Red Rider's Hood

by Нил Шустерман

  "I want to know where you've been!" Cedric demanded when he saw me. "And why you haven't been reporting to me all you know about the hunters."

  I forced myself to be calm, answering in an easy tone of voice. "I've been gathering information," I told him. "No sense reporting back until I had something worth telling."

  Cedric relaxed the tiniest bit. "You got something?"

  "Oh, yeah!" I smiled, and didn't say anything more for a few long seconds, keeping him in suspense. I noticed Cedric glanc­ing down at the bag in my hand, so I spoke up, pulling his attention away from the bag and back to me.

  "The hunters know about Troll Bridge Hollow," I said.

  "Because you told them!" shouted Marvin.

  "Shut your face!" Cedric said, then turned back to me. "So how do they know?"

  "It's not too hard a thing to find out. I'll bet they've known for a long time." I told him, "This isn't a good place to get caught―only one entrance with no back door. They're gonna have sharpshooters posted in a nearby building. They're gonna pick us off one by one as we come out the door tomorrow night."

  The others looked worried, but Cedric just smiled. "And how do they know we're gonna be here?"

  I smiled right back. "I told them I'd make sure of it."

  Cedric nodded. "So they think we're gonna be like ducks in a shooting gallery. Are all the hunters gonna be here?"

  "Every last one of them."

  "Let's go take care of them now," said Warhead, pounding his fist into his palm.

  "We'll wait till we go wolfing." Cedric crossed his arms. "What kind of weapons they got?"

  "State-of-the-art," I told him. "Automatic rifles with laser sights. You see a little pinprick of red, and the next moment you're history."

  "Silver bullets?"

  And then I had a brainstorm. There was already too much interest in the bag I was holding. I knew I wouldn't get out of there without someone seeing inside . . . but maybe the truth could set me free.

  "Yeah, they've got silver bullets," I said. "But a lot fewer than they think they have." Then I emptied the bag on the table right in front of Cedric. A few bullets rolled onto the floor, and the Wolves jumped back like they were acid.

  "You stole these from your own grandmother?" Cedric laughed and laughed. "You are one bad little wolverine!"

  "You got that right!"

  He looked at the bullets―I could see a little bit of fear in his face, and Cedric never showed fear. "Okay―get rid of them."

  So I did. I picked up all the silver bullets and put them back in the bag. "I'll go up on the bridge and throw them into the river," I said.

  "We have to leave Troll Bridge Hollow; we can't stay here," said A/C, looking to Cedric for approval. "We should pick up and move, right now."

  "Don't be dumb! That would be too suspicious," I told him. "You gotta pretend like you don't know anything. You can't let them know that you're onto them."

  "Exactly," said Cedric.

  I pointed to a grate on the ground toward the back of the huge room. "Anyone know what's down there?"

  "Just a drainage tunnel," said Klutz. "It empties out into the river."

  "There's our back door," I said.

  "Good thinking," said Cedric. "We'll get everyone here before sundown―then, once we transform, we'll get out through the tunnel, sneak up on the hunters from behind, and it's supper time." Then Cedric turned back to me. "You gave us all the information we needed," he said. "Your job is done."

  I didn't like the sound of that. "Cool," I said, rolling up the lip on the bag of silver bullets. "I'll go get rid of these." I turned to go, and then Cedric did something that I wasn't expecting.

  "I'll go with you," he said.

  The last thing that I wanted right then was to be alone with Cedric, but I wasn't about to let him know that. Maybe he just wanted to walk me up, to make sure I got rid of those bullets― if I were him, that's what I would do. But then he could have sent any one of the Wolves to do that, he didn't have to come himself. I had given him all the information he needed. It meant I wasn't needed anymore. I began to wonder if it was going to be me, instead of the bullets, that got thrown off the bridge.

  I swallowed hard and tried to pretend like I wasn't scared.

  A set of rusty metal service stairs zigzagged up the side of the Troll Bridge Hollow to the bridge deck above. Halfway up, Cedric stopped me. We were in darkness, and in the shadow cast by the bridge, no one could see us. I could barely see him.

  "You talked like a real know-it-all in there," he said. "You made everyone else look foolish."

  "I... uh . . . I didn't mean to," I said. "I was just trying to be sensible."

  "Sensible," he echoed. I couldn't figure out if his voice was mocking. "A/C's my second in command, and I don't think he liked that you talked back to him, calling him dumb."

  "Like I said―"

  "Yeah, I know," Cedric said. "You were being sensible."

  Cedric was quiet for a moment, then he said, "Did you ever watch any of those Mafia movies?"

  I had to laugh―what did that have to do with anything? "Like, which ones?"

  "Any of them. All of them. There's TV shows, too. See, it's always the same―there's the head guy. He's the boss, or the Godfather, or whatever. He's got lieutenants and captains and stuff. It's like a friggin' army."

  "Yeah? So?" The bullets were feeling heavier and heavier in my hands.

  "There's always this one guy, though. The consigliere. Ever hear of that?"

  "I don't think so."

  "You know what it is?"

  "No," I said.

  Cedric rapped me on the shoulder. "See―so you're not a complete know-it-all." I let out a nervous little laugh. Cedric continued. "The consigliere is like the adviser to the Godfather. Kind of like his second in command, without really being his second in command."

  I took a deep breath, suddenly realizing where this was going.

  "See," said Cedric, "A/C is gonna be the first of us heading out. He's going to Chicago, and I'm going to need to appoint someone else to be second in command. But it can't be you, because that's gonna tick off the other guys. 'Why's he making the Wolverine second in charge?' they're gonna say, and they ain't gonna listen to you―heck, if I were them I wouldn't listen to a snot-nosed brat like you, either. But, see, you got the brains that they don't have, and they're all too stupid to see it. So there's no way you can be second in command," he said again. "But that doesn't mean you can't be consigliere."

  He waited for me to respond, but I didn't, because I just didn't know what to feel. I was relieved that he didn't come up here to kill me, and stupefied that he was willing to put so much faith in me, when I was really the enemy.

  "So tomorrow we take care of the hunters, then the next night, you'll get 'made.' After your first kill, we'll talk about it." He patted me on the shoulder. "So are we gonna toss these bullets?"

  "Sure," I said, but my voice came out little more than a whisper. "I'll take care of it."

  "You're doing good, Red," he said. "You're proving yourself every day." Then he turned and clattered back down the stairs.

  The sound of his footsteps faded, and I continued up until I reached the deck of the bridge. Cars whizzed past, not knowing or caring that I was there, as I followed the bridge's walkway, until I was halfway across the river. I looked over the edge, holding the bag of bullets. I knew I could take them to Marissa, and the Wolves would never know. Simple as that. Simple. But instead I found myself hurling the bag, bullets and all, over the edge of the bridge, and into the water.

  15

  Pregnant moon

  “You did WHAT with the bullets?" Grandma shouted.

  I had walked around for hours before I worked up enough nerve to go to Grandma's house. It was evening by the time I got there.

  I didn't mean to tell her how it happened. I started out just telling her the bullets were lost, but Grandma has a way of pok­ing and prodding at the loose ends of a story until the w
hole thing just unravels.

  "The Wolves trust me. I had to prove myself worthy to them―they were all watching me!" It was a lie. No one had been watching. I told myself that I had a good reason for lying to Grandma, but that was just a lie, too.

  "Listen," I told her. "I've got some information for you." Then I told her how the Wolves planned to sneak out through the drainage tunnel beneath Troll Bridge Hollow. "Find where that tunnel lets out, and you'll have them," I said.

  Grandma sized me up for a moment, then said calmly, "That information can't help us if we don't have silver bullets," she said. "But I suppose you already knew that."

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm really, really sorry."

  Grandma looked at me, stared into my eyes, and said noth­ing. Then, finally, she smiled. "Of course you're sorry. I know you are."

  Only there was no warmth in her smile, and her eyes were still hard.

  "What are you going to do now?" I asked her.

  "Oh, don't you worry about that. I'll cook up something."

  "Hey―you had some other bullets, didn't you?" I asked. "The ones that were still cooling? Where did you put them?"

  "Someplace safe," she said quickly, almost sharply, and didn't bother to tell me where.

  I reached to my chest, feeling the little silver coin that Mom had given me. It wasn't much, but it could be melted down into a single bullet.

  "Maybe I could give you some silver, Grandma."

  "Don't worry, Red. I'll manage. I always have."

  It was as though a chill had descended on the room. Grandma moved around the house, locking cabinets and draw­ers, as if absentmindedly. But she didn't miss a single one.

  "Are you worried about me, Grandma?" I asked.

  "Oh, not at all, not at all," she said. "I'm sure you know exactly what you're doing. Why don't you run along home now, Red. I have a lot to do, a lot to prepare."

  "Grandma, please, let me help you."

  But I could see a guarded expression on her face now, a look of suspicion that I had never seen there before.

  "No, you've been enough help, I think."

  I went home and tried to sleep, but couldn't, so I stared up at the moon, watching how it's trailing edge faded into darkness, so close to being full, but not quite there. A pregnant moon, Grandma called it. Full almost to bursting, and ready to give birth to something unthinkable. Tomorrow night, the Wolves would prowl the city streets, devouring anyone in their path. Tomorrow night would also change my life forever. Whatever happened tomorrow, whichever way it went down, I know nothing would ever be the same.

  When my alarm went off before dawn, I got out of bed and went down to the park, but Marissa never showed. A little later I tried calling Grandma, to offer my help again, but there was no answer.

  I spent the day in a kind of fog. I couldn't think straight, couldn't make any decisions. I felt paralyzed as I waited for the sun to set.

  I went by the antique shop at five o'clock. A sign on the door said back in fifteen minutes, but the back door was unlocked, so I let myself in.

  "Marissa," I called softly. "Are you here?"

  There was no answer, so I sat down behind the register to wait.

  And that's when I noticed the box on the counter by the register. It was a small, thin box, the kind that usually holds a watch or a bracelet, the kind of gift girls go gaga over.

  Except this one didn't have a girl's name on it. It had mine.

  I picked up the box. It didn't have any gift wrap or ribbon on it, just a piece of tape holding it closed, and another piece of tape holding the small envelope with my name on it.

  I tore open the envelope and found a note.

  you ain't too sharp, red.

  yours trouly, marvin

  I lifted the lid off the box. Inside was a tarnished silver but­ter knife.

  What was it supposed to mean? Was it a threat? Not a very scary one. You ain't too sharp. Was the dull knife just a joke, or was there something I wasn't getting here? Was there some­thing about the knife itself?

  I held the tarnished knife up to the light and studied it. It was heavy, thick, with a finely detailed pattern of flowers on the handle. I turned the blade over and noticed some printing on the flat side of the blade, near the handle. The words stainless steel.

  It was just a cheap, steel butter knife, not an expensive silver one.

  But stainless steel doesn't tarnish―that's something that happens only to silver. I looked at the knife again, scratched it with my thumbnail, and the stains came off on my fingers. Silver tarnish won't do that, you have to use special polish. So this knife wasn't tarnished at all―but it had been "antiqued." Someone had brushed it with steel wool and used special acids to make it appear like silver. People who didn't know the difference would think they were getting something of value.

  A thought started to roll around in the back of my head. I put the knife down on the counter and stood up, feeling a little dizzy.

  I looked across the store at the crowded shelf of knick-knacks and spotted the silver candelabra Marissa had used to find out whether or not Marvin was a werewolf.

  I walked over to the shelf and stood in front of the heavy object. Five curlicue branches arched out from the center. The tarnished silver gleamed dully under the display light of the cabinet.

  I didn't want to, but I reached out and picked it up. Then I scratched the base with my thumbnail. The "tarnish" came right off.

  The candelabra wasn't silver at all. It was steel, treated to look like silver.

  Which meant Marvin never touched silver . . .

  A sharp slam of pain knocked the thought out of my mind, and my head was once again filled with cartoon stars before everything went black.

  I woke up so sore I couldn't move. Then I realized I couldn't move because my arms were bound together behind my back. I tried to stand, but my ankles were tied to the chair, so I tried to cry out, but couldn't do that, either. Something stuffed in my mouth kept me from making a sound.

  The Wolves must have been in the antique store, waiting for me! But why? I thought they trusted me.

  Marvin . . . there was something about Marvin I needed to remem­ber. Something I had found out. . .

  I saw something moving out of the corner of my eye and turned my head to look. Big mistake. I felt a sharp pain radiat­ing from where I had been hit on the head, and I groaned.

  "He's awake," a voice said. It was cold as ice, but it wasn't a voice I expected. It was Marissa. She and Grandma came over to where I sat.

  "We had to do this for your own good," Grandma said. "I'm sorry, Red."

  I shook my head vigorously, in spite of the pain.

  Marvin . . . something important about Marvin. Why cant I remember?

  "Really, Red," Grandma went on, "I'm sorry. You're not a Wolf yet, and I won't let them make you one―even if it's what you think you want. Once we get rid of all the Wolves, you'll be out of danger and we'll let you go."

  Then I saw the stainless-steel butter knife sitting on the counter, and I remembered everything.

  Marvin! He never touched silver! We have no proof that he's not a werewolf―which means he probably is one!

  "Mrrrvmmm! Mrrvmmm uh wrrrwrrrff!" It was no use! I tried to spit out the gag so my words would make sense. I hadn't even told them that I had done the job and had set the Wolves up for the trap we were going to spring. We. It wasn't we anymore―I had just been cut out of the whole thing, which meant Marissa and Grandma were going alone. Our chances were bad enough with three―but two?

  Frustrated and furious, I shook the ropes that held my arms behind my back, trying to get loose.

  "Give it up," said Marissa. "You're not going anywhere."

  She looked at me like she hated me. The way Marvin had always looked at me. I stopped struggling and stared at her, try­ing to send her a message with my eyes. Trying to let her know I had something important to tell her.

  The message didn't go through. Marissa turned away.

/>   "Come on," Grandma said to her. "We've still got a lot to do, and there's not a whole lot of time left. The moon's just short of rising."

  They left me sitting there, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. I could hear them in another part of the shop getting their equipment together. I had to get through to Grandma somehow. I tried to calm down and think. My hands were tied behind me, my ankles were tied to the legs of the chair, but the chair itself wasn't tied down.

  I inched forward in the chair, putting all my weight over one of the front legs as I scraped it against the floor. It left a faint, but visible line. I inched the chair back, then forward, then back again, and looked down. Clear as day, I had etched the let­ter M into the wood floor!

  While I worked, I could hear Grandma and Marissa talking.

  "You have the ammo?" I heard Marissa ask.

  "All that's left of it. Fifteen bullets. I'll have to make them count. Good thing you thought of the balloons. Do you have them?"

  "Right here," Marissa answered.

  I paused for a second. Balloons? What was that about? I kept working on scraping out my message. M...A...R...V...

  I had gotten to the first R in werewolf when Grandma came back into the room. She had on a leather jacket, biker pants, and a helmet. Her face and hands were covered with mud, to hide her scent. She looked as far from being my crazy old grandmother as could be.

  "We're going now, Red. You'll be safe here." Although wolfs­bane would have been too suspicious a smell for them to have, Grandma did light some wolfsbane incense for me and left it on the counter. "Sit tight and we'll let you go when it's all over." Then she sighed. "And . . . and if we don't make it back .. . well. . . someone will be here in the morning."

  I groaned and tilted my head, pointed my toes, and did everything I could to get her to look down at what I had scratched on the floor.

  MARVIN WEREW