Moonlight streamed through the barren branches overhead. Marcus could feel a cold sweat forming as he raced along the narrow path from his barn down to a dock along the Okaw River. The sun had set only twenty minutes earlier, but the darkness and cool air seemed to overwhelm his presence in the woods. His boots normally gave off heavy thuds, but now seemed to only tap the packed earth as he ran.

His mind flashed back to that afternoon when Brandt Lacke had pulled into his driveway. For nearly a year, Lacke had been trying to purchase the farm Marcus' grandmother had left him. He wanted to bulldoze the wooded area to build a resort at the north end of Liston Lake, which sat in the middle of a protected wildlife area. Only the west bank of the Okaw just before it fed into the lake was privately owned and that was Marcus' farm. He had turned down Lacke's final offer of nearly two million dollars, saying that keeping the farm intact was what his grandparents would have wanted. That answer had not made Lacke happy.

A little after eight, Marcus had put his chickens up for the night and settled on a wooden crate to repair a section of fence where a fox had tried to get through.That's when another truck rolled into his driveway. The headlights went out and Marcus stopped to watch.

Two men got out of the truck, both too big to be Brandt Lacke. One of the men, just inside the glow of the pole light, pulled something from the back seat of the truck. The familiar sound of a shotgun being cocked followed and Marcus stood up.

"There he is!" one of the men yelled and Marcus started to run. He heard buckshot pepper the tin siding of his barn as he went by. Luckily, an arm of the timber came up to only fifty feet from that barn, so he was in the trees in a matter of moments.

Flashlights cut through the darkness and brought him back to the danger at hand. Marcus had been down the path so many times that the little bit of moonlight was enough for him to find his way, but Lacke's men were not far behind. Thick roots rippled across the path, making it difficult for those who did not know where to step.

The gun boomed into the darkness and trees splintered somewhere behind him. The register of the gun died quickly, but it caused him to turn and look. This was the moment that his boot caught one of the roots and sent him sprawling down a slight drop in the path. He felt a rock cut into his left palm and the resulting pain exploded up his left arm.

Before he had even stopped sliding, Marcus scrambled to regain his feet. He thought he could hear footfalls coming behind him and knew he had to make it to the little dock. A jon boat with an outboard motor would be waiting for him and he hoped that would be enough to put some distance between those men and himself.

The river rippled quietly to his left as he closed the distance to the dock. He heard the men yelling at each other, cursing the winding path. Then came heavy footsteps to his right. Footsteps that were too close to be his pursuers and too deep to be any man he had ever met. Marcus thought that another of Lacke's men must have guessed he would run this way and that the thick air was causing the footsteps to sound strange.

A few branches in the narrowing grove of trees to his left cracked and the idea of being penned in leapt to the front of his mind. The cracking was coming from some pretty large branches and he tried to imagine how big the man must be to create that sound. Another shotgun blast tore through the trees behind him, but went over his head. He was lucky that the ground was dropping at a faster rate than Lacke's men thought.

More branches snapped to his left. Marcus tried to see what was coming, but he suddenly heard a deep growl from his right. He spun to see where that sound had come from, but instead fell for the second time, tripping over his own feet. This time he could not brace himself with his hands and hit his head on the ground. He cried out when a thorny vine scratched his face.

"Trick or treat, Marcus!" came from not far behind him. He got to his knees. His head was foggy from hitting the ground, but he knew he had to move. The growl slipped from his memory for a moment, survival was all he could think about.

A sharp bend in the path gave him a view of the dock and a fresh charge of adrenaline. He was back on his feet and at full speed in no time, knowing that this last twenty yards were smooth and well maintained. The boat was there and the white rope holding it to the dock seemed to glow in the moonlight. He no longer heard footsteps behind him and hoped he had a few minutes to get going.

His right boot slid a little before gripping the rough wood of the dock, but he was already bending to untie the rope. He could hear the men nearing the bend in the path and he knew that time was short. Marcus gave the rope a few quick twists to release it from the dock and tossed it into the boat. He jumped in and pulled the choke out all the way before gripping the handle to pull start the engine. Two pulls brought the motor roaring to life.

At that same moment, the left side of the dock erupted into a cloud of splinters. The shock of it caused Marcus to lean away from the blast and cost him his balance. He fell into the river and was pulled back under the boat.

"He went in the water!"

"Where's he at? Find him."

Marcus heard them as he bobbed up and tried to grab one of the posts supporting the mostly ruined dock. He could feel his work boots filling with water and knew that he could not swim, hoping that he could edge along the bank to get away.

His hand slipped off the post and he was pulled down river. The current was surprisingly fast along the edge, but he was able to grab a thick root about twenty feet from the dock. He held on with all the energy he had left. The waterlogged boots were turning into weights on his feet, so he started trying to kick them off. His panic caused a few big splashes and drew the attention of Lacke's men.

"Right there! Shoot him!"

His right boot slid off just as he pulled himself up next to the bank. The buckshot thudded into the ground above his head and splashed into the water behind him.

Then came a powerful snarl and Marcus heard what he could only explain as the sound of a baked chicken being ripped apart. Screams filled the air and were quickly gone. Chomping and growling echoed across surface of the river and Marcus was afraid to look.

It seemed like an hour later, but was only a few minutes, when Marcus peeked up over the bank to see what had happened. The men were gone, but his jaw sagged at the sight of two of the largest wolves he had ever seen and they were standing on their hind legs. One spun to look at him and he could see blood dripping from its jaws and coating its chest.

Marcus could not look away or let go of the root. All he could do was stare back at the wolf. Its glowing yellow eyes studied him for a moment and then the wolves raced off into the woods.

The next morning, Marcus was sitting in his kitchen staring at a cup of coffee. He had not slept and did not know if he ever would again. There was a gentle knock at the back door and he nearly jumped from his seat. The door creaked open and Marcus relaxed when he saw Millie O'Dell's face peek around the corner.

Millie was a wonderful older woman who had been friends with his grandmother. She offered a warm smile and he settled back into his seat.

"Come on in, Millie. It's nice to see a friendly face."

"Oh, I can't stay. I just wanted to check on you. Have a rough night?"

"You have no idea," he said, shaking his head.

She smiled and tipped her sunglasses. Marcus saw her blue eyes turn a glowing yellow.