Wolfkind

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Wolfkind Page 18

by Stephen Melling


  It was out. He had told her. He was completely in her hands.

  She headed north out of the city.

  “Where are you taking me?” Joshua asked.

  “A place we can talk."

  Part Two

  Renegades.

  Barely pushing the air in front of them as they moved, the two renegades slipped silently into the house. Nathan waited by the table map, nursing a whiskey bottle. A breeze from the smashed rear windows blew through the house. The television was dark and silent. Wind whistled and shrieked under the eaves.

  Melissa and Blayne ghosted in from the hall. Nathan set the whiskey bottle down with a thump. “You’re late…” his voice trailed off.

  They stood before him like naughty children, only instead of dirt, they were smeared with blood. Nathan’s eyes wandered over the scarred landscape of their bodies. Several wounds were unhealed. Some still bled.

  Melissa’s dark jogging suit hung on her like a hobo’s rags; peppered with holes and crusted with blood. Her tousled hair imparted a used look, and hung over her face, which was drawn and gaunt. She could see out of only one eye – the other was an angry mass of raw flesh. She was shaking. The Jamaican hit had been a close run thing; too damn close. Nathan’s grim expression turned to fury.

  “We were set up,” said Blayne as he went into the kitchen, returning a moment later clutching a chunk of uncooked steak in his fist.

  Nathan raised his hand and brushed the hair off Melissa’s face. At first she recoiled, raising her arm defensively, before allowing herself to be touched. She glanced nervously at Blayne emerging from the kitchen. He tore at the steak, pausing only to purge a bullet from his chest; the chunk of metal dinked onto the table. “Sons-o-bitches were ready.”

  Without warning Nathan grabbed him by the throat, turned and slammed him into the wall, cracking the plaster. “Watch out for her, I said.” His arms and shoulders bunched and writhed with muscle as he threw Blayne into the television screen. The tube exploded and Blayne went down in a snowfall of glass.

  “It’s not his fault-” Melissa said.

  Blayne rose unharmed, an expression of anger, hurt and fear on his face, which like Nathan’s had begun to shift. Canine teeth glistened in his mouth; a bloody string of saliva looped to the floor. Nathan was already leaping over the couch after him, his fingernails slashing the leather. Again his fingers found Blayne’s throat. Blayne struggled for breath. “It was a trap…”

  Whoosh. Again Blayne hurtled through the air, clearing the table and thumping upside-down against the wall beside Melissa. He scrambled backwards and slid up the wall until he could go no farther. “It was a trap.” He raised his hands defensively. “They were waiting for us.”

  “Is this how you look out for her?” Nathan’s eyes turned scarlet. “Is this how I can trust you?” Grabbing him by the hair and his left arm, he pushed Blayne’s face toward Melissa. “Look at her,” he hissed. Several locks of hair tore away in Nathan’s fist. He drove Blayne’s arm so far up between his shoulder blades that Blayne touched the back of his own head. With a sickening crack, the arm fractured.

  Blayne gritted his teeth. “They were ready for us.”

  Melissa touched Nathan’s forearm, the muscles of which bulged and writhed. “He’s telling the truth, Nathan. Please.”

  Nathan closed his eyes and deep breathed. He cast a final, stony look at Blayne, then released him altogether, but not before tearing out a hank of Blayne’s hair and shoving him to the floor.

  Blayne gave him a sour stare as got up. “They hit us with everything.”

  Nathan turned away from them and faced the rear of the house, presenting only his back to the room. His chest rose and fell and he slowly regained his composure. “It was Durant,” he said.

  “Slimy son of a bitch.” Blayne snarled. “I’ll rip out his heart and make him eat it. Eat it.” He punched the wall.

  “This was always his intention.” Nathan remained calm.

  Melissa moved a step in his direction. “Nathan?” she said, and then looked past him, only now noticing the broken window out back. “What’s happened?”

  Blayne continued ranting and raving, kicking furniture and punching walls and promising hell-fire and high-water to every greasy wop south of San Francisco.

  Nathan, his eyes dark and unreadable, regarded them both unblinkingly. “Anything else strange about the Johnson hit?”

  Melissa thought a moment. “Just that they seemed prepared.”

  Blayne’s ears pricked up. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes narrowing in remembrance. “One of Johnson’s crew was white. Big, long-haired son-of-a-bitch. Took a shot at me. He appeared normal, except…”

  “He was Wolfkind,” Nathan said.

  “Wolfkind?” Melissa and Blayne said together.

  Nathan remained pensive.

  Melissa stepped toward him. “I thought the only other was...” she left the sentence unfinished. Instead she snapped her head in the direction of the smashed window.

  “My brother,” Nathan said, facing them. “Had his aim been accurate you’d be dead right now.”

  Blayne threw his arms in the air. “That’s just great.”

  Melissa watched Nathan closely. “You said he’d join us.”

  “I was wrong,” he said. “But we go on as planned.”

  “With him creeping around?” Blayne asked.

  “We go as planned.”

  Blayne held his tongue. Melissa sat down on the leather couch and stared at the floor.

  Nathan turned to the map. “Durant’s rivals are gone. His hold on organized crime is too strong to be properly threatened by any new fish. He must have hoped the Jamaicans would, I don’t know – kill us off, maybe. When he hears they got wasted he’ll turn his place into a fortress.”

  “What are we going to do?” Melissa asked.

  Nathan half shrugged. “I’ll go ahead with the pick-up. When I get a look at Serefini I’ll know for sure whether they screwed us.”

  Blayne clapped his hands together. “Right on. We’ll crush those fucking greasy…”

  “I’ll go alone,” Nathan said. “Get some food and rest. Whether they set us up or not, we hit them tomorrow night. You’ll need to be firing on all four.”

  Melissa didn’t move. “Nathan,” she said. “Your brother...”

  He pulled the Beretta from his jeans. “Let me worry about him.”

  Solitude

  The local road swept northeast and the city lights dwindled behind them. Up ahead the road branched and Genna selected the right hand fork, which curved westwards into the stately pines. A lop-sided tin sign, PRIVATE ROAD, reflected the headlights, where the tarmac ended and compacted dirt-and pine-needles began. The track wound unevenly northwest for a quarter of a mile and then due west in a straight line, still climbing for another half mile. Here and there branches poked and prodded from the sides, reclaiming the path, in places meeting several feet above the top of the car, creating a natural pine tunnel.

  “Where does this lead,” Joshua asked.

  “We’re nearly there,” Genna said. A moment later the wall of trees fell away revealing a clearing and the dark shape of a large structure. At their arrival, exterior lights came on, illuminating an impressive log cabin constructed of interlocking pines and mortar. A dozen ground-level spots shone upward, brightening the decorative shrubs and trees, the lawns, the bark-chipping pathways.

  As the car came to a stop near the entrance, a porch lantern flickered on, and then a succession of interior lights.

  Joshua stiffened. “What...”

  “Relax,” Genna looked up at the cabin. “All the lights are triggered by a proximity sensor. They’re supposed to discourage burglars. A timer switches them on and off.”

  “Who lives here?”

  “Belongs to my father,” Genna said. “He never uses it, though he still employs a grounds-keeper and a maid. The fridge is always stocked, fresh fruit in the bowls, a drinks cabinet, Satellite TV, and sev
eral phone lines. This place...” Genna plucked the ignition keys. “Is like a hotel without guests. Suzanne used to bring boyfriends up here.” She gave him a wan smile.

  Joshua found Genna’s relaxed manner unsettling. She did not seem in the least bit apprehensive. Why was she so unafraid? He suspected perhaps that she had misheard his confession in the parking lot.

  Genna doused the headlights, eased herself out of the car and walked up to the stoop, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was following. Her boots clacked hollowly on the wooden porch steps, loud and clear in the mountain air. She dropped to her haunches and felt underneath the narrow overhang of the wooden step for a key. She unlocked the door. Warm light spilled out.

  Joshua slid out of the car and followed her onto the porch. The suspicion that something was dreadfully amiss persisted. He hesitated in the doorway, rubbing the wolf-head amulet between thumb and forefinger furiously. Maybe revealing himself to Genna had been a mistake.

  When she realized he was not following her inside, Genna glanced over her shoulder. “I promise you, Joshua, we’re all alone up here.”

  Swallowing thickly, he trailed her into the house, through several cool, fully furnished rooms. Although many of the furnishings were late twentieth century, the log-cabin effect was respected. Dark wood floors shone, reflecting the beamed low ceilings. On the wall over a log fire in the sitting room a large mirror hung beneath two Stag’s heads mounted on carved wooden shields, their faces frozen in death.

  Genna waited for him at the rear of the house in a large, double-glazed sun room that ran the length of one wall. The dark wood used for the frames matched the wood floors, but this modern-day extension was too great a contrast to sit comfortably with the log cabin ideal.

  A collection of wicker furniture arranged around a circular glass table gleamed in the soft luminescence from several ornate wall sconces. Against the wall stood a pine book case crammed with hardback titles ranging from Dickens to Dostoyevsky, Mario Puzo to Ian Fleming; encyclopedias and dictionaries, bibles, books on economics, theology, ethics, geography, and science. Joshua could not imagine a man such as Durant having the time nor the inclination to read a work of fiction.

  Genna selected a decanter of brandy from a liquor cabinet and poured herself a large measure. As she busied herself, Joshua surreptitiously inspected her injuries. The deep swelling and attendant bruises on her temple, the angry graze on her forehead, her tousled hair. Dirt smeared the knees of her jeans. She never once complained, but grimaced when she took a swallow of Brandy.

  None of this detracted from her appeal. These minor infractions served only to highlight her persistent loveliness. More than ever he wanted to protect her. She was Beauty and naturally, like it or not, he was the Beast.

  Genna drained her glass and turned back to the liquor cabinet. With her back to him she said: “Now I’m up here, the last few days hardly seem real.”

  Joshua watched her closely.

  She offered a quick, disarming smile. “Do you want a drink?”

  His eyes wandered across the line of bottles: whiskey, tequila, brandy, “Wine,” he said. “Red wine.”

  “Good choice.” She poured a large measure and placed the glass in his half-raised hand. She stepped past him and looked out of the window at the gray outlines of the treetops sloping southwest. Beyond, central Los Angeles glistened like a diamond-encrusted circuit board, softening toward the horizon. Her voice, clear and soft, fogged the glass: “Talk to me, Joshua.” She turned to look at him. “Tell me everything.”

  When Nathan Grenire arrived on foot outside the Galaxy Nightclub in West Hollywood, Divo Serefini was already standing by a limousine waiting for him. Only on this occasion the gangster was not alone. Two men dressed in black suits stood by the car. “What is this?” Nathan asked. “A school outing?”

  The Limousine’s rear door opened a few feet. Nathan looked down into the barrel of an Uzi. While he watched, the gunman screwed a large noise suppressor to the barrel.

  “Get in,” Serefini said.

  A wry expression played on Nathan’s face; he hooked a thumb at the nightclub. “Something wrong with this place?”

  Serefini waved his hand at the neon lit building. “The music sucks and the clientele stinks.” He placed a hand on the limousine’s door. “I’m wearing my politeness suit right now, and it’s starting to ride up in the crotch, so be a good boy and get in the fucking car.”

  Nathan spread his hands and stepped forward. “My kind of charm.” He slipped nimbly and fluidly onto the rear seat; the suspension dipped sharply, as though he weighed far more than his build suggested. Inside the car three waiting gangsters drew their guns. Serefini took the front seat. The remaining two men joined Nathan in the back. They also drew their weapons. A total of five guns were now trained on him.

  “Don’t you think you guys are over doing it a bit?”

  Serefini ignored him. “Frisk this comedian, and don’t forget to check his nuts.”

  “We lived in a mountain valley somewhere in northern Canada,” Joshua paced as he talked. “A remote region of the Saskatchewan – I couldn’t tell you where because I honestly don’t know.”

  Genna was seated on one of the wicker chairs, her eyes following Joshua around the room.

  “We’d been there for longer than any of us remembered. Outside of human affairs; outside of society. That’s how our group had always lived – or so Barlow assumed.”

  “That name again,” Genna said.

  Joshua nodded. “Max Barlow came to us twenty-seven years ago – before I was born. He was a Xaverian missionary – he’d traveled South America and Europe. Worked with under-privileged children on summer camps, that sort of thing. He was scouting remote locations when he stumbled into our settlement. No one knew what to do with him. We followed a rule, you see; never to harm humans.” Joshua stared hard at the ornamental dragon on the table. “When Barlow learned what we were he was enthralled. Saw it as his vocation to help us.

  “In time the elders grew to trust him. He knew of the outside world. On the strength of this he appointed himself as advisor and teacher, warned the elders that others would be searching for him, that sooner or later the settlement would be found. As the world shrank and civilization expanded we’d ultimately be forced deeper into the mountains.

  “In the end Barlow suggested we should not retreat farther north, where we’d finish up on the fringes of the Arctic Circle, but that we ought to move south, into the lowlands. Not away from the people but closer. Survival, he said, would be determined by our willingness to live among you.

  “Following Barlow’s lead we left the mountain and lived in a religious commune on a ranch south of the Canadian border, masquerading as Xaverians. For a time everything seemed fine. We learned a great deal about modern civilization, religion, commerce, history, technology – the world we never knew. A lot of illusions were shattered by less superstitious beliefs.”

  Joshua took a large swallow of his wine. “As part of our assimilation Barlow escorted parties into nearby towns, acquaint them with customs and habits, but ignorance of simple things all too easily got them trouble. Nathan and I grew up on the commune, and so inherited a more natural human outlook that the others had to learn from scratch.”

  “How many of you were there?”

  Joshua turned from the window and paced the room again. “Fewer than thirty. In the early days only two or three strayed from the ranch, but as time went by, everybody wanted to experience human society.”

  “Ah,” Genna said.

  “During one of these trips a scuffle broke out with locals. Someone pulled a knife and a farm boy was bitten. Nothing serious. Just teeth marks.”

  Joshua stared at the floor. “This boy became the first renegade. Until then no one even knew infection was possible. Something in the saliva, I don’t know what, jumped the species gap like a…like a virus. Barlow just fell apart. Soon after the incident a young local girl was killed. More than th
at; she’d been mauled.”

  Genna shivered.

  Pacing more quickly now, Joshua went on: “News of this reached us a day later. Barlow suspected one of us was responsible. He suspended all trips. In the days that followed, three more people died before we discovered the renegade. Barlow dispatched two of us to track down and kill him.”

  “What do these renegades look like?” Genna asked.

  “Like the next man in the street. Only Wolfkind - or another renegade - can see through the disguise. Barlow decided that all such renegades should be tracked and killed. You see, if this farm boy attacked other humans and left them alive, they too would become infected; then the cycle would begin again.”

  Genna shivered again. “Dear God. If this spilled into the general population…”

  Joshua nodded grimly. “Barlow got hold of a poison called cyanide sulfate. This stuff lingers in the blood stream and will kill a renegade in seconds – faster than it would kill a human being.”

  “Faster?”

  “It’s the metabolism. You see, when a renegade metamorphoses, however minutely, their metabolic rate soars. Introducing poison at precisely that moment will prove fatal. The blood carries the toxin to every point in the body; every organ, every muscle fiber, every cell. The poison acts before the body’s defenses can flush it way.”

  A haunted look came into Genna’s eyes; she glanced over Joshua’s body, as though picturing total and irreversible organ damage.

  Joshua said nothing for a minute. “Barlow...changed. No one was allowed to leave the ranch, not even to go into the hills. By then he was assumed leader of the group. No one presumed to question this. We were in his world.

  “A month later a batch of the stored poison went missing and soon after, someone killed several colony members. Everyone was a suspect – except Nathan and me - we were barely teenagers.

  “The killings continued – they averaged one a month. When there only a handful of us were left, Barlow made the decision that we should all leave the ranch. He secured a remote property in New Hampshire. Nathan and I were still young and he kept us away from the others – for our protection, he said. Told us to look upon him as a father; that we were to call him so if ever we had unannounced visitors. We lived in New Hampshire like this for a few years.”

 

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