The house was roaring with flames and beginning to creak. Pa was screaming as the creature slowly pulled him apart. Garret dragged himself the last few inches and bit the creature’s ankle. He expected the creature’s hide to turn his teeth, as it had before, and then have his head stomped into the floor.
Instead, his teeth broke the creature’s hide, and its dark flesh blistered and shrank as if boiling. The stuff all over Garret’s face was burning the creature like its own fire burned everything else. The creature’s shriek rose to an octave that hurt Garret’s wolf ears. He found himself kicked aside, and he landed back amongst the broken bottles. Crinkled paper labels littered the floor around him: tincture of camphor, carbolic acid, and from the bottle on which his face had landed, silver nitrate.
His Pa hit the wood nearby. The creature continued to scream. It stumbled on the injured leg, crashed into something, and then tore half of the back wall out with its exit, pulling all of its fire with it, leaving the house a smoking black wreck.
Pa whimpered like a pup. Babe was whining and sniffing around Garret’s hindquarters. Garret righted the front half of his body and swayed woozily. He wasn’t sure where his Pa was, so he went for his Ma. It was a long slow crawl. Halfway there, he stopped to shift back and forth a couple times. It hurt. A lot. It cleared the vision in his left eye and cleared his head a little too, but it didn’t have the slightest effect on his legs. They were dead weight. He crawled forward again, only to watch his wolf-Pa limp past him and begin to lick his mother’s twisted form, which had fallen back on the cot again after the creature threw her into the wall.
Fearfully, Garret pulled himself up to the side of the cot and shifted back to human form. He glanced in the cracked mirror that hung askew on the opposite wall. His body was a mess. His back was worse than broken. He could see his vertebrae running down his back in even lumps until, just above his hips, the lump for the next vertebra was pushed to the side. His spine was completely severed. No amount of shifting would heal body parts that were no longer touching. He was crippled. Paralyzed.
Garret pushed himself up on his arms and peeked over the edge of the cot. His throat went dry. His mother’s body was twisted in the middle, as if she were so much clay rather than a living being. Her shoulder was distended and grossly swollen, leaving her arm dangling at a sickening angle. Her usually flawless skin was covered with patches of burns, ranging from red and blistered to greyish black where the flesh had been charred away. All her hair was gone, as was one side of her face.
Garret’s Pa sat beside her, and with great effort, resumed human form. Mostly. He couldn’t seem to get rid of all the grey fur. It stayed on the backs of his hands and neck. He reached for her again and again, crying like a child, saying unintelligible things. She didn’t seem to see him. Weakly, she reached for Garret, her hands opening and closing feebly, searching for him, hoping he was near.
“Garret,” she rasped, her throat scalded from breathing superheated air. “Garret?” She grasped weakly for him with her one good hand. The fear in her eyes was simple, and achingly genuine. As with most of us, her last moments stripped her down to the core of what she was, and so Garret had to see, again, that his mother was nothing more than a frightened little girl. Garret swallowed his tears. It was like swallowing a river stone.
“I’m here Mama,” he choked out.
“Garret?” she begged again, pleading. Childlike.
He couldn’t take one of her hands with his own because he’d fall over, so he dragged himself up until his head touched her fingers, hanging over the side of the cot.
She ran them through his hair, and said with simple relief, “Garret, my little boy.”
And then she was gone. Her hand went limp, resting in his hair, and did not move again.
Garret broke. He hadn’t even been able to hold his mama while she died. So he did what he could. His tears rained to the boards, but he held himself up so his mother’s hand would not be left hanging. He kept himself there, holding her hand up with his head until his Pa ceased howling the wolf’s cry of mourning. Garret stayed there, holding up his mother’s hand until his tears and his strength failed him.
* * *
Garret lay on the floor. The cold night air gusted over him from the hole the creature had left in the wall. Outside Grey’s house, the town was coming apart in fire, smoke, and death. The creature had gone crazy. Garret didn’t need his wolf ears to hear the thundering collapses of homes and shops, or the screams of the dying, or the booming of useless firearms as men tried to stop the creature from tearing the town to pieces. But the first nearby sound Garret heard was the last thing he wanted to hear: Dr. Grey’s voice. It was dry and rough, much as his mother’s had been before she died.
“Garret,” he said, “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Fuck you. Garret ignored Grey and pushed himself up on his hands. At some point, Garret’s Pa, who was again a wolf (when had he ever really been anything else?) had pulled his mother’s dead body from the cot and curled around her on the floor. His head lay on her breast while he wept listlessly down his muzzle.
“Pa,” Garret grated, dragging himself up to his father’s tail.
His Pa made no move.
“Pa you have to get up.”
Pa’s eyes were so empty and glassy that he could have been dead, save for the gentle hitching of his furry chest.
Mrs. Malvern was right, Garret thought dully. The creature was telling me all along, I just wasn’t listening.
“Pa, get up.” Garret swallowed hard and made himself say it, “Pa, I… I can’t move my legs. You have to go save Sarn and Molly. I know where they are.”
Pa lay there, unmoving.
“Pa,” Garret demanded. “Get up. You have to.”
Nothing.
Garret dragged himself up to his father’s head and tried to yell at him, but it didn’t come out loudly. “Ma’s dead. Sarn and Molly will be too if you don’t move. You have to save them. I can’t… I can’t walk.”
One of Pa’s ears flicked weakly, but he made no effort to rise. So there it was again, refusal to help, to protect, to choose to do what had to be done. Betrayal. There were always hard choices to make in life, and as far as Garret could see, when one person refused to make a hard choice that was appointed to them, it left that choice to someone else. Since that other person was never meant to make the choice in the first place, it made it that much harder.
Garret did not scream or rage. There was no fury left inside of him. This was simply the way it was, and Garret was finally accepting it. His father would not help. He would not save Sarn, or Molly, or Garret.
Arms shaking, Garret hauled himself back around to face Grey, who had donned a pair of pants and was sitting on the floor, head hanging.
“I need food and water,” Garret said. “Hurry. And lock Babe up in another room.”
“What?” Grey raised his head. The man was haggard. His aloofness was gone, all his debonair stripped from him. He had made such a terrible mistake that he was only just beginning to see the edges of it, but Garret didn’t care about Grey’s penitence. He didn’t care how terrible Grey felt. Considering how crazy Grey had been acting just a few hours ago, maybe this was just an act anyway. Either way, Grey deserved to feel terrible. God knew it was the least Grey owed all the people he had allowed the creature to kill, like Garret’s Ma.
Garret cared nothing for the man’s regret, but it might provide enough leverage for Garret to get Grey to do what had to be done next.
“Food and water,” Garret repeated. “Now. Fast. Then get your surgical stuff. Whatever you need to open me up.”
Grey was uncomprehending for a second, then his eyes dropped to Garret’s useless hips. He blanched. “I’m sorry Garret, I know that I’m… that this could have been avoided, but this won’t work.”
“Yes it will.”
Grey shook his head. “Garret, you don’t understand. I don’t have the skill
. No one has the skill to repair this kind of neural damage.”
“It will work.”
“No it won’t! It can’t be done! If I open you up in this state, you’ll probably—”
“Die!?” Garret thundered. Okay, so maybe there was a bit of fury left. He didn’t have to gesture to his Ma when he repeated, “Die, Dr. Grey? Is that what’s gonna happen!?”
Grey looked away from Garret. Garret dragged himself right into Grey’s face, and the authority he had so recently found inside himself came roaring back, legs or no. “You and I are going to do this, now.”
Grey shook his head weakly. “It’s impossible.”
Garret felt his facial features beginning to elongate into a sharp-toothed muzzle. “Sarn and Molly don’t have another second to spare. Get me food, then get your stuff.”
Grey spread his hands. “Garret, modern medicine can’t reattach severed nerves. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Just do what I’m telling you,” Garret ordered.
Grey stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“This will work. I know it,” Garret repeated.
“How?” Grey asked.
“Because it has to,” Garret said. “Go lock Babe up. I won’t tell you again.”
Chapter 20
Garret lay on the floor, his blood oozing from several locations and dampening the sheet beneath him. His stomach was full to bursting. He’d eaten some of every type of food Grey had in the house, so he could have shifted a few times and sealed the bleeding places, but he was afraid to waste any of the food energy he’d eaten. He was going to need it, and he was trying not to think about that.
Garret lay on his side, exposing his broken back. Behind him, Grey tinkered with his surgical instruments.
“This isn’t anywhere close to sterile, Garret,” Grey said flatly. “Even if God sent an angel to take my knives and do this, you’re going to go septic and die.”
“Stop talking and start cutting,” Garret said around the stick between his teeth.
Grey continued as if Garret hadn’t spoken. “All that food you just ate, you’re going to vomit it all back up, and since you won’t let me put you under, if the pain doesn’t kill you, you’re going to start flailing around as soon as I cut, so I won’t be able to work on you anyway.”
“No I won’t.”
Grey slammed a palm to the floor. “Are you listening to me? I’m a doctor, I don’t kill people!”
Garret laughed so hard that he had to put the stick back between his teeth.
Shame cooled Grey’s temper. “You are forcing me to end your life. I’m only doing it because you threatened to kill me.”
Indeed Garret had. It had been surprisingly effective. The fact that he was sprouting sharp teeth while making the threat had probably helped. Whatever the reason, it had gotten amazing cooperation out of Grey. Garret would have to remember to threaten people’s lives more often.
Grey wasn’t finished yet. “Without anesthetic, you’ll bite down on the stick. It’s a reflex reaction to severe pain. You wouldn’t be able to tell me what to do even if you knew. Which you don’t, no matter what you think. You don’t get your legs back again, Garret. This is the way it is, but you can still live a long life if we don’t do this.”
Garret glanced down at his legs. They lay there, torn, broken, and unmoving. It was such a basic thing—the feeling of command over one’s own body. In the past, he had told his legs to move and they had. Not anymore. The legs attached to his waist still looked like his, but they were dead weight, as if someone had chained a small anvil to his belt for him to drag around. The deadness of half his own body sent chills through him.
“Do it,” Garret said around the stick. “I’m not kidding.” But he was starting to shake.
Grey took a deep breath. “Alright, I’m going to cut.”
Garret felt a blade pierce the middle of his back and slide down his spine, splitting him open like a zipper. The agony was indescribable. Garret bit down on the stick and squalled.
“Alright, master surgeon, what would you like me to do now?” Despite the sarcasm, Grey’s voice wasn’t steady.
Garret tried to tell him what to do next, but all that came out was a series of piercing screams every time he exhaled. Grey waited, lacking any other option. It took a long while, but eventually, Garret managed to spit the stick out and form a few words in between gasps.
“Grab… the ends.”
“Ends of what?”
Another cry slipped out of Garret. “My… backbone.”
“Grab your spine?! With what?”
“Your fucking hands!” Garret shrieked.
Grey plied the scalpel again and then Garret felt two human hands enter his body, pushing aside muscles and grabbing the severed ends of his spine. Garret’s eyes rolled back in his head. He had no idea how he pushed the words out, even less how Grey understood them.
“Hold… them… together.”
Grey twisted Garret’s body, bringing the ends of the severed vertebrae together again. It was far from perfect, it probably wasn’t even properly aligned, but they were touching again. It would have to be good enough.
“Hold them… tight.”
Now came the moment Garret had been dreading. He had to shift. It took him a full minute of whimpering and gasping to work up to it. He would almost summon the courage, then it would collapse out of him. Then he’d gather it up again, only to drop it and run away. At last, the pain was so intense that he was afraid he couldn’t hold his mind together any longer, so he called the strap to himself, from wherever it was. The change brought new heights of suffering.
Grey swore in English, French, and something that sounded like Russian, but he held tight. Garret’s body screamed at him, engulfed in a white heat of something well beyond pain. Then he made himself shift again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
On the seventh time, he felt Grey, who was still swearing fluently, pull his hands out before the shrinking incision pinned his wrists together. When he let go, the ends of Garret’s spine held together. Garret was one piece again. He might have thought to cheer, if he wasn’t spending half his mind on continuing to force himself to change, and the other half on keeping himself from passing out.
“More… food,” Garret gasped some time later.
Cold turkey, canned beets, and bread appeared in front of him, and Grey’s hands fed him. Garret knew nothing but food and the cycle of shifting agony for what seemed like years. It was probably only a few hours.
In the end, Garret lay there like a squashed bug. He felt cold, so cold, and without thinking, he curled his knees to his chest. They came, jerking and prickling with pins and needles, but they came. From his spot on the floor, Garret could see Grey also on the floor, empty bowls and plates between them, and an expression on Grey’s face that Garret didn’t recognize. It looked like awe.
Babe was howling bloody murder somewhere else in the house, wherever Grey had locked her up. She was clawing at a door or wall trying to get to Garret. She’d no doubt heard his screams. Good dog, Garret thought.
Pa was gone. He’d taken Ma’s body with him. Garret had no idea when his Pa had left him.
* * *
Garret the wolf lurched through the woods at a lumbering trot. His back legs were following orders, more or less, but they were slow, not to mention jerky and wobbly. Tingles ran up and down them as he stumbled over rocks and roots.
Almost there. So close. He had to hope that the creature was still taking out its rage on the town. Even at this distance, the sounds of collapsing buildings and terrified people were still clear, but he could no longer hear the creature’s battle cry, so it could be waiting for him. Or it could be following him. There would be no telling where it was until he caught wind of it.
He lurched around a boulder. If he could only reach the place without the creature knowing, perhaps he could free Molly and Sarn and the three
of them could escape together. In the back of his mind, he knew there was nowhere on earth they could go that the creature would not eventually find them, but he chose not to think about it. The task at hand was difficult enough, let alone all the ones to come after.
Considering the creature’s perverse nature, this was a fitting place for it to hold his family captive. It was the only place, really. Garret didn’t have time for the horrible guilt he felt inside, but he couldn’t make it go away. I should have known. I should have remembered. It was right there in front of me. Jesus, how many times did I have to smell that stink before I remembered the first place I smelled it?
How long did the reek of brimstone have to sting his nose before he remembered his and Molly’s secret place: she reclining against a log, and he poking the fire, fretting about the smell. The creature had been watching them through the fire.
It’s been following me since the beginning.
Garret hauled himself around the side of the hill towards the secret fire spot. It was their special place, a small bench in the side of a steep hill, open but ringed tightly by trees, perfect for snuggling with somebody on a cool night. Or at least it had been. Garret didn’t want to imagine what it was now. He tucked his tail as he loped along.
As he rounded the hill, new scents drifted his way, creeping up the slope. He smelled Molly. He smelled Sarn. His heart leaped, and he pushed his jerky legs to the limit, probably slowing himself with the amount of stumbling it caused.
He descended the slope and bore south, approaching the last outcropping that shielded the small flat spot from his view. His wolf mind relied on his ears and nose to tell him about his world. Vision was secondary to the beast, but Garret’s human heart wanted to see Molly and Sarn. He wanted to touch the two people he loved most in the world with human hands, not wolf paws. He wanted to kiss with his human lips. Yes, even his brother would probably get a kiss on the hair. Sarn and Molly. All in Garret’s world would be set right in a moment.
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