by Kody Boye
“I sighed,” he says, “because the safe grounds in Louisiana lay beyond the Sabine Lake.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, in theory. The problem is: they’d have to cross near Port Arthur, which is directly near Beaumont.”
“Which is a city,” Zachariah says.
“Exactly,” Bernard replies, and stands. He sways—a bit uneasily at that—but manages to maintain his posture before saying, “I… could probably figure out how to get us there. I have a friend—“
“An ex,” Zachariah corrects.
“Yeah—an ex—that lives in the area.”
“Is he a wolf too?” I frown.
Bernard nods. “Yeah. Well. Was.”
“Was?”
“He fancies himself as a ‘convert’ of sorts. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t give into temptation. Justin is… a bit of a drunk, which is why I didn’t bring him around Jackson that much when we were dating. He moved back home after we broke up.”
“Jackson was just a kid,” I say.
“Well, a teenager. I don’t really speak with him that often.”
“But you’re still on good terms,” I offer.
Zachariah snorts. “Yeah. I’d say they are.”
Bernard blushes and shakes his head.
I, in response, lift my eyes to look at the two of them. Realization dawns soon after, and I say, “Oh…”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Zachariah says, “especially when you were in love for years.”
“We had an amicable breakup,” Bernard replies. “I’ve… seen him… occasionally.”
“Alecia would’ve killed you for seeing that man.”
“She would’ve,” Bernard says, and closes his eyes.
The sound of footsteps reverberates down the hall. A moment later, Jackson emerges, and says, “I… heard you guys talking.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You did.”
“You’re going to ask Uncle Justin for help?” he continues.
Uncle? I then think, and glance Bernard’s way.
They must’ve been close, especially if Jackson considered him an uncle.
“Yeah,” Bernard says, and swallows a lump in his throat. “I’m gonna call Justin and see if he can help us.”
“You think he will?” Jackson asks.
“I… I think so,” Bernard replies, though something tells me that he isn’t one-hundred-percent positive.
A sigh escapes me as Bernard draws his phone from his pocket and makes his way out the door.
Though a part of me wants to believe that we’ll be able to lead the wolves away from Red Wolf and around the Sabine Lake that Bernard had spoken of, another wonders if Celestina and Alabaster’s pack will be willing to do it.
You can’t know until you try, a part of me says.
With that in mind, I turn and say, “Follow me” to Jackson.
“Where are we going?” Jackson replies.
“Your room,” I reply. “No point in standing here and waiting in anticipation.”
Jackson’s only response is to nod.
We wait for what feels like hours for Bernard to get off the phone, and to reappear to tell us whether or not his ex-boyfriend will agree to help us. Physically exhausted, and emotionally spent, Jackson and I lazily bat a ball back and forth between us so Belle has something to do.
“You think he’s gonna help?” Jackson asks.
I catch the ball and bat it back to him with a flick of my wrist. “I don’t see why he wouldn’t,” I reply.
“Drunks aren’t very reliable people.”
“Are we even sure he is a drunk?”
“Dad always had to hide the liquor when Bernard brought Justin over. He said it was a chronic problem and that it was an addiction issue.” Jackson pauses, then, and adds: “Maybe he’s gotten over it.”
“Maybe,” I offer.
“Or maybe he hasn’t and we’re just blindly shooting in the dark.”
“You really think that?” I ask.
“I don’t know. All I know is that this day’s gone to hell pretty quickly. I just want it to be over.”
But it isn’t, I think.
And it won’t be, either—not until Bernard comes back in and lets us know whether or not his ex-boyfriend can help us.
A sigh escapes me—low and hard on this cold and rainy day—and causes me to reconsider everything I could’ve done in light of all of this.
It seems like it’s been years since I’ve been normal. Since I had two parents. Since I spoke with my best friend. But in all, it’s only been a few days.
To think, a part of me offers, that you could lose everything so quickly.
Not everything, I then add. I still have J’vonte. And Jackson. And—
My wolf, I think, and frown.
In thinking about it, my willingness to invite a Wolf into my body had been what had caused this whole mess.
The deaths of four people, the hospitalization of another—
The trek into the woods—
Grandma Meadows’ attempt to reason with them—
I shiver, then, and find myself reaching up to wrap my arms around myself.
“What’re you thinking about?” Jackson asks.
“How all of this could have been avoided if I’d just let the legal system do its thing.”
“You don’t know if it would have done its thing,” Jackson offers.
“I know, but…”
“But… what?”
I lift my eyes to face him. “It’s my fault that your grandma is gone.”
Jackson doesn’t say anything. Instead, he lowers his eyes, sighs, and says, “Things happen.”
Yeah, I think. Things happen.
And worst of all: they’re spiraling out of control.
In the moments that follow, I can’t help but wonder:
Will things ever go back to normal?
I guess only time will tell.
It takes a long time for Bernard to come back into the house.
By the time he does, we are all brewing with anticipation.
“So,” Zachariah says, lifting his eyes from where he stands at the kitchen island. “What did he say?”
Bernard stamps the water off his boots and closes the door behind him with a little extra push. He then trails his eyes from his brother-in-low, to his nephew, then to me before saying, “He’s agreed to help.”
We all sigh.
“Thank God,” I say.
“I don’t know how reliable he’ll be, all things considering, but… he’s the only shot we’ve got at this right now.”
“So what do we do now?” Jackson asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Does he come here? Do we go there? Or…”
“I need to go there,” he says, “and see if he knows of an easy path through the area.”
“Take the kids with you,” Zachariah says.
Bernard lifts his eyes. “I’m… not sure that’s such a great idea.”
“Jackson’s not a little kid anymore, Bernard. And besides—“ Zachariah angles his cane and grimaces as he steps forward. “It’s better they know the way through. In case something happens.”
In case something happens, I think, and, sadly, nod.
“What about you?” Bernard asks. “Beaumont is an hour-and-a-half drive from here. It’s not like we can come back in a snap if something happens.”
“I’ll stay here and monitor the situation on my own,” Zachariah replies. “I can drive the RV if needed. Right?”
“Of course.”
“Dad,” Jackson says.
“I can drive, Jackson. Just because I have some limitations doesn’t mean I’m incapable.”
“I know, but, still…” Jackson frowns and turns his attention back to Bernard. “Maybe you and Oaklynn should be the ones to go.”
“I don’t trust you to drive the RV,” Zachariah says.
“It’s a bit cumbersome,” Bernard offers.
“And besides—if s
omething does happen, it’s better the two of you are there to know the path. I’m not exactly a spring chicken anymore, you know?”
“I know, but...”
I set a hand on Jackson’s arm.
Jackson sighs, but nods and says, “Okay.”
“So… we’re going to Beaumont?” I ask.
“Just outside of it,” Bernard replies. “To a place called Port Arthur. It’s right alongside the Sabine Lake.”
With a nod, I turn my head to face Zachariah, and ask, “When do we leave?”
“As soon as we rent the car,” Jackson’s father replies.
Chapter Nineteen
The modern vehicle is both spacious and luxurious. With GPS built into the dashboard, and heat streaming in from all sides—including the seats—it offers the essentials necessary to keep me relatively comfortable, especially considering that I am a bundle of nerves.
Everything’ll work out, I think as I stretch my legs out along the backseat. It has to.
Unfortunately, I know, nothing is set in stone, or aligned in the stars, or even the grand cosmos itself. For all I know, everything could not be fine. Everything could not work out okay. And because of that, I can’t help but tremble.
Lying here, on this backseat, listening intently to the falling rain as Bernard drives us to Beaumont, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve just created an impossible situation for us.
It isn’t impossible for us, I muse. It’s impossible for them.
Them—the red wolves of East Texas: who, having hidden for nearly thirty years, have existed on the fringes of society, all by the guidance of wolves who were once human. To nature they’d gone, leaving the mortal world behind, and through it all, they’d led the species to their salvation. The only question is: will they continue to remain?
“They won’t be Texas wolves for long,” I mumble.
“You say something?” Bernard asks.
“No,” I lie. “I didn’t.”
The man doesn’t respond.
Jackson—who is seated beside him—cranes his head back to look at me and asks, “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I reply, lifting my eyes from my phone.
“Have you heard from J’vonte?”
“No. I haven’t.”
I’m not even sure what I’d say, to be perfectly honest. Perhaps she’s simply giving me the space necessary to recover from my parents’ deaths, or perhaps she thinks that there’s something going on between me and Jackson.
But is there? I wonder. Is there really?
The way he looks at me; the way I feel indebted to him; the way he smiles my way; the way I laugh at his expense—it could be said that something is budding: a flower, in its infancy, struggling to grow in the middle of a barren wasteland, within which there is a field of suffering. It seems ironic to think that something could happen between us, especially now that his grandmother is gone, but didn’t they say that love can grow from tragedy?
Love, I think.
What a fickle thing to think, all things considering.
Sighing, I slide my phone back into my pocket and reach up to rub my face.
“You can go to sleep,” Jackson offers as he turns his head to look at me once more.
“I don’t feel like it,” I reply.
“Why?”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Again: why?”
“What if I miss something?”
“You won’t miss anything, Oaklynn. Besides—“ Jackson turns his head to look out the windshield. “It’s not like there’s much to see. I also know that you haven’t been sleeping well.”
“I haven’t,” I reply. “Not… really, at least.”
“So go to sleep.”
“We’ll wake you up if something important comes up,” Bernard adds. “Don’t worry. I promise.”
“All right,” I say. “Thank you.”
Though a part of me wants to remain awake, if only because I feel like I need to, another part knows that I should at least try to rest.
If we are to make a great trek within the coming days—leading not only the wolves to safety, but our souls to salvation—then I should at least rest as much as I came in the meantime.
With that in mind, I close my eyes.
I don’t know when I fall asleep. All I know is that, come time I awaken, the car has stopped moving, and the rain is continuing to fall.
“Jackson?” I ask, cracking my eyes open to slits. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” my friend says.
“What’s going on? Why have we stopped?”
“Bernard went in first to make sure that Justin was awake.”
“Oh,” I say, and push myself upright. I grimace as I slide my hand through my hair and ask, “How long have we been here?”
“About ten minutes.”
“You think everything’s going okay in there?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Jackson leans his head around the seat to regard me and says, “I’m just glad you slept.”
“I feel like I’ve been hit by an emotional dump truck.”
“That bad, huh?”
I nod as I push myself into a sitting position and unclip my seatbelt so I can slide into the center of the backseat. I peer forward to look out the front of the vehicle, consider the sight before me, then ask, “He lives in a trailer park?”
“Justin’s smart as hell,” Jackson offers, “but he’s never been able to manage the alcohol thing very well.”
“Oh.”
“It looks like Bernard’s coming out,” Jackson then says, and I lean forward to watch as the door the trailer in front of us opens. Bernard steps out shortly thereafter, then turns his head to look in at whoever he was speaking at before returning his gaze to us.
Jackson lifts a hand to wave.
His uncle offers a small smile before gesturing us forward.
“Well,” Jackson says, “guess that’s our queue.”
I slide out of the backseat and into the bitter rain, then advance up the short drive before mounting the stairs behind Jackson, who briefly turns his head to acknowledge his uncle with an are you cool? type of look. Bernard merely sets a hand on his shoulder before gesturing him in.
Inside, I spin about to find that the place is pretty well decorated. Warm, even though I imagine the place has no central heating, and cozy, with multiple couches arranged in the living area portion, the mishmash of colors makes it look like it was pulled straight out of the eighties or nineties.
“He’s decorated nicely,” Jackson offers.
“I heard that,” a voice says.
The two of us turn.
A tall, slim, and long-limbed Asian man steps out from a dark hall at the end of the trailer. His jet-black hair and sharp cheekbones give him a modelesque look, which is surprising considering that I’ve repeatedly been told he’s a heavy drinker.
What did you expect? A part of me asks. Someone heavier? Someone… not as well put together?
I honestly don’t know, and that’s what troubles me.
As the man steps forward, he centers his gaze on Jackson and offers him a small smile before saying, “Hey, bud.”
“Hey,” Jackson replies.
“You sure grew up, didn’t you?”
“I guess,” Jackson offers a short moment later.
The Asian man—who I can now confirm as none other than Justin—lifts a hand to brush a palm along his stubbly chin and says, “This your girlfriend?”
“No!” we both say at once.
Justin smiles and says, “It’s cool. I don’t mind.”
I blush.
Justin presses a hand to his temple.
Bernard closes the door behind us and says, “Justin, this is Oaklynn. The girl I told you about.”
“Nice to meet you,” the man replies. “My name’s Justin Nguyen.”
“You said you could help us?” I ask.
“I believe I can,” the man replies. He leans down behind a
set of kitchen counters to tinker with something before saying, “Sorry. Just messing with this heater.”
“I didn’t know you lived at the city apartments,” Bernard offers after a moment of consideration.
“You do what you gotta do,” Justin replies.
I glance Bernard’s way—and though I can tell he’s trying to hide it, the sadness in his eyes is evident, radiating through them like someone who’s lost someone who hasn’t truly died. I glance Justin’s way as he lifts his eyes to watch me, then glance around to deter him from thinking I know more than he believes. “You have a nice place,” I say.
“It’s home,” Justin offers, then gestures to the living room. “Sit. I ordered sandwiches for us.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Bernard says.
“It’s just fast food. Nothing amazing.”
“Still…”
I glance Jackson’s way. The young man returns my look with a slight shrug before turning and settling himself on one of the plush orange couches.
While Justin brings out and arranges the simple deli sandwiches before us, Bernard stands near the doorway—where, with eyes lost and lips pursed into a frown, he considers the outside world. It isn’t hard to tell that he is still processing what happened to his mother; and, as a result, is likely trying to figure out what it is he will say to Justin when the question arises.
Regardless, I know there is little I can offer in terms of comfort. With my own conscience battered and bruised, ripped and torn, I can do little more than sink my teeth into the sandwich and sigh around it.
“So,” Justin says after taking a bite out of his own. “Things are pretty bad up in Red Wolf, aren’t they?”
“Bad doesn’t begin to describe it,” Jackson says.
Justin looks from him, to Bernard, then back to Jackson again before saying, “I haven’t been told the full story.”
“Do you want the long version, or the short?” I ask.
“Whatever y’all are willing to tell me,” he says.
I begin with a sigh, continue with a frown, tell the tale with unease in my heart and unease in my words. Trepidation would’ve been the word to describe my feeling, as with each verbal step I take I weave a tale that, to most, would have seemed impossible. But for a man like Justin—who is also a wolf—it doesn’t take much for the story to sink in.