Something exploded behind them, a gunshot. The rear windscreen shattered into millions of splintered fragments, then hung there in one large form for a time before it broke apart everywhere.
"Get down!" Hallard said, trying to cover her with his own upper body, head, and arms.
There was an elderly man on a descending slope not twenty yards from the cabin. With the rifle in his hands, which he was now fiddling with, and unmoving bundles of fur strung from his pack, it seemed that he was just coming back to the cabin after a hunting trip. He yelled out to them, "Get outta my truck you scum bastards!"
"I think he's reloading," said Hallard with a sober edge that was frighteningly intense.
Melody yanked the shift into reverse and planted her foot on the gas pedal. The pickup lumbered at first, like it was sad to leave its owner, but quickly picked up pace. "Fuck! Oh, damn it, damn, damn, damn it, shit, shit!" she carried on while reversing, looking right through the bullet hole and at the reloading old man.
He was done fiddling with the rifle and was raising it back up at the pickup, but Melody had already gotten it down the dirt driveway in reverse and turned out onto the dirt road leading away from the cabin.
"I've never been so happy right after being shot at!" Hallard said. He sounded much less serious.
"How many times has it happened? That was a first for me! Wait, never mind ... That old man's face though. I feel terrible," she said. "Do you think he lives out here all alone?"
Hallard nodded, looking ashamed too. "But would it have been less of a crime if no one had seen us commit it?" he asked.
That gave her pause and he had a damn good point, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow.
"It would have made me feel better about doing it anyway. And I can't believe I was just shot at, and when have you been shot at before?"
"Let's just say that I learned quickly to be careful during hunting season. You can bet those hunters aren't going after bears with only single shot rifles either." He actually laughed.
Melody gripped and twisted the wheel tightly, making the cracks in the aged leather covering crackle and expand. "I'm sorry, but I just don't see the humor there." Her mood had nosedived. She sighed and said, "It was exciting I guess, now that we're in the clear."
"You did much better than most people would have in that situation. I think we might actually live at least a few more days." Hallard was sure bad at telling jokes, but at least he forced an ironic smile to make sure he wasn't misunderstood.
"That would be more amusing if it weren't so true." They each chewed on those bitter words for at least a mile. The whole time, Melody was strangling the hell out of that steering wheel, wishing she didn't need to focus on driving, so she could just kick something or scream. Well, she could scream while driving, but that didn't seem safe.
Hallard put his hand on her leg without warning. It wasn't sensual, didn't even seem like he'd meant to do it at first, like it just accidentally landed there somehow. The firm touch on her thigh was warm, damn near hot.
Her pussy was wet, and she stared at the road even harder to avoid a lapse in concentration. It wasn't like he was interested in fucking her anyway. That offer had already been on the table, so to say, and Hallard did not accept. Yes, there was his hand on her leg for some unannounced reason.
She couldn't take it anymore. "What's on your mind?" she asked.
"Things are going to be okay. I give you my word, I'll make sure things work out in the end."
"I know that you'll try, or you wouldn't have put up with me so long already. But no one can promise anything like that."
"I didn't promise. But I will do my best while I'm still kicking." He took his hand off her leg, like he'd just noticed it was there. "I promise that much at least. Besides, we're in this mess together now."
"I guess I could think of worse people to be protecting me from a street gang psychotic werewolves. Thanks, Hallard."
They smiled at each other briefly, before embarrassment ruined the moment, then went back to the important business of looking at the oncoming dirt road. But that little interaction lingered for each of them--Melody was sure of it--as it made her heart flutter.
Chapter Seventeen
Colton was changing, had been for days.
Ever since that thing had bitten Colton. In between his regular detective work, just about every spare minute had been spent asking about that gang, researching werewolves like some teenage nerd, but most importantly--seeking out a reasonable explanation for the change he could feel within himself. But he kept coming back to the same conclusion, fueled by what he'd seen with his own two eyes.
And it was starting to worry him real bad, even scare him like nothing usually did.
He knew he looked like shit too. The eyes of people on the street bore into his disheveled shell as he went around looking like an lost soul. He usually kept himself functionally groomed and bathed, but all his regular routines had slipped and his five o'clock shadow was more like a week-long one; his hair unkempt and his clothes wrinkled and pocked with minor coffee stains and places where he'd rubbed away cigarette ash.
Worse was the way he felt numb on the surface, his skin seeming cold, but his insides burning with change. The sensation had an odd way of tearing him in two directions at once. Colton had to constantly fight the driving urge to pinch, scratch, scrape, and claw himself, at least enough to reveal the flesh within. His logical mind knew it wouldn't do any good, but the unthinking beast welling up inside his psyche grew harder to keep in line.
He'd spent the last five (or was it ten?) hours at his computer desk, trying to learn something useful from the police database he wasn't supposed to have access to. The rumbling in his stomach had started to grow louder than the whirring fan of his decade-old computer tower.
It was time to get something to eat, and there was nothing but old milk or mustard in the fridge. He tried to maintain a slightly normal appearance as he walked through the entrance of his usual eatery. He nearly tripped on the step that was at the door. A wave of nerves roiled all over him, flensing away his outward resolve.
God damn it, Colton, get your shit together. You're acting like some damn Junkie.
And he hadn't touched so much as a joint since shortly after dropping out of college to become a mall security guard, way back when.
One of the usual waiters, a middle aged woman who recognized him as a regular, came over to where he'd sat facing out the front window. She'd eyed Colton through the diner window and grabbed the coffee pot. "Mr Eldridge, how are you?" she asked with an Asian accent he'd never quite been able to pinpoint.
Of course, he'd never asked.
"We were starting to think you'd move away," she continued jovially.
"No, no. Just had to make some cut backs, and upmarket dining experiences were the first to go," he said, happy with his uncharacteristic display of impromptu chit-chat. But damn it, he wanted to itch his numb skin so badly.
"Ah, business isn't going well?" she asked, putting down an empty cup and offering up the jug of coffee she'd carried over. She started pouring without asking, because it was well known that Colton loved his damn coffee.
"It wasn't great, but I've gotten lucky lately." The irony of that statement was chaffing at him, but he refrained from laughing maniacally.
"Must be the cooler weather helping you think," she said as the coffee cup was filled. She knew he liked it black. "Let me know if you want anything for dinner."
"Sure, thanks. I might just drink my coffee before I eat," he said.
She went back into the tiny kitchen area.
Cooler weather? he pondered. It was more a case of his senses, agility, strength--everything physical about him--rocketing to some kind of super-human level.
For example, Colton had tracked down this kid who'd been caught on camera stealing jewelry from a pawn store. Only took ten minutes to track the little bastard down at his mom's apartment around the block. There was a nice reward for turn
ing him in; kid probably wound up in juvie.
It was like he'd smelled the kid's trail, and just waltzed on over to knock on his door. That kind of thing had never once happened to Colton. He did not get hunches, did not believe in them. There was a logical way to think things through and it was what payed the bills, up until now, it would seem.
Then, there was the woman who was offering a stupid wad of cash just for finding her yappy little dog. The thing had pissed him off on the way over to her house, but the job'd been such a piece of cake, he wasn't that mad. He was walking to a gang lead at a tattoo parlor and he could've sword he "sensed" it was nearby, even though he couldn't see it. When he saw the poor thing eating some garbage under a dumpster, Colton realized that he'd picked up its presence with his own heightened senses.
Even thinking about the off-color scraps the dog had been eating, however disturbing that might seem, reminded him of his own hunger for meat.
"Wait, dinner?" he mumbled. Was it almost night time already? He looked outside and saw a strange twilight as always. "The sun only just came up, didn't it?" he whispered. Some coffee usually helped sort him out, not that it'd done the trick lately. Not after he'd been bitten.
And that must be what had caused him to feel so different, no matter how much he didn't believe in all that fairytale bullshit.
Colton was a man of logic, a realist. What he saw, he assumed to be true until proven otherwise. That was the whole foundation of his method when attempting to solve crimes or track lost items--or people--down for clients. 'Ass-umptions are for ass-holes,' he'd been known to say with a smirk and look of satisfied knowing.
He sipped at his mediocre coffee, luke-warm, and always drank it black with no sweetener. The closest thing to sweet on his mind was the kind that bled. Rare steak had taken on a new meaning and he was grateful to have the extra money lately to buy lots of it. If his skin wasn't trying to spin him around and around, sear itself from his body, drive him crazy, he would have enjoyed going to a five star restaurant wearing his big coat and days’ worth of facial growth, and grin at the look of distaste on the snooty waiter's face Yeah, he'd sit down and order himself a bloody as hell steak with extra juice.
"Hey, can I get a steak here?" he called out without thinking or turning around.
"We can do you a steak sandwich. You'll believe it's real steak, I promise," answered the woman.
"Skip the bread, and the fillings. And gimme extra meat, a lot more, rare as you're willing to do it."
"Sure thing. You look like you could use the iron, to be honest," she called back to him. Then, she reiterated those orders to the cook, in maybe Korean. Colton wasn't any better with languages than we was with regular people.
He glared out the window with wide-eyed wonder, watching the strange swirling color of the sky which was neither dark nor light. It was dinner time though, so it should have been dark. Maybe it was after all.
He dreamt of mountains of red meat, dripping fresh juices down his chin.
He thought about the werewolves and what further changes he might experience before this all ended badly, as it inevitably would.
Chapter Eighteen
Melody had let Hallard take the wheel soon after leaving the woods. He just kept driving until they needed gas, then they got some. It was a lot less exciting once they were moving--after they'd stolen the pickup.
That suited her just fine, giving her a chance to relax and prepare herself for what was to come. She kept putting it off, but the cravings were too strong to fight. Her whole body was lightly shaking and it was getting embarrassing to try and hide. "I can't hold out any more," she said, reaching for the little baggie in one of the packs. "This is my last hit though ..."
"No shit? Damn it ... Are you sure about this?" Hallard asked with worry.
Melody nodded but couldn't bring herself to speak. There was a lump in her throat as she looked down at the sprinkling of seemingly innocuous powder that clung to the interior of the plastic bag. She'd let something so insignificant--so stupid--control too much of her life. "I can do this," she managed to say before eating the powder.
"You tell me when it's starting to get bad, okay?"
"Don't worry about me. This isn't the first time I've quit." But it had to be the last, one way or another. The warm glow came over her like an abuser returning to a well-acquainted victim. There wasn't enough in the bag to do much for her, but it was more about getting the fix than the effect it would have. And Melody couldn't shake the pure joy it brought her, despite knowing very well the damage drugs did to her life. It was so reassuring that she drifted off to sleep before the crank even hit her properly.
When she woke up, the sky was dark all around them on the freeway. "Hallard," she said. "How long was I asleep?"
"Hours. I thought drugs were meant to pump you up." He looked over at her but squinted to try and make out her expression in the dark.
"Not that small an amount. I can't even feel it," she said "I think it's time to hold up somewhere?"
"How long would you say we have? Do you think you can make it to the next town?"
"Not unless you're planning to get me some more stuff there," she said with a sad laugh. "I'm joking ... but the joke's on me I guess."
"I'll stop at the next hotel we see. The map said there should be one coming up in maybe an hour. That alright with you?" Hallard slowed the car down so he could focus most of his attention on her.
"Look at me," he said like an after school special was just boiling up inside of his barrel of a chest. "You don't have to believe that I can take care of you. Right now, you don't have a choice either way so it doesn't matter. Just remember what I'm about to say: this will not kill you. I will not leave. In a matter of days things will be alright."
"Thank you," she said with a flush feeling in her chest.
Chapter Nineteen
Hallard drove for another twenty minutes before they passed a weather beaten hotel on the side of the road. He parked around the back, away from the road.
"I'll go get us a room, you can wait here if you like," he told Melody.
He went to the front desk and paid for a few nights, then went back to the car. "You're not going to like this place."
The hotel was a bit of a dump. He didn't like taking her there. Seemed like a shitty place to spend such an arduous time, but the only alternatives where the car, or maybe a field somewhere. That actually seemed like a good idea, if it weren't for the chances of a gang of bloodthirsty wolves creeping up on them while he helped her convalesce.
"You'd be surprised how low my standards are. Or maybe you wouldn't be, since you know me as well as most people by now."
"Let me help you inside."
"I can walk just fine." It was dark and she was making her way with an odd kind of swagger, the opposite of what someone who was becoming increasingly sober should have done.
"How many chances will I get to carry a woman over the threshold of our new home?" he said jokingly. "I won't offer again."
"Okay, I won't say no again then." She flopped into him as though going limp and stumbling. It honestly seemed like she'd just let herself give up and signed over the delivery of herself to him with completely resign.
For some reason, Hallard felt like he was anticipating the birth of his child at a hospital, or waiting for important news. The sweat on his neck was starting too pool and run down his back, as he carried Melody. She was lighter than she'd been when he met her, but still quite shapely. He remembered how buxom her form was in the moonlight, and how her feminine body had incited his arousal as he'd brought her in out of the cold.
As he carried her into the hotel room, Melody's eyes were shut already.
"Good, get yourself some rest while you can. The more you sleep through this thing, the better I imagine it's going to be. If you need anything, I'm right here with you. I just need to get our things from the car."
He started to feel uneasy leaving her alone in the room for some reason, so he almos
t ran back to the pickup, grabbed their packs, and raced back to the room. When he ran back inside, his heart sank. He'd half expected to find something wrong, like a dead girl where he'd left the live one on the freshly turned bedspread.
But no, there was nothing wrong. It was all quiet, apart from the hum of the nearby freeway, and the soft snoring of Melody. Still, silence was also a bad omen for some people. Hallard missed the sounds of birds and insects, with tiny furry feet exploring the trees in nocturne. He sighed and locked the door behind him. He decided to remove the key that was in the deadbolt, in case Melody tried to wonder off during the night.
He sat up on the bed. There was a National Geographic magazine on the bedside table, right on top of some other zines. It was a better distraction than venturing into the world of television, which he hadn't watched since his teen years. Letting his thoughts roam free, to make him anxious, seemed like a bad idea though. Besides, the images of the forests and oceans were soothing to him as he became more and more tired. So, he flipped through the magazine lazily, with his feet up, his back propped against the bedhead.
Hallard was tired but afraid to drop his guard. He tossed the magazine onto the bedside table and looked over at Melody. The room was getting chilly, so he pulled the covers up over her. He stayed on top of them. They were both clothed, but it seemed wrong to slip under the covers without her okay, even though sex was the last thing on his tired mind.
Even all the way over on the other edge of the bed, with the covers separating them, Hallard swore he could feel a warmth, like an aura, coming off her. It was more than just the sight of her rising and falling breathing motion, the shape of her body beneath the covers curving down from her slender shoulder and eventually rising at her hip. It was more than just the smell of her body and the places she'd been, like a terroir of the most intimate nature.
Shifting Solitude (Outlaws, Fangs and Claws Book 1) Page 7