Howl of the Sequoia (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 1)

by Deidre Huesmann

  When she found the sequoia, Rachael’s breath left her. It was almost exactly as she remembered it: broader than the span of her arms by numerous feet, towering majestically over pine and berry bushes, creating a lovely canopy over all nearby wildlife. Far above she recognized the sounds of birds nesting.

  Once she’d snapped a few pictures, one for herself and a few for her mother, Rachael moved closer to the trunk. It was the only thing that had a significant change since she had last visited. The hole she had climbed in as a small child was still there, but much larger now, as though an animal had spent hours clawing a bigger entryway. Now it had the appearance of a gaping maw intent on swallowing her whole if she was foolish enough to crouch. Wishing she’d brought a flashlight, Rachael sank to her knees for a better look inside.

  Something was strange. The strong reek of old wood didn’t quite hide that there was something else in there, and it smelled like wet dog.

  “You’re just some kind of freak, aren’t you?”

  Jarred by the voice, Rachael turned and stood. Coleen had followed her. Her icy blue eyes were hungry.

  Torn between fight and flight, Rachael stared dumbly. She should have seen something like this coming. After all, the same girl who had “accidentally” hit her with a music sheet stand was now glaring daggers as she disdainfully brushed leaves from her airy blue tank top.

  Coleen advanced awkwardly, trying in vain to avoid grass, weeds, and dirt all at once.

  Quietly, Rachael said, “You didn’t have to come.”

  Arching a perfectly plucked eyebrow, Coleen replied, “Of course I did. When the school’s biggest whore sneaks off with a dirty secret—”

  “I meant on the trip,” Rachael flared. Being called a whore was rapidly trying her patience.

  Coleen shrugged dismissively. “If you had any real friends, you’d know what they expect you to do. But you don’t.” She sneered. “When’s the last time you went to a party? That you were invited? You look the type to crash just to pretend you fit in.”

  Frustration overrode any snappy comeback she might have made. Closing her eyes, Rachael muttered, “What do you want?”

  As Coleen continued to advance, Rachael found herself inching backward. Her backpack bumped against the sequoia. For once the majestic tree failed to make her feel safe.

  “I just want to know you,” cooed Coleen. She appeared to no longer care where she stepped or that sweat stains were creeping into the underside of her shirt. Rachael’s own sweat was not from the surprisingly muggy weather. “Everything. What you like. Why Vera seems to like you so much more than me. How Holden can possibly think you’re not pathetic. I don’t get it, really.”

  Rachael could only grip her camera tighter. Blood pounded a quickening beat in her ears as a wrenching voice in her head warned her this was only going to get worse.

  Spearmint gum drenched Coleen’s breath as she hissed within an inch of her face, “Does Holden love you because your poor mommy’s dying?”

  Blinded by rage was a phrase Rachael had heard but never experienced. Until now. One second her backpack was flush with the tree, the next her suddenly empty and open hands slammed Coleen just below the collar bone. The force caused both of them to reel, Rachael back into the tree and Coleen to the ground.

  In the space her breath was gone Rachael felt a foreign sense of excitement. Not because she’d hit someone—the horror of that was setting in quick enough—but because she’d done something she’d never imagined. Violence did not run in their family, even with Jackson as defensive and overprotective as he was. Men in the Adairs were physically imposing, but preferred to rely on their towering, broad bodies and thunderous voices. And the women on both sides either remained pacifists or, like Rachael’s mother, took their frustrations out on physically demanding hobbies.

  But Rachael had just hit someone, a classmate, and she’d done it in what she could only describe as the self-defense of her mother.

  Coleen sat up, rubbing at the back of her head. When her fingers came back bloody, all the adrenaline drained from Rachael’s veins.

  I’m done for, she thought dizzily. Not that her reputation had been stellar for the past couple weeks, but this was going to destroy her. Nobody hit Coleen and came out unscathed, even if she’d instigated it. Holden had been proof of that.

  Rachael’s terror was so substantial that she failed to recall Holden had come out in last place because he was a boy.

  Coleen stared at her stained fingers, her eyes wide. When she lifted her gaze, she had a smile that would make the Cheshire cat envious.

  “You,” said Coleen as she started to stand, “are so screwed, now.”

  Rachael’s heart fell to her feet. Shaking, she knelt to pick up the camera she’d dropped. The worst part about giving into a momentarily satisfying act of violence was the knowledge there was no real way she could escape without punishment. And if there was anything Coleen was good at meting out, it was punishment.

  Stinging tears began to well in her eyes. Rachael had to lower them so Coleen couldn’t see. Once Coleen ran crying to the chaperones and students, all it would take was one phone call to the principal, and then it would just trickle down to her father and brother, not to mention all her classmates, who until just minutes ago had begun to at least make her feel included, which had been nice yet overwhelming, and—

  Low snarls broke her madly swirling thoughts. Stupidly, Rachael had to think about it before identifying it was coming from behind her.

  For the second time, Rachael came face-to-face with a white wolf.

  Not the same one, she noticed. This wolf was much smaller, larger than a pup but easily not full grown, either. Its gold-tinged fur stood on end, its eyes so dark and sinister and angry that Rachael had the good sense to back up—even though, she somehow knew, the wolf only took issue with Coleen. It stared the other girl down with intense fury.

  Is it trying to protect me? she thought insanely.

  Behind her, Coleen sucked in an audible breath. Rachael whirled to find her arm already outstretched, one meticulously manicured finger pointing down toward the beast. Rachael tried to warn her. “Don’t—”

  “WOOOOOOLF!”

  Too late.

  A split second of movement was all the warning Rachael had that the wolf was going to pounce. Where, she wasn’t consciously sure, but she leapt toward Coleen all the same. Their bodies collided. Her shrieking classmate hit the ground with a resounding thud. Rachael continued to topple, rolling over Coleen’s body and bouncing across the pine-springy forest floor. Dimly she realized her exposed elbows and hands were scraping against debris; that people in the distance were shouting and crashing toward their scuffle; that her mouth pooled with the coppery taste of blood from where she bit the inside of her cheek.

  The wolf had a distant smattering of crimson on one of its paws. It turned on the girls, snarling. For the first time encountering a wild animal, Rachael’s veins flooded with sheer panic.

  Fiercely, knowing how crazy she sounded, she yelled, “No. BAD!”

  More astounding was that the wolf appeared to understand. Its head swiveled to look directly at her, tongue lolling out, coal black eyes dimming with guilt, eyes she’d never seen in an animal—but she had in two humans, Rachael realized. The wolf shifted on its delicate paws, trembling with pent-up energy. Its left paw in particular seemed to reach out for her in several short, jerky motions. Like a little kid wanting her attention. . . .

  “Go,” Rachael said forcefully. She was terrified, she knew this wolf was dangerous, but it hadn’t hurt her, even seemed to go out of its way to listen to her. And those damnable eyes kept drawing her in; dark yet sweet and guileless, just like in her backyard garden, just like—

  Nathan?

  The wolf’s furry shoulders slunk in regret. As footsteps crashed through the bramble immediately behind Rachael, the wolf turned and fled.

  Classmates, chaperones, and teachers swarmed them moments into the aftermath. Co
leen began shrieking about Rachael getting blood on her brand new jeans, Holden murmured comforting words as he helped her to her feet, and chaos generally erupted as people tried to assess the damage.

  “You bitch!” Coleen shrieked. Her finger was pointing haphazardly at Rachael, her bright blue eyes barely visible in the pools of white, and her voice rising with each word. “You made it attack me! You bled all over me! You bitch, you bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch!”

  Dazed, Rachael allowed Holden to support her as her eyes focused. There was blood all over Coleen’s left calf, surely . . . but not Rachael. Not a drop. A quick glance down told her she had no injuries and confirmed her suspicions.

  His voice calm yet firm, Holden said, “Coleen, you’re the one bleeding.”

  In the cacophony of confusion, no one had noticed the free-flowing gash that had torn through Coleen’s pants. Coleen looked down, blanched, and promptly went limp. For the first time, her reaction seemed genuine.

  Adults were shouting, “Call 9-1-1!” Students were crying. Holden was ushering Rachael to a safe distance so Coleen couldn’t immediately find her if or when she regained consciousness.

  Rachael was still confounded, so it startled her when Holden grasped her by her upper arms and looked directly into her eyes. “What happened?” he demanded.

  Shaking her head, all she could say was, “A wolf got her. . . .”

  “I know,” he said impatiently. “What else?”

  What else? Rachael stared in disbelief, trying to sort her muddled thoughts. Finally, slowly, she said, “Nothing else. Except . . .” It sounded like she had lost her marbles, even to her, but the words tumbled out with little resistance. “Except was that Nathan?”

  It was the eyes that convinced her, those opaque black eyes that had looked at her in a mixture of shame and human admiration. Really, she had no logical reason to think this—but instinctively, she knew, and those eyes had sealed the deal for her.

  She expected Holden to laugh derisively. Even something akin to patronizing her would have made sense.

  Instead his blue-green eyes went blank.

  “You’re asking if the wolf was Nathan,” he said calmly. Said, not asked, she noted.

  Rachael nodded.

  Sirens blared in the distance. Coleen’s ambulance was nearby. Probably the cops and rangers as well. All these were blatant facts Rachael was dimly aware of. Her focus was on Holden, his frightening calm, his impassive expression in regards to her incredulous inquiry.

  Their trip was about to be cut short. All the photos on the sequoia were lost, the camera missing in the insanity of the situation. Yet all that mattered were the cryptic, hair-raising words Holden said before they were ushered away.

  “Aaron’s going to want a word with you soon.”

  Chapter Ten

  The rest of the day was a wrenching disaster. One of the boys used his shirt to staunch Coleen’s bleeding until the paramedics arrived and hauled her off to the ambulance. At the same time teachers and chaperones were ushering the students back to the buses. Once quieted and seated—Holden managed to stay with her, thank goodness—the assurances began. Coleen was going to be fine. She would make a full recovery; the gash wasn’t too deep. No one else was hurt. And this sort of field trip would never, ever happen again.

  Mrs. Whitley ended by approaching Rachael, saying quietly, “And until this is sorted out, I’m afraid you’ll have to serve a week’s worth of detention for leaving your group unattended.”

  Face burning, Rachael sank low in her seat. Holden’s gentle squeeze on her shoulder was only mildly comforting.

  The ride back to school became a tortuous endeavor. Rachael kept her eyes on her hands, replaying the event from Coleen’s accusation—“some kind of freak”—to the blood oozing from her leg.

  Dimly she heard other students trying to talk to her. This time Mrs. Whitley demanded absolute silence. Nobody argued.

  The original plan had been to get back in time for everybody to attend their final class period. Instead they returned just after lunch and were ordered to go to fourth period, whichever class it may be.

  Rachael couldn’t focus. Neither could anyone else who had gone, apparently. Before the day’s end rumors were thick as always; Coleen had lost her leg to a bear and Rachael had run off to have a romantic rendezvous with Matt. Not for the first time she was amazed how quickly the truth warped.

  After the final bell she trudged against the steps and whispers of other students to Mrs. Whitley’s classroom. Keeping her eyes on her feet, Rachael waited for the room to empty before taking her familiar seat.

  Mrs. Whitley did not acknowledge her. The plump teacher remained behind her desk, presumably pouring over classwork. Not desiring to draw more ire, Rachael sat rigid and silent.

  At last the quiet was too much to handle. “I’m sorry,” she blurted.

  Startled, Mrs. Whitley looked up. Her eyes widened behind her glasses. “Ah . . . Rachael.” She spoke as though surprised—and perhaps she was. The kindly woman swiveled the chair to face her, composing her demeanor. “I apologize. I didn’t intend for you to start your detention today, what with all the chaos. I figured you’d want to tell your parents first.”

  Rachael doubted that would end any better than if a phone call had been made. Mumbling another apology, she collected her backpack and rose. But instead of heading for the door, she said, “I didn’t mean for that to happen today.”

  Calmly, Mrs. Whitley asked, “What did you mean to happen?”

  The embarrassment of explaining her unnatural obsession hardly compared to her current shame. “I just . . . I wanted a picture of the sequoia. That sequoia.”

  Her answer didn’t faze Mrs. Whitley. “It was off the trail. You broke the rules.”

  “I know.”

  “The detention remains, starting tomorrow, regardless of what else occurred.”

  Fear got Rachael’s heart thumping painfully. “What did Coleen say?”

  Disappointment colored Mrs. Whitley’s eyes, and Rachael realized that had been the wrong thing to ask. “I’m more interested in your version. So is Mr. Selby.”

  It could only get worse now, Rachael knew. Coleen could weave a lie better than any other person Rachael had met in her short life. Suspension from school loomed imminently in her future for certain, now.

  Slowly, stumbling over her words, Rachael tried to explain. About the sequoia. Why she had done it. How the wolf had come out and attacked Coleen. She left out her bizarre thoughts when she had seen the beast—as well as Coleen’s cruel taunting and the shove. What did it matter which details she left out, anyway? Undoubtedly Coleen would find a way to make things worse.

  Even so, Mrs. Whitley noticed something was off. “Why did Ms. Thibodeaux follow you?”

  “She . . .” Words failed her. In spite of her deep loathing for what Coleen had done, threatened, and said, Rachael couldn’t bring herself to say it. She didn’t want conflict. She especially didn’t want to talk about her mother’s deteriorating condition and how Second Chair Coleen had used it to provoke her to violence. All Rachael wanted was to go back in time and make sure the field trip never happened. The sequoia no longer seemed worth it.

  Obviously, no matter her humiliation or fear, time travel was still impossible.

  After removing her thickened tongue from the roof of her mouth, Rachael offered feebly, “Maybe she wanted to stop me? I don’t know. Everything happened so fast.”

  “She’s lying,” said Holden from the doorway.

  Too much had happened that day for Rachael to feel surprise anymore. When she turned to confirm that the unusually curt yet familiar voice came from, all she could think was, What now?

  Mrs. Whitley shared her thoughts. “Mr. Cavanaugh, please wait outside.”

  Holden kept his feet planted firmly in the threshold. “I knew where Rachael was going. I heard everything.”

  That was impossible. Not another soul had even noticed something amiss until Coleen had sc
reamed, and certainly nobody else had heard what happened or else the rumors would have an edge of truth to them or, at the very least, wouldn’t have spiraled so completely out of control so quickly. Not to mention, she had seen Holden coming with the others. He was with them when she left; he had stayed with the group until the catastrophe. . . .

  While Rachael was trying to wrap her head around the enormous and blatant lie, Holden began a frighteningly accurate recount of the events—including Coleen’s words verbatim. “Some kind of freak,” “biggest whore,” and “if you had any real friends” were repeated in explicit detail.

  When he got to the barb about her mother, Rachael finally felt the weight of Coleen’s words crack her façade. She cried. Not loud, wracking sobs, but disturbingly silent tears that burned and spilled without her consent. Because poor Mommy’s dying; poor Mommy’s dying; dying.

  Mama’s dying.

  Holden continued, his voice clipped and passive, but Rachael couldn’t stay any longer. Ignoring Mrs. Whitley’s alarm, she shoved past the boy she almost considered a friend and fled. Rachael ran as though the speed could distance her from the very real and grotesque fact her mother was slowly traveling to death’s door. She had no destination in mind, only her mother’s sunken eyes and shriveled form and Coleen’s cruel, taunting lips.

  Her legs carried her to the student parking lot. Nearly all the cars were gone, making the search for Jackson’s a far cry easier, but her brother was nowhere to be seen. Still in tears, Rachael tugged all the door handles to no avail.

  Defeated and virtually alone, she collapsed beside the back tire and let herself go. Rachael had often cried after her mother’s grim diagnosis, but always silently and beneath the covers at night. Never before had she screamed or sobbed or kicked her feet like a toddler amidst a tantrum, but she this time she let it all out.