Under My Skin (Wildlings)

by Charles de Lint

  "Yeah?" I say. "I don't think so. I'm more like an accident they're slowing down to stare at to see the damage."

  "How were the sets?" Desmond asks Marina.

  She grins. "Bitchin'."

  We all laugh. Doesn't matter what they were like, that's always her answer.

  Then Desmond leans forward. "Guess who was asking about the band?"

  "Which so needs a name."

  "You're not guessing."

  She scrunches her face as she pretends to think hard, then says, "I give up. Who?"

  "Come on. You're not even trying."

  "Okay," she says. "Principal Hayden, because he wants to hire us for a pep rally."

  "Bzzzt. Wrong answer. It was Chaingang Washington."

  Marina turns to me for confirmation and I give a reluctant nod.

  "Seriously?" she says.

  "No, we're making it up," Desmond tells her. "Of course, seriously."

  "Are we're talking about the same—"

  "Big black dude who sits out at the picnic tables all day?"

  "But—why?"

  She turns to me again and I see the concern in her eyes.

  "It was cool," I tell her. "I don't know why he decided to quiz me about us. Maybe he just wanted a little dose of that celebrity buzz you were talking about."

  "Ha ha."

  I'm still freaked about the whole mountain lion business—come on, who wouldn't be?—and I hate all the attention I'm getting, but the thing that bugs me the most right now is how I have to lie to my friends. Nobody can stop me from sharing my own secrets, but I can't, in good conscience, share someone else's.

  Something stirs in my gut and it takes a moment before I realize it's the part of me that's a mountain lion. I resent Chaingang for putting me in this position and the mountain lion wants to take it out on him.

  Marina puts a hand on my arm. "Are you okay?"

  And that's enough to ground me.

  "Yeah. I'm fine."

  "Because you had this intense look in your eyes …"

  I shrug. "It's been a really stressful morning."

  She holds my gaze for a long moment, then finally nods.

  "No surprise there," she says. "You should have come out with me this morning."

  "It wouldn't have helped," Desmond says. "He'd just have spent the whole time looking out for guys in black bathing suits."

  I go to punch him in the shoulder but he pulls back out of range.

  "Seriously, dude," he says. "You ought to blow off the rest of the day."

  I shake my head. "The last thing I am today is anonymous. They'd know I was skipping and I don't need detention on top of everything else."

  "You could go to the office," Marina says. "I bet they'll understand if you need more time to deal with this."

  "No, I just need to get through the day. I want things to go back to normal and that's not going to happen if the school decides to start treating me with kid gloves."

  "Yeah, they'd probably make him go see Ms. Chandra," Desmond says, "and she'll want him to talk about his feelings."

  "Probably. She already stopped me in the hall on my way to calculus."

  The bell rings for us to go back to class. Marina and I have study period, so we head off to the library while Desmond goes to English. We get our usual table at the far end of the room, except I take the chair Marina normally does so that I can look out the window. I don't like having my back to doors or windows anymore.

  "Desmond doesn't get it yet," Marina says.

  She leans forward over the table, pitching her voice low so that the librarian won't come over to shush us. The mountain lion lets me smell the salt in her hair.

  "He hasn't really thought it through," she adds. "You know, how huge a change this is and how you have to work through a few things."

  "I know."

  I glance down the row of tables along the window and see Rachel Armstrong sitting with some of her friends. She looks away quickly and I realize she's been staring at me. I've had a huge crush on her since the school year started and didn't think she even knew who I was. But I guess everybody does now. The trouble is, it's for all the wrong reasons.

  Marina rolls her eyes when she notices.

  "Forget Ms. Chandra," she says. "Maybe you should talk to Rachel about your feelings."

  "Shut up."

  But that only makes her smile and shake her head.

  "Desmond's right," she says. "You're way too easy to tease these days."

  "It's just—I feel like my life's falling to pieces around me. Like I don't have any control over anything anymore."

  That stops the teasing.

  "I know," she says. "But he's partly right, too. You can't change what's happened. So maybe it's time you embraced it."

  "What? Like change into a mountain lion and go racing through the halls?"

  "Don't be an idiot. I just mean that all we seem to hear about with the Wildlings is the negative stuff."

  "Because that's all there is."

  She goes on like I didn't interrupt. "But maybe there are some good things, too."

  "Like what?"

  But I remember Cory answering that for me.

  You're stronger and faster than you were before. You're going to live longer and you won't get sick as easily. All your senses are heightened—smell, hearing, vision. And that's just in your human form.

  "I don't know," Marina says. "But this is your life now. If you don't look for the silver lining, then all you're stuck with is the crap."

  "Is that what you'd do?"

  She looks down at the table, but she nods. "But then, I'm a cup-half-full girl."

  "Where would you start?"

  "Have you heard of this thing called the Internet?"

  "Very funny."

  "But I wouldn't go looking up news reports. I'd be looking for blogs. For all we know, some Wildling is out there on WordPress or whatever, talking about the very same stuff you're going through."

  "That's a good idea."

  She smiles. "It sure beats playing Animal Planet in the halls and spending the rest of the school year in detention."

  "If the government doesn't come along and take me away first."

  "Yeah," she says, a worried look in her eyes. "There's always that. So promise me you won't do anything stupid."

  Not unless it's stupid to just try to be normal again.

  "I promise," I tell her.

  Speaking of detention, that's where Desmond is when school's over. He was goofing around with some guys out in the hall between classes and Principal Hayden himself busted them, so there was no chance they'd get off easy. And since Marina's mom picked her up to go to the mall, I'm on my own, skateboarding home. I don't mind. Last night after Desmond and Marina left, I was bouncing off the walls of my bedroom, wishing I had someone to talk to. But with the day I've just had, I'm relieved to be by myself, pushing along on my board, hoodie pulled over my head.

  Anonymous.

  I make the trip across town in record time and I'm not even winded. I guess there's something to say for the stronger and faster part of me. When I get to the pier, I snap my board up into my hand and carry it under my arm as I step from the pavement onto its wooden slats. There's a good wind coming in from the sea and waves are crashing against the support beams below, spraying water. I smell the salt and listen to the conversations around me, the cries of the gulls. Leaning on the north side balustrade, I watch the surfers for a while, then sit down on a nearby bench. I drop my skateboard to the ground. Putting my feet on it, I lean my head back and close my eyes.

  I'm really enjoying my solitude, so of course someone has to sit down beside me. I don't bother to open my eyes. Maybe they'll go away.

  "Saunders?"

  It's a girl's voice. One I don't recognize. But there's something else—a faint animal musk and a little ping inside my head. I remember what Chaingang said—Once you settle into your skin and get used to your new world, you'll see. You won't be able to not tell w
ho's got an animal under his skin—and I figure this must be what he's talking about. It's so slight that I doubt it would be noticed by anybody—. I hesitate over the word, but there isn't another one I can use.

  Anybody human.

  I turn to look at her. She's a white girl, my age, maybe a little older, with a dark tan and reddish-brown hair in long dreads that put the little ones I have to shame. A tribal pattern is tattooed like a necklace on her chest bone and she has a dozen silver rings piercing the curve of her right ear. Her left ear just has a stud in the shape of a feather. Her feet are bare under khaki capris and a tight white tank top. She's got the greenest eyes I've ever seen and she's so cute that I know this is as implausible as Chaingang wanting to talk to me. How do I know? Because I can tell you exactly the last time a girl this cute struck up a conversation with me: never.

  "Sorry," I tell her. "You've got me confused with someone else."

  She shakes her head. "Nice try, but your face was plastered all over the news. You're definitely Joshua Saunders. I'm Elzie."

  I sigh and look away.

  "I'm not a reporter," she says.

  "I kind of figured that out. Look, no offence, but I just want some down time. I don't know who put me on the Wildling Welcome Wagon list—or maybe you're from some Wildling outreach program—but I'm calling time-out."

  "You should be a little more careful talking about that stuff with a stranger."

  "Yeah, except I know you're a Wildling, too, though I don't know exactly what kind."

  "That's good," she says. "It takes most of us more than a few days to be able to start recognizing others."

  I don't say anything.

  "I take it you've already been approached by someone?" she says.

  I nod, but I don't start handing out names. Maybe Wildlings can smell each other out or something, but if I have to lie to my friends about Chaingang, I'm sure not going to give him up to a stranger.

  "Let me guess," she says. "One of them was a guy named Cory and he warned you to watch out for me."

  I shake my head. "I've met Cory, but he didn't say anything about you. Why would he?"

  She shrugs. "Let's just say he doesn't like my politics."

  I study her for a moment.

  "You don't go to Sunny Hill, do you?" I say.

  Because a girl as cute as she is, I'd remember.

  "I'm from Long Beach," she says.

  "So you didn't get changed like the rest of us. You're like Cory."

  "No, I changed."

  "I didn't think it happened anywhere outside of Santa Feliz."

  "So far as I know, it hasn't," she says. "I changed when I was here visiting a friend. I tried to go back home, but my parents wouldn't let me. They were afraid of me."

  "That's harsh."

  I can't imagine Mom turning her back on me like that. But I haven't told her yet, have I, so what does that say?

  She shrugs again. "I don't blame them. They were afraid something would happen to my little brother if I stayed. So I dropped out of school and I live here now."

  "Something like what? What did they think you were going to do?"

  "Come on, don't play dumb. You heard about that kid who turned into a rattler and bit his old man, right?"

  "Yeah, but your own brother? You wouldn't do anything like that."

  She shakes her head. "Except they couldn't know for sure for sure."

  "That totally sucks."

  "Anyway," she says. She waves her hand like none of it matters, but you'd have to be pretty dim not to see the pain in her eyes before she pushes it away. "I guess I am kind of like a Welcome Wagon. I just wanted to talk to you—let you know some of your options."

  "I know my options," I tell her.

  I'm not interested in talking about all that again. Cory already did and I don't need a bigger dose of paranoia than I already have.

  "Where do you live?" I ask, to change the subject. "How do you get by?"

  And do you have a boyfriend? I add to myself. Not like it'll make any difference, but I'd still like to know.

  My questions get me yet another shrug.

  "I live wherever," she says, "and I get by. Did Cory tell you how some of us are working to make this a better world?"

  "I'm not sure what you mean. He talked about how we're all connected by our animal blood and how some Wildlings have been around forever. I guess the old ones don't really like that the new Wildlings have kind of screwed up the secret existence that they had."

  "Yeah," she says, "but they need to look at the bigger picture."

  I look past her. There's a guy who's been standing with his back to the balustrade a little way down the pier, elbows on the railing. He's looking everywhere except at us and I find myself remembering what Desmond said about the Federal agents.

  They're not always going to be wearing black suits and driving SUVs. They could be anybody.

  This guy doesn't seem much older than me, but it's obvious he's been living hard. He's got the dark tan of a beach bum and he's wearing a dirty white T-shirt, baggy shorts, sandals, a small olive-green backpack hanging from one shoulder. His hair looks like he slept on it badly and didn't bother to comb it when he got up. I've seen his type on the beach before, but there's something off about him. I can't quite put my finger on it.

  "Don't look," I say quietly, "but I think we're being spied on."

  Of course, she looks.

  "Oh, don't worry," she says. "That's just Danny. He's with me."

  So she does have a boyfriend. I mean, I know why she's really talking to me—she's on some sort of a recruitment drive, just like Cory warned me about—but until she said that, I could pretend otherwise.

  "He doesn't have to stand way over there," I say.

  She smiles. "He kind of does. The Feds have ID'd him, so I don't want him close. But he kept insisting that I shouldn't meet you by myself. I guess he followed me here."

  "Why? Do I look dangerous?"

  Her smile fades. "You should know by now that our bodies can hide any kind of Wildling."

  "Sure," I say.

  I haven't been thinking any such thing. Mostly, I've been trying to figure out how to get my life back. I know it's not going to happen, but it's kind of like when I hit that ball through our front window. There's that moment when you know it's happening, but you still have this impossible hope that it's only going to bounce off the glass. Of course, it just smashes right through.

  I want to believe that I'm in that moment where things aren't completely screwed up yet. I know they are, but that doesn't stop me from wishing I could still wake up from all of this.

  "So you and Danny," I start.

  But then I don't know where I'm going with this—or rather, I do, but I think better of it and end up just letting the words hang there.

  She looks at me, the smile is back. "Are you asking if he's my boyfriend?"

  "I guess."

  "I don't have time for boyfriends."

  "Right. Of course not. You're too busy trying to round up Wildlings for some cause or other."

  "Why would you think that? Wait, why do I even ask? That coyote sticks his nose into everybody's business. What did he tell you about us?"

  "That depends on who 'us' is," I tell her. "But you in particular? Nothing."

  "I'm surprised."

  "I take it you don't much like Cory."

  "Nah, he's a good guy in his own way. He just doesn't see the big picture."

  "I don't think I do, either."

  "He didn't mention the ferals?"

  My stomach does a little flip. Ferals? I don't like the sound of that. I shake my head.

  "Do I really want to know this?" I ask.

  "Sure," she replies. "It's one of the good things about the change. We—the ferals that is—think this is happening so that the world can revert back to what it was like before people came along. We're working toward helping that process. There aren't a lot of us yet, but I hope we can get more Wildlings involved. It's i
mportant."

  "The environment is pretty messed up," I say. "But tearing everything down and starting at scratch isn't really a solution. Unless you don't care about a lot of people getting hurt."

  "Oh, it's not going to happen all at once, of course. But really, you have to admit that people have messed up this planet pretty bad and it's only going to get worse if we let things go on this way."

  "Well, sure. We need to do something—all of us, not just Wildlings. But I love my mom and my friends too much to let them die just to make it happen."

  "Who says anybody has to die?"

  "Kind of goes hand in hand with the whole getting rid of all the people part of your plan."

  "I ..."

  "Tell me you thought about that."

  "It's people who are the problem."

  "Maybe they can be the solution, too," I say.

  "Don't be so naive."

  "Yeah? And what about your family and friends? Are you willing to sacrifice them as well?"

  "They all turned their backs on me."

  "Even your brother?"

  Her eyes flash. "Screw you, Saunders."

  She gets up, her back stiff with anger.

  "Wait," I say before she can go.

  She shakes her head. "I don't think we have anything more to—"

  I cut her off. "No, it's your friend."

  She turns and sees what I see. Danny has wandered down to the end of the pier. But as soon as he gets there, the doors pop open on a white van that's been parked in one of the disabled parking spots. Men in SWAT gear fan out from the van. Behind them are a couple of guys in dark suits.

  I want to shout a warning but I don't have to. Danny sees the men and he bolts toward the boardwalk.

  And then it happens.

  I've never seen it for real before—except for that thing Cory did with his head, switching from human to coyote and back again. This is different. Surreal. One moment there's a kid trying to escape, the next he's changed into—I'm not sure what. Something like a deer, but with small, spiral horns.

  The SWAT guys shoot him—bam, bam! It sounds like a car backfiring. Almost before he hits the ground, they're throwing some kind of net over him. They roll him up in it and toss him into the back of the van.