Prelude

                                    

                                          
It was pretty routine in the winter. Wild animals often invaded farms on the outskirts around that time. They were hungry, and that winter was especially freezing. Two policemen were sent out to a farm way north of Hamlin, near the jurisdictional border of Kigas city. It was a small paved road with forest on one side and the Magos river on the other. Local officers would've gone but everyone seemed busy that night.
The farm itself was situated in wood so dense at the end of a road so full of snow and mud, the officers had to leave their cruiser on the main road and hoof it five minutes along a gravel trail. It was quiet and isolated. Nothing of the cities remained except for their metropolitan glow on the horizon. The older officer, Constable Gambino, spoke with the father of the family while Constable MacIntyre waited on the porch. Gambino was a man of quiet confidence. He did things with purpose and consideration. His partner, MacIntyre, wasn't much like him. He had a temper about him but always meant well. He wanted to believe in people; he believed in Gambino most of all.
"All right, thanks. Tell your family to stay inside." Gambino joined his partner by the stairs and MacIntyre turned towards him.
"Wolves again?"
Gambino grinned. "It's always wolves around these parts." He rubbed his red nose and sniffled.
"We don't have noisemakers."
"We have these," Gambino said and clapped his gloved hands together. The muffled sound was pathetic.
"We gonna need something a little louder than that."
Gambino laughed sheepishly. "Might have to take off our gloves first," he said. They stuffed their gloves in their jacket pockets, pulled out their torches and pistols, and headed out into the darkness. They said their goodbyes before splitting up and venturing into the darkness separately.
MacIntyre rounded the farm house and walked off into the barren field ahead of him. He scanned the field with his torch but found only a broken perimeter fence. The cold breeze made his fingers stiff and his cheeks sting. He put his pistol away, stuck the torch under his arm, and rubbed his hands together, exhaling into the pocket between them in an attempt to warm them up.
Gunshots echoed in the distance. MacIntyre spun around and sprinted across the field, chasing the ringing that seemed to linger in his ears. He leaped over a fence and rounded the corner of a barnhouse.
Blood poured out of a deep gash along Gambino's torso, soaking the frozen mud. He was missing a leg below the knee, and defensive bite marks covered his arms, chunks missing. MacIntyre didn't have time to be stunned. He radioed for paramedics as he slid into the mud by his partner's side. Everything felt wrong. He didn't know what to do at first.
Gambino looked up at the dark haired youth, tears forming at the corner of his eyes, and tried to smile. "Wasn't... wolves..." His words were riddled with a bloody gargling sound.
"No, no, shh. Don't talk."
"Sorry," he murmured and then closed his eyes. MacIntyre felt Gambino's body slacken. He wasn't struggling to breathe anymore. He wasn't breathing at all.
It was supposed to be wolves. They were apart for only a few minutes. They've handled wolves before. This wasn't wolves.
Gambino didn't die alone, and MacIntyre wasn't letting him lie there alone, either. He wasn't leaving. He pushed the bloodstained white hair out of his partner's face and wiped his warm tears. "I'll tell them. I'll take care of them. It's okay. I'm sorry."