Judgment at Alcatraz

eyes.
“Is everything okay?” he said.
She patted her face dry with a hand towel.
“Yes. Just a dream.”
“The white wolf again?”
She nodded and returned to the bed. Sitting next to her lover, she drew the sheet up, covering her breasts.
“I was in the mountains, at the edge of a meadow. The white wolf came to see me. She had two pups this time. They played like puppies do while I stroked her head. I was staring into her blue eyes, and when I looked up, the entire pack was there.”
“This is a good omen. The wolf is cunning, aggressive, dangerous. The white she-wolf is your totem, a true representation of your spirit.”
“How can you be so sure?”
With his fingertips, Leonard moved some raven locks from her cheek.
“This is not like you to second-guess our resolve,” he said. “Talk to me. Together, we can solve any problem, any challenge.”
For the third time in less than a week, she’d suffered nausea in the early morning hours. And along with the brief periods of sickness, her emotions were amplified. At times, she felt deep-seated resentment toward the American Indian Movement for not doing more to win basic civil rights for American natives. It was why she and Leonard had founded the Indigenous Peoples Movement.
If AIM had done more, taken decisive action instead of just talked, I wouldn’t be forced to do these things. Why does it have to be me? Why Leonard? The old men, the tribal elders—it’s their responsibility to look after their people.
She wanted to tell Leonard what she was feeling, the changes she was going through. But there was never a good time. In a while, he would know. He would see her belly expand as the seed of a new generation grew.
What world will our child be born into?
She looked into Leonard’s eyes. “It’s nothing.”
“You have had many dreams of the white wolf. But those never bothered you like this. Tell me about it. It will help you clear your mind.”
“The wolf, her blue eyes are like glacier ice. Beautiful and hard. But this time, I sensed fear in her eyes. It felt like she wanted me to meet her pups, to take care of them.”
“Why would she want you to care for her pups?”
“I don’t know. In my dream, I was looking into her blue eyes, and then the pack was just there. The pack was fearful. In my dreams, it’s like I can sense the thoughts of the wolves.”
“In the wild, a wolf pack isn’t afraid of any predator. Not even a bear.”
“But the white wolf is afraid. And I think she feared for her pups, too. And then, across the meadow was a flock of sheep. The pack started to stalk the sheep, but then a shepherd appeared from the middle of the flock. There was only one shepherd—a woman with brown hair. But I don’t recall what she looked like. She was wearing a white robe, so she blended in with the sheep. And she held a wooden crook. At first, she didn’t see the wolf pack approaching. But before they could single out an old ewe, the shepherd saw them.”
Leonard was fully awake now, listening intently to Sacheen’s dream.
He said, “One shepherd against an entire pack of wolves wouldn’t stand a chance. The pack would easily single out an old or sick sheep and take it down.”
“Except that’s not what happened. While the white she-wolf watched, the shepherd threw off her robe. She was firing a submachine gun at the other wolves. She killed all of them, until only the white wolf was left. Then it’s like I was seeing through the eyes of the white wolf. I was the wolf. I charged at the shepherd. She had her gun pointed right at me. I heard the gunshots, expecting the bullets to find their mark, but they didn’t.”
“Did the she-wolf get the shepherd?” Leonard said.
Her voice barely above a whisper, Sacheen said, “No. I woke up.”
“It’s only a dream. It can’t hurt you. Besides, I can tell you with certainty that one hunter against an entire pack of wolves wouldn’t stand a chance. The wolves would encircle the shooter and kill him quickly.”
As comforting as Leonard’s assurances were, Sacheen couldn’t shake the feeling that her dream was a harbinger of things to come.

Chapter 11
Alcatraz Island, San Francisco Bay
May 22
Predictably, the traffic southbound on I-5 moved along at five to ten miles per hour faster than the posted speed limit, and Danya made good time. She and Toby passed the hours conversing mostly about Toby’s family and life as a Native American living off the reservation, in a community dominated by ranching. As she learned, Cole hadn’t been the first white man to threaten Toby.
Shortly following a rest stop near Willows in the northern Sacramento Valley, Toby turned an inquisitive eye to her new friend.
“You haven’t said much about your life.”
“Not much to say.”
“Really? I mean, the way you took Cole down, and his brother, I’d have thought you’re ex-military. In Israel, women serve in the military, right? Combat, too, I’ve heard.”
“Nah. Nothing that exciting.”
“Is that so? You didn’t learn to fight like that in school, or by being someone’s secretary.”
Toby’s probing was met with silence. Danya stared ahead at the road, watching the white line zip by. Her thoughts drifted back in time. She placed an elbow on the arm rest, and two fingers against her temple—a habit when she was deep in thought.
Had it already been several years since she’d entered the Oregon wilderness with her team of four operators? Her callsign had been Artemis—the hunter. She recalled with clarity killing the Oregon State trooper near the crest of the Cascade Mountain range. The trooper had gotten the drop on her team members, and disarmed them all at gunpoint. But not her. She’d slipped away. Out of sight of the officer, she crept up on him from behind, placed a gun to his head, and pulled the trigger. No guilt, no remorse. Just doing