close.”
Holt loomed behind him, voice deep but gentle. “We fix. You safe now.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she led them deeper inside. There was little left—burned food stores, broken generators, shattered faith. Thane sent the raiders marching out of town on foot under the ferals’ watchful eyes, unarmed and humiliated. “Let them walk home,” he said. “Fear travels farther than blood.”
For two days, Libby’s team and the remaining ferals worked tirelessly to repair what they could. Mark and Gabriel restored the generator and the water pump. Holt and Rime hauled entire timbers and barrels of fuel singlehandedly, impressing even the most skeptical humans.
One evening, as the last cable was connected, the lights of Plains flickered back on for the first time in months. The townspeople cheered. Holt, panting, wiped snow from his fur and looked at Thane expectantly.
“Alpha, Holt do good?”
Thane clapped him on the shoulder. “You did damn good, Holt.”
The young woman from before approached, her voice timid but warm. “We can’t ever repay this.”
Gabriel smiled faintly. “Just… live. Keep the lights on. That’s enough.”
That night, the townspeople insisted on hosting a meal in the old church hall. Rough bread, hot stew, and laughter filled the air for the first time since before the Fall. Wolves and humans sat side by side beneath flickering lanterns. Children pointed at Holt’s massive paws; he grinned sheepishly, showing off his claws like trophies.
A little boy climbed into his lap uninvited, staring up at Holt’s massive frame and golden eyes.
“You’re really big,” the child said softly, half afraid, half amazed.
Holt tilted his head, pretending to ponder. “Big, yes,” he rumbled at last, “but soft touch too.”
The boy’s eyes widened as Holt carefully offered one giant paw. When the small human hand touched it, the boy gasped and grinned. “You don’t even hurt!”
That got a round of laughter from everyone nearby—wolves and humans alike.
Gabriel chuckled from across the table. “Told you, Holt. You’re terrifying until you smile.”
Holt’s tail thumped once against the floor. “Smile is new weapon,” he said proudly, which drew even louder laughter.
The room softened into warmth and chatter. Someone passed Holt a piece of bread the size of his paw; he stared at it curiously before taking the smallest possible bite, earning another wave of laughter. For a long while, there was only joy—real, human joy—echoing in the old church hall.
When morning came, the convoy rolled out as the townsfolk waved from the main street. The repaired radio tower stood proud behind them, a new broadcast humming through the airwaves:
“Plains is free. Thank you, Libby.”
Thane stood in the flatbed, the wind catching his fur as he looked toward the rising sun. Holt leaned against the rail beside him, tail flicking.
“Alpha?”
“Yeah?”
Holt smiled, breath fogging in the morning air. “World getting better.”
Thane was quiet for a moment, watching the light spill over the snowy hills. Then, in a rare show of affection, he reached out and pulled the massive wolf into a one-armed hug.
“Yeah, Holt,” he said softly, voice like gravel and warmth all at once. “Little by little, it is.”
Holt froze in pure surprise for half a heartbeat—then his tail wagged hard enough to shake the truck.