Wolfkind

by Stephen Melling

  He ran at the window with a half-formed plan of kicking away the boards, lowering himself to the alley floor, then high-tailing his ass to the Limo. Before he got within five feet of the flimsy boards, however, fear assumed control of his body. Fists first and arms extended, he threw himself at the shuttered window. The rotting planks gave amid a crash of glass and splintering of wood.

  Momentum propelled him into a forward somersault that allowed him to complete a full revolution and descend feet first to the alley twelve feet below. He hit the floor hard, his legs folded beneath him, driving his knees into his chin. For the second time he bit his tongue. The tip of the appendage flew across the dark alley and struck the far wall.

  Fear rendering him temporarily impervious to pain, he scrambled on all fours away from the window toward the mouth of the alley where the Limousine was parked. He fell against the hood, banging his knees on the bumper, already hollering at the driver to start the goddamn engine.

  But the car was empty. Serefini ran to the driver’s side and yanked the door open. “Where the fu…” he began, then noticed the keys dangling from the ignition and he threw himself behind the wheel.

  Movement beyond the windshield caught his eye, and for an instant before the engine roared to life, he observed tiny particles of diamonds tinkling on the limousine’s hood. Small ones and large ones, tinkling and tumbling, end over end. As the engine caught, a large shadow dark as a storm cloud fell over the windshield. Then thunder struck as something plunged onto the hood, rocking the car on its springs.

  What looked like a German Shepherd roared at the windscreen. Slaver and blood and particles of flesh spattered the glass. Glinting in the flecks of gore was Franco’s gold tooth.

  Serefini pressed himself into the seat and floored the pedal. With the tortured sound of tires tearing over the concrete alley floor, the limousine lurched forward, sending the beast bouncing and rolling over the roof. A clawed hand smashed through the sunroof, snared a fist-full of Serefini’s hair and pulled. Serefini felt himself being pulled off the seat. He kicked at the accelerator, the car moved forward in a series of lurches, and the beast fell away, though not before tearing out a clump of Serefini’s ponytail. He kept the accelerator floored, the powerful engine pulling him from the jaws of certain death.

  With the grating sound of tearing metal, the Limousine shuddered, and then climbed swiftly through the gears. He glanced at the rearview mirror. Saw the figure leap to its feet, the Limo’s rear bumper held aloft. It cast aside the steel strip and gave chase. Before Divo reached the end of the alley the limo was up to sixty miles an hour. When he looked back again, the alley was deserted.

  Serefini looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He saw fear in his eyes. This affected him in a peculiar way. The stark reminder of his own mortality left him scared, yet strangely excited. He felt horny as a Stag. Blood thumped in his ears and in his pants. He glanced down at the bulge at his crotch, then stuffed a hand down there and quickly rearranged things. Thinking of the beast that chased him, he released a loon-like laugh, knowing it would be back. “Divo, baby,” he said to his reflection. “You’re doing this shit without a net.”

  He switched on the wipers, but succeeded only in smearing the blood across the windshield.

  Genna stood facing Joshua like a reluctant gunfighter, the Beretta held loosely in her hands, heavy and threatening but pointed at the floor. “You had this?” she asked incredulously. “Tonight when I was attacked?”

  He nodded.

  “But you never used it.”

  “It was my brother-”

  “You didn’t know it was your brother until after I’d gone – you thought it was a renegade. You could have picked him off from the doorway.” A speculative expression pinched her face.

  Joshua shrugged. “I had no time, you would have been…”

  Genna stepped up to him, the gun in her hand, though still pointed at the floor.

  “Why did you come after me, Joshua?”

  He couldn’t look at her.

  “Why let me drive you up here?”

  He burst into conversation. “You’ve seen Wolfkind, and must realize how wretched a species we are; how we all, every last one of us, must be wiped from the face of the earth. The very fabric of society, evolved through thousands of years of pain and struggle, would unravel and choke on its own blood. Wolfkind are bad – an affront to God...” He tailed off and blinked at Genna’s stony expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because you’re lying,” she said. “You didn’t come up here to convince me of anything. What difference would my knowing make to the world at large?” She narrowed her eyes. “You came here to convince yourself.”

  He blinked; said nothing.

  A sour look came over her face. “This Barlow character sure did some job on you – he almost succeeded, too. Only you’re not sure anymore, are you? You needed me to help you decide.” She mimicked haughtiness. “Well, excuse me, but I will not be the one to condemn you.” She threw the gun down onto the table, the smoked glass shattered and the ornamental dragon fell through to the floor.

  Joshua frowned. “Listen-”

  “No Joshua. It’s your turn to listen. While you told your tale, I watched you closely. Whenever you mentioned Wolfkind, or how dangerous you all were, you looked up as if you expected me to run screaming from the room.” She shook her head. “I don’t have a problem believing any of this. In the last few days I’ve seen some pretty strange stuff. I can’t tell you why – but I feel no different.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Call me strange, if it helps you, call me weird, call me foolish, or call me a blasphemer. Call me what you will. Only don’t ask me to condemn you to the…the wretched image this Barlow character pinned on you.”

  “I’m Wolfkind.” Joshua said plaintively.

  As though dealing with a timid child, Genna stepped up and reached for his hands, but he stepped back accordingly. “Look at me,” she said.

  He looked at her.

  “If you truly value my opinion, here it is: Drop this...mission; disregard everything Barlow told you; forget you even knew him. Take the only real option left: get the hell out of Los Angeles.”

  “Leave?”

  “As soon as you can. Leave tonight – and forever. You said so yourself – it’s no longer safe. Right now my father has pictures of you and will have no doubt circulated them to every bagman he has in the LAPD. By morning every cop in the city will know your face. And there’s your brother, he’ll come looking for you, too.”

  “I can’t leave.” he said. “Renegades are still active; I have a responsibility…”

  Genna pulled hard on his shirt. “They’ll kill you,” She cried. “They’ll kill you. Joshua, I don’t want to lose somebody else I care for.”

  “Care?” His expression was grim. “Genna, I just told you I’m a –“

  “You’re a what?” she said, still clinging to his shirt, twisting the fabric in her fists. “Humanity isn’t a birthright, Joshua; throughout all of this horror…this madness, you’ve retained a sense of duty toward the common good I can scarcely believe. That’s a virtue all of your own. What you are hasn’t made you less than human – you’re more than human. You just can’t see the good in yourself.”

  Though he knew Barlow had betrayed them, he could not shed in the blink of an eye two decades of ingrained ideology. Though equally powerful was the longing, the lifelong wish to be as the next man, to be able to love like the next man, eat, drink and sleep like the next man.

  Joshua floundered in the wake of his own beliefs, torn between what he knew as lies, and what he suspected as truths; the enormity of his burden weighed on him like a physical weight. “Please,” he said. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “You saved my life.” She punctuated each word with a tug of his shirt. Then carefully she extricated her hands from the material. Her skin was creased across the knuckles, the white skin
blooming pink as the blood flowed back. She smoothed out the lines in his tattered shirt, craned her neck up, her warm breath on his skin, and kissed his mouth.

  Joshua retreated all the way to the glass conservatory wall and could go no farther. Genna cornered him. She reached up and touched his face, the backs of her fingers trailing delicately over the deep scratches his brother inflicted.

  So that she could properly inspect the wounds, Genna tiptoed and leaned forward. The full length of her body pressed lightly against his. At the same moment they both became aware of encroaching on each other’s space. But neither of them saw it as a violation. Joshua became aware of affectionate tumescence in his loins. He blinked and altered his footing.

  Genna reached for his hand. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

  The bathroom was varnished wood and mauve tiles. As well as a sunken tub there was a sauna, a steam room, and a double shower. Genna ordered Joshua to sit on a wooden-slat bench whilst she attended to him. She filled the basin with warm water and wrung out a face cloth.

  Joshua sat quietly, like an obedient school boy. He peeked under her arm and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror running the length of the tub. The face of a stranger stared back, startling him.

  Genna pulled back from her first-aid. “Did I hurt you?”

  He shook his head.

  As he watched her face, which was etched with concentration, he toyed with the notion of abandoning the past. Take her advice. Hightail it out of Los Angeles. Forsake the cause, shed his dubious identity and assume a new one. Find a job. Rent an apartment. Live as a human being. Only Genna knew his secret.

  Of course there was his brother, but Nathan would most likely stick to Los Angeles. The city had as strong a hold on him as he had on it. Nathan and Los Angeles fed off each other. Yes – leaving the city was a feasible option.

  But if he left would he ever see Genna Delucio again?

  She worked industriously at his wounds, moving from one cheek and starting on the next. He could smell her skin, her hair, her sweet breath, redolent of Napoleon brandy.

  “Where would I go?”

  “Let’s clean you up first. Then we’ll decide what we’re going to do.”

  What we are going to do?

  She leaned in close, squinting at the delicate work. Again he became aware of her faint cologne, her natural, personal scent, her oh so sweet breath. The urge to kiss those ruby lips almost overwhelmed him. He felt her body heat, the blood surging through her veins, heard the pumping of her sturdy, yet fragile, human heart.

  “There. Should do it.” Genna handed him a dry towel.

  He dabbed his face and stood.

  Genna dried her hands and headed toward the door. “I’m going to change these clothes and take a shower,” she said. “If you’re hungry there should be plenty in the fridge.”

  “Thanks,” Joshua said, and …Whoosh! That eerie sensation of domesticity. Ozzie and Harriet. His head reeled, the feeling slow to pass.

  “I’ll be twenty minutes.” She closed the door. A few moments later the shower started up.

  Divo Serefini arrived back at Stromboli Mansion wound so tightly that for a few minutes no one could get a single word of sense from him. Salvatore Durant suspected the beating Divo suffered might have taken away one or two of his marbles. In Durant’s study Serefini paced the floor like a father in a delivery suite. His face swollen and bleeding; his jacket torn and dirty. Losing the tip of his tongue had given him a lisp. A coating of plaster dust in his hair gave the impression he had aged ten years. Clots of blood and God knew what else stuck to his clothes.

  Independent reports were already coming in that corroborated much of Serefini’s ravings, but Salvatore Durant did not attain his lofty position by believing in werewolves and demons – not of the supernatural kind, anyway. He did, however, believe that his second in command thought he had seen a monster. The cold light of day would probably yield a less outlandish report.

  But Durant listened attentively. Whenever Divo became overly anxious and stopped making sense, Durant poured him another drink. Serefini blinked at the latest shot-glass before snatching it off the table. Grimacing, he guzzled the fiery liquid, losing most of it down his chin, where it joined the blood soaked into his shirt. A section of his ponytail, torn from his scalp, still hung by the hank of leather.

  Serefini slammed the empty glass on the table. “I don’t know what the hell we’re going to do. That fucking kid-wolf thing took a dozen direct hits. One of the guys sprayed him with automatic fire, but that did no more damage than my pea-shooter.” He laughed crazily, a high-pitched, unhinged sound.

  Salvatore Durant narrowed his eyes. Serefini was obviously scared, but his terror was blended with wild excitement. Usually Serefini fed off other people’s fear, but here he was feeding off his own, eating it like popcorn. The spectacle was ghastly.

  Durant suddenly felt privy to a disturbing piece of insight; Serefini had not been driven to the edge of madness, but to the brink of sanity. “Where would such a…thing come from?” Durant asked, hoping he wouldn’t get: Oh, from hell I’m sure, that’s where they all come from boss!

  Serefini threw his hands up. “Search me sideways, in my ears and up my ass.” he said, but his words came out ‘therch me thideway, in my ear and up my ath.’ He winced and sucked at his tongue. “All I know for sure is those babies weren’t grown in a regular womb. Probably the result of a government experiment that went wrong.”

  “Or right,” one of the guards said.

  “Of course.” Serefini said, snapping his head round. “Government’s been meddling with this silly shit since the war. That’s where the taxpayer’s dollars disappear to. Bogus trips to the Moon, arming foreign countries, and laboratories all over the goddam country, bent on doing things the bible told us to leave alone. They probably gene-spliced the chromosomes of a wolf and a man; maybe edited in a resistance to pain.”

  Durant shook his head. “A resistance to pain, maybe. Resistance to automatic gunfire, I don’t think so. Right now whatever these things are is not important. What is important is that we’re prepared.”

  Serefini nodded vigorously. “We have to beef up security; more men – a lot more, and we need better weapons.”

  “All right,” Durant said at last. “Get Sanderman here from the arms dump. Pull in all our guys who are on the outside. We shut up shop. Turn this place into a fortress.”

  A crazy expression danced across Serefini’s face. “Let’s do it.”

  “My daughter,” Durant said while he poured himself a double scotch.

  Serefini blinked stupidly. “Your daughter?”

  “Up at the cabin someone punched in the code for the alarm. She’s the only one who knows the sequence. After you’ve dealt with Sanderman, I want you to go get her. Take George Decarius with you. Let him deal with my daughter – you handle security.”

  As he spoke, Durant felt a slender string of muscle beneath his left eye start to twitch. Tic-tic-tic. He brought up a hand and touched the muscle, massaged the strands with his finger tips, a tiny prick of fear piercing his icy control.

  After eating they returned to the sun room. A second weather front had since moved in from the mountains. Mist and blackness swirled beyond the glass. While rain battered the house in a series of brisk squalls, they sat apart on the two-seater wicker chair, staring out of the window into the roiling darkness.

  “Suzanne loved this room,” Genna said distantly, and then her expression became troubled.

  “What happened to your sister?” Joshua asked softly.

  For a long moment, Genna didn’t respond, her gaze lost in her wine glass. “She got in the way of a bullet meant for me.” Genna squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. “It happened a year ago, but it still feels like it was only yesterday. There isn’t a day goes by I don’t think about what happened. Not a single day.”

  “You don’t have to-” Joshua said.

  “I want to.” Genna drained her
glass and inhaled deeply, as though preparing for a strenuous physical act. “Every Saturday Suzanne and I took lunch at Mandolin’s. Suzy had a thing for one of the waiters, Emmanuel Cicero. They played a never-ending charade of innuendo and suggestion. It was tiring just watching them. Suzy referred to it as non-contact foreplay.”

  Genna fell silent for a moment. “We were having coffee when a man came into the restaurant. I noticed him because he never took his eyes off me. I remember it all so well; it was real hot that day but this guy was wearing a three-quarter length leather coat. I was frowning at the coat when he threw it open and pulled out a shotgun.”

  She swallowed hard, and her eyes widened. “I couldn’t move. I think Suzy was asking me if I was okay. I tried to tell her to run. A part of me believed nothing would hurt us. I don’t know why. Maybe God would reach down and swat this guy.

  “I was still staring at the gunman when something flew past me,” she swept her hand past her ear like she was throwing a Javelin. “…and hit him in the face. It was Suzanne’s coffee, cup and all. His face took a scalding but it didn’t stop him.

  “He pulled the trigger but the shot went high.” She shuddered.

  “He was so close I could have reached out and touched him. I still see it in dreams. I could probably draw it blindfolded. Next thing I knew my backside thumped on the floor and a second shotgun blast went over my head – I even felt the draft. Afterward, witnesses told me Suzanne had kicked my chair from under me.

  “Before the gunman could pull off another shot, Suzanne put three bullets into him. Bang! Bang! Bang! One after the other. Suzy’s face… so full of hate and fury, that air of confidence and control. Oh, Joshua, you should have seen her.”

  “She killed him?”

  “Instantly.” Genna said. “But he had an accomplice. Again, I saw him first. He had on a sweat-stained yellow shirt and a gray shoulder holster beneath a black jacket.