“ … KING BEAT YOU TO FUCKING DEATH,” Dave yelled.
“You ain’t got the balls you pussy!” Willie yelled back, less convincingly.
“E FUCKING NOUGH!” Conall yelled over the fray. “You fucking bunch of American fucking psychopaths are going to sit your asses down and listen to me for the love of fucking God Almighty!”
The profanity mixed with the volume cut through the room and everyone sat. Conall was now quick with his words and harsh with his tone.
“I don’t know what sort of family drama I’ve stumbled into but I was wrong. You are special because I’ve never seen a pack act as stupid as your lot. So I’m going to give you one more chance. You’re going to sit, quietly, and let me lay out your situation. If you have questions, keep your fucking mouth shut until the end. If you have something you want to mutter that’s going to piss everyone off, keep your fucking mouth shut until the end. If you have anything to say at all, for any reason, keep your fucking mouth shut until the end. I’m trying to help you and you treat me like your fucking therapist. Christ almighty.”
Conall tested the rules he had just put down by stalking around the room, staring at each person. Everyone got a wild-eyed stare from Conall, and when he got to Willie and didn’t get any lip, he nodded.
“OK, then. Off we fucking go.”
•••
As far back as the seventh century, art depicts man who could transform his features. Despite extensive study into the topic, no one is sure how this ability came about. Speculation is rampant, lore is detailed and abundant, but facts on this topic are very hard to come by. Complicating matters from a Paleolithic standpoint was the fact that most of those affected with this “gift” didn’t share it. Getting lost in feudal times or the pre-electric age was not a difficult task.
Similarly, it’s unknown when the first communities of the “gifted” began. It might have been much earlier, but the first record was in Ireland in the late twelfth century. This group employed the services of a brotherhood of monks to record the names of their family and the dates in which they “changed.” These records indicate three vitally important details about these early people.
1) They exclusively changed their form into that of a wolf and were able to do so at will.
2) They were at war with other groups of “changelings” who opted for a variety of animal forms but most often a bear.
3) Both sides of this conflict were very careful not to alert the general population, as whispers of their abilities were already rumor and myth. They felt the revelation of their abilities would make them targets for religious punishment or fearful destruction by governing institutions.
The Bear Wars, as the monks wrote, were long and protracted and both sides saw casualties. But the bears were fewer in number and the wolves, who were fleet and never attacked alone, eventually won out. It was written that the last bear was brought to the camp of the wolves, fed a huge meal, poured the finest alcohol in the land and, only after they had cheered and toasted the last of his kind did the wolves kill him. The scene is written of warmly, the death and end of the last bear an afterthought.
The monks, who had taken vows of silence, were good stewards of these secrets. The invention of the printing press in the 1600s presented the “gifted,” now calling themselves “The Warry Ones,” with a difficult choice. They could be loyal to these men who had collected their history but who knew their secret, or they could kill them and begin the Age of the Written Word with all their history in their total control. No records exist of how the decision was made, but “The Warry Ones” silenced the monks through tooth and claw.
It wasn’t until the 1600s that the histories show other groups with similar gifts beginning to make themselves known. Many had similar stories of battle with others of similar ability, with wolves always winning the battles and the wars. Stories also emerged of those who dared reveal themselves or who were discovered. They always ended with pitchforks or bonfires.
By 1800, wolves were living in secret in Ireland, Scotland, England, France, Germany, Russia, China, India and Japan. These groups would send ambassadors to the area and tell tales of their native lands to the delight of the others. Their numbers were small, by all accounts leaving a problem as to how to identify wolves when entering a new area. It was the Irish who came up with a code. The “Warry Ones” was shortened over the years to “Ware” and combined with “wolves” to form a nonsense word to those who didn’t understand it. If you walked into a town in the 1600s and asked the bartender at the local tavern if he’d ever heard of “werewolves,” he would give you a hearty “no” and go about his business. Within the next day, you would invariably find the group you were looking for.
So it went for many years, with groups finding each other, sharing knowledge about their gifts and forming communities. There were no records of wars among wolves with the exception of internal conflicts that had little to no bearing on the larger picture. A “governing body” was eventually formed based on the need to stay hidden, particularly from the Catholic Church. This group, referred to just as “The Council,” met once every two years and their recommendations soon became best practices. Rules about how to best enjoy the transformation without rousing suspicion and how to deal with local authorities were soon adopted.
When the new world was discovered, The Council saw a unique opportunity to set up communities of only “werewolves” where land to run was plentiful and intrusion was minimal. That dream was never realized. The communities in Europe and Asia had heard rumors of many “gifted” among the Native population (with one rumor that a pack of “man bears” was responsible for the disappearance of the Roanoke colony in 1587) and contact was made. Indeed, there were many wolves, bears and even a few eagles, a phenomenon never before seen. A small community was established but the language barrier was an impediment. Soon, tensions flared and communication was suspended. The governments of England, France and eventually the United States would make sure the breadth of the Native community was never to be known and communication with the larger community was never reestablished.
There was not a mass migration to the “new world” as many in the werewolf community had set up very comfortable situations in their countries, but a few were established. The Northwest and northern part of the United States, as well as central and southern Canada had, and have, very robust communities living in basic secrecy. Based on the best practices set forth by The Council, success of these communities depends on their access to open, wooded land and a rural community where secrecy or acceptance is possible.
In their known history the most important “best practice” put forth by The Council was a strict census. Every pack had to be accounted for and when new wolves were born, The Council marked their date of birth and their first transformation. These records were exact and one member of each pack was responsible to The Council to provide this census. To this day, the census is taken very seriously by the community, but in the age before electricity with thousands of miles of ocean separating individual packs from their central governing body, there were gaps.
•••
“That’s where you all come in,” Conall said. He had all their attention. The reality of their situation had sunk in. They were a rogue pack, a group that had been operating independently, doing their own thing and existing in a bubble for over a hundred years. That bubble had just popped.
“You always think you’ve got everyone accounted for, then, all of a sudden, two people are ripped apart by wolves in the span of a week and it makes the news and the floodgates open, don’t they?”
There was a lot of murmuring and agreement. In retrospect it was obvious. Of course Byron killing Sandra and the pack killing Byron would draw attention. They just hadn’t figured on what kind.
“Who is Mr. Stander?” Dave asked.
“Put two and two together please,” Conall said. “I don’t know you. I don’t know your situation. But I’ve got a really, really good guess as
to how he got here.”
“So, what, he’s not with you then?” Kenny Kirk blurted.
“No, he’s not with me you idiot,” Conall said. “I can imagine why he’s looking for you, though. You a big fan of medical tests? Having your nuts cut open with a scalpel and examined? How about your blood and bone harvested while you’re kept alive and kicking? You a big fan of that?”
Kenny Kirk looked at Dave, who became keenly aware that everyone was looking to him. Dilly looked like he was about to cry.
“OK, Conall. Two things right off the bat. I know you’ve got a temper and I know you’re pissed at us, but we’re going to do our very, very best to keep a civil tone and I ask the same from you. No more name calling from us, or from you. At least for tonight.”
“OK,” Conall said. “So long as you understand how fucking stupid you all are, I don’t need to point it out.”
Everyone looked at Conall.
“Fine, fine,” he said. “It’s out of my system.”
“Second thing. You’ve found us at a very difficult time. We recently made a decision, as a pack, that is tearing us apart. I know this pack has existed for over two hundred years and with everything I know I can’t remember a time when things have been this difficult. I know you’re here to help … at least I hope you’re here to help, and we want that help. But things are tense right now and if you could keep that in mind, we’ll get a lot further than if you don’t.”
“Fair enough,” Conall said. “Tell you what. We’re all going to take about ten or fifteen minutes here. We’re going to get some food if you’re hungry, you’re going to smoke if that’s your thing and we’re going to meet back here at 9:00 and we’re going to talk this out. Be prepared for a long night and maybe think about calling in sick tomorrow to work. We’ve got a lot to go over and not that much time to go over it.”
It took a solid beat, but eventually everyone got up and, with the exception of Josie and Dave who stayed in the house to make some food, headed outside.
•••
“Jesus Christ on a cracker with some Tropical Punch Kool-Aid,” Kenny Kirk said as he, JoAnn, and Ron walked around the back of the Rhodes’ house. “How in the hell, I mean, how in the hell did we not know about this? We sound like a bunch of amateurs, man. It’s amateur hour over here. This guy comes in and if you believe Dave he can talk when he’s wolfing out and we’re over here unable to wipe our asses properly. Like we’re a bunch of backwoods yokels, man.”
“We are a bunch of backwoods yokels, Kenny,” Ron said. “That’s kind of our thing. We did that on purpose.”
“I know that, man, but, I don’t know. It’s shitty when someone else says it.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to France,” JoAnn said. “This might be a good excuse to go travel a bit.”
“There’s a silver lining for you,” Kenny Kirk said. “It’s attached to a big dark cloud that might turn into a tornado and kill everyone in its path, but that is a hell of a silver lining.”
Ron was tickled by the comment so much that his chuckle had turned into more of a solid laugh. Before long Kenny had picked it up, too.
“I could be an American werewolf in London,” Ron said, his laugh picking up steam.
“I love French bread, man. I wolf it down,” Kenny Kirk said, getting them both rolling. JoAnn was not nearly as amused, her dark hair framing a face that was not happy with the men in her life.
“You’re a bunch of assholes,” she said. “You all are just as sick of this place as I am. Don’t pretend that you aren’t.”
“It’s not that, darlin’,” Kenny said. “This, here, I think is what you call ‘gallows humor.’ See, we are good and proper fucked right now if this guy can’t help us. It looks like Byron may have screwed us worse than we initially thought.”
“Yeah,” Ron said. “Sorry, JoAnn. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“That’s OK,” she said. “I get it. I get we’re in trouble. I always was kind of jealous of you guys, going out there, running, having a good time. It’s not the same for me or Josie. It sucks for us, you know? And now we get all of the bad shit and none of the good. You don’t realize what you guys have. Or how much watching Dilly get out there has been hard for us.”
Kenny Kirk put his arm around JoAnn as she stared into the dark behind the house. Ron, suddenly feeling as if he was imposing on a private moment, shut his mouth and let them have it. Losing a kid is something you never get over, he figured, but being reminded of how old that kid would have been had he survived, that was something else entirely. Suddenly Ron felt the passage of time acutely and focused for a second on his back, which had been giving him trouble lately. He was getting old and he felt it. He hoped, quietly, staring into the dark, that he had more fight left in him.
•••
Carl and Dilly immediately walked over to Conall as he smoked a cigarette.
“I wanted to say hi,” Carl said. “I’m … um, I’m Carl and this is Dave Jr. and … um … we are really happy you are here.”
“You need something?” Conall asked.
“Well, I wanted to let you know I had my first run yesterday,” Dilly said. “I’m the newbie. Um … it was great and I can’t wait to … learn more, I guess.”
Conall, remembering his vow of civility, gave a weak smile to the kid, then blew a stream of smoke out the side of his mouth.
“Hell of a thing, isn’t it?” he said. “How old are you, boy?”
“Just turned sixteen,” Dilly said.
“You know, that’s about right,” Conall said. “There’s been a push to go younger and younger, so kids can control it but I say let a kid get some time under his or her belt before having to deal with all this. Am I right?”
“Yeah,” Carl said. “That seems right.”
“You know, it amazes me,” Conall continued. “You guys are cut off, completely. You’re free range, yet here you are, making some of the right calls. It’s impressive is what it is.”
“Thank you,” Carl said.
“That doesn’t mean you haven’t pulled some massive fucking boners out here, but we’ll get you through that,” Conall said, patting Dilly on the shoulder. “See you inside, then.”
They watched him head back inside, his heavy boots crunching the gravel around their back door. He flicked the cigarette a good eight feet as only an experienced smoker can do and pulled out his cell phone. They could hear him talking but not make out what he was saying.
“It’s weird how you can’t understand what he’s saying, but you still hear his accent,” Dilly said.
“Yeah,” Carl replied.
“He says ‘fuck’ a lot,” Dilly said.
“Watch your mouth,” Carl countered. “And yeah. He does.”
“What do you think is going to happen?”
“I’m not your dad, Dilly,” Carl said. “Go ask him those sorts of questions, OK. But if I were you, I’d stay close. I’m guessing something bad is going to happen soon.”
•••
Willie sat on the back porch in a chair. No one spoke to him.
•••
Dave and Josie spoke in short, whispered tones as they went about the ritual of preparing snacks. Over the seventeen years they had been married they knew subconsciously which way the other was going to go, especially in the kitchen. Dave would grab the chips and cut right to the counter, Josie would work the fridge and cut left to the table, they would both take a load to the living room before returning for drinks. This was the way they had done it literally thousands of times, but the ritual of preparing food gave no comfort from the panic both of them felt.
“Jesus, Dave, medical experiments? What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to hear this guy out. I’m not sure I trust him one hundred percent but I’ve seen him change with my own two eyes. He’s one of us, I promise.”
“He is not one of us. He certainly doesn’t talk like one of us. If we weren’t all scared shitless I’d have kic
ked that guy out of my house by now.”
“I get that,” Dave said. “Hang on a little longer, OK?”
They both loaded up their hands and arms with food, made a trip to the living room and returned for drinks. For a moment, they worked in silence.
“Did you mean what you said back there?” Josie said. “About us being in the worst place we’ve ever been?”
“Not the time, Josie.”
“Just a yes or no answer is all I need.”
“As a pack, we’re in a bad place and it’s because of Willie. He’s making this thing impossible.”
“What about with us?”
“We’ve talked about this,” Dave said. “Things are tense but OK, right?”
He put down his drinks and walked up to her, putting his hand on her back.
“Time will pass and the tension will go away and we’ll be OK. I meant it when I said it back in January and I mean it now. Things are rough but I’m not going anywhere. Obviously.”
“OK,” she said. “Let’s get through this.”
Dave watched her walk out of the kitchen and grabbed the drinks.
•••
“OK, welcome back,” Conall said. “First thing’s first. I’ve gotten the OK from The Council to share with you a couple of protocols. They wanted me to make sure that this pack is interested in meeting with other representatives from our group after you are out of harm’s way. Is that accurate?”
“Yes,” Dave said. “That’s accurate.”
“The hell it is,” Willie said from across the room. “How do you know they’re not going to make us pledge allegiance to some faggy goat God or something?”
“Willie, man, the time has long past come and gone for you to shut up,” Kenny Kirk said, shooting Dave a quick glance as he finished talking.
Pack Page 12