Cure for Wereduck

by Dave Atkinson

  “At first, I didn’t really think much about Marcus being gone so much,” said Laura. “I mean, people travel for work, right? But after John was born, I had hoped all that would slow down, and we’d all spend more time together as a family. When I asked him about his trips or asked him to stay, he’d become moody and sullen. I had never seen him like that before.”

  “How many sick cousins can one guy have?” said Marcus miserably. “I knew I was going to have to tell her the truth. She had to know eventually anyway. There was a fifty-fifty chance John was going to be a werewolf. I just thought maybe it would be something she would accept and everything would be fine. I was so wrong.”

  “I was home alone with the baby one night,” continued Laura. “Marcus was gone again. I remember there was this terrible storm. It rained so hard. The wind was howling. Around dusk, the storm knocked out the power. I brought the baby downstairs. I wrapped him in a blanket and laid him in the playpen. I lit some candles and settled into the rocking chair with a book.

  I didn’t even hear Marcus come into the house. I just remember him standing in the doorway, dripping water all over the ground. He had this wild gleam in his eye I’d never seen before.”

  “I walk into the room and she gives me this look,” said Marcus. “I could tell she was angry. She looked at me and just said, ‘What are you doing home?’ I told her there was something I had been keeping from her, and it didn’t feel right. And she just stared at me.

  “I didn’t know how to say it. I was so nervous. All the words I’d practiced were gone. And then, before I had a chance to say anything, I heard it: the call. The sun must’ve gone down as I was waiting. I couldn’t just ignore it. So I howled. Right there in the middle of the living room.”

  “And this man who I had always known to be gentle and loving and kind was making this terrible noise,” said Laura. “It wasn’t even human. And then,” she continued, “he started to change. His eyes turned yellow, his teeth grew into the most terrifying fangs, and his body contorted until there was this snarling black wolf standing just a few feet from the baby—my baby.”

  “She was screaming,” explained Marcus. “And she started throwing things at me. Anything she could get her hands on. Toys. Chairs. She threw a glass vase, which shattered and gashed me along my side. And then—I couldn’t believe it—she grabbed a lit candle and threw it. I jumped out of the way and it landed on the ground right beside the playpen. A corner of a blanket was hanging over the edge—it caught fire like a torch.”

  “The baby was awake and crying,” remembered Laura. “That monster was about to go for him, so I grabbed anything I could to throw. I threw a candle. The fire spread, and the wolf—Marcus—leapt into the playpen and grabbed John in his mouth.”

  “The playpen was on fire,” said Marcus. “John was swaddled in his blanket. I picked him up. By the time I jumped out, the fire was spreading around the room. I ran out of the house with her chasing and throwing things at me.”

  “He took my baby,” said Laura. “My John. He tore out of the room without even a look back and ran into the night. From all I knew, John was dead. That monster had killed him. The wolf disappeared into the woods, and I collapsed on the porch in tears.”

  “I hid with the baby until morning,” said Marcus. “By then, she had already told the police. It was all over the news. ‘Werewolf snatches baby.’ No one believed her, but there was no way I could go back.

  “So I hit the road. I raised my son. I showed him the world. I made him who he is. And now, he’s going to throw it all away.” Marcus scoffed. “Imagine how she’ll react when she discovers her precious son is a werewolf, too.”

  The trailer rocked gently back and forth. The muffled sound of the truck’s engine roared briefly as the driver shifted gears.

  “That’s why I can’t let them go back there.”

  “Fifteen years is a long time to live a nightmare, Bea.”

  Laura lifted the lid to the cigar box on her lap. She reached in and grasped the handle of the pistol inside.

  “Which is why I intend to greet Marcus myself when he arrives. Maybe then I can make the nightmare stop.”

  “We’re cutting this awfully close,” worried Kate. She looked out the window of the train and watched the Montreal skyline roll past. The sun was low in the sky, painting the entire city in orange and pink. Kate would have called it lovely if she weren’t terrified of transforming into a duck in the middle of a city of nearly two million people. “How long until we arrive at the station?”

  “About ten minutes,” said John.

  “And when does the sun go down?”

  John looked at his watch. “In about fourteen minutes.”

  “I knew it. I knew this was a bad plan,” said Kate.

  “Hey, relax,” said John. “Nothing has changed.” He unzipped Kate’s backpack and drew out a small metal canteen. “Let’s just drink the cure. If it doesn’t work, we’ve got Plan B.” He patted Wacka’s cage. “Right, Wacka?”

  “Wacka,” said the duck.

  John shook the canteen to mix its contents and unscrewed the lid.

  “Here’s to Plan A,” he said, raising it to his lips. He drank deeply and made a sour face.

  “Is it bad?” asked Kate.

  John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve had worse.”

  He handed the canteen to Kate. She closed one eye and peeked inside. Chunks of herbs floated on top.

  “Looks…gross,” she said. She gave the canteen a quick sniff and scrunched her nose. “Smells worse.” Kate pinched her nose and took a sip.

  The cure was bitter and sweet at the same time. She choked down small pieces of root and herb. It tasted, in a word, brown.

  “When have you tasted worse?” she asked.

  “Okay, never,” he said, taking back the canteen. “Wacka, your turn.”

  From another pocket in the backpack, he pulled out a medicine dropper. He fed bits of the cure to the duck, who didn’t seem to find it nearly as distasteful as John and Kate had. She happily gobbled down several eyedroppers full.

  “Feel any different?” asked Kate.

  John shrugged.

  “Me neither,” said Kate. She looked up as someone approached.

  “Well, my joyful travellers,” said the moustached train conductor, sidling up to the space beside their seats. “I guess this is where we part ways.”

  “Oh, do you get off in Montreal?” asked Kate.

  “This is my stop,” said the conductor with a frown. “I get about eighteen hours of rest before climbing aboard another train to do the whole thing again.” He looked at his watch. “Oh, by the way, we’re running about ten minutes behind schedule.”

  Kate did some quick calculations in her head. “Wait,” she said, casting a glance at John. “You mean everyone will still be on the train in fourteen minutes?”

  The conductor chuckled. “Why, does something important happen in fourteen minutes?”

  “Eleven, actually,” said John with wide eyes.

  “Well, yes then,” said the conductor. “We won’t pull into Montreal Station for another twenty minutes or so. Is that a problem?”

  “Nope,” blurted Kate stiffly, her eyes locked onto John’s. “Everything is great. Thanks for asking.”

  “Okay, then,” said the conductor, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’ve a few jobs to take care of before we arrive. You’re welcome to stay on the train during the stopover.”

  “Okay, great,” managed Kate, still staring at John. “Thanks.”

  The conductor strode down the aisle, shaking his head.

  “Okay, this is really not cool,” said Kate. “I thought we’d at least be alone on an empty train when the sun went down.”

  “I know, I know,” said John. He looked at his watch. “Nine minutes, by the way.”
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  Kate’s leg bumped up and down as the minutes ticked by. The passengers around them were gathering their bags, preparing to get off the train when they arrived at the station.

  “How much longer?”

  “About a minute,” said John. He looked out the window. The fading rays of the sun were blocked by the city skyline. “Feeling anything?”

  “Feeling terrified, thank you,” said Kate. Her heart raced. “This is going to work, right?” she demanded. “Tell me the cure will work.”

  “I can’t do that,” answered John. “Just be cool. We have a backup plan.”

  John’s red face betrayed his calming words. He glanced at his watch every few seconds. Kate could see he was just as nervous as she was.

  “Okay,” he said, looking one last time at his watch. “Sun’s down.”

  “You’re sure?” asked Kate.

  He nodded.

  Kate breathed a long sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god.”

  John cracked a smile. “Let’s hear it for Plan A,” he said.

  They both laughed.

  “It worked!” whooped Kate.

  “I knew it would,” said John with a casual shrug.

  “This is so cool!” began Kate. “When we get back, we’ll have to tell Netty that—”

  She stopped short, interrupted by a familiar voice.

  “Whooooo?”

  The call of the moon.

  “No!” shouted Kate. Several passengers turned to look at her.

  “It didn’t work,” whispered John, suddenly frantic.

  “Whooooo?”

  Kate felt her face break out into beads of sweat. She needed to answer the call. She gripped the armrests of her seat. John cast about listlessly.

  “Plan B,” Kate said firmly.

  John’s eyes darted around the car. He shifted in his seat. He hadn’t heard her.

  “Plan B,” Kate repeated, a little louder.

  “I don’t know if I can,” he hissed. “I need to answer now.”

  “No,” said Kate. “John, don’t. Calm down and look at me.”

  “Whooooo?” called the moon.

  John’s body jerked in response.

  “John, look at me,” said Kate again.

  John’s eyes locked onto Kate’s. His expression pleaded for help.

  “You can do this,” said Kate. “We can do this. Grab the bag. I’ll grab Wacka. Let’s go.”

  John stood up and reached with a shaking hand for the backpack. He slung it over his shoulder. Kate stood up and picked up Wacka’s cage.

  “Now, walk to the back of the car,” said Kate into John’s ear.

  John walked up the aisle, pausing every few steps when the call of the moon overcame him. The train rolled slowly past parked freight cars in a railway yard.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now approaching Montreal Station,” said a voice over the train’s loudspeaker. “Please stay seated until we’ve come to a complete stop, at which point you may gather your belongings and make your way to the platform. Thank you for travelling Via Rail. Have a great evening.”

  The passengers ignored the instructions to remain in their seats and stood up. John was so overcome by the call of the moon, he had frozen in place three seats from the rear of the car. A man and woman in the seat immediately beside him tried to push into the aisle.

  “Excuse us,” said Kate. She put her free hand on John’s back and gave him a shove, launching him past the couple.

  “Well, I never!” said the woman.

  “You sure haven’t,” responded Kate, opening the door to the tiny bathroom at the back of the car. She pushed John inside, stepped in after him, and shut the door.

  “Good gracious!” cried the woman, looking at the bathroom door. “What in the world do you suppose—”

  Her words were cut short as the train plunged into the darkness of the underground station. The passengers collectively gasped. A few laughed nervously when, seconds later, the lights came on.

  “Did you hear that?” said the woman to her husband.

  “Hear what?” he said.

  “It just—” she began. “It almost sounded, just a second ago, like a wolf howling.”

  Her husband took the luggage from her hand and slung it over his shoulder. He gently patted her on the back.

  “You’ve been on the train too long, my dear.”

  Marcus’s howl echoed off the walls of the truck’s trailer. The timbre and tone of his voice became animal as his body transformed into that of a wolf. He paced restlessly for a few minutes—his claws clicking on the steel floor of the trailer—before returning to his spot on his couch.

  Bobby took a deep breath. Marcus might be a giant wolf, but somehow that put Bobby at ease. He’d grown up with wolves his whole life. Sure, they could be dangerous, but there was one thing they couldn’t do: talk back.

  “There’s some stuff I don’t get,” said Bobby. “I’ve been thinking about your story. I don’t really get why adults do a lot of things, but I think maybe this is different. You’re mad at my family because you think we stole John,” he said. “But you, like, abandoned him in the middle of nowhere. I don’t get that.”

  Bobby thought for a minute before continuing. “And that reporter guy? He was going to put us on the front page of his newspaper because of you. But when your plan didn’t work, you got mad at us. I don’t get that either.”

  He sat forward on the couch, feeling surer of his words.

  “And John’s mom? That must have been really scary for you. But, like, what about her? She didn’t even know there was such a thing as werewolves, and all of a sudden, one shows up and takes her baby away. And you’re mad at her?”

  Bobby paused briefly to think.

  “Maybe I’m just a kid, and maybe I should just shut up. But I think you look around and see nothing but bad guys,” he said. “Marcus, if this was a story, you’d be the bad guy.”

  The truck swayed gently back and forth as it hurtled down the highway.

  “I used to think there were real good guys and real bad guys, just like in books,” said Bobby. “I don’t think that anymore. I think everyone believes they’re the good guy in their own story, and everyone who wants something different is a bad guy.”

  Bobby wondered if he’d already said too much. Marcus hadn’t stirred since he began talking.

  “My family has done stuff you don’t like, but that doesn’t make us bad guys. You’ve done some awful stuff, but y’know what? I don’t think you’re the bad guy either,” said Bobby. He settled back into his seat on the couch. “At least, you don’t have to be.”

  “Excuse me. Sorry. Excuse me.”

  Dirk Bragg squeezed through the narrow aisle of the train. He glanced right and left as he walked, giving each passenger a quick once-over. He’d travelled nearly the length of the train in search of those kids. He was beginning to wonder if this was a wasted trip.

  He paused briefly beside a set of four empty seats. A sweater sat balled up the corner. A half-empty bag of chips lay on the table. Barbecue, thought Dirk. Could be them. He made a mental note to return here once he’d finished his sweep of the train.

  The next car, the last on the train, was empty. The back was cluttered with a pile of oversized duffle bags and dozens of hockey sticks. Dirk decided these belonged to the rowdy men in ball caps he’d seen in one of the forward cars—a hockey team travelling to a tournament.

  “Sir,” came a voice from behind Dirk. “Sir, this car is closed.”

  Dirk turned to find a female conductor standing at the entrance to the car.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I didn’t realize.”

  “No problem, sir,” she said. “Could I see your ticket?”

  Dirk searched his pockets for the stub of paper and handed it over.

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nbsp; “Heading to Moncton?” she said, reading the ticket.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “You haven’t seen a pair of teenagers on board, have you? My niece and nephew were supposed to be on this train.”

  “I haven’t run across any teenagers travelling alone,” she replied, “but I just came aboard in Montreal. Tell you what: when I find them, I’ll tell them you’re looking for them. What did you say their names were?”

  “Kate and John,” said Dirk with a grin. “And please, don’t tell them I’m looking for them. I’d like it to be a surprise.”

  “Kate and John,” she repeated, handing back his ticket. “Now, I’m going to have to ask you to find a seat in another car. We’re closing this one off.”

  Dirk followed her through the double doors to the next car. Whoever was sitting in the seats of four hadn’t returned, so he took an empty seat across the aisle.

  Dirk opened the flap on his old knapsack and peered inside. Despite his repeated vow to become a more organized packer, he had stuffed his bag at the last minute with objects that made sense at the time, but now just seemed odd. Why would he need a field guide to the fungi of Southeast Asia? And of course he would need deodorant on this trip, but on reflection, six sticks of Old Spice seemed excessive. He pushed items aside, including a ceremonial key to the city of Cincinnati—an artefact he’d come across while investigating reports of zombie activity in Ohio—and finally found what he was looking for: the one banana that had evaded Canadian customs. A lovely specimen, not too ripe, with a touch of green at the tip. For all its jostling in his bag, it was perfect: not a bruise on it. He was just about to break into the peel when he heard a commotion from the back of the car.

  “Oh, my goodness!” gasped a woman. “Is that a wolf?”

  Dirk swivelled in his seat, along with every other passenger in the car. A teenage girl in dark sunglasses stood in the doorway to the bathroom. In one hand, she held a small pet carrier. In the other, she grasped a harness attached to a large service dog. It did, indeed, look a lot like a wolf.