by Sarah Noffke
Hunter’s mom had parked too close to the neighboring car. She’d never known how to drive, especially when drunk, which she was now. The woman usually woke up drunk and made it to the liquor store before her buzz wore off. Then she’d be cuddled up with a glass of whiskey and her “shows” by late afternoon.
She pulled down her shorts as she got out of the car, tugging them out of her crotch. Never the picture of class, his mother made all the trailer park trash that lived around her look like royalty. Usually she stood on the porch, waving at the young boys in the neighborhood when they skated by, winking at them as she tugged on a drag of her menthols. She thought the cigarettes made her taste good. That’s often what she said to them, Hunter remembered. “Come get a taste of my mint,” she’d say to the neighborhood boys.
Hunter growled, leaning forward when his mom disappeared into the liquor store. How he longed to make her suffer. Of all the women who had wronged him, she’d been the worst. His own mom. But now she would be punished for it. He could taste the vengeance in his mouth. It would be the best feast yet. However, he wanted her to really suffer, which meant she couldn’t be drunk. He’d have to catch her tomorrow around this time, when the liquor had mostly worn off. Hunter had planned it all out and was going to enjoy tearing into her flesh in the old neighborhood where everyone could watch. He was certain that the neighbors who often congregated on their porches would enjoy watching his mom suffer. She’d been a curse to everyone in close proximity to her for so long.
A minute later, the scraggly drunk of a woman exited the liquor store, a brown bag in tow.
“Tomorrow, Mom,” Hunter said, as the claws drew into place and his fangs sank down. Because he’d embraced the wolf, become one with it, he could now change at will. Hunter was no longer a man with a wolf inside of him. He was a true werewolf.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“There is no better way to know us / Than as two wolves, come separately to a wood.”
- Ted Hughes
“Hey, hold that, would you?” Connor said just as the doors of the elevator began to close.
Adelaide tapped the button to close the doors, popping her head into the small space. “Nope,” she said, watching Connor sprint down the hallway, too far off to make the elevator in time.
She pressed her eyes shut, wondering why she had to be such an asshole. Was it in fact in her blood? Her father was the biggest jerk anyone ever knew. Maybe she didn’t have a choice. That’s how it felt most days. But just that morning Lucien had toddled over to her, extending his hands, like he wanted Adelaide to pick him up. She hesitated, thinking that she might, just that once, give him what he wanted. It had been nice when he stopped running from her. And now he was asking for her. Still, it wasn’t something available to Adelaide and so she shook her head and finished her breakfast. Pops had pursed his lips with disappointment, but didn’t say anything because he was good like that. He then bent down and scooped the boy up, not at all straining at the feat that would be tough for most ninety-year-olds. Dream Travelers didn’t age like Middlings though.
The doors to the elevator bounced open on the fifth level and Adelaide stepped out, catching two bodies in her peripheral. She turned just as Zephyr pushed away from Rox, walking in her direction, appearing startled. His hair was messed up on top, pushed to the side. “I was just looking for you,” he said, running his hand over the side of his jaw.
“Well, I can’t be found down Rox’s throat, so I’m thinking you need better looking skills,” Adelaide said and pointed at his shirt. “Why don’t you button up while I fire Rox.”
The other girl stepped forward, whirling her hips a bit as she did. “What are you talking about? I was just fixing Z’s hair,” she said innocently.
“Go back to beauty school, Lip Gloss,” she said. “I believe you’ve been warned that we have a zero tolerance policy about you mixing your hooking business with the Institute. I don’t have time for this bloody shit, you fuckers. Stay off each other before you compromise this case. I swear to fucking God, if you two don’t stay away from each other then I’m going to have you both lobotomized.” Adelaide’s anger flared from a hidden closet inside of her. She wasn’t even sure what had spurred it. Yes, the two fuck-faces in front of her shouldn’t be making out, but there wasn’t really anything she could do about it. Actually, Trey Underwood, the Head Official for the Lucidites, promoted relationships at the Institute, since most of the residents didn’t get out often enough to meet other people. Still, she wasn’t going to allow it. This was her bloody case and she needed everyone focused. Especially right then.
“We’re sorry. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again,” Zephyr said, his voice firm. “My focus is thoroughly on the weres.”
At Adelaide’s back the elevator opened again and Connor stepped out, a narrowed look on his face. “Any particular reason that you couldn’t hold the doors for me?” he said to Adelaide.
“Yeah, a big fucking reason. I don’t like being in elevators with you. Call me nuts, but the last time I did, you tried to eat me,” she said.
He rolled his eyes, with his lips pursed. “Oh, that. Would you get over the past already? You attack a girl as a werewolf one time and she won’t let it go,” he said, hiding a smile.
Adelaide mirrored his gesture, her eyes nearly knocking in to the back of her skull when she rolled them. “Anyway, we have a report on Hunter Smith. He’s going to attack his mum tomorrow morning in a trailer park in Los Angeles,” she said to Zephyr.
“Wow, what a sicko,” Rox said, still bouncing her hip, like being still would kill her.
“Yeah, and he does it in werewolf form,” Adelaide said, grateful that Roya’s report had been as thorough as it was.
“How can he do that? We’re not set to change for a few more days,” Zephyr said.
“It appears he can turn it on and off. Or maybe he can just turn it on,” Adelaide said, a new idea occurring to her suddenly.
“Well, that makes apprehending him more difficult,” Zephyr said, a heaviness etching into his gray eyes.
“Assemble your team, create a plan, and please consider that merely apprehending Hunter isn’t possible,” Adelaide said. “This dog might need to be put down.”
Zephyr jerked his chin in Adelaide’s direction. “Kill him? I don’t know if we need to do that. He’s one of the pack.”
What Zephyr wasn’t saying was he wasn’t sure if he could do that. Adelaide had seen how Zephyr had changed when the pack grew and she’d seen the scars that seemed to form on him when ones had died. Zephyr held a connection to the pack, but even still, sometimes we have to saw off our arm to prevent infection. “Zeppy, he’s gone rabid. Hunter isn’t a part of the pack anymore. He’s rogue and you need to consider that he can’t be helped,” Adelaide said, turning and heading in the direction of Aiden’s lab. She now knew how the reversal conversion needed to happen.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Wolves fail to hide their integrity just like the way men fail to hide their own animality.”
- Munia Khan
Drake slid a report onto Mika’s desk. “Isha has reported where we can find Hunter Smith in the future,” he said.
Mika raised his eyes up from the paperwork he’d been signing. Gently he laid down the ballpoint pen and flicked his gaze to the report, which only included a location. “When? I need to know when will he be here,” he said, pointing to the location.
“That we do not know,” Drake said. Now looking at him, Mika spied a deep crease in his forehead, a tightness to his mouth.
“What happened?” Mika said.
“Isha reported the location where Hunter could be found but before she could give us any further details she had an aneurysm. The girl is dead,” he said.
“Damn it,” Mika said with a hiss. Olento Research had sunk a lot of resources into that subject and she’d proven dependable. He’d finally gotten one of his werewolves back due to her report. “Okay, enlist a new subject and get the
m started with Project Nakija. I’m going to need more reports of the future after this. There’s still three werewolves out there, after we abduct Hunter.”
“Sir, may I suggest we not take such an aggressive approach with the next Project Nakija subject. I do believe that the aneurysm was caused by the heavy level of drugs,” Drake said.
Mika telekinetically pulled the ballpoint pen into his hand, between his fingers. Thinking, he tapped it on the papers in front of him. Usually he’d cut Drake off for offering unsolicited advice. However, he relied on Drake for his expertise and maybe needed to listen to it this time. Losing another subject would be costly. “Yes, that’s fine, but bring in several subjects. I want to have as many visions of the future as we can going forward. Time is running out to catch these werewolves,” he said and then rose from his desk, marching around it and heading for the door. “How is your work with Project Vampyyri coming along?”
“It’s slow. The samples I’ve taken from the alien haven’t been receptive to my testing,” Drake said.
“Yes, I figured this would be one of the more difficult projects. Still, if we can accomplish this then we will have reached the biggest goal Olento Research has ever experienced,” Mika said, rounding into the lab room lined with cells. Haiku came to attention at once, having spied Mika approaching from the corner of his vision.
He saluted and then stepped to the side, where Malcolm could be seen holding plank in his cell.
“How is his training?” Mika asked, watching as Malcolm shook slightly from the exercise of holding himself up on his forearms.
“It’s been remarkably successful,” Haiku said, holding out a presenting arm at the man sweating in the middle of the cell. “As you can see, he’s not at risk of escaping and has been extremely compliant to all my demands.”
Mika pulled up the corner of one side of his mouth. “Yes, I see that. Conditioning and behavior modification are powerful tools.”
“You’re right and this approach was brilliant,” Haiku said, an astonished look on his face. Yes, often employees were amazed at how incredibly intelligent Mika was.
“I’m sending you and Malcolm on a mission. You’ll need to take him there and stake it out. Hunter Smith will be there at some point in the future, but we don’t know when,” Mika said, handing over the piece of paper.
Haiku looked it over with a nod. “I’ll have my men stationed around the trailer park. We will do everything we can to return with Hunter.”
“I do realize that Hunter is one of the more dangerous werewolves, but under no circumstances should he be harmed. Ensure that Malcolm is aware of this. He needs to use force, but nothing deadly,” Mika said.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“All stories are about wolves. All worth repeating, that is. Anything else is sentimental drivel.”
- Margaret Atwood
Bonnie loved to play with her new camera. It wasn’t really new. The camera was just a function on the old phone her mother had given her when she got a new one. The phone didn’t call or message, but it took photos and that was pretty neat still. The eleven-year-old scrolled through the photos as the breeze blew through her hair on the back patio of her trailer. She was supposed to be at school, but she’d missed the bus and her mom’s car hadn’t run in a while. Maybe she should have gotten it fixed instead of upgrading her phone. Didn’t really matter to Bonnie. She got to stay home and pretend to be a photographer for the day.
Seeing the goings-on of the neighborhood when she was usually at school was a real treat. Not much happened. People came. People went. And there was no one around to control the radio station. She reached over and turned up the little boom box. It was older than her, according to her mother, but it got good enough reception. Her new favorite song came to a close and the news followed it. News was so boring, the girl often thought. However, lately there was talk of werewolves. They couldn’t really be real, her mother had told her. Still, there was that lady on the television who was always red-faced and talking about how the devil had made these monsters and they were going to attack society. And then there had been those murders all over Los Angeles. The police called the killer the rabid wolf.
Bonnie shivered at the idea of a werewolf. A half man and half wolf. That didn’t seem possible, but it would be way cool if they existed. And it would be ultra-scary.
Hunter caught his reflection in the window of the SUV. He resembled the wolf when not even changed with his pointy ears and long nose. He combed his hand over the stubble on his boxy jaw and smiled at himself. “Showtime,” he said, and gradually his features shifted, his ears drawing up higher on his head and the scruff on his chin overshadowed by the black fur that grew. He fisted his hands in front of his chest, enjoying the pain when his claws drew into place and pierced into the palms of his hands. Adrenaline spiked when he looked back at his reflection to see the werewolf in all its glory.
Over the hood of the SUV he spied the telltale signs that his mother was awake. She’d opened the blinds, one window at a time. Usually the whore walked around with little to nothing on, hoping she’d entice the neighborhood boys to visit her. Sometimes they had when he was younger. It wasn’t something that a boy should have to listen to from the other room. But soon her cries for help would pay the penance for her misdeeds.
The sun overhead made Hunter’s eyes squint. He’d never attacked someone during the day, and never in such a public place. But now, if he got caught, he didn’t care. Actually, prison was probably the right place for him. It was the only place he ever had any consistency. He didn’t have to worry when in prison. Everything was done for him.
Hunter prowled around to the corner of the house. Soon his mother would exit, smelling of stale whiskey and cigarette smoke. And he’d be ready. Hopefully she gave him a chase. It would be more fun that way, more frightening for her.
“That’s the house,” Zephyr said, pointing at the oxidized trailer with peeling paint.
“And that’s got to be Hunter,” Rio said, as a man exited an SUV parked in front of the trailer. Zephyr had thought it would be Hunter since the shiny brand new SUV stuck out in the rusty rundown neighborhood.
“Could it be Malcolm?” Connor said. “I expect this will be a formal reunion.”
“I suspect you’re right. But no, that’s Hunter. I can feel the hostility in him,” Zephyr said.
“And Malcolm is African American,” Rio supplied.
“Whoa,” Connor said, when Hunter shifted from man to werewolf.
“He’s not even trying to hide like before,” Zephyr said, scanning the neighborhood. No one was out except a little girl sitting on a patio across the street, but she was busy on her phone. “Rox, I want you to go in and get the victim. Guys, you’re with me. Let’s intervene.”
Haiku pulled the new van up to the corner and threw it into park. “The house is down that street. Stake out in front of it and wait for Hunter to show up,” he said, pointing to Malcolm in the passenger seat. “As soon as he does, cut him off and knock him out. When I get your signal over the wire then I’ll pull up and take over. Clear?”
Malcolm nodded his head, his eyes staring blankly out the windshield. “Yes, master.”
“Follow the plan. Don’t stray,” Haiku said, tapping his finger to the radio in his ear. “I’ll be listening in case you need backup.”
The vehicle’s door slamming shut grabbed Hunter’s attention at once. He jerked his eyes to the three men and woman approaching from across the street. The woman was wearing too much makeup and looked like the tramp that she no doubt was. He ran his eyes over the men and knew at once who they were and why they were there. They’d wasted their time and they were going to pay.
Hunter, with his heightened hearing, heard keys clang inside the trailer. His mother was leaving. “Damn it,” he growled as the first man stopped a few yards away.
“Don’t do this,” Zephyr said, his chest high and his voice commanding. “We can help you. Help you to stop.”
Hunter rocked back and then forward until he was perched on his hands. It was how the wolf felt more comfortable. It was how he could spring into action. He bared his teeth and growled fiercely at the pack.
Before he could launch himself forward, a screen door on the porch creaked when it opened. Distracted by tucking a tight tank top into a miniskirt, the woman exiting didn’t notice the people in her front yard.
The werewolf pulled his head toward his mom and then back at the pack. His almost black eyes glowed before he sprung in the opposite direction, racing for the woman on the porch. No matter what, he had to do what he came here for.
“No!” Zephyr said, holding up his hand and blasting a gale force wind at the werewolf, knocking him off his path and straight into the side of the trailer.
The woman jerked her head up, shielding her face from the residual wind. Her eyes enlarged with horror at the sight of the werewolf pinned to the trailer. A hoarse scream soared from her mouth. However, Hunter was strong and pushed past the strength of the wind seeking to keep him pinned. His claws pierced the trailer, stabilizing him, and then he pushed forward. Zephyr was using most of his strength to create the strongest wind he’d ever conjured. It made Hunter look like he was being blasted by the exhaust of a 747. Still, he was making progress toward the woman, who was frozen, staring at the beast inching his way to her.
“We have company,” Connor said at Zephyr’s back. “Malcolm is approaching.”
“Take care of him, Rio, but don’t hurt him,” Zephyr said just as his power diminished significantly, granting Hunter the relief he needed to leap forward. It was time for step two of the plan.
The werewolf launched himself at the woman, knocking her to the porch floor, his claws sinking into her shoulders. Knowing that his fur was sharp, Zephyr motioned to Rox to take over.