“Nice speech,” Stu said once Dave’s butt hit the seat. “It doesn’t change anything.”
“I didn’t expect it to,” Dave said. “And, to be honest, we’re in uncharted waters here. Usually when someone finds out about us it’s because they’ve asked around and maybe are even trying to find us. You saw us at our worst. But here’s what I’m asking—don’t blow the whistle on us. At least not yet.”
Dave refilled the glasses for the final time.
“I can solve two murders, here,” Stu said. “Why shouldn’t I do that right now?”
The correct answer to that question, Dave thought, was that they were not getting locked up tonight. There would be blood before that happened, especially given the circumstances, but he was also smart enough to know that would only put them on the run and make things a hundred times harder.
“Please don’t,” Dave said. “We were attacked tonight. I wish I could tell you the specifics of who attacked us and why but there’s a really good chance it has to do with what Byron did. There are people after us, Sheriff. We’re in danger and it might come down to the fact that we need your help.”
“That’s not my problem,” Stu said. “I don’t want to sound like a hard ass here, but—”
“YOU LEAVE THEM ALONE!”
All noise in the bar ceased and all heads swiveled to look at Chuck. He had slammed a thick glass mug down on the wooden bar which gave his yelling a nice, thud accent. This was “Bar” and Chuck had the floor.
“I’ve heard you, Sheriff Dietz. You go on and on about how you want folks to trust you. Well let me tell you, if you lock up Dave and you start screaming from the damn roof about werewolves, you ain’t never getting anyone to trust you ever again.”
No one in the bar could remember the last time Chuck had strung together that many words about anything other than Nebraska football or politics. Get him going about the coaching staff or what so and so was doing in office and he was worse than a radio announcer on Red Bull, but try to get him to talk about community or family or something important and it was like pulling teeth.
Not tonight, though.
“The Rhodes, they built this town. Hell, they built this county,” the barkeep continued. “They’ve been pastors and businessmen and teachers and all of them have been wolves. They don’t hurt nobody. What the hell, man?”
And with that, Chuck was back in the kitchen doing something else.
“That,” Dave said, “was new.”
“Not exactly a ringing endorsement,” Kenny Kirk chimed in. “I’m not big on speeches from a guy who picks his nose as he serves your drink.”
“One time, I saw him spit in the dishwater then use it to clean out a glass,” Ron said.
“My friend at school found fingernail clippings in his burger once,” Dilly added.
“That was only one time and you can all shut your damn mouths!” Chuck yelled from the kitchen.
It was Ron who started chuckling. Carl picked it up and within seconds, the table was laughing. A few seconds later, they were roaring and Dave, weary and beaten up and desperate for the safety of his family, couldn’t help but be swept up in the wave. They laughed and laughed, Willie’s big whooping guffaw raising above the rest.
The strange nature of the situation suddenly struck Stu in the face. A year ago he had been a cop in Detroit. Now, after time as a national punchline, he was in a dingy bar in the middle of nowhere, recovering from the trauma of watching supernatural beasts do battle. And now they were making fun of an old barkeep.
Life is weirder than you think it’s going to be.
Almost against his will, Stu started laughing as well. The faces of the group were the opposite of threatening. They were not laughing for the same reasons, but when he started laughing, Stu found it hard to stop. Before long, they were all wiping tears from their eyes.
“Welcome to Cherry,” Dave said through a few remaining chuckles. “You’re one of us now that you’ve made fun of Chuck.”
“You can all kiss my ass,” Chuck yelled from the kitchen, setting off the entire group again.
The room sighed as the laughter died, an unspoken social sign the party was over and it was time for everyone to leave. Before that happened, Stu leaned across the table and motioned for Dave to do the same.
“I’m not going to arrest you right now,” Stu almost whispered. “But you and your people have committed a crime and that will not stand.”
“I get that,” Dave countered. “But I’m going to protect the people I love at all costs. That’s all I know how to do.”
Stu gave a knowing smile and downed the last of his beer. Dave did the same and their eyes locked for a moment.
Dave’s eyes said “We never speak of this again.”
We’ll see about that, Stu thought.
•••
Once Stu left, the pack met in front of “Bar” to plan out what happened next. No one had a good feeling about it.
“I don’t think we can go back to our houses,” Josie said. “Whoever attacked us obviously knows where we live.”
“I’ll do you one better, dearie,” Conall said. “You’ve all got to get your asses out of town. Given your run-in with law enforcement, it makes all the sense in the world. Seriously, I thought you were all heading out of there in handcuffs.”
“I’m gonna die running but I sure as shit ain’t running away, if you get what I mean,” Willie said.
“That’s obvious from your substantial girth,” Conall said. “But you’re hurt and those men with rifles are coming back and they are coming back hard. Maybe think of it as regrouping.”
“Or not standing in front of a truck coming right at you,” Ron said.
“You didn’t get shot and turned, asshole. That was me.”
“Well at least you’re back to your old self,” Dave said. “I don’t want to run either, but let’s just hear Conall out. What are you thinking?”
It had started to drizzle and the cold was starting to get to the group. JoAnn was huddled into a ball and even the warm-blooded Dilly was rubbing his bare arms. Dave had borrowed a shirt from Chuck that was ill-fitting, thin, and smelled of God knows what.
“The first thing we do is get a few clicks down the road. Then I’ll make some calls. Is there one of those god-awful shopping monstrosities you Americans have every few miles around here?”
“What, like a Walmart?” Kenny Kirk said.
“Yeah, something like that,” Conall said. “I want to get some place public, some place warm, and somewhere we can buy some supplies. If there’s a place we could all sit and talk, that would be stellar.”
“The nearest place like that is in Kearney. That’s forty-five minutes away or so,” Josie said. “Kenny, you still got the van?”
“Yeah, it’s by the shop.”
“No,” Conall said. “I know this sounds paranoid but any car you drive they might very well have a tracker in by now. I don’t mean to frighten you, but there are very high stakes here for these people and anything licensed in your name is unsafe at this point. I’ve got a car that can take four. What else can we borrow?”
As various options started shooting around the group of whose car they could beg, borrow, or steal, the weight of what was happening came crashing down on Dave. Less than two days ago life was on the mend and back in a routine, his biggest problem being whether or not to bring his son into the fold. It had gone well and then Willie and then Conall and then everything else. Now his pack was being hunted and his family was in shambles. He was doing a hell of a job leading.
Whenever self-doubt crept in, Dave always felt the urge to act. It was a stereotypical male trait and one that annoyed Josie to no end, but the urge this time was too strong to stifle but strong enough to shake him out of his head and into the present.
“Let’s take Chuck’s Pathfinder. He has it out back that can carry seven of us if we pack in. With Conall’s car, that’s more than enough.”
“Sold,” Conall said
. “We keep each other in sight the entire time. We can’t lose each other. I don’t think it will but if anything happens on the road, I’m in front and you follow my lead. Is that understood?”
The group nodded, even Willie.
“We meet in the parking lot of the shopping monstrosity in Kearney … where the hell am I going?”
“I’ll ride with you,” Josie said. “Me and Dilly.”
“Fine,” Conall said. “Who’s driving the big van thingee?”
“I’ll drive,” Dave said.
“Of course you will,” Conall said. “The rest of you, sleep if you can. You might not get another chance for a while.”
Conall’s car was out front and the three passengers piled in as the rest of the group walked to the back of “Bar.”
“You gonna tell Chuck we’re taking his Pathfinder?” Kenny Kirk asked.
“We’ll leave him a note,” Dave said. “I’ve already got a cop threatening us with murder charges. Borrowing a car I think we can get away with.”
“Hope you’re right,” Kenny said. “Old Chuck holds a grudge like … like I don’t know man. I can’t think of anything funny to say. My brain is on autopilot.”
“Yeah, I’m kind of running on adrenaline,” Dave said.
“We’ll stop and get you a Red Bull or something, man. You drink those things? They make you feel like you want to go out dancing or something. I never feel like going out but I drink one of those and I’m like ‘what you all doing? Let’s go do something.’ It’s crazy. JoAnn says I need to stop drinking them. ”
“I think I’ll be OK,” Dave said. “Plenty on my mind.”
•••
The trip passed without incident, unless you count Willie complaining the entire way. Dave, Kenny, JoAnn, Ron and Carl were all too tired to give him any attention and after a while the dark and the humming of the highway knocked the old guy out. All of the passengers fell asleep, with the exception of Carl, who was in the front seat next to Dave, who was nostalgic.
“I remember the first time you scratched,” Dave said. “You were younger than Dilly, weren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Carl said. “It wasn’t my first time, but my first time with you guys, I was nervous.”
“Really?” Dave said. “I didn’t know that.”
If you don’t count Dilly, who had his spot in the pack predestined from birth, Carl was the newest member and Willie never let him forget it. Until several nights back Carl had been the target of Willie’s barbs and for no reason other than his father, Jim. They used to run together, both literally and figuratively, or so Carl had heard. Then there was a falling out, some punches were thrown, some claws were unsheathed and when Carl was three years old his family moved away from Cherry.
They had settled in Kearney, a town far to the south of Nebraska along Interstate 80 and there Carl had gone to school, grown up, and eventually come out as gay. Jim had thrown a giant fit about that, even going so far as to say he regretted ever having a son if he was going to turn out that way. But Carl had been quietly strong, taking all the barbs his father had thrown at him, absorbing them and turning them inward. He had learned to hate himself and when his father died of a stroke six years ago, Carl had grieved and cried and, suddenly, turned into a wolf. It was quite a surprise.
After it happened, Carl started feverishly trying to figure out what he was and it was his mother, who sensed something had changed, that clued him in to Cherry. She had begged him not to go meet with Willie, the only contact she still had up there, but Carl didn’t stay away long. The moment his mother looked away he packed the car and headed up there. He had a long talk with Willie, who wasn’t hard to track down. It did not go well.
“I turned one time in Kearney and then tracked down your father,” Carl said to Dave. “He called me a ‘faggot’ within two minutes of meeting me.”
“I would apologize for Willie but that’s a full-time job,” Dave said.
“But he introduced me to you guys,” Carl said. “I’m thankful for that.”
They drove in silence before Carl, uncharacteristically, started a conversation.
“Dilly is really confused,” Carl said. “He’s freaking out and he doesn’t feel like you can help him.”
The words hit Dave in the chest and the emotional wound bled down into his stomach and extremities. He knew this, of course, but to hear the soft-spoken Carl articulate it with such brevity somehow amplified the blow.
“He’s been staying away from me,” Dave said. “Josie’s trying to get closer to him. I’m hoping she can pick up the slack.”
“Some things he needs to hear from you,” Carl said. “Especially about what we are.”
“I’m not sure what we are,” Dave said. “Forty-eight hours ago I thought I knew. I thought life was plugging along just fine, you know? But now maybe there’s a lot more of us all across the world. I don’t know how to feel about that.”
“You don’t know how to feel about that?” Carl said. “You? Your kid is terrified. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but pull your head out of your ass, man. Your family needs you.”
With that, Carl shifted his weight and looked out the window at that special dark you only get when there’s little to no light pollution. The Pathfinder, which smelled like ass, chugged on and Dave felt like the most selfish person on the planet.
•••
They pulled in to the Walmart parking lot at around two in the morning. There are not too many places as sad at that time of night. There were only a few cars, belonging to employees, that littered the parking lot and the loudest noise by a country mile was the buzzing of the streetlights.
“I’ve never seen one up close,” Conall said, getting out of his sports car and stretching. “It’s even worse than I imagined.”
“Walmarts ain’t that bad, man,” Kenny Kirk said as the group coalesced and began walking forward. “You can buy a pair of pants and some string cheese and an X-box and a deck of cards all in one place. Where else can you do that?”
“You already have an X-box,” Dilly said.
“That’s not the point, man,” Kenny shot back. “Not even close.”
The group trudged toward the automatic doors, their weariness evident, Conall the only one clearly energized by the experience.
“You ever hear about something like … like Bruce Springsteen. You hear forever and ever about Bruce Springsteen and how he’s the best and you go ‘yeah yeah yeah,’ but then you hear ‘Born to Run’ and suddenly it all makes sense.”
The harsh light from the sign illuminated Conall, making him look even more wild.
“It makes sense now.”
“You said we’re here to buy supplies,” Dave said. “What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing special,” Conall said. “Food, water, maybe a few changes of clothes.”
“I thought you were talking about guns and bullets and shit,” Kenny Kirk said.
“They sell guns here!” Conall said, and plowed headlong into the store without looking back.
Josie shot Dave a look that said “he won’t get far” and grabbed a shopping cart. Like most retail establishments open twenty-four hours, this megastore took on a very different tone in the wee morning hours. The lack of customers and employees, with the exception of the one open lane, put an ominous sheen on the whole experience. A zombie shambling down the meat aisle would not seem out of place.
Dave tried to keep his eyes open but the combination of the home invasion, wolf fight, the confrontation with Stu, and the drive had put the zap on him. He was done. Like most Walmarts, there was a Subway in the front part of the store next to a phone shop and a salon. The sandwich shop was shuttered and dark.
“I’m going to pull up a booth and grab a quick nap,” Dave told Josie. “You OK?”
She nodded and Dave noticed the lines in her face and the wideness of her eyes and knew she was worried, probably about him in part, but more so for Dilly. After worshipping her face while they
dated and knowing her face and its idiosyncrasies and tics after years and years of loving that face, he knew when something was up. He clasped her shoulder to offer some semblance of reassurance and then made for the booth in the restaurant, thick with the smell of meat and some sort of sauce Dave couldn’t identify, and promptly fell asleep.
While he was out, he had a dream. It was not uncommon for the first sleep after a scratch to feature a “wolf dream,” a point of view experience where you were running, leaping, bounding and occasionally fighting. One odd part about “wolf dreams” was that while the actions in the dream were personalized, the dream was always set in the same place for everyone in the pack—a wide open grassy field under an intense blue sky. Also, they sometimes got weird.
This was one of the weird ones.
It started in the field. Normally he would pick up a scent and chase something, but not today. The air was still and even the wind carried no scent of living things beyond grass and clover, trees and plant rot. His head on a swivel, the Lead Wolf looked to the left and the right and saw nothing, but straight ahead of him was a large outcropping of stones. They were arranged in an odd way that was clearly not natural. The stones were in a crude ring with a pile in the center about two feet high.
On swift legs the wolf ran to the staged scene and stopped on the edge of the ring. Something told him not to go inside, but dream logic compelled him. Even as he stepped over the ring’s edge the human voice inside his head, all but gone when in this state, was screaming to turn back and his stomach sank and bubbled in fear. But his path was set. The wolf stepped over the edge and to the center.
Several long sniffs revealed nothing. The wind had picked up but still carried no information. With hesitant claws, the wolf touched the stones and when he did, the world changed.
The wind was thick with scents of blood, the sky darkened an unnatural shade of blue with orange hues and the rocks started to melt into something resembling lava. The pile of rocks quickly descended into steaming goo and started rolling and changing, rising out of the ground five feet or so and began to morph and change. At first it was long and then round, then a face appeared in the lava. It was no one’s face, the features smooth and indistinguishable, but the expression was one of rage. The face trembled and sputtered and the Lead Wolf, with his powerful legs and claws that could tear and rip could not make himself do anything other than stare at the face.
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