She sat up and pushed to her feet, feeling strong and alive. At first she was wobbly on her thick and deformed legs and she fell against the shoulder-press machine. Quickly, almost instinctively, she steadied herself on her new legs. Unable to control her urges, she tilted her head back and let out a howl that caused the neighborhood dogs to join in. She felt suddenly full of rage and aggression unlike anything she had ever experienced. She turned to the bench-press machine, grabbed it, and hurled it across the room. It seemed weightless.
She tore through the door and into the empty bay. The world was black and white and green, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was meat. The bay’s rear overhead door rattled and started to rise, telling her the engine crew was returning from a false alarm. She raced back into the weight room and without hesitation crashed through the window into the night air.
17
NEVETS DAY SIX
AFTER a full day of training, Steven’s masters said he was ready. Again. “This is your big day,” one of them added before leading him into a cramped, black-as-night wooden crate. A guard whose scent Steven didn’t recognize commented, “This sure is one of the bigger beasts I’ve seen,” and all three of the men laughed.
They sealed the crate shut and reached through an eight-inch square opening behind Steven’s neck with a pair of pliers. He didn’t flinch when they ripped out each of the eight metal staples the doctor had inserted on that agonizing day in the surgical room.
A fork lift slid beneath the crate and lifted Steven onto the back of a pickup truck. The back of his neck itched, but he couldn’t find room to scratch and feared a beating if he tried. The crate bounced and thrashed him side-to-side for several hours before they reached their destination.
The guard climbed from the cab and spoke with another man outside the truck. The newest stranger, who smelled of cigar smoke and sweat, said, “Well, let’s see him.” The end of a crowbar wiggled through the top corner of the crate and pried the nails away.
The sun hurt Steven’s eyes and he cowered against the back of the crate. The smell of raw meat filled his confines, distracting him from his discomfort.
A little girl whispered, “Come here, boy. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
Steven’s eyes adjusted to the black-and-white world. Though he wanted to stay inside the crate forever, the irresistible aroma of the meat drew him out. As he peered cautiously from the opening, he caught four distinct scents besides the meat. One belonged to the little girl, probably eight or nine, and she was holding the meat. Two of the scents belonged to a man and a woman standing hand in hand, maybe her parents. The overweight father held a cigar between his teeth. He dabbed beads of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. The fourth person, wearing a dark gray, one-piece jumpsuit, was the new guard he had smelled at the WereHouse. He stepped between Steven and the family.
Steven rose to his hind legs and stood a head taller than either of the men. The little girl backed behind her father’s leg and peeked around. The jumpsuit-wearing man reached up and grabbed a handful of Steven’s flesh and fur at the side of his neck. He yanked Steven down to all fours.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “This one must be a little excited. He’ll be fine. You just need to take charge exactly the way you learned during your pre-ownership classes.”
The father stepped forward with his chest out. Steven considered taking the man’s false confidence away with a roar, but he resisted the urge. Instead, he sniffed the man’s extended hand. He didn’t realize he was releasing a low, guttural growl until the jumpsuit-wearing man crowded between him and the father with an angry aura.
“I am so sorry, sir,” he repeated as he scowled at Steven. Steven lowered his shoulders and tucked his ears back. The guard continued, “This is unacceptable.”
“Well, I should say so,” the father replied. “Maybe I should reconsider this purchase.”
“Oh no, sir. There is no need for that. We will get a new werepet here within the week and I am authorized to give you one year of free upkeep for your trouble.”
The father turned to his wife and then back to the guard. He dabbed at his sweaty forehead again. “Well ...,” he paused. “I suppose.”
“Very good, sir. This one has been acting a little unusual lately. We will take care of him and get a new model to you ASAP.” As he apologized for Steven’s defects with his best positive spin and promised a better replacement within days, Steven noticed the guard’s hands were in fists. He crowded Steven backward until Steven’s backside met the open tailgate. He coaxed Steven up into the bed of the pick-up and into the crate. Then he slammed the crate front closed, returning Steven to the darkness. “I’ll just grab my hammer and nail up the crate again and we’ll be on our way. Trust me, you cannot go wrong with a werepet purchase. This one was just a rare fluke.”
The strangest thought, more of an instinct, washed over Steven while he sat in his dark solitude, listening to the guard’s confusing words. He didn’t understand the feeling or how to handle it. A voice deep within his subconscious was screaming at him.
And that voice said to run.
Steven crouched as low as he could, and then burst against the ceiling of his crate. The wooden top exploded, knocking his captor from the truck bed to the ground, snapping the guard’s arm. The little girl shrieked and ran toward the house. Her mother chased behind. Steven panted with a combination of anger and excitement. Still on the ground, the guard shouted into a handheld radio, “We’ve got a rogue. Send me the experts.”
Steven leaped from the truck with a roar and landed a foot from the father. The man stumbled to the ground. Steven pounced and straddled him. The man cried for mercy.
Steven roared within inches of his face. His urge was to kill his prey, all of them. He tilted his head back and released an ear-piercing howl.
More than anything, he wanted to kill the man. But the same nagging voice from deep within him, the one that had told him to run a minute before, now told him to have mercy—to let the man flee. He hesitated a second too long listening to that voice.
A sharp pain exploded from the side of his neck. He tumbled from his prey. The man in the jumpsuit pointed a rifle at him with his one good arm.
Steven swiped at the new pain in his neck with his claw. A small, yellow-feathered arrow fell to the grass next to the driveway. The black-and-white-and-green world blurred and swayed. He snorted and lunged at his attacker.
The man shoved the gun between his legs and reloaded his one-shooter with a new tranquilizer dart.
Before he could cock his weapon again, Steven flung him aside and raced drunkenly down the middle of the road.
The pavement and the houses along the street spun out of focus. Steven blinked repeatedly, but it didn’t help. He stumbled into the path of a speeding sports car. The Corvette swerved with the driver laying on the horn. Steven roared as the car whizzed past. He dropped to all fours and galloped toward a distant line of trees.
18
STEVEN DAY SEVEN
STEVEN lay hidden among the garbage at the rear of a downtown factory. The back of his neck throbbed from the doctor’s work. He started to reach for the healing wound, but out of habit yanked his claw back for fear of another beating from his handlers.
The rear door of the factory opened. Steven smelled the two men before he saw them carrying trash through the door. He lay motionless with only the rise and fall of his chest beneath the pallets and cardboard boxes to give him away.
The oblivious factory workers joked and chuckled as they carried a stack of empty, broken-down boxes toward him. Maybe he should kill them before they see him. They tossed the empty boxes onto the pile and turned to go back into the factory. The younger one with a patchy goatee hesitated.
“Hey, Jeremy. Did you see that?” he asked.
“See what?” Jeremy said.
The younger guy turned back toward the rubbish pile. “I’m not sure.”
Steven had no choice—h
e had to kill them. He couldn’t risk being caught and sent back to the WereHouse. But before he pounced, the nagging voice in his head returned, encouraging restraint.
The first man whispered, “Hey, there. It’s okay, boy. Come on out. We won’t hurt you.” He made kissing sounds with his lips like he was coaxing a dog.
Maybe it was the voice in his head, or maybe it was because the two seemed benign in their approach, but Steven had more of an urge to obey them than to maul them. He dug himself from the pile and rose to his hind legs.
The two men backed away. “Whoa, you’re a big fella,” Jeremy said. “You ever seen one that big, Ryan?”
Ryan shook his head. He inched forward, hand outstretched.
“Well, look at you, Ryan,” Jeremy said. “You’re like the werg whisperer.”
Ryan shushed him and continued forward.
Instincts told Steven to fight or flee, but the inner voice told him to wait. He cowered away from Ryan’s touch. “It’s okay, boy. I won’t hurt you.” For some reason, Steven trusted him.
Ryan turned to Jeremy. “Go get my lunch.”
Jeremy disappeared into the factory. After a minute or so, he returned with a brown paper bag. Steven smelled the meaty contents. Jeremy opened the crinkly bag, removed a plastic baggy with what smelled like ham, and offered it to him. Steven devoured it in one bite.
Jeremy set the lunch bag on the ground. Steven dropped to all fours and ripped through it, mauling all of its contents. He looked up, hungry for more. Ryan scratched him behind his ears and it felt wonderful.
When Ryan’s hand moved to the back of Steven’s neck, Steven flinched.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Ryan asked, prodding at the lump on Steven’s neck. Steven swatted his hand away and then dug at the lump with his claw. He was relieved that his scratching no longer brought the shocking pains or beatings from the guards, only the pain from the wound. He dug until his neck was raw and stinging.
“Let me help you,” Ryan said, producing a pocket knife.
“What are you doing with that knife?” Jeremy asked, anxiety filling his voice. “You can’t cut ‘em. He’ll kill you.”
“There’s something back there. Relax. It’s what he wants.”
“How do you know what he wants?”
“Just chill. He’s got something in his neck and he can’t get it out. I’m just going to help him a little.”
Jeremy gave a nervous half laugh as though he didn’t know how else to react. “You’re sick, man. I’m telling you. The second that knife touches his neck, he’s gonna rip you to pieces. And don’t look for me to help.”
Ryan pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Sissy.”
Steven didn’t move as Ryan’s blade touched his neck. At first the knife blade merely stung, but as Ryan grew more confident the pain increased. Steven controlled his violent urges, even as his every thought cried murder. He peered up at the young man whose tongue hung out while he worked like a skilled surgeon. “Hey, Jeremy. There’s some kind of computer chip or something in here.”
Jeremy crept to his side, obviously more confident since neither of them had been slaughtered.
“Wait ...,” Ryan muttered. “Just a second ... I think ... yeah ... I’m getting it.”
The knife felt like a hot poker being crammed into Steven’s flesh. Unable to hold still, he turned his head away, but the hot poker pain stayed with him.
“Almost there,” Ryan shouted. “Got it.” He held up a bloody object the size of a quarter between his thumb and pointer finger. “It is a chip of some kind.”
Steven retreated to the rubbish pile. He felt different. He didn’t know if he felt better, only that he felt different than he remembered ever feeling. He staggered and crashed shoulder-first against the broken pallets. Ryan rushed toward him. Steven roared, sending both of the young men back toward the factory doors. They stopped short to watch.
Every muscle and bone in Steven’s body cried out in agony, making him regret letting Ryan cut him. Ryan and Jeremy stared in morbid fascination.
Please, help me, Steven pleaded with his eyes, but there was nothing they could do. He clawed at the trash and boxes and pallets. He tilted his head back and tried to roar, but instead of his familiar roar, a human scream filled the alley. He curled into a ball. His legs and arms snapped and deformed with disgusting din. He wailed again as his chest seized and his ribs collapsed in on themselves.
“Holy sh—” Jeremy’s voice trailed off into an inaudible whisper.
Within moments the pain was gone, replaced by a chill throughout his body. The color returned to the world. Steven looked to Jeremy and Ryan. They stared in stunned silence with wide eyes and dropped jaws.
Steven held his hands in front of his face. Instead of long, furry fingers and deadly, blackened claws, his hands were human once again. He was naked and cold. The last week or more seemed like a haze in his mind. He struggled to remember the last time he felt so normal.
“Who am I?” he whispered. “What am I?”
“I have n-n-no idea,” Ryan answered. “You’re a man ... I guess.”
Jeremy removed his jacket and tossed it to Steven, leery of getting too close.
“Thanks,” Steven grumbled in a hoarse and scratchy voice. His throat burned and stung like he had been screaming all night at a rock concert.
Jeremy’s hands shook and he shoved them into his jean pockets, obviously trying to hide his unease.
Steven wrapped the coat around his own shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said as he shoved his arm into the sleeve. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“But I-I-I—” Jeremy paused before getting the words out. “I thought werewolves were only animals.”
“Yeah,” Steven said, somewhat baffled himself. “So did I.” He groaned and struggled to his feet. The coat hung to his mid-thigh, hiding his incidentals while giving him some warmth. “I’ll bring you your coat after I get back on my feet.”
“Don’t worry about it, man. It’s yours.”
“Where am I, anyways?”
Jeremy answered, “Fifth Street.”
“No. I mean what city?”
“Chicago.”
Great. “You guys got a couple bucks you could spot me?”
Jeremy and Ryan dug through their wallets and front pockets and handed him a total of seventeen dollars and twenty-eight cents.
“Thanks.” Steven grinned and extended his hand. Jeremy hesitated, and then crossed the space between them. Ryan followed with his hand outstretched as well. “Good luck, man,” Jeremy said. “With whatever it is you do.”
“Yeah, thanks.” Steven nodded and shook their hands before leaving the alley.
Now how the hell am I going to get back to Columbus?
19
SIC ’ER
TALIK wasn’t accustomed to meeting with Bernard Henderson at the boss’ residence. To be summoned there now told him the gravity of the situation. Mr. Henderson shooed his wife and son into the other room before inviting Talik into his home office.
Talik broke the silence. “Nice to see you, sir.”
“I don’t have time for bullshit pleasantries, Aiden. I have pressing matters to attend to that my incompetent staff can’t seem to get under control.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“What do I need you to do? I need you to kill werewolves. Why else do you think I called you here? Come on, Aiden. Think.”
“You’re right, sir. I’m sorry.”
Mr. Henderson nodded. “I’m sorry, too, Aiden. I’m just a bit stressed. Have a seat.” Aiden sat in a leather recliner, though he didn’t recline it. His boss continued, “First, I get word my staff delivered a werg that wasn’t fully tamed, which cost us a sale, not to mention a major public relations headache. Then the goddamn beast runs off and disappears. Who the hell knows where he went.”
“I’ll find him, sir.”
“That’s not the problem. He was sold in Chicago. I’ve got hunters look
ing for him there. But there is another issue. We’re getting reports that our products are having minor breakdowns in one particular area around the south end. We don’t know why, but we have a couple of theories. One theory is they simply need to be recalled for a few days of re-education.”
“You don’t sound like you buy that, sir.”
“You know me too well. I don’t buy it. I think it’s more than that—something we’ve never dealt with before.” Mr. Henderson withdrew a whiskey bottle from behind his desk and offered a swig before taking one himself. Aiden waved off his offer. “Don’t tell the missus I have this in here..”
“Of course, sir.”
“Anyway, I read the reports of how they’ve been behaving and though it’s very sporadic, it is troubling.”
“Are they showing aggression or something?”
Mr. Henderson brushed the question off with a wave. “What I tell you now, Aiden, goes no farther than this room.”
“As always.” Aiden leaned forward in anticipation.
“I think someone has released a female werg into the population.”
Aiden almost choked on his own surprise. “How? I mean, I didn’t realize there were females.”
“Well, how the hell do you think they reproduce in the wild?”
“No. Of course, I know there are female wergs somewhere, I’ve just never heard of one in the States. You don’t sell them, do you?”
“No, we don’t sell them. They’re too difficult to tame. They are extremely stubborn, and once they are tamed they can easily lose it without constant work and re-education. Plus, look at what their scent does to the males. It causes this mess. That’s why we only sell the males.”
“If there is a female loose, where’d she come from?”
“I have no idea. It’s possible a rival company has found the island and managed to sneak one out from under our noses.”
“Do you have any females that may have escaped?”
“No. We keep them on the island to avoid these very problems. We knew they drive the males crazy.”
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