I'll remember that night forever. The girl came running into the office screaming about the wolves attacking her boyfriend. I thought she must have been nuts. There haven't been wolves around here for over a hundred years.

I work for a government research firm that maintains facilities on a tract of land that runs a little over five hundred thousand acres. My job is security. I'm responsible for maintaining the integrity of the grounds. Nothing moves in or out of the entire tract without my knowing it.

The security system that protects the facility is complete. The perimeters are saturated with motion sensors, infrared, invisible beams, and clandestine cameras that are monitored twenty four hours a day. The security within the grounds gets more intense as the distance from the physical research facility decreases.

The agreement with the park system states that most of the grounds are left in a natural state, where the park system maintains a public nature area. I've no problem with that, but it also restricts me from setting up cameras or any other monitoring devices available within the confines of the nature preserve. That interferes with my job. I'm responsible for maintaining the security of a large patch of natural Mother Earth.

I remember the night she came running in. I had just finished running a check on the surveillance systems. She blurted out some story about walking in the woods, wolves chasing them, and him disappearing and her winding up here. That was the sum of sense that she made.

I ordered up the ready crews, doubled watch maintenance and saddled up with the girl and a squad. She took us to the last place she had been with him. We had good luck that night, the moon was so full I had no problem picking out their tracks through the sparse woods.

We had picked up their trail, she said, while the two of them were still just meandering, enjoying the evening. She indicated that it wasn't far to where it happened. I decided to send her back to the office with the squad and continued alone. It was bright enough that I could follow their trail, and if there were large dogs out here, I didn't want to take a chance with her out here. If there were large dogs roaming the estate, I didn't need to be stalking them with a lot of club footed city kids.

On the way back to the office, she had calmed down enough to tell my men that she and her boyfriend had come on the estate through the park entrance and in wandering through the woods had gotten lost. The sun had gone down before they had heard the wolves. She said they sounded close, and they were scared enough to begin running. She said they could hear wolves close by, running with them, then she tripped and hit the ground hard.

She said once she hit the ground, her breath was knocked out, and she lay dazed for a few minutes. She spent the time waiting to be torn to shreds at the teeth of the wolves that had been evidently pursuing them. It wasn't until she had caught her breath that she noticed the silence. She was alone in the forest.

She said that she lay there for a few minutes, then she heard the howl. She said it was blood curdling. Then she started crying again. It was terrible, she kept repeating, absolutely terrible.

I heard all this later. After the squad left with the girl, I continued on. The track was easy, plenty of light and sparse underbrush. It wasn't long before I came across where they began to run. She had said there were wolves chasing them, so I ranged back and forth across their trail, trying to pick up sign of whatever it was that was following them. I couldn't find a thing.

I did find where she had fallen, and the direction she had taken when she left, but I continued following the tracks of her boyfriend. I also continued to range back and forth. I must have been twenty to thirty yards from his trail, running to either side, and I couldn't find a thing. From what I was seeing, I was following the track of a man being chased by his imagination.

I followed his trail down into a little ravine that became rather rocky. The farther I followed, the more rocky the terrain, and the harder the track became. There was one point where I lost his track completely. The only other trace I found was a paw print. It was the only other print I saw, not counting deer or rabbit. It was a dogs print, a big one. Some tourist must have come into the preserve and left their St. Bernard behind.

I circled the area, tracking farther and farther out, until just before daylight. That was when I heard the howl. The girl's description didn't do the howl justice. I kept looking, but I never came up with anything. When I filed the report, it was returned. Someone further up had decided that since no one had seen the girl and her boyfriend come into the park area, there never had been a boyfriend. I suggested that I had seen the footprints. It was suggested back that I take plaster casts for proof.

I went back out to the site, but it had rained. No more prints. So much for my evidence. I couldn't take it anywhere. The girl was put under psychiatric care, so I guess she was nuts. I didn't know what to think after a while.

It's been over three years since that happened. Nothing's ever come of it, so I guess it wasn't that big a deal. I've been out hunting the dog from time to time, but haven't had any luck. I haven't been trying that hard, but it is starting to cut into the herd quotas for the controlled hunts. Hunters are complaining about their lowered limits, so I guess I'll have to hunt the poor dog down.

I've no idea what it looks like, all I've ever seen was the one paw print. It had a spread of over six inches. The dog must be over six feet long, nose to tail, two hundred pounds easy. I know it's big, I've come across its kill from time to time. Whatever kind of dog it is, it's pretty smart. I keep thinking I'm getting close, and it fades away.

I'm feeling lucky, though. It's been over a week since the last kill, and I know it's hungry. There's a full moon tonight, so the tracking should be easy. I expect it to kill tonight, and when it does, I intend to be there.