The Wolves Within

by David Lucin

  “We can use my place,” Allison offered. “At least for now. It’s on the third floor.”

  “Your family won’t mind?” Jenn lowered the tailgate on the Dodge. “We’ll kind of be in the way.”

  “They’ll be happy to have you. My mom’s always asking to meet everyone I work with anyway. Well, I guess I don’t really work with you guys, but you know what I mean.”

  “Okay, if you’re all right with it, we can start off there, then maybe move to one of the study rooms later.” Jenn asked Dylan, “What do you think?”

  “Sounds like a plan to me. Bryce, hang tight with Yannick and Maggy. Me, Jansen, and Allison will head up. Six of us waltzing in with guns might freak out the locals a little, so let’s get the lay of the land first.”

  Bryce set down the gun bag and plopped himself onto the open tailgate. The hinges squealed in protest under the big man’s weight. “You got it, boss.”

  The Findlays’ apartment was at the far end of the hallway. Dylan paused halfway down and pointed at a door on his left. “Charlie home?”

  Allison gave him a knowing grin. “Should be. She has the day off.”

  “All right. You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a sec.”

  “Sure. Take your time.”

  “But not too much,” Jenn cut in. “We’re here to do a job, after all.”

  He ignored the jab and knocked on Charlie’s door, so Jenn and Allison proceeded to her apartment.

  The layout was identical to Sam’s old dorm. A short hall opened into a common area with an adjacent kitchen. On either side were two bedrooms and a bathroom. Jenn could almost see herself on the couch, feet up, as she watched a Diamondbacks game with Sam and his roommates. Here, though, the TV was dark, one of the two couches was missing, and the coffee table, like at Jenn’s house, was an overturned cardboard box. The blinds were open to let in the late-morning light.

  “Mom?” Allison called out. “Dad? Is anyone home?”

  “Allison?” Teagan Findlay stepped out of a bedroom.

  Allison could have been her mother’s clone. Both had thick, fiery red hair, fair skin, and patches of freckles on their cheeks and noses. But the similarities went beyond appearances. Their mannerisms were all the same, too, right down to their habit of communicating through touch as much as through speech.

  “Hey, Mom.” Allison quickly hugged her mother. “Where’s Dad and Ryan?”

  “They’re waiting at the Go Market,” Teagan said, then noticed Allison’s scowl. “Don’t worry, honey, they went in a big group.”

  Big group? What did she mean by that? Allison must have told Teagan about the incident from the other day and insisted that nobody leave the dorms unless they had the safety of numbers. Was this what life had come to for these people? Were they all living in fear?

  “Hello, Jenn,” Teagan said. “Nice to see you again!”

  “Hey, Mrs. Findlay.”

  “Please, call me Teagan.”

  “Sorry. Bad habit.”

  “So what are you doing home so early?” Teagan asked her daughter. “I thought you were working until six.”

  “I am. I mean, I was.” Allison paused and sucked in a long breath. “Okay, so, um, Jenn and some of the guards from the farm are here. They’ve decided to help watch the dorms for us.”

  Teagan tilted her head to the side, so Jenn explained, “You guys don’t have anyone here to guard you. No cops, nobody. There’s five of us so far. Hopefully more will be coming. With all the chest-beating from Grierson and CFF, we just figured it was time to step in. It’s a precaution, that’s all.”

  Allison was nodding along. “I said it’d be okay if we lent them the spare room to use until we find them a better place.”

  Teagan blinked twice. Then, as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been thrown in her face, she perked up and chirped, “Of course! We’re happy to have you.” She paused and held her hands over her chest. “And thank you for helping. Some of us here were starting to think nobody really cared, what with all that awful talk about going to New River and all.”

  “Long time coming,” Jenn said, “if you ask me.”

  The apartment’s front door squeaked open, and in came Charlie, followed closely by Dylan, whose hand lingered on her hip. “Charlie!” Allison exclaimed and wrapped her arms around her friend like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks.

  Politely, but with far less enthusiasm, Charlie returned the gesture. Out of its usual ponytail, her dirty-blonde hair was thin and lay flat. Her ears poked through, reminding Jenn of an elf. She was lean, too, and even taller than Dylan, who stood an inch short of six feet. Jenn wondered if she used to play basketball.

  When Allison released her, Charlie took Dylan’s hand in hers. Allison and her mother exchanged a mischievous glance. Jenn only rolled her eyes. She was happy for Dylan and happy for Charlie, but they should be able to start a relationship in peace. “Okay,” she began, “Mrs. Findlay is—”

  “Teagan,” she interrupted with a wry smile.

  “Teagan is letting us use the spare room to set up shop.”

  “Perfect,” Dylan said, then offered his hand to Teagan for a shake. “I’m Dylan, by the way.”

  She took it and tried in vain, along with Allison, to suppress an excited giggle. Jenn rolled her eyes again. Charlie saw it and made a face that might have said, You see what I have to deal with here?

  “Nice to meet you,” Teagan uttered when she’d regained her composure. “Like I was saying to Jenn, we don’t want to be a burden, but we’re happy to have you here to keep an eye on us. It’s such a relief to know that people care.”

  “Not a problem.” Dylan wandered to the window and peered out onto the quad, then sucked his teeth, adjusted his hat, and crossed his arms. When he spoke, he did so as though he was thinking out loud. “All right, so two groups of two outside on patrol. Each pair’s got a radio. Same deal as usual. See something suspicious, call it in. I doubt we’ll be able to cover everywhere at once, but my hope is that news of us being here spreads around town and deters anyone who might want to try anything stupid. I’ll hang tight here for now, tweak the schedule so we’re covered at the dorms and the farm. Sorry to say, but it’ll be twelve on, twelve off for the next little while.”

  “No complaints from me,” Jenn said.

  “Jansen,” he continued. “You were a student here, so start thinking of some patrol routes and places we should cover.”

  Allison put up her hand. “I didn’t go to school here, but I know where most of the people live and all that stuff.”

  Dylan peeked at the quad a second time. “We also need to get the word out that we’re here to help.”

  As her daughter had, Teagan raised a hand. “Oh! I can do that! I’ll give the ladies down the hall all the details and the news will spread like wildfire.”

  “Perfect,” Dylan said. “I think that’s enough for now. Mrs. Findlay, if you don’t mind—”

  “Please, it’s Teagan.”

  “Teagan . . . It might be a good idea to start talking to your friends sooner rather than later. I want us to get out there as soon as we can. We’re going to be carrying rifles, so the more people who know to expect us, the better.”

  “Of course!” She gave her daughter a quick kiss on the cheek and made her way to the door. “There’s water on the counter if you get thirsty, and we have some fresh beets from the Go Market.”

  Jenn’s mouth watered. So the rumor was true, then. Despite Teagan’s generous offer, she wouldn’t eat any of the Findlays’ food; that was why Dylan brought rations from the farm. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to turn down beets forever, though.

  Teagan shut the door behind her. “Spare room this way?” Dylan asked with a jerk of his thumb toward the hall on his right.

  “That’s it!” Allison said. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  As they went inside, Jenn whispered to Charlie, “Is it just me or are Teagan and Allison exactly the same?”

  “Ye
ah, it’s a little creepy.”

  “And what’s with the giggling?”

  Charlie sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I feel like I’m back in high school.”

  “First boyfriends can be tough,” Jenn teased.

  A throaty grunt was all Charlie offered in response. It wasn’t quite a laugh.

  Dylan and Allison stepped out of the spare bedroom. Jenn asked him, “How’s it look in there? Five-star hotel or what? I hope so.”

  “It’ll do, but I think we should scope out a study room so we have a bit more space.” He twirled the Nissan’s keys on his finger. “Let’s head down and grab the guys and the gear. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

  10

  Jenn’s watch read 3:45 p.m. A muscle in her lower back hurt. As did her feet. Hunger bit at her guts, and she realized that lunchtime had already come and gone. Dylan said her shift would end at eight, but she wasn’t holding her breath. Not that she minded staying late. If necessary, she would stay all night. Coming here was partly her idea, after all.

  Her and Bryce’s patrol route was shaped like a backward L. Starting at McKay Village, they’d walk east along University Drive, then swing north onto Beaver Street. At the campus bookstore, they’d turn around and return to McKay Village. Yannick and Maggy’s route was the opposite. Together, they formed a U shape with McKay Village at the base. Another pair of guards, who’d recently arrived from the farm, kept watch on the inside of the U, while Dylan and two more stayed “in reserve,” as he called it, at Allison’s apartment.

  With nine bodies in total, Jenn was feeling better about their ability to keep the refugees safe, but she still doubted that they could defend against an organized attack. Plus, since so many guards were on campus, only a skeleton crew remained at the farm. Manpower was so short that even Sophie had agreed to work patrol shifts. Apparently, she’d already given a few farmhands impromptu firearms lessons so they could help. A lot was riding on Gary and Ed being able to convince the police to send a few reinforcements.

  As she adjusted the AR over her shoulder, her mind wandered to CFF and the Go Market. The more she thought about the timing of Grierson’s visit to the farm, the more suspicious it seemed. Staging the Go Market attack so it appeared as though refugees were responsible played into his narrative of them being dangerous, but if anyone ever found out, he’d be labelled as a criminal and his whole movement would fall apart. Was the risk worth the reward? Even before the Go Market, Grierson’s message was emboldening the population to speak out against refugees, as evidenced by Jenn’s argument with that man and woman in the lineup, not to mention Teagan’s remark about refugees only traveling in large groups. Did he truly have so much to gain from implicating newcomers in the attack if support for him was already high and growing?

  Ahead loomed Reilly Hall, an old three-winged residence building that stood seven stories tall. Refugees lived in there, even on the top floor. Jenn wondered how they’d been assigned living quarters when they arrived in Flagstaff. Why did the Findlays and Charlie’s family end up in McKay Village, with its deluxe four-bedroom apartments, instead of in Reilly Hall, which comprised standard double rooms for freshmen? Luck of the draw, she supposed, or perhaps Allison yelled at someone until they gave her what she wanted.

  “How you holding up?” Bryce asked her out of the blue. “We haven’t really seen each other a whole lot since Val died.”

  The question caught her off guard. She’d always liked Bryce—well, liked him as much as she could like anyone who insisted on fist-bumping—but they were colleagues, not friends, and colleagues didn’t have such personal conversations, did they? Still, she appreciated that he asked, so she said, honestly, “I’m okay, I guess. I think about her a lot.” She resisted the urge to tug at the cross. “I keep asking myself what we could have done differently. Like, what if I hadn’t volunteered to take that first watch? Maybe then Val would’ve been inside when the shooting started. Or what if we just went straight out for her through the front doors?”

  “It’s called bargaining,” Bryce said.

  “Bargaining?”

  “The five stages of grief. You ever heard of them?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t really remember what they are. And I thought there were seven.”

  “Five, seven, what’s the difference?”

  “Um, two?”

  He peered down his nose at her.

  “Sorry,” she said and kicked a stone. “So five stages. That’s like depression and acceptance and stuff, right?”

  “You got it.” He sauntered forward, his steps slow and lazy. “First is denial. I saw it in you that night, when you tried to climb into the ambulance and go with Val. Then after, in the truck. You were way too calm.”

  She wouldn’t have used the word “calm” but understood Bryce’s point. Looking back now, she realized how cloudy her head was for a day or two afterward. A world without Val seemed so strange, and nothing made any sense, like her life was a foreign-language TV show with the subtitles turned off. “Okay, then what?”

  “Anger. Not everyone goes through all the stages in the same order or at all, but I wouldn’t blame you if you were feeling a little mad or ticked off.”

  Her promise to Val scratched at the back of her mind, and she saw herself crouched at Val’s grave in the woods, clutching the necklace and promising to make her friend’s killer pay. In the moment, she might have been ready to kill the murderer, if given the chance. But now she wasn’t so sure. An eye for an eye wouldn’t be enough. True justice was a lifetime of rotting behind bars.

  “And we’re at bargaining,” she said. “So what’s after that? When will I be better?”

  He paused in his tracks and stared at her seriously. His glare made her feel about two feet tall. “It’s not about being better, Jansen. You can’t just snap your fingers and wake up like everything’s fine.”

  “I know. Sorry. That’s not what I meant.” She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I’m impressed that you remember all this. When my brothers died, my dad told me and my mom to read up on it, but I forgot it all a week later.”

  “It was kind of drilled into me, I guess.”

  “How? They test you on it when you’re a firefighter?”

  “Nah.” He scratched his nose, hesitating. “Back in the day, when I was a rookie, old city hall burned down. Total disaster. We lost one of our own. Billy Simon.” Softly, he chuckled to himself. “We always made fun of him ’cus he had two first names. William Simon.” He repeated the name with a touch of reverence. “Who calls their kid William if your last name’s Simon?”

  His joke was a deflection; Jenn knew because she was an expert at using humor in that way. He had never shared something this personal with her before, though, and she was honored to hear it.

  “So,” he said, “we all had to go through grief counseling. I learned about it there. Thought it was all bull at the time, but I gotta say, in the end, it helps.”

  She was compelled to reach out to him, to put a hand on his arm, but it didn’t feel right, not yet. The gesture might come across as strange and ruin the moment. So she simply said, “Then I’m glad you’re coaching me.”

  Bryce had only told her about the first three stages of grief, and her curiosity about the last two was piqued, but she had plenty of time to ask him later. For now, she was content in knowing that Bryce sympathized with her and understood what she was going through. That meant more than he could know.

  They continued toward Reilly Hall. Before they rounded the bend in University—the corner of the L in their route, as Jenn liked to think of it—faint voices carried on a breeze. They came from the direction of McKay Village. Bryce must have heard them as well, because he stopped and lifted his chin, listening.

  “You hear it, too?” Jenn asked him.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he kept moving, quicker now, his long strides forcing Jenn to almost jog. At Reilly Hall, the road turned ninety degrees to the right, and as soon
as they had a clear line of sight to McKay Village, Jenn spotted a group of people gathered outside. The leafy trees growing on the narrow median made it difficult to see, but she thought there were ten of them, maybe twelve. A few held signs above their heads.

  “Protesters?” Bryce asked.

  In an instant, the pain in her lower back disappeared. With it went the hunger and the ache in her feet. “Call Dylan.”

  Bryce said into his radio, “Bryce for Dylan.”

  A second later, Dylan answered: “Go ahead.”

  “You still in the apartment, boss? There’s a group of, I dunno, a dozen people hanging out outside McKay Village. Looks like protesters.”

  As they neared, the voices grew louder. Jenn made out snippets of what they were saying: “go home,” “New River, not Flagstaff,” and “our home, our food.”

  Ever since the initial wave of a hundred refugees arrived from Las Vegas, there’d been plenty of chatter and debate about the newcomers, and those who opposed them were becoming more and more vocal every week, but there hadn’t yet been any sort of formal protest against them. What were the odds of the first one spontaneously happening at McKay Village only hours after Vincent Grierson visited the Beaumonts at their farm? Jenn had a better chance of drawing a straight flush. Was she right about him? Had he orchestrated the attack on the Go Market? She hated jumping to conclusions; all she had were vague hypotheses and not a single shred of evidence, but she couldn’t shake the idea that this was all somehow connected. Val’s killer was part of CFF; Jenn knew it in her heart.

  “I see them,” Dylan said after a moment.

  “You want us to give ’em the boot?” Bryce asked.

  “Negative. Do not get involved. Hang back, watch them, but do not engage unless they become violent.”

  Do not engage? Jenn couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Dylan was going to let these people taunt the refugees from outside their own homes? She snatched the radio from Bryce and said, as diplomatically as possible, “Dylan, Jenn here. There’s only ten of them. Shouldn’t we politely ask them to leave, before it’s too late? I’m just afraid of this gaining steam. We can nip it in the bud right now.”