by Jade Allen
I got into a fight with Ariel while she was helping me pack up the basement because she wouldn’t believe that bears don’t really hibernate. My mother called and complimented me on my all-fruit dressing; she usually hates avocados, I was so surprised. Did you see that news story about all those diners that got sick—can you believe that waiter thought salt in coffee was a harmless prank? Grade school mistake.
This time, however, her letters had been cheery but sparse; they lacked the bubbly detail that usually padded out the thick envelopes she sent weekly, and sometimes even twice a week. Natalie no longer spoke of her chance meetings with old high school friends, or whose wife was having a hard time dealing with loneliness; now it was just pregnancy symptoms and a series of oddly detached retellings of incidents around their neighborhood. Their last phone call—right before the plane took off—had been the worst.
“Nat, I know something isn’t right.” His hand was sweaty so the slim black cell phone kept threatening to squirt from his grip. Evan was buckling into the seat next to him and fixating on the threads at the hem of his shirt, but Charlie knew he could hear every word. “I can hear it in your voice. I see it in your letters. Evan says Ariel isn’t acting right, either.”
“Charlie, everything is fine,” Natalie said soothingly for the fifth time in as many minutes. “A few busted windows, some kids jumping other kids…you know it happens.” The gentle rasp of her voice was carefully avoiding taking on heavy undertones, but Charlie could almost see her anxiously winding her dark brown hair around one finger as she paced around the living room. “We’ll start the move again when you get here. It’ll be fine.”
“Why did you have to stop the move in the first place?” Charlie asked. “I don’t understand that. The boxes were all finished five months ago. You said someone damaged the truck?” He remembered when he was younger having his property stolen or smashed when people found out he was a shifter. It was illegal, but it never stopped them, and the cops were often in on the games, since the shifter population intersected with the inner cities so often.
“The axle is bent,” Natalie answered, interrupting his reverie. “I want you to take a look at it before I get it messed with first. You know I’m useless with that sort of thing.”
Charlie closed his eyes, trying to keep the panic from spilling into his voice. His broad chest was tight with anxiety. “No, I don’t know that, Nat. Are you kidding me? I was with you when you made our old mechanic cry.”
“And I never got to know the new one!” Natalie retorted, her voice shrill. “I’m afraid of pissing this one off, too. Charlie, I don’t get what the big deal is. You’ll be home soon, and you’ll have all your answers then.” Her forced nonchalance snapped something inside him, and suddenly he was shouting.
“The big deal is that something crazy is happening and my wife is acting like it isn’t!”
A red-faced man twisted around in his seat to look at Charlie after he finished, and Evan laid a hand on his broad shoulder. The marine swallowed his anger with extreme difficulty and lowered his voice.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into the phone. “But I’m scared. Evan is scared, because Ariel won’t talk to him about their garage burning down— he had to hear it from Riley. You’re not telling me what’s stopping us from moving, and I know it’s more than the truck, because we have more than two friends with trucks and SUVs. And I’m hearing about people—grown men and women, not just kids—getting beaten and left in the streets. What’s going on, Natalie? And why won’t you tell me about it?”
The silence stretched on for so long that Evan turned to look at Charlie, his brown face forming a question when he didn’t hear Natalie speak. Charlie was about to ask if she’d hung up on him when she drew a deep, shaky breath and slowly let it out.
“Charlie. I…just trust me, okay? You’re right. You’re absolutely right, but I need to you trust me. Okay?”
It was the raw quality of her voice that finally broke the shell of tension around his heart and allowed him to relax. “Okay,” he answered. “Okay. I trust you.” Even though this is killing me.
“Thank you,” Natalie said, and there were tears in her voice. He realized then that the weight of holding this back from him was killing her, too. Whatever this is had better be worth it.
His bag came crawling by him on the carousel just as he snapped out of his memory, and he almost didn’t catch it in time. Charlie thrust one long arm out and closed his fingers around the bag’s thick strap just before it disappeared behind the curtain to be spun around the carousel again.
“Nice catch, Flax,” Evan said behind him. He’d already located his suitcase and was pulling it behind his body as he strolled up to Charlie, his wiry frame far too relaxed given their situation. “Got everything?”
“Yeah.” Charlie slung the bag across his shoulders and playfully popped his friend on one of his narrow shoulders. “How the hell are you so calm, Reynolds? You’re like a wind-up toy whenever we’re on deployment, and you’re the one who told me about all the attacks. Are you high?”
Evan grinned and fell in step beside his taller friend as they headed for the exit. “Just on life, Flax. Besides, we’re finally home. That means we can get to the bottom of this.”
Charlie looked sharply at Evan, whose dark chocolate face was mostly hidden behind a pair of huge sunglasses, but he could still see the grim determination on his face. “You sounded…very certain about that,” he said slowly, dragging his green eyes up and down his best friend’s stoic expression. “Did you find out something more when you called Ariel in the bathroom?”
Evan gave a single curt nod that set Charlie’s heart racing.
“Well why didn’t you say so!” Charlie yelped, and several people in the crowd ahead of them turned toward his raised voice. He felt blood rush to his cheeks and he cursed himself for losing control of his volume again.
A man caught his gaze in the crowd, short and incredibly tanned, with dark blue eyes and a full mouth pinched together in what seemed to be surprise. His sandy blonde hair was being lovingly ruffled by a lovely copper-skinned woman with black curls who seemed to be trying to style his wavy coif, but he was staring so intently at Charlie that he was ignoring all of her muttered instructions. Charlie felt a curious ripple of power pass between them, and it intensified as they got closer. Eventually the charge was unbearable, and he broke their gaze and lowered his head as they hurried past the couple. What was that about? Charlie thought, but as soon as they were out of the doorway and under the blazing Southern Californian sun, he grabbed Evan by his forearm and pulled him into the shade of the parking garage to their right, the incident driven from his mind.
“Okay.” When they’d stopped, Charlie pushed both of his hands through his short black hair excitedly, willing his pulse to reign itself in. “Tell me. Tell me what you know.” It’s the cops again, he thought. Trying to find a reason to stamp out the shifters, like last time.
“It’s more stuff about the abductions,” Evan said slowly, his voice cautious and deep. He slid the sunglasses from his face, letting his brown eyes pierce Charlie’s as he spoke. “And it does seem like they’re targeting younger people…but it’s not just jumping, and it isn’t random.”
“What do you mean?”
Pain and anger flashed across Evan’s dark brown eyes, and Charlie caught the scent of the feline beast stirring beneath his skin. “The young men being attacked are sometimes being taken, and they turn up weeks later across the country, or are found with their memories gone, and part of a completely different pride. They can only be identified by their fingerprints. And sometimes they’ve been…mutilated.” Evan paused and swallowed hard.
Charlie shook his head slowly, trying to understand his best friend’s implications. “Mutilated?”
“Like…eunuchs,” Evan finished. “Only some of them, though. And the women…sometimes they’re raped, and if not…they’re mutilated too.”
Charlie shuddered, and the ic
y terror he’d banished from his blood only hours before came rushing back to fill his veins and freeze his muscles in place. “So someone is trying to wipe us out with a cull,” Charlie said vehemently. “It’s the lawmen again. They hate us, Evan. They don’t under—“
“I don’t think it’s the cops,” Evan cut in, and he dropped his eyes. “The targets don’t make sense.”
“Evan, they’re stopping us from reproducing,” Charlie spat. “They’re killing us. They tried this a decade ago, and I always knew they’d try again. Their targets make perfect sense. They’re targeting lions, and making sure they can’t ever breed when they’re finished. Setting us up and killing us indiscriminately didn’t work so well last time.” Rage was pounding in his ears, and the heat of the afternoon was finally starting to weigh down his body. “Who else could it be? Why would you think it could be anyone else?”
Evan looked deeply unsettled by his thoughts; he even put his shades back on before he spoke again. “Whoever this is seems to be targeting young lionesses to impregnate them. Some of the girls are four months pregnant. And the ones they’re mutilating are…Charlie, they’re already pregnant.”
“Already pregnant?” Charlie echoed numbly. “They’re…already…?”
Evan nodded. Charlie stared at him, listening to the blood rushing around his ears as he processed what Evan was telling him. Someone was beating and raping lions, and taking their young right from the womb. This was strategic. This was a genocide.
“It isn’t cops,” Charlie whispered. He turned on his heel and stalked away through the parking garage, leaving Evan to trot behind him toward their shuttle.
“I told you it wasn’t cops,” Evan said, annoyed, but Charlie wasn’t listening; he was too busy assembling the growing puzzle in his mind and trying to formulate a plan.
****
Charlie kept whipping his face against the vibrating glass of the shuttle’s window to catch glimpses of the streets and houses zipping by the van, and it was starting to rub the skin of his forehead raw, but he couldn’t help it— the town looked so different. Sierra Leandra was technically in San Diego county, but with its neatly divided sections, it looked more like a mini version of the county itself: wide open spaces for the first ten miles, populated with squat scrubs whose thin soils were graced with sprawling ranch houses and apathetic farm animals who milled border of the town; then came gas stations and main freeway exits; then strip malls started to pop up alongside boxy duplexes and apartment buildings surrounding the three public schools. There were two churches and a community college, a rec center, two malls, then a small business and entertainment district that blended nicely together on Friday evenings. On the other side of the bars and banks were gaudy houses—mini-mansions with huge bay windows and tall cream doors that opened into the sort of meticulously styled and polished rooms that begged to be lounged in by people of the same caliber. Charlie knew the layout of the town like the back of his hand, knew what each building would look like painted blue or yellow or burned down to black ash and rebuilt in brick, but he never thought he’d see it this way.
The streets were completely empty, save for a few lonely adults strolling along the sidewalks or going into shops. Every window he could see was shuttered, and some were even boarded up. The rural part of town was even empty of llamas and geese—when he tried to focus on smelling them with his eyes closed, he couldn’t catch the scent of a single feather or puff of fur. One gas station looked open for business, but the lights were off inside, and the others looked like they had been closed for months. Horror gripped his stomach as they rode through the business section of town and saw that not only were the main malls closed and vacated, half of their structures had been pulled or knocked down. There was such a profound sense of wrongness about everything that even the warm hum of the engine didn’t do much to mask how quiet it was, and he felt bile start to rise in his throat. What is this? What’s happened? It looks like a ghost town.
“Flax,” Evan said suddenly, breaking him out of his trance. Charlie jumped at the sound of his last name and turned toward the other man, who was holding the now half-full water bottle the driver had offered each of them.
“What’s up?” Charlie asked. The next second he noticed that Evan’s posture had changed— it was ever so slightly, and the human driver almost certainly didn’t notice it, but it was there. His spine was more rigid, but his eyes were darting around the vehicle behind the dark lenses of his shades. He lowered his voice when he spoke so that it wouldn’t register to the driver’s ears.
“We’re being followed,” Evan said casually. “Black sedan with no plates. Big Native American guy driving who kinda looks like your wife’s brother, and a squat looking white guy in the passenger seat. I saw one of them pat a weapon on the ceiling roof to secure it. They’re not human.” His words came blunt and fast, and Charlie knew his military training was kicking in.
Charlie flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror of the van, pouring all of his energy into focusing his gaze on the two figures behind them. After a moment, he saw that Evan was right; a brown-skinned man with thick knuckles was piloting the car, and his small blonde friend was trying far too hard to look relaxed in the seat.
“Damn,” Charlie said under his breath. “They’re lions.”
“Thought so,” Evan said, and even though his words were slow and steady, Charlie knew his pulse had just accelerated. The city had somehow been closed down, their people were being terrorized, and now two strange lions were on their tail. After another second, the car dropped back and turned a corner, but both of the lions in the shuttle knew it was out of caution. Charlie had a horrible feeling in his gut about the likelihood of them meeting again. He sat back in his seat, willing the van to materialize at his and Evan’s homes. He could picture Natalie now, and the vision made his heart ache—her mane of soft, dark curls, caramel brown eyes, and the disarming smile he saw most nights in his dreams.
“We’re here,” the driver intoned a few minutes later. Charlie opened his eyes and saw that Evan was already unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding his door open.
Did I doze off? he wondered as he climbed out of the van. He slipped a twenty dollar bill into the driver’s chubby palm and noted that he was twitchy and covered in sweat despite the air conditioning. He pulled off before Charlie could ask him if anything was alright, and he nearly called for him to come back. If the human could tell something was amiss, maybe he should just grab Natalie and pay him to keep driving until they hit the other side of the country.
Instead, Charlie nodded to Evan at the foot of his own driveway and turned to the Reynolds’ home, finally glancing at the burned-out husk his pridemate and neighbor’s garage had become. “Ariel really didn’t say anything about it?”
Evan shook his head, his dark eyes unreadable behind his lenses. “Not a thing. Mentioned having to move the car. And she never mentioned our niece getting…hurt.” Evan’s clipped tone hid the grief in that single word, and Charlie felt a wrench of pain deep inside his stomach.
“I’m sorry,” he said softy, holding one upturned palm toward his best friend’s jaw. For a moment, he was afraid the lion would turn away from the gesture, but then Evan stepped forward and bumped his cheek against Charlie’s palm, accepting the comfort he sorely needed.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice filled with pain. “I should get inside. I have a feeling I’ll see you soon?”
Charlie nodded, gazing toward the living room window of his house. “Yeah. We’ll all be seeing each other soon, I think. “
Evan flashed him a wide smile before he turned toward his house, and it was vicious, dark, and wrapped in a layer of red-hot shifter energy that Charlie would have flinched away from if he hadn’t been positive it wasn’t for him. A shiver rolled down his spine as he watched Evan’s slim, muscle-heavy form slink toward his front door; his best friend reminded him pretty often that he should be thankful he was one of the good guys.
Charlie’s hear
t was slamming against his ribcage as he walked swiftly up his driveway, noticing that the curtains had been pulled shut the whole time and hadn’t moved when the shuttle pulled up. The truck wasn’t outside at all, and Charlie worried briefly that Natalie wasn’t home—then the anxiety bled away, and he realized he was feeling relief at the possibility that Nat was already far away from the potentially dangerous storm brewing for them on the horizon. He hesitated as he slipped his key into the door, tension knotting his heavy bicep before turning the handle and pushing the thick oak door inward and stepping inside, closing it almost as quickly as he’d opened it.
“Nat?”
His voice echoed uncomfortably in the house, and the terse syllable hit his ears with the force of a gunshot. Something wasn’t right; as his eyes adjusted to the artificial darkness the blackout curtains provided, he realized that all the furniture in their wide living room was covered in a thick layer of dust. There were clear footprints crossing the dust on the wood floor, and some of the dirt seemed like it had been pushed around recently, but no weight had been put on the sofa, recliner, or coffee table for weeks. He called her name again and dropped his duffle bag as he crossed through the living room, shouldering through the swinging doors leading into the kitchen so fast he’d already zipped through the dining room by the time they swung closed again. The linoleum near the stove showed signs of foot traffic, and there was still a worn mat near the fridge, but otherwise, everything was bare and untouched. The chairs in the dining room were shoved under the table, and there was nothing in the cupboards. He spoke again, projecting his voice through the house without caring if any of the neighbors heard his panicked screech.