Hunter's Moon (The Wolves of Wellsboro Book 1)

by Sarah M. Awa

  “Who?”

  “That cop I saw in my vision, prowling your campus. He must’ve found you after all.”

  Melanie made a noise halfway between a whimper and a groan, then spat out a couple of unladylike words. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and apologized. “If it is him, he’s going to be hard to lose.”

  “You’re right. We can’t just pull off at a gas station again.”

  “So what do we do?”

  They lapsed into silence. We can’t under any circumstances lead him to the cabin, Gavin thought grimly. But where . . . how . . . ?

  “We probably can’t use speed to get away from him,” he said aloud. “Aside from the obvious risk of getting pulled over, this car only has a four-cylinder engine, while his might have a V6. He’s most likely driving the black Chevy Impala he had in the vision. It may be outfitted with a six-cylinder. Could be his undercover vehicle.”

  “Fantastic.” Melanie chewed her lower lip and wrung her hands. “You don’t think this is about . . . you know . . .”

  I sure hope it isn’t about her—our—condition, thought Gavin. But what else could it be? Dread rose within him, mingled with confusion. Whoever this guy was, how the heck did he know or suspect Melanie’s secret? And he’d soon discover Gavin’s, if they didn’t lose him.

  “And he’s a cop, too,” Melanie said angrily. “It’s not fair.”

  Gavin shuddered in agreement and checked the dashboard clock: 1:50. One hour and ten minutes till they reached the cabin. He thought about their route and about their extra hour, and an idea came to him. “I’m going to call my mom. I think I’ve got a plan. But it’ll involve backtracking; we’ve already passed where I want to go.”

  “Do we have enough time to do that?”

  “Barely. It’s half an hour behind us, so it would use up all our spare time. But it’s the only way I can see to lose him.”

  Her eyes grew wide, and for a moment she looked like she would protest, but she simply said, “Okay.”

  Grabbing his phone, Gavin dialed Cara and explained the situation. “Dad’s at work, right?”

  “Yeah,” Cara said.

  “We’re about to head that way—should be there in thirty minutes. Can you meet us there and park around back? We’ll come in the front by the ER.”

  “Got it.”

  When they came to the next exit, they took it and reentered the freeway going in the opposite direction. This had better work, Gavin thought, jaw set.

  Twenty-five minutes later, they neared the city of Lock Haven. The cop’s headlights had followed them but were now lost in a sea of other lights. Gavin steered the car off the freeway. A couple of turns brought him to a bigger intersection with a stoplight, beyond which were Lock Haven Hospital’s front driveway and main parking lot. The lot was crowded. Approaching the green light, he prayed, Turn yellow. Turn yellow to buy us some time.

  It turned yellow. Gavin zoomed under it before the signal changed to red, but the car behind him had to stop. He pulled into the black asphalt lot and drove past half a dozen packed rows, then parked his compact Ford between a hulking Transit van and an SUV.

  “Come on—we don’t have much time.” He and Melanie threw off their seatbelts and sprinted toward the brick building.

  Cara was waiting for them. She jammed baseball caps in Gavin and Melanie’s hands and swapped Gavin car keys. “This should work,” she said. “I’ll stick around and keep an eye out for shady characters.”

  “Thanks.” Gavin shot a glance at the entrance, gave Cara a peck on the cheek, and pulled Melanie into the maze of corridors. As they hurried through the sterile-smelling white hallways, they wedged on their hats. Two minutes later, they reached a back door and slipped out through it.

  Gavin spotted Cara’s car and hit the unlock button on the key fob. The slate-gray Nissan hybrid’s headlights blinked, welcoming its new passengers in. “Our pursuer could be patrolling the parking lot,” Gavin realized. “He might’ve guessed what we’re up to. Hurry—duck down in the back seat and keep low to the floor. He’ll be looking for a car with two people in it, not one.”

  She gave a brisk military nod and obeyed.

  Within seconds, Gavin was easing the Nissan out of its space, scanning in every direction for a black Impala, twitching at anything that moved. He took the nearest exit and drove down back streets toward the interstate, checking in his mirrors the entire way.

  Five miles down the freeway, the number of headlights following them had dwindled to zero. “I think we’ve lost him,” he said. Melanie breathed a grateful sigh and unfolded herself from the floor.

  Gavin consulted the dashboard clock. It was 2:35. “Don’t relax yet. We only have an hour and twenty-five minutes till moonrise.”

  “How long does it take to get to the cabin from here?”

  “Hour and thirty.”

  “Well, gun it!”

  Gavin pressed a bit harder on the gas pedal but said, “Getting pulled over for speeding will make things worse, you know.”

  “I know.” She crossed her arms and slumped back. Her eyes closed, her expression pained. He barely heard the second “I know.”

  He could smell her fear, although it didn’t show on her face. She’s putting up a brave front, he thought, and admired her for it. He’d never been anywhere near late to the cabin before. What if they didn’t make it by moonrise and transformed in the car? Don’t think about that. Just drive.

  For the next ten minutes, they rode in tense silence. Then Gavin’s phone rang. It was Cara, reporting that she hadn’t seen any shifty men walk in.

  “We seem to have lost him,” he told her.

  “That’s wonderful,” she said. “In case he’s still lurking around the parking lot, I’ll leave your car here for the next few days and ride home with your father. Do you want one of us to come over tonight and keep watch?”

  Gavin shot a quick glance at Mel. “Thanks, but better not.”

  “All right,” Cara replied. “Call me if anything—if you need anything. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  After he hung up, Gavin glanced in the rearview mirror again and saw that Melanie was grinning. “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing.” She turned away and covered her smile with a hand.

  Girls, he thought.

  He was glad Cara hadn’t seemed to realize how late he and Melanie were. I’ve already given Mom and Dad plenty to worry about over the years. Guilt stirred memories, and he became lost in reverie for a long stretch of glistening gray highway. It was hypnotizing—the endless yellow double line; the feel of smooth, constant motion beneath his comfortable, cushioned seat; trees and cars and signs whizzing past.

  The late afternoon sky brightened, and the storm clouds dissipated. Nearing the end of its westward course, the sun slanted in through the windshield. Gavin squinted and lowered his visor, but it didn’t reach down far enough. He hated driving west this time of day.

  On top of the poor visibility, his insides were churning and his joints aching. His body remembered previous full moons all too well; it knew what was about to happen. Stop complaining, he told it, gritting his teeth. There’s nothing I can do.

  He couldn’t wait for the next few days to be over.

  Lying down on the back seat, Mel tried to keep her eyes shut and her breathing steady and slow. Panic wouldn’t get them there any sooner. But she couldn’t keep her stomach from writhing. It must be due to the full moon, not nerves, she decided. A headache was building, and she massaged her temples. Also mounting was the temptation to ask, “Are we there yet?” She clamped her lips shut. Trust Gavin and be patient. We’ll make it in time. We have to.

  Feeling the car slow and hearing the tick of the turn signal, Melanie sat up and saw that they were merging onto an exit ramp. Out of sudden fear, she checked behind them, but there were no other cars in view. “Almost there,” Gavin said.

  She nodded. Last time she’d come this way, she’d glimpsed no
ne of the route. But there wasn’t much to look at here—more forest; gas station signs sticking up above the tree line in the distance; a dilapidated car parts store that was clearly abandoned, the cracked pavement of its parking lot dotted with clumps of tall grass.

  A couple of turns, and they hit the narrow, bumpy gravel driveway that ended at the cabin. What time is it? Her watch said 3:57. Three minutes!

  Gavin accelerated. The car bounced and juddered, and Mel clung to the seat back in front of her, praying they wouldn’t swerve and crash into a tree. On and on they sped through the darkening forest. When would it end? Trees, trees, trees, trees, trees—Come on! . . .

  There! The woods broke, and they were in the clearing. Gavin didn’t stop in front of the cabin but drove around behind it and parked in the grass.

  Melanie grabbed their bags and flew out of the car. Gavin was right beside her, fumbling with his keys while he ran. He looked sweaty, and his eyes shone with a feverish light. Hands shaking, he struggled to fit the key into the back door. The key ring slipped from his fingers as he doubled over, clutching at his midsection and letting out an agonized moan.

  Mel dropped the bags. “Crap!” She snatched the key off the ground and slid it into the lock—right before the first jolt of pain ran down her spine. She and Gavin tumbled over the threshold and staggered down the hallway to their safe rooms.

  Once inside hers, Mel shut the door and leaned against it, panting, another wave of pain washing over her. Fur spread over her hands and up her arms as she clicked the deadbolts into place, starting at the top, working her way down to the bottom.

  Then the twisting and grinding began.

  12

  Communiqué

  November 13, Full Moon (second night)

  Pam’s alarm buzzed at 8:00 the next morning, since it was Sunday. She groaned, hit snooze, and rolled over, exhausted from an anxiety-filled night. After tossing and turning for hours, she’d finally drifted off well past midnight.

  The sound of running water loosened sleep’s grip on her. For a moment, her heart leapt. Is she back? Pam dragged herself out of bed and stumbled into the hallway. Knocking lightly on the bathroom door, she called, “Mel? Is that you?”

  “No—sorry,” came Jocelyn’s muffled voice.

  Disappointment like boulders sank in Pam’s stomach.

  At breakfast, she pushed her eggs and bacon listlessly around her plate. Between bites of pancake, Jos tried to engage her in conversation. “How’s Aaron? What movie did you guys see? Was it any good?”

  Pam mumbled succinct answers, barely making eye contact.

  “Okay,” said Jos with a sigh, “I know you’re freaked out again about Mel. But at least she left a note this time, right?”

  “Yeah. Said she’ll be back Tuesday.” Pam scowled.

  “So that’s, what, about three days’ absence? Isn’t that how long she was gone last time?”

  Pam thought for a moment. “That seems right.”

  Jos put down her fork, a familiar analytical gleam entering her eyes. “Last time she didn’t give us any warning, and later she said an emergency had come up. This time it’s different; it’s scheduled. She knew ahead of time. But both absences are the same length. Hmmm . . .”

  While her suitemate muttered to herself, trying to establish a pattern or connection, all Pam could muster from her own brain was fear and growing resentment. Doesn’t Mel value our friendship? We don’t have to hide anything from each other. She should know I won’t judge her. Why’d she suddenly put up this wall?

  Pam’s brooding thoughts drowned out the chatter, laughter, and clanking silverware around her. She stabbed her eggs, as if they were the source of her irritation.

  A voice nearly made her jump: “Hi, Pam. Hi, Jocelyn. Is Melanie around?”

  It was Luis. He stood holding an empty tray, a smile on his face but mild concern in his eyes.

  While Pam debated replying truthfully or not, Jos answered, “Hey, Luis. Um, no, Mel’s back at the dorm. Not feeling well—stomachache or something.”

  “Oh. Well, tell her I said ‘get well soon.’”

  “Gotcha.” Jocelyn saluted.

  Watching his tall, lean form walk away, Pam said, “You know he’s totally into her.”

  Jos grinned. “That’s pretty obvious.”

  “If they get closer and she keeps disappearing like this, I wonder—”

  “Who keeps disappearing?” a nasal voice cut in.

  Ugh! Pam twisted completely around in her seat; she hadn’t realized Timmy was sitting back to back with her. Why didn’t Jos notice and warn me? Now his leering face was much closer to hers than she ever wanted it to be. His breath stank of pepper-and-mushroom omelet. “None of your business,” she said sharply, scooting backward.

  “It’s Melanie, isn’t it?”

  Pam was so floored that he’d gotten Mel’s name right that words eluded her.

  “No, Mel’s around,” said Jos. “In her room, sick, like I just told Luis.”

  Timmy’s owlish eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Really.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Dawn Fincher, the Sentinel editor, was trying to get ahold of her yesterday—said she hadn’t turned in the last few articles she was supposed to proofread.”

  Pam frowned, but Jos shrugged and said, “We don’t know anything about that. I’m sure Mel’s on top of things and will turn them in soon.”

  “She better, because the issue goes to press tomorrow morning.” With a condescending smirk, Timmy turned back to his breakfast.

  Jocelyn had finished her pancakes, and Pam quickly crunched down the last of her bacon. She rose from her seat, Jos following. When they were safely away from Timmy’s prying ears, hiking back to Hartman, Pam said, “I can’t believe she’d miss a deadline.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Jos kicked a pebble a few times, seemingly concentrating on the simple game. But Pam could sense the wheels turning.

  Dead leaves skittered across the pavement. The sky was overcast, the wind cold. Pam wrapped her arms around herself, casting a doleful eye at the mostly skeletal trees edging the campus. So dreary with the fall colors gone.

  Abruptly, Jocelyn said, “Let’s try and catch her before she can leave next time—assuming there is a next time.”

  “Okay,” said Pam, perking up.

  She’d already been planning to watch Melanie like a hawk.

  Erickson swam back up into awareness, every joint and muscle throbbing. He groaned and shifted on the cold floor—and even that slight movement sent piercing pangs through his rib cage. He stilled. Waited. The pain ebbed, slowly. Seemed like it was taking longer to go away with each passing month.

  He opened his eyes a crack and remembered where he was: an upstairs room of an abandoned house. Chandra’s pre-Organization hideout.

  The boarded-up windows hardly let in a single ray from the rising sun, but it was bright enough to make out the tattered and shredded floral paper sloughing off the walls. The hardwood floor was faded to a dull ochre and was crisscrossed by jagged scratches. Erickson’s eye wandered up to the extensive water damage on the ceiling, and his nose wrinkled at the smell of rot and mold. A sticky dampness hung in the air and clung to his bare skin. This place was still better than the cave, though.

  Hearing footsteps and creaking boards on the ground floor, he tensed up. Fear shot through him. Was it burglars? Or worse—wolf hunters?

  Moments later, he heard water running and then beeps that sounded like those from a microwave. He was paranoid; it must be only Chandra, who’d stayed in another room. Then again—She’s up already?

  Well, she’s young. More resilient. Might not have been doing this for as long as I have.

  He lay there a few more minutes before dragging himself to his feet, grabbing the waist-high wainscoting for support. When the blackness left his vision, he retrieved his clothes and dressed himself. Every joint protested.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Chandra had made tea and was toasting rye bread. Erickson’s mout
h watered. He sank into a chair with only a slight wince and rasped, “Good morning.”

  She smiled as she greeted him, sounding energetic. Was it an act, or did she really feel as well as she looked and sounded? She wasn’t wearing makeup, but her hair was clean and combed, her breath minty, and her clothes freshly laundered (he could smell the detergent).

  “Here you go.” Chandra set a plate of piping-hot toast in front of him. Butter was already on the table. “Four to start, but I can make more.”

  “Four’s fine. Thanks.”

  As they ate together, Erickson couldn’t help but feel strange. It’s like we’re playing house without sleeping together or any sort of romance at all.

  Bummer.

  Later, he went back upstairs to nap and, out of curiosity, peeked into Chandra’s safe room. It sported similar wallpaper and flooring to his, but something wasn’t right.

  There were no scratches. No gouges or marks of any kind. Anywhere.

  “Honey, wake up so you can go to bed” flitted through Melanie’s mind as she faded back in. The words were a memory of her mom’s voice, talking to her dad while gently shaking him awake. Growing up, Mel had heard this line on countless evenings—her dad frequently fell asleep on the couch watching primetime TV, and her mom roused him around ten so he could sleep in his own room.

  (It helped to think about mundane things like that.)

  Waking up after a full moon only to climb into bed reminded Mel of that . . . except this hard, wooden floor wasn’t the comfy couch. And she wasn’t warm and cozy under an old quilt.

  Teeth chattering, she forced herself up. “Augh,” she groaned, clutching her side and stumbling as red-hot pain shot through her. She grabbed the mangled doorframe and panted. The agony dulled. Slowly, she undid the bolts and listened for sounds of Gavin getting up.

  Her ears caught halting footsteps. They were so muffled, they must have been coming from his safe room, not the hall. She peeked out. The hallway was clear. She grabbed her bag and brought it inside, then dug out a pair of pajamas. Since the weather had grown colder, she’d switched to her winter sleepwear, a thick flannel pants-and-top set. Frumpy but worth it.