by D. M. Turner
“And if we can’t?”
“No negative thinking.” The man grinned. “Let’s think positive. We will get there before the next full moon.”
Chapter 7
Wednesday, February 6, 1952
Northwest shore of Upper Klamath Lake, Oregon
DAKOTA ended up being right. They reached his cabin during the week before the full moon’s rise. They’d hitched rides all the way from San Diego to Klamath Falls, mostly with truckers, then Dakota had carried Max the roughly ten miles to his cabin. The sun was out, but the air remained cool. Warmer than Korea’s frigid winter had been though, so he could deal with it.
Max sat on a downed tree, basking in the sun’s warmth, and studied the cabin. It wasn’t much to look at. In fact, he wasn’t sure it was safe to go inside. It might fall on their heads if the breeze gusted.
“It needs work. I know.”
Serious understatement. “I think it needs more than that, ace. You sure you shouldn’t burn it down and start over?”
Dakota chuckled. “No way, man. It has character. It just needs some TLC.”
“Sometimes death is the more humane choice.”
“Perhaps.” The man’s gaze pinned Max with steady regard. “But sometimes a little care can restore something that’s nearly hopeless to its former glory or even better.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “Why do I have the feeling we’re no longer talking about the cabin?”
A big grin spread across Dakota’s face. “I’m sure I don’t know. Will you be okay alone for a few minutes?”
He raised a brow. “Do you think I’ll wander off and get lost?” He waved a hand. “Go. Do whatever you need to. I’m just gonna sit here and enjoy the sun.” Not to mention the fresh air. No people. No car fumes. No noise.
Dakota had assured him he’d adjust to his heightened senses in time. “Well... most do,” the man had added almost as an afterthought, which had been less than reassuring.
Did that mean some werewolves never adapted to the more powerful senses of smell and hearing brought by the wolf? Not encouraging.
Max closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sun. His friend’s footsteps faded, followed by thumps and creaks from the floorboards of the old cabin. Hopefully none of the boards gave way. If Dakota got seriously injured or stuck in the floor in there, they were in trouble.
Searing pain broke through peace. He winced and opened his eyes. The doctor in San Diego had removed the bandage from the left hand before Max was discharged. Dakota had waited until they were on the trail to the cabin to remove the bandages from Max’s right hand and both legs, so the appearance of re-forming limbs didn’t frighten away potential rides.
Max stared at the partially re-formed fingers on his right hand and battled disgust. Though his left hand was intact and fully healed, the right hand was still missing three fingers. White bone and pulpy flesh formed in their place. Dakota had assured him they would eventually look normal. He could hardly wait.
Dakota tromped down the steps harder than necessary and headed toward the log. “Rather nasty, isn’t it?” He motioned to Max’s mangled hand.
He nodded.
“How does it feel?”
“When I was a kid, maybe seven or eight, I decided to stick my hand over a flame to find out if my mama was right and it would burn. This feels very much like that. The legs, too.”
Dakota frowned. “Is the pain constant?”
He shook his head. “It comes and goes. Sometimes it lingers longer than I think I can stand.” He wouldn’t have made that admission to anyone else.
His friend glanced up at the sky. “We have a couple of hours until dark. Why don’t I get you settled in the cabin and go hunting? You need red meat and lots of it. If I keep you well-fed, hopefully you’ll sleep through most of the regeneration and not have to deal with the pain so much. Sound good?”
Max nodded.
“Great. I’ve secured the room in the cabin where the fireplace is, so at least I won’t be leaving you where a bear or mountain lion can get to you.”
“Thanks. I don’t think I’d appreciate the irony of coming through the war, captivity, frostbite, rampant infection, and being Turned into a werewolf only to be eaten by a bear or big cat.”
Dakota chuckled. “Can’t say’s I’d blame you there.” Without preamble, he picked Max up and carried him into the cabin.
As humbling as it was to be totally at someone else’s mercy and reliant on their charity, Max was grateful for the fact Dakota never made a fuss. The man acted like helping his friend was just the way things were done. No issues.
Dakota had already spread a sleeping bag on the floor a few feet from the fireplace. He set Max on it and made sure the edge was in reach in case Max wanted to cover up with it.
“I’m really surprised you didn’t decide to go home and drag me along for the ride.” Max cocked his head. “Don’t you want to see your family?”
The man rubbed his bearded jaw. “I love my family, but I can’t live with them, especially my step-father.”
“You don’t like him?”
“Oh, I love the man, and I love how good Brady is for Mom.”
“But?”
“He’s a wolf, too. Pack alpha. We don’t always see eye-to-eye about how things should be done, and that caused conflicts. It’s best for all concerned if I keep to my own territory and stay out of his.” Dakota smiled. “I write to Mom now and then so she knows I’m alive and kicking, but otherwise keep my distance.”
Max nodded.
Humor faded. “All that said, if anything ever happens to me, you can go to them. Brady is a good man, and he’d accept you into his pack in a heartbeat.”
He frowned. “Don’t talk like that. Nothing will happen to you.”
“As wolves, we reach maturity and stop aging. We’re pretty much impervious to infection, and it generally takes some pretty serious injuries to kill one of us, but make no mistake about it, we can die just as readily as humans do. In fact, most of us don’t live as long as humans because of fights and serious injuries. We’re not invincible or immortal.” He laid a hand on Max’s shoulder. “If something happens to me, find my family. If there’s one positive to being a wolf, it’s that you never have to be alone unless you want to be. Okay?”
Unsure how else to respond, Max nodded. He bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that Dakota had apparently been a lone wolf since leaving Flagstaff. Wait.... “Is that why you Turned me? So you wouldn’t be alone anymore?”
Dakota’s brows rose then he smiled. “I’d be lying if I denied that, though it wasn’t the only reason. Truth be told, if some of other guys we knew in Korea had been in your position, I would’ve let them die. Not only would I have had doubts they could survive the Turning, there’s no way I would’ve wanted to put up with them for any length of time.” He grinned. “You, I liked. I couldn’t see letting a good man die when I might be able to save him.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Yeah, well.” Dakota sighed and stood. “Tell me that after a few years and a number of fights with other wolves.” He pivoted on his heel and marched out, securing the door in his wake.
Fights with other wolves? Had Dakota mentioned that before?
Chapter 8
Thursday, February 7, 1952
“DO you think you’d be okay here by yourself for a few hours?” Dakota leaned a shoulder against the doorframe.
Max frowned. “I guess so.” He motioned to the fireplace. “You’ve brought wood for the fire, and there’s still plenty of venison in the pot. Why?”
“I need to go into Klamath Falls for supplies.”
“Like what?”
“A big stock pot, for one.”
He cocked his head. “What do you need that for?”
“To make bone broth. Once you’ve gone through the first Shift, you’ll be able to eat raw bones. Until then, I’m not sure your digestive tract could handle it, but you need the minerals to proper
ly rebuild the bones in your hand and legs. Without it, bones will develop, but they’ll be weak and prone to break.”
Max grimaced. Sounded painful. Like he needed more of that.
“Yeah. Let’s see if we can avoid that.” Dakota pushed away from the door jamb. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay.”
“In the meantime, you keep eating and resting.”
“Will do.” In very small increments. He had one good, strong hand. Not as effective as two good hands and two strong legs, but at least he had a chance of defending himself if someone or something with bad intentions came upon him while he was alone. That slim chance would be removed if he was unconscious.
Chapter 9
Saturday, February 9, 1952
UNEASINESS seeped into Max’s bones and crept along under his skin as the day wore on, intensifying the pain in his still regenerating feet. The right one, which had been cut off at the ankle, had improved a great deal, though new tissue still formed that would become the ball of his foot and his toes. The left, not as good, but not surprising, given that leg had been shortened by a few more inches than the other.
His right hand had fully regenerated. He stared at those fingers, amazed at how fully they’d returned. Totally normal without so much as a mark on them, including the scar he’d gotten across his palm playing big-man with a hunting knife when he was eleven.
“That crawling feeling under your skin?”
He blinked at Dakota then nodded. How had the man known?
“The full moon will rise at full strength tomorrow night, but we’ll both feel it to a lesser extent when it rises tonight nearly full. The wolf gets anxious for freedom as a full moon approaches.” Dakota sat next to him. “There are a couple of things you need to know before tomorrow’s moon.”
Max waited.
“One, the first Shift is horrible. I won’t kid you. It hurts like nothing you can imagine, and I’ve been told it hurts even more for Turned humans than it does for us wolf-borns.”
Oh, joy. More pain. He sighed softly.
“Second, the fact you’re already injured and healing may make the pain of the Shift even worse than normal.”
The good news just kept coming.
“Even for wolves not undergoing the first Shift, injuries tend to make the change from one form to another more painful. I’d hoped you’d be fully regenerated by now, but travel and the fact we had to delay full-strength healing until we got away from doctors and hospitals worked against us. I’m sorry for that.”
“It was unavoidable.”
“Yeah, well, so is the pain that’s coming, I’m afraid.” Dakota rose to his knees and reached for the big stock pot sitting at the edge of the fireplace. “You better eat good tonight. The more tissue you regenerate before moon’s rise tomorrow, the better off you’ll be.”
Chapter 10
Sunday, February 10, 1952
BACK in a cold, damp, pitch-black hole. Again. Dakota’s rescue, the wolf, the flights and hospitals, all a fever-induced dream. Max whimpered. How could it all have been a dream? It had been so real. So vivid. Lord, it’s not fair.
Bright light blinded him. Dakota? He raised a blackened hand that reeked of gangrene to shield his eyes, only to catch a boot hard in the ribs. Air rushed out of him and refused to return as agony shot across his ribcage and through his lungs like lightning, searing every nerve ending along the way. He gasped for breath, but none wanted to come.
“Where are your companions?”
He couldn’t have answered even if he’d wanted to, but pursed his lips to let the man know he had no intention of saying a single word. He’d already provided his name, rank, and serial number. Multiple times. There was nothing more to say.
Another kick intensified the pain and threatened to steal consciousness from him. If he didn’t catch a breath soon, he’d black out. Not an altogether bad thing.
Without warning, the lightning spread to every nerve ending in his body.
Max yelled out, though it emerged weak and breathless. What had the enemy done to send such agony through every inch of bone, muscle, and skin?
“Max, wake up! You’re having a nightmare.” A hand touched his shoulder, but that only sent new fire along already sensitized nerves.
He pushed the hand away and opened his eyes.
Dakota leaned over him and reached for him again. At the last second, his hand stilled. “It was a nightmare, Max. That’s all.”
Nightmare? It had been so real....
His friend looked into his eyes then gritted his teeth and lowered his head. Eyes closed, he continued to kneel on the floor within reach but not touching. Praying?
Max ground teeth that felt like they were being ripped from a skull that cracked and crackled. He cried out and writhed in the sleeping bag on the wood floor. So much pain.
You’ve been through pain before, marine. Lots of it. You can deal with this. The last two months have proven it.
Experience had taught him something about serious pain. Don’t fight it. Relax into it. Breathe through it. Fighting only made it worse.
Every muscle in his body wrenched and contracted. Bones stressed until he thought every one of them would break. Knives pierced every organ. Wave after wave of agony swept through him.
Finally, when he thought he could take no more, the tide receded until the last wave swept out, leaving behind only dull aches. Max lay flat on the floor and panted in the wake of it all.
Dakota whistled softly and flung Max’s sleeping bag cover aside. “Um... I didn’t expect this.”
Max rolled his eyes to look at his friend, only to realize something obscured his view from one eye. He lifted his head to figure out what it was. What— Wait a minute. He was lying flat as he’d thought, but on his side instead of his back. When he’d lifted his head, it had moved toward the shoulder facing the ceiling. He couldn’t recall ever being able to move like that before.
“Take it easy. The first time can be disorienting.”
First time for what? He opened his mouth to ask. Only a whimpering whine emerged. He snapped his mouth closed and stared at his friend.
Dakota chuckled and carefully maneuvered Max’s clothes off. “You’re a wolf, my friend. Furry, four-legged, bushy tail, big teeth, the works.”
Max swiveled his head to look at what he could see of his body. Sure enough. Paws and fur. Both rear legs were incomplete, which caused him to shudder. Somehow that looked even more wrong than when he’d been human and missing parts of both legs. Then he realized what obscured his vision when he looked to one side or the other. His nose. It was longer. He reached for it with a hand—paw. Longer for sure. A wolf’s muzzle.
What in the world had happened? Had the full moon risen already? Had he slept through the entirety of Saturday night and the daylight hours on Sunday? He glanced at the window.
Darkness peered back through thin glass panes.
He cast Dakota a questioning glance, hoping the man understood the wordless question.
“Uh... did I ever mention that extreme emotion can trigger the Shift?”
No. Somehow he’d neglected that. Max shook his head. At least, he thought he did.
“Sorry. I don’t know how I forgot to tell you about that.” Grimacing sheepishly, Dakota sat back on his heels and studied Max. “The nightmare, was it about your captivity?”
He bobbed his muzzle up and down.
“You got upset enough to cause the Shift to occur without the moon.”
Was that good or bad?
Dakota smiled. “Well, you won’t have to worry about the moonrise tonight anyway. At least, not if you stay in wolf form until the full moon passes.”
Tonight? So... it was either still Saturday night or early Sunday morning.
His stomach growled.
“Can you roll onto your stomach?”
Max cocked his head.
“Pull your hind feet under you and roll upright, like a Sphinx.”
&nbs
p; Oh. He maneuvered his hind legs awkwardly and eventually managed to get upright. His still-healing feet protested pressure on them but soon let him breathe again.
“Well done.” Dakota beamed with pride, like Max had taken out an entire unit of Communist soldiers single-handed.
He sent his friend an amused look.
“Hey, after the first Shift, everything you manage without wallowing around like a beached whale is a noteworthy milestone.”
Well, when he put it that way....
“Time to eat.” Dakota went into an adjacent room and returned with a whole rabbit. Since he’d sealed the room they were using as best he could to hold the heat of the fireplace, the next room was downright chilly. Perfect meat storage. He dropped the carcass on the floor under Max’s nose. Hair, head, ears, and all.
Max glanced up at him. He had to be joking.
“Trust me. The wolf knows what to do with it. Just don’t fight your instincts.”
How did a person even go about eating something like that?
“Hang on a sec.” Dakota retreated to the next room, returned with another rabbit, dropped it on the floor, and shed his clothes. In seconds, he’d Shifted into wolf form then proceeded to eat the second rabbit, stopping from time to time as though to make sure Max was watching.
Max’s stomach growled insistently. Swallowing disgust, he followed Dakota’s example, trying to ignore the rich taste of blood and the pop and crunch of bones. The rabbit disappeared in short order. He stilled, expecting it to come back up. Nothing happened.
Whole prey. The predator inside sighed with contentment.
Max wasn’t sure how he felt about the rumbling voice rolling through his head. Not much to do but accept or ignore it. Ignore it.
Dakota nuzzled the side of Max’s neck, almost pushing him over. When Max only stared blankly at him, he repeated the motion with more force.
Does he want me to lie down? Max shifted his weight, sprawled on his side, and watched and waited.
Dakota curled up against his back and laid his head on Max’s shoulder, heaving a deep sigh and closing his eyes. One eye slit open and met Max’s gaze.