Fer lit a cigarette and sucked desperately on it. “When the cops got here, they did a search of the trailer. I said the call was a mistake, that I thought I saw someone, but it turned out to be nothing. They wanted to check, make sure no one was hiding inside or anything. That’s when your mom got home. All of a sudden they had her in cuffs. Some of the neighbors are saying there was a warrant out for her arrest. Shoplifting or some shit.
“God, your ma has a mouth on her.” Fer looked over. “I'm really sorry, Cam. Really. I didn't know.”
“You were just trying to protect me. I'm the one who had a wanted criminal at the house.” Camila tugged at her hair.
“Wait, that was the guy?” Fer's eyes popped open.
“No, I mean they have the wrong guy. I can explain—”
Sirens sounded again. The girls stiffened.
“We gotta get out of here.” Fer tugged on her arm. “I have a plan, but you gotta stand up.”
Somehow she rose. She let Fer lead her around several dark trailers and through the field. Finally, they stood on the sidewalk as a car, headlights off, pulled up. Fer pushed her towards it. “Get in.”
The backseat was cluttered with pop cans, wrappers, and crinkly cigarette boxes. The cheap upholstery reeked of smoke. Shaun sat in the driver's seat, a cigarette winking red in the dark. Fer slid in the back next to her and clicked the door shut.
“We good?” Shaun took a long drag and let the smoke trail from his lips.
Fer nodded. “You know where you're going?”
Shaun put the car in drive. “Yep.”
“Think you can avoid the cops?” Fer asked.
Shaun peered up at them through the rear-view. Camila could tell he was smiling. “Me, avoid cops? Yeah, I think I can do that.”
They drove ten minutes to the other side of town. With her face pressed against Fer's side, Camila folded into herself and pretended she was seven again, riding in the back seat as Mama drove home from Sunday mass. The swaying of the car used to lull her to sleep and Mama would carry her into the house. She used to feel so safe in Mama's arms.
Fer shook her. “We're here. Put this on.” Fer threw a men's oversized hoodie at her. Camila slipped it on and pulled the hood over her head.
They were parked in front of a rundown apartment complex. The brick buildings were splattered with graffiti. Weeds poked through sidewalk cracks. Most of the streetlamps were busted, creating an eerie darkness that hung over the lot like a fog. A few unsavory characters stood in a cluster near the front door.
Camila stared up at the crumbling concrete steps to the door under a fluorescent light. “Where are we?”
“You'll see,” Fer said, slipping out. “Come on.”
Camila took Fer's hand and followed.
They climbed the steps two at a time. The men near the door watched them. Camila scooted closer to Fer, the hairs on her neck standing up. Fer thumbed the button beside the door and a low buzz sounded.
“Yeah?” A groggy male voice crackled through the speaker.
Fer pressed her thumb to the button again. “It's us.”
A louder buzz this time. The door clicked. Fer yanked it open and they entered the foyer.
The musty carpet smelled like cat pee. The bulb overhead clicked and buzzed. They walked up two flights to a dented metal door. Fer knocked twice and the door sprang open.
Travis stood inside, wearing a pair of shorts and a wife beater. His eyes were red and bleary, his hair a mess of bedhead. He waved them in. Camila stumbled in after Fer, her stomach knotting. What was she doing in Travis's apartment at one in the morning? What would Mama thi—
Mama was in jail. The thought pretzeled her insides.
“We owe you one, Trav,” Fer was saying.
Travis shook his head, looking awkward. “No worries. No worries. Glad to help.” His eyes flicked up to Camila. “Glad you're okay.”
She nodded, feeling anything but okay.
Travis nodded. “Can I get you ladies a drink? Something to eat?”
Fer shook her head. “I gotta go.”
Camila grabbed for Fer's arm. “You're leaving?”
“Shaun's waiting. We gotta be home before Ma. Plus, with the cops looking for you, they'll be looking for the rest of us.” Fer nodded to Travis. “At least if we're home we can lead them off your trail for a while.”
Camila wouldn't let go of Fer's arm. Every anchor to her former life had been severed and she was slowly bobbing out to sea.
“She'll be fine here,” Travis said, running a hand through his messy hair. His eyes flicked up to Camila's and then away. He walked back to his bedroom.
Fer turned to Camila. “I'll be back tomorrow as soon as I can get away. We'll figure something out. Maybe the police will release your mom. Or I'll ask my mom about bail.”
Camila threw her arms around her best friend. “I'm sorry,” she whispered into Fer's purple hair.
“Don't,” Fer said softly, returning her hug. “Nothing to apologize for.”
Tears sprung into Camila's eyes, but she swallowed them back and pulled away from Fer. “Can you do something for me?”
Fer nodded. “Anything.”
“If you see him hanging around my house, will you tell him where to find me?”
Fer wrinkled her brow. “Who? The homicidal maniac you disappeared with? Let’s think about that for a moment, shall we?”
Camila grabbed Fer's arms. “He’s not the killer. I know it.” She stared pleadingly into Fer's eyes.
Fer pushed back a stray hair and fixed Camila with a look. “I'm your best friend. I am not giving a wanted criminal your locale, okay?”
Camila blew out her breath. “Fine. I'll call you in the morning.”
Just as Fer left, Travis returned, looking a little more awake in a fresh T-shirt. He gestured to a sagging sofa. “Have a seat.”
The apartment was small—two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room connected to a galley kitchen. The decor was decidedly bachelor pad—posters of Bob Marley, The Godfather, a curvaceous girl in a yellow bikini. A scratched coffee table held Xbox controllers, an ashtray, a bong and a Playboy magazine. Travis spotted it and chucked it into a bedroom. He offered her a sheepish smile. “It's Mike's.”
“Mike?” she asked.
“My roommate. Total pig.”
Camila nodded. “I like your place.”
The couch dipped as he sat beside her, causing Camila to slide closer to the center. Suddenly, she was very aware of the space between them.
“It's a dump,” he said.
Camila laughed. “Only a little.”
He chuckled. “My mom won't even set foot. She brings a can of Lysol every time she brings my mail. Sprays it right at Mike.”
Camila let herself smile. “Your mom sounds like a trip.”
“She is.” He paused. “Sorry about your mom.”
There was that feeling again, like someone gripping her stomach. Squeezing. She nodded.
Travis jiggled his foot nervously. “Fer told me.”
Camila nodded again. Tears swelled back to the surface. She sniffed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn't cry. Not in front of Travis.
“It'll be okay.” Slowly, gently, he lay his hand on top of hers.
Tears streaked down her face as her guard fell. “It's all my fault.” More tears. Sobs shook through her body. “All…my fault.”
“Hey, it's okay. It's okay.” Travis leaned over and put his arms around her.
Camila leaned in, pressed her face to his shoulder. She couldn't stop the flood. Travis rubbed her back and murmured condolences. She cried long and hard. When the tears finally stopped, she sat back, sniffing and wiping at her eyes.
“I'm sorry.” She looked up at his face. He had the strangest expression. As if he were deciding something.
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
John
Friday 1:23 a.m.
He stood in the woods barely breathing. Something wasn't right, h
e could feel it.
Camila had run through the moonlit field almost an hour ago and he'd stood listening since. If something was wrong, she'd come back, he thought as he shifted again. Yet, his gut twisted and his palms were slick with sweat. Something was not right.
A noise echoed through the forest behind him. He snapped his head around, his eyes sifting through the inky blackness. A twig snapped to his left and his body tightened like a fist. Someone or some thing was out there. He strained his ears toward the sound, filtered out the buzz of insects, the rustling leaves. There, to his right, something shifted ever so slightly.
He strode forward, anger heating up his insides. The smell hit him. Feral, animal, big.
Rage seethed through him until rational thought was crowded out. How dare it come here, nearly to her doorstep.
I'll kill it, he thought, tearing after the scent. This time I'll make sure it's dead.
He tore toward through the branches, his arms pumping, and hands fisted. He gritted his teeth and an animal growl gurgled out of his throat.
John pulled back, shaking his head. What's gotten into me? He loosened his grip, pushing down the rage. Then a whiff of feral scent hit him in the face. The rage reared up, overpowering him. The beast had to die. Then he'd be able to calm down.
He tore into a small clearing. Here the pines thinned, letting a sliver of moonlight spear into the ferny underbrush. John stopped and looked around.
Still as a statue, the beast waited. Close to seven feet tall, rippled in muscle, it was a thing of nightmares. From here, the creature looked like a gnarled tree with slitted red eyes. Its lion-like mane stirred in the breeze; its skin was a network of hard scales the size of nickels that reflected the moonlight. John's eyes tracked over the claws that curled from each finger, at the teeth that curved outward six inches in both directions. The sunken red eyes watched him from a bony face that protruded in knobs at the cheekbones and forehead.
It was grotesque, an aberration. A monstrosity.
John squared up with it, took a deep breath, and bared his teeth.
The beast didn't move. Red eyes watched John's every move intently. Could it actually be…thinking? No. This monster didn't think.
“Come on!” John pointed to his neck, veins popping. “This is what you like, right?” John jutted his chin upward. “Come and get it!”
The beast flexed, lips curling back to reveal more of those razor-sharp teeth, but the posture was defensive. It made no move to charge.
“Come on!” John grabbed a log and hurled it at the beast. The monster deflected the log with one swipe of a forearm, raining splinters into bushes. Still, it blinked at him.
How could this killing machine stand there looking at him without attacking? He thought of the man in the gas station, the blood, the shocked expression on his face, the flies.
An image of Camila, crumpled and bloody, flashed before his eyes.
He ran and jumped on the beast.
This was it. It was do or die.
John's body collided with the monster. They went sprawling into the underbrush.
Twigs and branches snapped on either side as they fell. They skidded across the forest floor, stopping when the beast's back slammed into a massive tree. On top, legs straddling the beast's torso, John swung like a heavyweight boxer, fists pounding into the beast's scaly chest and bony head again and again. It was like punching a stone statue. Blood splattered from John's knuckles as he swung.
The beast let out a ferocious growl, spittle spewing through its fangs. John felt hot wetness on his cheeks. The beast lurched sideways, its claws furrowing the dirt. John's grip slipped and the beast rolled away. John grabbed at it and came away with a handful of matted, stinking fur. The beast let out a roar, its rancid breath clotting the air.
In one move it was behind John. Paws clamped over John's chest, locked, and began squeezing.
It's as strong as I am! John thought, as his ribs creaked. Pain spread through his chest like a cancer, setting warning bells off in his head. He thrashed back and forth.
No air! Got to—
John smashed his heel into the beast's groin. Another guttural growl and suddenly John's arms were free. He dropped to the dirt and rolled into the undergrowth.
Scrambling through bushes, John sucked air madly. Once he could breathe, he pulled up and turned back to his opponent. The beast stood in a defensive stance, claws up, eyes and ears alert, legs tense. Its dirty brown mane wavered in the breeze. A clot of yellow saliva dripped from one curving fang. The slitted red eyes blinked at John. Blinked and stared. Almost if it were trying to communicate.
“Why don't you fight me?!” He had no idea if the thing could understand him. It would understand a fight. John tore forward, yelling at the top of his lungs.
They grappled, arms around each other, bodies lurching back and forth, slamming into trees, toppling them with tremendous cracks that echoed through the forest. A cloying smell of earth and raw meat overwhelmed him as John's face pressed against its massive shoulder. From behind, a slashing blow sliced through John's shirt and into his back. He cried out and threw a punch, the beast's head snapping back, blood arcing in the moonlight.
The beast fell heavily into the leaves.
John stood, panting, waiting for it to charge again. Warm blood dribbled down his back. A lot of it. How long before he healed? How much blood could he stand to lose?
The beast sat up, shaking it head. Then it skittered between tree trunks and into the shadows.
He needed something to put an end to this cat-and-mouse game. Something to finish this once and for all. A giant boulder six feet in diameter lay in the shadows, fuzzy with moss and lichen. John strode over and heaved the massive thing out of the ground, clutching it in his arms like a load of heavy groceries. Then he stalked into the darkness.
The smell of the thing was all over him now, so following its scent was no good. His eyes sliced through the shadows, picking up tree trunks, fern fronds, the skitter of some rodent avoiding his path. There was no telling where the thing had gone. His arms ached with the weight of the boulder. His back throbbed where the thing had slashed him.
The sound of a breaking twig to his right. He whirled and jogged forward. Stopped. Listened.
Buzzing mosquitoes and chirping frogs. Then… In the distance, he heard it: the airy sound of something inhaling. He took a step forward.
Something hit him hard from behind.
John went down, the boulder falling out of his arms. His body careened into a pile of leaves. The boulder slammed down on his leg with a sickening crack.
Pain like white lightening shot up his leg and speared his whole body. He cried out, arching his back, reaching for his leg, now buried under six feet of solid rock.
The beast stalked out of the shadows.
Throbbing pain like ten-foot waves crashed over him until he felt he would drown. He shook his head and swiveled his neck to stare the thing in the face. God, it was horrible—the knobby, angled skull, the matted mane around its head reeking of animal waste. Its red eyes slitted to half-moons as if sensing a meal. Then it slowly opened its mouth and flashed rows and rows of dripping fangs.
John pushed on the boulder with his ebbing strength. Pain shot through his body, turning the world gray. He slapped his face. He could not pass out with this thing hovering over him. He slapped once more, clearing his vision, and pushed his hands against solid rock.
The boulder rocked forward and another crunch rocketed up his mangled leg. Pain exploded in his brain like a bomb. He fell back, fighting to stay conscious. He was pinned. Finished.
A low, rumbling growl rolled over John, sending pin-pricks of fear down his limbs. The beast stood over him and spread its claws.
I'm dead, he thought.
He swung his fists wildly a couple of times, but it was no use. The beast was out of range. When it opened its mouth again, revealing razor-sharp teeth curling outward like scimitars, it seemed to be smiling.
&
nbsp; The pain transformed to a warm numbness that radiated up John's body. He shook the drowsiness away. He flashed his teeth at the beast in challenge.
“What're you going to do, kill me?! Well, then kill me!”
The beast hovered above for a moment. Then it bolted into the shadows.
Camila
Friday 1:25 a.m.
Travis was kissing her.
Camila slammed back against the couch, pressing her palms into Travis's chest. He fell back, stunned.
“Travis, I…” She stared up at him.
Travis slumped back, dropping his eyes to the floor. He planted his palm in the middle of his forehead. “Stupid.”
“No.” Camila shifted forward again, touching his arm. “It wasn't stupid. I like you. A lot. It's just… I like someone else.”
“Who? You never talk about anybody at work. It's just an excuse, isn't it?” He shook his head and then clasped it in his hands. “I suck.”
She laid her hand gently on his arm. “No, you don't. You are smart and funny and nobody makes me laugh like you.”
Travis lifted his sad eyes to hers. “Then why don't you like me?”
How could she explain how she felt when she was with John? She grabbed a tattered pillow and hugged it to her chest. “I'm all messed up right now. You don't want to be with me.”
Travis leaned in, his face lighting up. “I do!”
“No.” She pulled back. “I think we should just be friends.”
“Oh God!” He fell back as it had been a fatal blow.
“Oh, Travis. I'm sorry.”
He sat there for a moment, letting his eyes burn holes into the dirty carpet. Finally, he sighed. “I can dig what you're saying, being your friend or whatever, but whoever this dude is, he better be good to you.”
She pinched her hands together on her lap. “He is.”
An awkward silence filled the room. He turned and looked at the neon Budweiser clock glowing in the corner, drew out a fake yawn. “Dude, it's late and I gotta work tomorrow.”
“Oh no! Work.” She fell back on the couch. She'd nearly forgotten. She'd never be able to work at Lizzy's again. Not with the cops looking for her.
20 Shades of Shifters_A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 162