And Jericho Burned: Toke Lobo & The Pack

by MJ Compton

“Where is my woman?”

  He’d been very specific with her, but apparently she thought her pregnancy gave her permission to disobey him. She had to pay for deserting him in this moment of triumph. He would enjoy figuring out how to punish her without harming his son.

  The howling began anew, as if responding to his question.

  “She was here a minute ago,” the young woman in charge of the children’s center said.

  “A wolf got her.” The treble voice belonged to a child, who hadn’t yet learned his place in the New Sinai hierarchy.

  Sergeant Reuel’s boy. The son of the cook. Whose fifteen minutes of fame had just ticked onto the schedule.

  “Bring the boy to me,” Randy ordered.

  Reuel had to pry the child from Mattie’s arms. He finally smacked his wife to silence her. She and the girl-child huddled on the cold, bare earth in crumpled heaps of worthlessness.

  In the distance, one wolf yipped and another responded.

  Reuel stood his son in front of Randy, cuffing his head when he slouched. “Joseph! A soldier stands at attention when in his general’s present.”

  Randy had a different role in mind for the youngster.

  Joseph. A fine name for the archives of New Sinai, if anyone ever chronicled the history.

  “Why did you say a wolf took my wife?”

  The boy’s eyes grew wide, dark in the colorless light of the predawn universe, like black holes in his face.

  “You were quick to speak out of turn before,” Randy said. “Now you have my permission. I want to hear what you think.”

  Joseph shook his head. His scrawny legs trembled so violently he could barely stand.

  His father jerked him upright again.

  Randy tried another tact. “Why do you think a wolf took my wife?”

  Joseph swallowed hard enough for Randy to see, even in the almost-dark then whispered, “Because one stole her sister.”

  Which made sense only if one were a stupid, ignorant little child.

  “Are you afraid of the wolves?” Randy asked.

  Joseph nodded, finally solemn and respectful.

  Randy squatted until he was at eye level with the boy. “Do you have nightmares about the wolves getting you?”

  Joseph shook his head. “The wolves don’t want me.”

  “So you’re not a prophet?”

  “You’re the Prophet and the General,” Joseph said.

  So the boy had learned something in his short time in the children’s center. Everything happened for a reason, so perhaps it was for the best that Joseph was a late bloomer.

  “You believe I am the Prophet?”

  Joseph nodded.

  “Good.” Randy grasped the boy by the armpits and lifted him. “I have a job for you, son. A responsibility no one but you can fulfill.”

  The cook started to protest, but Reuel used the butt of his rifle to silence her.

  A volley of howls started at the same time.

  Joseph flinched in Randy’s grasp.

  Randy carried the boy up the ladder to the observation platform. “Look outside New Sinai. Do you see anything?”

  Joseph shook his head.

  “You don’t see the wolves?”

  “No, sir,” Joseph replied.

  “You will,” Randy promised, and dropped the boy over the side of the fence.

  Chapter 18

  Ethan was late.

  Restin knew he hadn’t been shot because someone would have heard a gun. Everyone else was accounted for, and according to Lucy, Ethan had been first to return the past two mornings. So Restin paced the length of the bus and considered what might have detained the young werewolf.

  He was about to order a search party when someone appeared in the distance. The rising sun stained the landscape with lurid light, turning the approaching figure into a black shadow etched on bloody red smears, neither wolf nor human in shape.

  As the apparition drew nearer, Restin realized it was Ethan, in human form, carrying a child in his arms.

  Only a miracle had prevented anyone–even Lucy–from smelling the boy’s approach. He reeked of New Sinai’s peculiar stench, and he’d pissed himself at some not-too-distant time.

  A muscle fluttered in Restin’s jaw as he watched Ethan lope closer to the bus.

  “Are your clothes here?” the boy asked.

  “Yes,” Ethan said.

  “Why were you running in the woods bare naked? Are you one of those sex devils my mother told me about?”

  “No,” Ethan replied. “I was in the woods to rescue you.”

  “Oh my God,” Lucy whispered. “That’s Mattie’s son.”

  “I thought he looked familiar,” Hank said. “She tried to leave with him and her daughter the other day.”

  Restin groaned. Another New Sinai refugee was not on his Christmas list.

  He turned to Ethan. “Let me guess. He followed you home and now you’re going to beg me to keep him so you’ll have someone to eat your homework.”

  Ethan’s dark eyes revealed nothing.

  “Joseph,” Lucy said, as if remembering the boy’s name.

  The child heard his name and looked toward the sound. When he saw Lucy, his already too-big eyes widened and filled with tears. Violent sobs wracked his skinny frame, and he blubbered something unintelligible.

  Ethan cradled him against his bare chest. “No, Lucy is not a ghost. My friend rescued her, just like I rescued you.”

  “Would you like to touch my hand?” Lucy offered.

  “No,” he screeched. Tears and snot flew in every direction as he shook his head.

  “That’s right,” Ethan said. “Scream just as loud as you can. Pretend for the General that wolves really did get you.”

  Restin was missing something here. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” Ethan said, his voice still soft and even, “that General Butler tossed the boy over the side of the fence. It’s a good thing I was there to catch him.”

  “Sacrifice,” Stoker muttered. He turned an interesting shade of green, shoved everyone out of his way, and bounded toward the ditch, where he bent over, and hurled his last meal. Maybe even the one before that, judging by the sound.

  “And yeah,” Ethan said, tilting his chin at a defiant angle, “I’m keeping him until his mom can take care of him.”

  “Daddy killed her,” Joseph sobbed. “Sarah must have tattled about the poison.”

  Restin’s insides froze. “Poison? What poison?”

  “Poison from the woods,” Joseph said. “Mama picked it.”

  “Mattie is the cook,” Lucy said. “There was barely any food left when I was there. Rations have to be low.”

  “I scented people in the woods,” Stoker said, still hanging over the ditch.

  “Randy’s allergies are pretty bad this time of year. He can’t smell or taste anything,” Lucy said. “If Mattie was going to dose the Kool-Aid, he’d never know it.”

  “Scat,” Restin swore. “We can’t let that happen. No replays of Jonestown, no replays of Waco.”

  “Then we need to take out Butler in his sleep, like we talked about,” Hank said.

  “The wolves are after the General, too,” Joseph said. He’d stopped crying but hiccoughs rhythmically jolted his body.

  No one spoke. The boy was too young to be privy to their secret. They were going to have to watch what they said.

  Lucy stepped closer to Ethan and the boy. “I worked with your mom in the kitchen at New Sinai.”

  Joseph stuck his thumb in his mouth then buried his face against Ethan’s neck.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  Joseph nodded. At least, that’s what his head movemen
ts looked like to Restin.

  “I’ll bet we can convince Ethan to take you to a restaurant for breakfast. He loves French toast and bacon.”

  As soon as Lucy mentioned food, the boy’s head jerked up. The rising sun created jaundiced shadows on his face. Obviously, he recalled parts of life before New Sinai.

  Then again, a little meat wouldn’t hurt the boy.

  And wasn’t it interesting that Lucy had known exactly how to grab his attention.

  Parker stepped off the bus. “Maybe you should reintroduce him to food slowly. If he’s been starved or his diet restricted, his system might not be able to handle something rich or fatty such as French toast and bacon.”

  “Right,” Lucy said. “Pancakes are bland, though. I’ll bet Joseph can eat a whole stack.”

  Of course, Restin thought. She’s female; she has maternal instincts. Maybe the kid would be best served by staying in Lucy’s care.

  Restin liked that idea. Babysitting was a perfect job for her. Safe, too, which ought to make Stoker happy. Ethan might not want to give up his pet boy, but he’d do as he was told.

  The cook’s brat had to be wrong.

  Wolves could not have taken his son.

  Randy stood on the observation deck and glared into the forest, wishing the fiery glow of the rising sun were actually flames roasting a few wormy carcasses.

  The beasts were silent now. He didn’t want to believe they’d snatched what they’d come for and left.

  There was no sign of Michelle. Anywhere. At first, he’d assumed she’d crawled back into bed. When she wasn’t there, he checked the outhouse.

  Behind him, the brush of footsteps on the hard packed dirt of the center yard alerted him that one contingent of soldiers was about to report their findings.

  Slowly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, he turned to face his men.

  “The cook house is empty, sir,” the sergeant said. “We checked the perimeter of the fence. There’s one spot where something might have burrowed its way in, but if it did, it did a good job covering its tracks on its way out.”

  Helpless fury knotted Randy’s gut. Wolves shouldn’t be able to come and go as they pleased. There was a fence. There were armed sentries.

  No, Michelle had to be inside New Sinai. Maybe she was hurt. Maybe she’d started hemorrhaging again and was too weak to call out for help, endangering his son.

  His sorry-assed soldiers weren’t looking hard enough. If he were a less patient man, Randy would have grabbed a rifle to practice his marksmanship, using his pathetic army as targets.

  He ground his teeth in an attempt to contain his rage, but all that did was increase his headache. The clenching muscles in his abdomen reminded him that he was hungry, and something had to be done about appointing a replacement cook.

  “Sergeant Reuel!” he called, and the tall, cadaver-thin man stepped from the shadows. “Take your woman to the root cellar.”

  Reuel spat in the dust. “She ain’t dead.”

  Randy glanced at the huddle of unmoving rags. “I never said she was.”

  Reuel hesitated.

  Another crack of fury lashed through Randy. He’d thought that when the sergeant had used his rifle on the woman that he was a man whose priorities were straight.

  “Yes sir,” Reuel finally said.

  Randy remained on the observation platform while two soldiers dragged the unconscious woman over the rough ground. One soldier lifted the bulkhead door, the hinges screeching in the silent morning.

  Danby’s ripeness rolled over New Sinai. A soldier puked on his own feet.

  Reuel shoved his woman down the steps then nodded. The soldier slammed the bulkhead door.

  Reuel marched back to the platform. “Maybe Danby is luring the wolves. They didn’t start sniffing around until Danby went and got himself shot.”

  Interesting. He hadn’t connected the two incidents, but Reuel did have a point.

  Randy turned his back on New Sinai and gazed at the woods. The colorful sunrise had faded to sharp, unforgiving morning light, which cast deep, distorting shadows.

  Funny how much he missed Danby. He’d been the closest thing to a friend Randy had had in years. Until the end.

  Until Lucy had messed up everything.

  Summoning Lucy Callahan to New Sinai was the worst mistake of Randy’s reign. He never should have assumed the sisters shared a temperament. Michelle was so needy that the barest minimum of attention–not even affection–guaranteed lifelong clinging from her. She would not have absconded with his son.

  Lucy, on the other hand, was too wild, too independent. She should have been grateful that someone as high up in his hierarchy as Bill Danby was willing to marry her. She wasn’t that pretty, and she was too-sharp tongued for most men to tolerate. The piano player was pussy whipped, that was clear.

  Even in death, Lucy was trying to control Randy and influence destiny.

  His soldiers had yet to find a trace of her remains. Without some kind of proof, the insurance company would never pay Michelle what she was owed as Lucy’s only living relative.

  Which meant he also had to find Michelle. Alive.

  Otherwise, all that cold, hard cash and all the cold steel that cash could purchase would slip through his fingers.

  “Recruit a couple of volunteers to relocate Danby,” Randy ordered Reuel.

  Danby had wanted Lucy so badly, he’d been willing to defy his General; now he could join Lucy in a pile of wolf shit.

  He hoped the carnivores had torn out Lucy’s tongue first then her throat, so they wouldn’t have to listen to her.

  But damn it all, they should have left something for him.

  “No,” Stoker said to Restin, who scowled as he paced the length of Stoker and Lucy’s room.

  “I’m ordering your mate to do her duty to the pack and care for the child,” Restin said.

  “I don’t mind,” Lucy said, “but not because I’m a woman. I want to make that clear right now. I’ll do it because I’ve met his mom, and I feel sorry for the kid, not because I have a genetic predisposition for motherhood, because I don’t. If you don’t believe me, look at how badly Michelle turned out.”

  Stoker wasn’t going to dispute that, but he didn’t want Joseph in their room for purely selfish reasons. He and Lucy were newlyweds; every lycanthrope knew what that meant: sex.

  “What are you going to do with him in the morning?” Lucy asked.

  A great question, one he should have thought to ask. They certainly couldn’t take Joseph with them while they sang Jericho to New Sinai, and Stoker was not leaving Lucy alone.

  Which made Joseph Restin’s problem. Restin wanted to lead; let him decide what to do about the boy.

  Stoker glanced out the open window. Ethan and Joseph sat on the grass under a tree behind the motel. Parker hovered nearby, as if ready to offer his EMT services.

  Joseph refused to leave Ethan’s side. The brightly colored, grease-stained paper bag sitting between them probably had something to do with it.

  The scent of fast-food breakfast muffins drifted to the second story, and Stoker inhaled deeply. Although he preferred his meat a little more on the rare side, he wasn’t adverse to drive-thru cuisine on occasion. Only Lucy hadn’t indulged in McCholesterol, as she called it, so Stoker bought her a blueberry muffin and juice from the motel coffee shop.

  No more public appearances for Lucy, not until New Sinai was resolved. Now that Joseph was with them, Restin was adamant.

  “Don’t want a bath,” Joseph told Ethan, his treble voice carrying in the quiet morning.

  “Either you take a bath on your own,” Ethan said, “or Restin will make Lucy give you a bath. Lucy isn’t your mama, so she shouldn’t be seeing your private stuff.”

  “Jo
seph needs new clothes,” Lucy said to Restin. “I may not have Stoker’s sense of smell, but the boy stinks. We should burn his old clothes as an offering to any god foolish enough to accept it.”