Weregirl

by C. D. Bell

  There were two voices, one dictating to the other, punctuated by the occasional “Got it” and “Um-hum.”

  “Development of the prefrontal cortex consistent with eleven-year-old boy. Growth plate adhesion evident.”

  “Got it.”

  “Growth detected on the anterior aspect of the occipital lobe. Diverse embarkation on the cerebellum.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m moving on to the body’s cavity,” the first voice announced. “Let’s open his chest.”

  This must be Billy’s autopsy, Nessa thought.

  She heard the whine of a saw as it cracked open the chest cavity, breaking Billy’s ribs. And then she figured they were weighing parts of a body, because some of the names had meaning for her, like “spleen” and “large intestine.” There were sounds of electronic beeps and a voice would recite a number of grams.

  “Wow. This is nasty looking. The poor kid had no right kidney left. It appears to be completely degraded,” the second voice said.

  “We’ll need to keep it for study, Harry,” the older voice answered. “We were using the 7IRG to try to get the kidney to grow back. It obviously did not succeed.”

  Who is Harry? Who are they all? Nessa thought.

  Nessa heard the plop of a wet mass hitting a metal pan. She winced.

  The one time when the string of words finally became a conversation was when the two started to have a discussion about something they referred to as A23D7. Apparently, whatever that was, there was some disagreement between the doctor (Nessa assumed it was a doctor) and his assistant about how to gather this particular object. Or was it a substance? It started to sound like it was a tissue sample. It sounded like it had something to do with the brain. Nessa could not be sure.

  Suddenly there was a voice coming into the room via a crackly speaker Nessa assumed was an intercom. “Team Osiris,” the voice said. “We’re going to need to wrap up this operation and make the delivery as scheduled. Over.”

  “All right, Boss,” said the second person.

  “All personnel, assume lockdown positions. Commencing security procedure seven. Repeat, commencing security procedure seven. Assume lockdown.”

  The message cut out and was replaced with an ear-piercing shrill siren.

  Nessa knew what a lockdown was from school. It was not a drill.

  She looked around and realized that she was in terrible danger. Coming toward Nessa, as she stood outside the fence listening to Billy’s autopsy, were wolves, traveling single file in a line that stretched back as far as Nessa could see and smell. These wolves, with filed teeth and matted fur, standing taller than Nessa, were trotting fiercely as if on the warpath, ears pricked and ready for the moment when they made their move. There must have been at least thirty in all.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  This wasn’t a regular wolf pack. This was a…swarm. Where had they all come from?

  Nessa looked to the left and then the right and began to panic. The facility was at her back and the hostile wolves out in front. She scanned the hills behind the plant for a possible route of escape. But there was none.

  The line of wolves just kept getting closer.

  She went into a pre-attack crouch, waiting for the lead wolf to lunge. She’d started to pant and she felt herself darting in one direction and then the other, the way the brothers and sister had moved during the wolf attack at the Larks’.

  And then the hostile wolves trotted right past Nessa.

  They weren’t coming for her.

  They continued on, ignoring her, and soon entered the circle of light cast by the stadium-like fixtures outside Paravida. When they did, a section of the chain-link fence slowly started to rise—it was a gate! And a human inside the facility must have controlled it. As if it were their normal routine, the wolves began to pass through the gate, heading inside.

  Was this gate in the fence a giant dog door?

  Were the aggressive wolves Paravida pets?

  Passing through the opening in the fence, the wolves moved into the light of the parking lot. Nessa got glimpses of the parts of their bodies that best reflected light: their teeth, the silvery tips of their fur, the shine of their yellow eyes, the pink of their ears. And at least five of the group had places where their fur had recently been shorn and a line of stitches could be seen.

  Once inside the facility, they jockeyed for position. It was as if each one believed itself to be the alpha.

  Two of the aggressive wolves began to attack each other. This wasn’t play fighting. Something must have happened in the line. These wolves were going crazy. Each was up on its hind legs, trying to get the other’s throat. They separated only when there was a cracking sound that Nessa felt in her molars—a gunshot. One of the wolves was lying on the ground. The others were trotting by, distracted by the sudden smell of meat that permeated the air. They picked up their pace.

  Where was the shooter?

  She remembered the guard towers. And then, when she looked at the nearest one, she saw a shadowy figure behind the thick glass window and the barrel of a gun sticking out through an opening in the glass.

  Nessa would have run if she had not suddenly detected another animal immediately nearby. Another wolf…the gray wolf. She could tell by his scent. Not wanting to attract the attention of the killer wolf pack, she turned her head slowly toward the scent.

  The gray wolf came to stand behind Nessa, to one side, up on a rise, as if he had been there awhile. Nessa wondered, was he here for Billy too? Or had he been following the killer wolves?

  This was the second time she’d seen him, and both times had been in the aggressive wolves’ company. He lifted his chin and she lifted hers back.

  When he started to trot off after the line of aggressive wolves and then turned to give Nessa a look, like, “What’s taking you so long?” she realized he wanted her to follow him.

  Into Paravida.

  Nessa couldn’t believe he was asking her that. But when he turned a second time and pawed the ground, gesturing like he was a bull getting ready to charge, Nessa followed.

  They joined the end of the line of wolves passing through the gate. Nessa noticed that the gray wolf was amping up his submissive behaviors—ducking his head and tucking his tail so that Nessa barely recognized his demeanor. He checked to make sure she was looking, though, and that’s when she realized she should follow suit. She was so scared; the submissive postures were barely faked.

  Under this cover, Nessa and the gray wolf followed the line of wolves into the Paravida campus, through a covered passageway between the building with the loading dock and another like it.

  They were headed for what looked like kennels. There must have been 60 cages covered in chain-link fence, sitting inside a cavernous warehouse that was surrounded by low buildings.

  The handlers were armed guards in riot gear. Nessa couldn’t see their faces through the shaded visors on their helmets, but she knew they were scared by the way they were balanced forward on their toes instead of sitting back on their heels.

  “C’mon, kids,” one called out, trying to sound brave as he directed the wolves into their cages, one per cage. A second guard was one step ahead, throwing a haunch of meat into each empty kennel. It occurred to Nessa, watching their feeding frenzy, watching their disregard for the fallen wolf, that these weren’t wolves. They were monsters.

  Once inside the cages, dinner eaten, the wolves seemed more angry at one another than at the guards. They threw themselves against the doors or charged the chain-link fencing walls as if they would bite and claw their way through steel in order to murder their neighbors.

  As the last of the aggressive wolves was being locked up, the gray wolf slipped behind the wall of a building where he could not be seen by the guard, and Nessa followed.

  Sticking to the shadows at the edges of buildings, they made their way back to the loading dock, where the van that had been carrying Billy’s body was now parked. Or at least Nessa thought it
was the same van. It was white, windowless, without identifying markers. The gray wolf sat at the base of the steps leading up to the loading dock, and Nessa climbed up, understanding he meant for her to go inside while he stayed on guard.

  Slipping through the swinging doors and entering a hall, she followed the lingering odor of the cigarette up a flight of stairs and into a long hallway. She heard the clinking and clattering of metal on metal clearly now—and the sound of the voice that was dictating. Her heart raced, every sense on high alert.

  Holding her breath, she padded down the long hall toward the room. Would she find Billy’s body? What then? Just bark at the people performing his autopsy?

  The door to the room opened, and a man emerged from it, hiking up the belt on the pants of his guard uniform, whistling softly.

  Nessa froze.

  She hunkered down, tucked her tail, lowered her head, as if somehow he wouldn’t see her. Would she appear invisible to him the way she had to the aggressive wolves?

  No. She would not. This guard was not a wolf. He was a man, headed most likely to the bathroom, confronted with the sudden realization that standing on the polished floor in front of him, in the crystal clear light cast by fluorescent bulbs, was a wolf.

  If Nessa hadn’t been so scared of what he would do—and aware of the fact that there was a gun in the security-guard holster attached to his belt—she might have been more appreciative of the look of complete panic that crossed the guard’s face. He looked like he was about to throw up.

  The guard pressed a button on the walkie-talkie clipped to his shoulder, and said, “Code Lupine. Building Eight. Reinitiate lockdown.” And then, as Nessa was considering this repeat command now directed at her, the guard reached for a gun, took aim at Nessa, and fired off a shot. The crack that followed was the most shrill, most mind-altering sound Nessa had ever heard.

  Without looking back to see where the bullet had gone—it hadn’t hit her—Nessa ran. Down the stairs, down the first floor hall. She took a flying leap off the loading dock, the gray wolf behind her.

  She prayed the guard wasn’t behind them right now. She didn’t dare look.

  Whatever code he had initiated when he spoke into his walkie-talkie must have involved the wolf door closing. Nessa could hear it, the mechanical cranking of its descending on its chain. She and the gray wolf sprinted for it, got there just in time, slipped under, and kept moving at a hard sprint.

  They were at least a mile away from the Paravida plant when he stopped. Panting heavily, they faced each other.

  Nessa wished she could explain what had happened, what she’d seen.

  It was awful to get shot at and not be able to process it with words.

  The gray wolf must have waited for her. Who was he, anyway?

  This was a little strange to think but Nessa felt flattered by his attention. Here he was, this alpha wolf who was always alone and obviously revered and almost all-powerful. He was the kind of wolf Big One would sniff noses with, as friendly equals.

  When he fell into step with Nessa, she didn’t know quite what to do. She kept tripping over her own paws and wasn’t able to look him in the eye. Which was probably for the best, considering that, to wolves, that was a challenging gesture.

  Maybe he was an old man? He certainly had the look of weariness about him, like he’d seen a lot. He took care of everyone, defending the pack without being part of it, following her to Paravida, or at least following the killer wolves. Maybe this guy could use a friend.

  And so she did something she normally would have done with her siblings. She ran sideways into him and then jumped back a few feet to show him that she wasn’t actually attacking him, just playing.

  The wolf looked at her, warily almost, she thought. Then he did a quick crouch, lowering his front paws and head to show he wanted to play.

  Yay! Nessa thought. She got the old man to show a little spark.

  She ran to the gray wolf, plowing her shoulder into his head. He looked surprised, drawing back, and then with one powerful paw, he flipped her. But playfully. She could tell the difference. She wriggled free and sprang up again, as if to say, “Want a piece of me? Put up your dukes.” She could play too. She was trying to be funny, exaggerating her boxer-at-the-ready pose, hoping he could tell.

  And he could! He wasn’t shaking his head and laughing—wolves didn’t do that—but he lay down and yawned, showing her just how very unimpressed and unintimidated he was by her. He pretended he wanted to do nothing more than give his paws a thorough chewing over, but then he betrayed himself by sneaking a glance up at Nessa.

  Nessa felt her tail shoot up into the air, her nose lift.

  Then lone wolf stood up and trotted off, his tail high too.

  Nessa followed him, thinking it was still a game, until she realized where he was taking her. Home.

  When they reached the edge of the woods behind her house, he stopped moving. He knows where I live, Nessa thought.

  Nessa touched noses with the gray wolf briefly before returning to the circle of rye. She knew the gray wolf couldn’t see her transform—the Kurlands’ utility shed blocked his view. But she wondered what he would make of the fact that where there had been a wolf, there was now a teenage girl.

  She peered into the woods to look for him as she crossed the lawn but saw nothing. The gray wolf was gone.

  He was gone, Billy Lark was dead, and Nessa was no closer to understanding any of it.

  Back inside, the first thing she did was check her phone. No message from Bree. Nessa had to tell her what she had seen. Bree would know what to do.

  There were so many questions. What had they done to Billy? And why? How did they manage to get his body? Where was it now? What had Paravida done to the kids in the Dutch Chem study?

  Suddenly, all Nessa could do was sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  If Vivian hadn’t woken Nessa up the next morning, she might have slept all day.

  She jerked awake in her bed and bolted upright.

  “What time is it?” she asked. She could tell from where the sun was that it was late. “I’ve got to see Bree.”

  She looked at her phone. Bree had texted:

  Call me when you get up and I’ll come over.

  “Bree can wait,” Vivian replied. “There are some people here to see you.”

  “People?” Nessa said, though her question came out more as a groan than as a word. Nessa looked at the screen on her phone. It showed 11:17 a.m. “Who is here?” she said a little more coherently.

  Nessa noticed that Delphine’s bed was not only empty but also made. How had she slept through all of that?

  “Recruiter kind of men,” Vivian replied. “Nessa, I think you’d better get your face washed and put some clothes on. The first just showed up out of nowhere about an hour ago. I told him you were asleep, and he said he could talk to me first anyway while he waited for you to wake up. I made him some coffee and was about to come wake you when another one just arrived. They’re scouts, and they’re saying all these things about coaches who want to come up here—to Tether—just to take us out to dinner. They’re talking about all these programs. Michigan, Stanford, Kansas. Real schools. I don’t think you want to miss this.”

  Nessa registered several feelings. A kind of nascent joy burbling in her stomach. Surprise at her careworn mother sounding so excited. Nessa was used to her mother being strong, or calm, or dignified, or even funny. But giddy? This was new. She sat up. Images from the night before came into her mind—the blazing lights, the Paravida guard taking a shot, the gray wolf standing behind her in the night, leading her home.

  Had all that really happened?

  But then Vivian’s words shook her into the present again.

  “Did you say Stanford?” Nessa said, leaping up.

  Last summer, not long after she’d started her training regimen, Nessa had looked up Stanford on the internet. She’d known Cynthia was going to cross-country training camp there.

/>   She’d imagined it would be pretty lush, and still it blew her away. She paged through picture after picture of manicured lawns, blooming flowerbeds, and spacious dorm rooms with kids wearing sporty clothes. There were palm trees! People who graduated from there went on to be presidents of companies, senators, world-class athletes. They invented things and made scientific discoveries. They became surgeons and lawyers and judges and wrote books or directed movies that Nessa had actually heard of. And the cross-country team won everything. Kids from there went on to the Olympics.

  “I’ll take a quick shower. And be right there.”

  Vivian nodded, and disappeared.

  Nessa had never moved so fast getting showered and dressed. Vivian had pulled a coffee cake out of the freezer and was serving it warm at the kitchen table when she came in. Nate was watching TV with the volume low, and Delphine was doing homework at the computer, looking over with an amused expression every few minutes to check out the random men in identical golf-shirt/chino/loafer outfits (a third recruiter had arrived).

  After Nessa shook their hands and sat down, the men whipped out shiny folders full of brochures from colleges and printed sheets of stats about various cross-country programs. They had already given copies of everything to Vivian—Vivian had moved them to the top of the microwave where they kept the phones in chargers.

  The whole thing was a bit overwhelming.

  “Nessa, I’m Mike Byrum,” said the recruiter with the soft brown hair brushed across his forehead, the pressed green golf shift, the gray leather folder, and the gold pen. His handshake was a work of art—just the right amount of pressure, just the perfect rhythm. “I’m especially glad to meet you. I remember sitting in Allyson Felix’s kitchen when she was your age, and I worked to get her a full scholarship to the University of Southern California. As you know, the rest is history.”

  Next the recruiter with curly red hair, a red golf shirt, pressed chinos, a burgundy leather folder, and a silver pen shook her hand. “Nessa,” he said, “I want you to know that I’m here not just to serve the programs I represent but to help you make what is going to be the most important decision of your life. I am determined to get you into the best school—” He pointed at Nessa’s throat and for a second she wondered if she’d misbuttoned her shirt or spilled something. “The best school not just for your cross-country career but for your entire future. Because that’s what’s at stake here.”