Brave the Night: A Bully Boys Novel

by Cassandra Moore

  Grunted growls sounded behind her over the clatter of metal and the dim rumble of a heavy object forced across the ground. She wanted to turn to see what occurred, but she couldn’t. Her body refused to respond to her thoughts. So she listened instead, listened and scented the air, and floated in the sound of voices singing the melody of the night.

  Only when she sensed a presence behind her did she turn, though even that action felt as though it belonged to someone else. Then she had a view of the scene behind her. A graveyard of steel waited there, dead behemoths that had once transported goods down the highways of the country. Most had lost tires or wheels. Others had shed less common pieces, doors and axles and engine blocks. They had been flayed open to the sky, given their innards and entrails to scavengers who preferred metal to flesh. A pack of Ferals pushed another dead behemoth into the graveyard as if its great weight and damaged wheels meant nothing to them.

  That truck seemed familiar to Erin, though her sluggish mind would not tell her how. It joined its deceased kin around the signs and fuel pumps at an abandoned service station. The fresh paint and sound structure implied it had not been abandoned for long.

  She had not turned to see the gas station, nor the cemetery of semis that waited for its latest metal corpse. The presence she had sensed waited nearby, and the jolt of adrenaline she felt at the sight of him left her terrified. A huge Feral, packed with muscle beneath his tiger-striped hide and alive with a taut, predatory energy, flashed his teeth in an expression of animal dominance, and she felt her head bow to acknowledge his authority—

  No. No, get away. Back away, run, you have the speed, run away! Frantic thoughts clawed through her mind as she struggled against her body’s stubborn refusal to do anything but bow its head to the abhorrent creature in front of her. Hot breath gusted over her as the Feral leaned in, sniffed, touched teeth to the back of her neck in a ritual of dominance as old as all packs.

  “Is it enough?” the Feral growled in a low voice.

  Her mouth opened. She could taste the scents on the air as she inhaled. When she spoke, her voice startled her. This isn’t me. “Yes. Enough, after fixing.”

  “How long?” the big Feral asked.

  “Fix tonight. Fix when the sun is low. Fill when there is moon again. Then is long enough.” The eyes she saw through looked up to gauge the larger Feral’s expression.

  Calculation. Impatience. A worrisome patience. Determination. “Not longer. Do not fail. Our time shortens. Your pups made a mistake. It has cost us.”

  “Not longer. More fixer would help.”

  “There is one. We will see.” The huge Feral turned to walk away. Then he paused to glance back, a thoughtful look on his hideous features, to look directly at her. “Do you see? Fixer, do you see?”

  Fear lanced her. She screamed and struggled to pull away, but her body would not move. Her thoughts battered against it as a caged animal against the bars of its prison, desperate to escape but with nowhere to go. Where is the pack? Why am I alone again? They said they would come, but why would they bother? It’s just me. It’s always just me. But Shane—

  In the depths of her confusion, his touch reached her where nothing else could. The memory of his arm beneath her palm, his hand over hers. Hours ago, they had sat on a rock, and she had wished that the rest of her could feel as surrounded and safe as that one hand enveloped in his.

  That memory was enough. It focused her. Grounded her. It led her confused mind back to where it belonged. She sat up with a gasp, in bed again, tucked in the little room in the back of Calderon Auto.

  A soft glow lightened the curtains over the small window near the ceiling. Hours had disappeared since she laid down to close her eyes. So sleep had come, but not the restful slumber she’d hoped for. She only had a couple hours left before the first workers arrived to start their day in the garage, and any chance at rest evaporated.

  She groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. First day on the job and they’re going to think I’m a caffeine fiend. Anita would probably let me take the day off if I asked her. Except I live where I work and you can’t call out sick when your bedroom door opens into the boss’s office. I can’t wait until I can afford another place.

  Work gave her a way to take her mind off the strange dreams, though. She couldn’t complain about the distraction. Neither could she complain about hearing the distinct, throaty rumble of Shane’s motorcycle just before seeing him dismount from the bike like he owned the world around him. All right. So he’s not bad to look at. Not bad, in the “I’m going to get caught staring like a creepy stalker and put him off” kind of way. The last thing you need is to involve yourself with someone, you know that, right? No man likes to hear, “Hey, you’re gorgeous. Could you be a dear and haul my emotional baggage over there? I’d like you to carry it. It’s just a suitcase full of grief issues, trust problems, aggressive independence shoulder chips, and the always popular back issues of ‘It’s Not You, It’s Me’ Magazine.”

  He’d said he would pick her up later, though. She tried not to grin when she thought about that. A night out with the pack, a proper welcome, and maybe a few new friends if she were lucky. All with the lovely bonus of plastering herself to his back while he drove her on his bike.

  Maybe she didn’t intend to order from the offerings here at Chez Men She Shouldn’t Date, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate what was on the menu.

  “Hey, Erin!” Shane called her name and pulled her out of her ridiculous line of thought.

  She looked over to see him standing in the doorway that led from the garage to the office. “Hey, Shane,” she said, and fought to keep her smile casual. “How’s it going this morning?”

  “Could be better. How are you doing?”

  “Tired. Not a surprise. You look like a man with a mission.”

  He inclined his head. “You aren’t wrong. Walk with me a minute?”

  “Sure.” She set her notebook down on an out-of-the-way surface in the garage so she could follow.

  Shane led her into the shadow of the garage’s overhanging roof. Even out of the direct sunlight, the heat still did its best impression of an oven. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about what the pack found last night.”

  She leaned against the wall and folded her arms over her chest. “No one’s told me anything.”

  “After we brought you and Levi in—”

  “Wait, sorry. How is Levi this morning?”

  Shane flashed a smile. “Much better. Werewolves heal fast. Feral wounds take longer, because of the nature of them, but we still bounce back faster than humans. Levi was complaining about the hospital food and trying to convince the nurses he could have a hamburger or three.”

  Erin chuckled to hide the flood of relief that hit her. “I hope they give that man a hamburger, then. He deserves it. Good. Sorry, go ahead with what you were saying.”

  Though she couldn’t say for sure, she thought Shane looked pleased. “No problem. Anyway, after we brought you and Levi in, the pack went out for a sweep of the area. We do that every night, but you can imagine last night was different.”

  “That’s a good word to describe last night. ‘Different’.”

  “You’ve got that fucking right.” Shane snorted. “They intended to bring back Tyler’s body, and have a look around the area. Except they barely got out of town before a band of Ferals tried to ambush them. It took a few hours to run them down. By the time they got to the scene of your accident, almost everything was gone. They found what was left of Levi’s bike, but the body, the truck, they were gone.”

  Erin frowned. “That’s— That’s really strange. The truck wasn’t drivable. Even if you decided to run on the flat tires, which you shouldn’t, one of the wheels had ripped clean off. I’d bet my favorite socks that the front axle bent when we stopped. No one could have driven off with that.”

  A pack of Ferals pushing a dead truck into a graveyard of other dead trucks— Erin banished the memory
of the dream from the front of her mind, but it lurked in her deeper thoughts.

  “No, but we have evidence that someone pushed it away from the scene. We’re not sure who, but there’s one immediate conclusion to jump to.”

  “Ferals.” She licked her lips. They’d run dry.

  Shane nodded. “Holly and Rigo – those are the pack scouts, by the way – may have found the truck at a service station a little ways from Coyote Trail. We’d appreciate it if you could verify that for us. Holly would have sent pictures, but cell service today is shit and no pictures would come through. I thought maybe we could take a drive out there.”

  A graveyard of steel corpses parked around fuel pumps and service station signs. Ferals among the derelict semis like scavengers in search of a meal.

  She had to clear her throat to speak. “No problem. I’d like to help however I can.”

  “I asked Anita if I could borrow you a while. She said she didn’t mind if you didn’t.” Shane smiled, earnest and warm, and Erin might have done whatever he wanted based on that look alone. “What do you say?”

  “I say, let me go wash my hands and we can head out.” She smiled back. “There’s got to be a helmet around here I can use.”

  “I’ll ask Anita where they are while you wash up.” Shane touched her arm. “Thanks, Erin.”

  Her skin tingled under his fingertips. “Anything for you, Shane. It’ll just take a minute.”

  She fled to the bathroom before she could stammer about what she’d just said. Anything for you. Really, E? You won’t sound clingy or desperate or creepy or anything if you just throw that on out there. No, it’s completely fine. You’re the epitome of suave.

  Warm water poured out of the cold tap when she turned it on. A feature, she had discovered, of desert life. The cold tap would provide cold water when it felt inspired to do so, and the sun-warmed water had cleared the pipes. Not before.

  The troublesome cut on her lower forearm throbbed again as the skin pulled with her hand scrubbing. She frowned. It didn’t look better this afternoon. In fact, she would swear it looked worse. Redder, a bit angry, warm to the touch. Maybe I should have let the hospital look at this last night. I’m going to be so pissed off if this infects. I’m not even sure my health insurance has kicked in yet. That thorn bush did a number on me. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I’d fought three Ferals off, but lost to an asshole of a sticker bush?

  A memory flickered, one of a Feral’s snout around her hand as she shoved a gun into its mouth. She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she rubbed the pad of her thumb over the wound. It didn’t bite me. I didn’t even scrape against its teeth. This scratch doesn’t have any of the signs they say to look for. It would by now, wouldn’t it? Pull yourself together. Scratches end up aggravated all the time. Don’t you have enough to worry about without panicking over stupid shit? Next thing you know, you’re going to search your symptoms on the internet and end up thinking you have—

  She averted the thought. The bathroom had a first-aid kit with antibiotic ointment and bandages in it. Those would do. Shane wouldn’t appreciate it if she kept him waiting while she freaked out over a cut in the restroom. Levi is still in the hospital with more than scratches to trouble him. Perspective, Erin. Start your “anything for you” with “let me impress you with my promptness”.

  The cut throbbed. She covered it with a bandage so she didn’t have to think about it anymore. Out of sight, out of mind.

  6

  Scavengers in the Steel Boneyard

  All her troubles disappeared as Shane drove the motorcycle down the highway towards Muncy. With her arms around his waist and her torso pressed against his broad back, she could forget the worries that plagued her, the uncertainty of what her new life would bring, and concentrate on what she felt right now.

  The heat of the sun. The subtle shift of muscles beneath Shane’s leather riding jacket as he steered and shifted his weight for balance. His hand against hers, when he let go of one handlebar to touch her hand and silently ask if she was doing okay back there. Then she could squeeze her affirmative answer and hold him tighter, and if she clung for a moment longer than necessary, he didn’t seem to mind.

  Don’t get used to this. There are a thousand reasons why that would be a terrible idea. Her mind and heart had survived enough slings and arrows to know that outrageous fortune was a total dick when it came to her. And to him, as far as she could tell, from which she could deduce that putting them together would end in a spectacular shitstorm of tragedy. It had started in one, after all, and she had no illusions it would improve.

  Yet how many times had the hospice counselor advised living in the moment? The past is gone. The future is yet to come. This moment is what you have now. Enjoy it. Take it for what it is, not what it will become. Erin had ignored that as a bunch of nonsense before. She hadn’t wanted those terrible moments at all, then, even if now, she would give anything to have them back.

  This moment, with Shane’s back against her and his hand over hers, she wanted. She absorbed every sensation, lived fully in it, and basked in the too-short eternity of now.

  Then the service station came into view, and her troubles crashed back in around her.

  Broken trucks choked the fuel bays and blocked the roads into the truck stop. Over a dozen full vehicles sat in the summer heat, kept company by partial wrecks and disconnected truck cabs. Shredded tire pieces littered the ground between the derelicts, as did piston rods, bent doors, and random parts. Had the dead trucks not cluttered the grounds, Erin would have thought the truck stop would be open for business. The signs displayed current fuel prices, the dates on the specials painted in the windows hadn’t expired, and a lack of other detritus implied an unknown attendant had cleaned the place not long ago.

  Cold dread filled her gut despite the heat of the day. The truck stop looked exactly as it had in her dream last night.

  Two motorcycles waited not far from the turnoff into the station. She didn’t see the riders, though she did see motion in between the wrecks near the fuel pumps. A sudden fear seized her. In the dream, she had seen Ferals among the trucks there, and she could go all week without seeing those again. Shane revved the engine louder and lifted an arm to wave, however, and the figures in the service station waved back. Just the scouts. No Ferals, then.

  They all met at the parked bikes. It occurred to Erin she’d seen both scouts yesterday, riding just behind Shane as he led the pack to the rescue. Neither looked like they’d slept yet, and both looked like they needed a long nap and a cool drink.

  “There he is! Our great and illustrious leader, here to survey what we have found!” Holly said with a smirk.

  Shane hoisted a middle finger at her as Erin slid off the bike. “Holly, you are a pain in my ass. Remind me why I keep you around.”

  “Because without my keen sense of smell to guide you, you must resort to sniffing your own armpits before dates to determine if you stink.” The redhead executed a sweeping bow.

  Shane laughed and dismounted himself. “There we have it. You are my personal body odor detector. How about we have that embroidered on a vest for you?”

  “That would be a better Christmas gift than an ugly sweater. Ugly vest season, here we come!” She held out her hand to Erin. “It’s fantastic to meet you. You have to be Erin. I’m Holly Talbot.”

  Erin hung her helmet off the handlebar so she could take the offered hand. “Erin Calloway. Thanks for the help yesterday. I try not to make a habit of needing rescues, I promise.”

  Holly wrinkled her nose. “From where I was sitting, Erin, we were the ones who needed rescuing. You dropped three Ferals and saved Levi. So, if you make a habit of pulling people’s fat out of the fire, that’s all right with me.”

  “How about we skip putting fat in the fire entirely? That sounds like a better idea.”

  “You know, it does. Hear that, Shane? We’ve solved the whole problem. We’re just not going to put fat in the fire.” Holly grinned a
t him as if she’d just fixed the entire world’s issues.

  Shane shook his head. “I should never have introduced you two. Rigo, come save me.”

  “Why do you give me this shit job, Shane? Either you think of me very highly, to believe I can rescue you from these two, or I have accidentally pissed in your tamales.” The agile man with the moustache and goatee stepped forward to shake Erin’s hand. “Rodrigo Hernandez. Call me Rigo. Welcome to Coyote Trail.”

  Erin smiled. His lovely, lilting accent lent his words a genuine warmth. “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.”

  “Even after yesterday? You’re a brave woman. And smart, very smart. Did I mention beautiful?” He flashed her a cheesy grin.

  She eyed him. “Your bike’s broken, isn’t it.”

  He coughed. “I think a valve is sticking.”

  “Bring it to the shop,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll take a look at it. You can be my first customer.”

  “Gracias. You were very welcome to our town before, but now…” Rigo spread his hands. “Though you’ve picked a hell of a time to come.”

  Shane stepped up to stand next to Erin. If she didn’t know better, she would have considered the gesture a protective one. “There’s a lot of trucks at that station. What else did you find?”

  “It looks like the place was only recently abandoned. Or overtaken.” Rigo glanced back towards the truck stop. “Fewer drivers have passed this way in the last few months. When I came out here last month, they’d started to scale back what they offered so they could save money. The owner said they might have to close the truck stop because it didn’t make enough profit anymore. The Ferals had killed business.”

  “Do you think they had closed up shop?”

  “No. There was nothing to say so inside. And there were a couple receipts from a little more than a week ago.” Rigo looked to Holly.

  “I checked the books, and the gauges on the fuel storage. They received a fuel shipment two weeks ago, which was a couple days before the last receipts we found. By that measure, the fuel storage tanks should have had quite a bit of gas left.” Holly caught Shane’s gaze. “They were bone dry. As were all the tanks in the trucks.”