“That Matt Jones kid might not have been the only one bitten last night. Two of his friends have gone missing. Their parents called the sheriff’s office to report they’ve been gone since yesterday evening. Jefferson’s covering part of the state park since that’s where Matt thinks they were last.”
“Why would he think that?” I interject.
The deputy gives a cold laugh. “Because he was going to meet his buddies in the park to have themselves a little illegal drinking party. Kids these days . . . Anyway, Jefferson was hoping you two might be able to cover another section and I’ll drive on the trails, see if I can find anything.”
I groan and settle back into my seat. Of course this had to happen now. More people bitten, more people missing, and I’m functioning with half a brain.
“You all right back there?” the deputy asks and finds me in the rearview mirror.
“Super. I’m running on hardly an hour of sleep. Could we get some caffeine, please, before we go racing through the woods? I’d really appreciate that, kind sir.”
He chuckles and salutes. “Yes, ma’am.”
We swing by a coffee shop called Java Jitters and the deputy is kind enough to buy Hawk and me large double espressos. I thank him profusely and the stimulated energy wakes me up enough so I can function. We head out of town and cross the interstate where the woods are all we can see. We take a quick right and enter the small parking lot for the Moose Lake State Park. Jefferson’s truck is already here.
“Why were those guys out here in the first place?” I ask. “Drinking at home wasn’t cool enough or something?”
“Oh, a lot of teenagers come out here for parties and to drink where they think no one will catch them.”
“Lot of good that did them,” I mutter.
Deputy Graham cuts the engine and opens his door. “Wait here a second. I’m going to have a word with the park ranger.”
I guzzle the rest of the scalding contents of my espresso, my brain buzzing. How long that will last, I have no clue. Hawk and I step out to stretch our legs and roll our shoulders. The sky’s overcast and darkening by the second.
Hawk grimaces. “Smells like it’s going to rain.”
“Well, that’s just great. We better get moving then if we want to find anything and not get completely soaked in the process.”
A howling wind answers in reply blowing cold rain droplets into our faces. Deputy Graham emerges from the small office building of the park’s headquarters and walks to the trunk of his car. We follow him and he lifts the lid to reveal an arsenal inside. He glances at the sky then passes us two identical handguns. He drops out one of the magazines and shows it to us.
“Tranquilizers only.” He snaps the magazine back into place then gives us each a spare as well. “The range is crap with these though. You’ve got to be pretty close, within fifteen yards probably. And do not accidently shoot yourself. Humans can overdose easy on these but they’re just the right dose for werewolves.”
Hawk clears his throat and takes the offered pistol. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”
The deputy pulls out a couple of flashlights and walkie talkies for us as well, then shuts the trunk and spreads out a map of the park on top of it. He snatches a red pen from his pocket and starts to circle a wide swath of area. He taps the circle with the end of the pen.
“Jefferson is out covering this area. You two take this section.” He makes another big circle to the southeast. “There are campsites around the edge of the lake that way but it should be mostly empty this time of year. If you see anything or need assistance, give a holler.” He holds up a walkie talkie for emphasis and twists the dial. We quickly test them and Jefferson buzzes in as well with nothing to report.
“What about you?” I ask.
He runs a finger along some faint trails going around the lake. “I’m going to borrow a four-wheeler from the ranger and take a quick loop around. Okay, that’s it. Be careful out there and good luck. Oh, and don’t let anybody catch you carrying those pistols. You’re still under twenty-one and aren’t supposed to have them.”
With that friendly little warning, he jogs to the rear of the office building and disappears. I fold the map into a square and stick it in my pocket before tucking the pistol into the waistband of my pants and buttoning my military jacket up the rest of the way.
“Ready?” I ask. Hawk nods, having done the same, and we march out in the direction we were instructed along a narrow gravel road. It’s quiet out here with only birdcalls for company. We keep the silence and head deeper into the trees.
I touch the walkie talkie attached to my belt now and then to assure myself it’s there. The woods are too quiet for my liking. I’m still getting used to the country where I’m surrounded by trees and a hush instead of sky scrapers and the sounds of humans close by at all times. The left fork in the road takes us down a hill and to a wide gravel parking lot alongside the lake. A couple of canoes are stacked up next to a small dock. The waves lap at the nearly nonexistent beach and a breeze rattles the dead leaves above us.
Hawk sniffs at the air a few times then jerks his head to the left so we keep moving. It’s slow going, scanning the ground for tracks or waiting for Hawk to catch a scent. He eventually guides us off the gravel road and into the trees following some trail I can’t see.
“If they were bitten at the same time as Matt,” I whisper, “would they really still be here? It sounds like Matt went home right after. They could have done the same.”
He shrugs. “Either way, there must be a trail here. If they were disoriented they might not have gone too far or maybe they went seeking out others like them.”
“The black wolf.”
He nods and a chill goes down my spine. That’s been happening a lot lately. You’d think after all this time living among impossible creatures, that searching for the same kind of thing wouldn’t scare me. But this isn’t just a couple of werewolves in the wild. This is personal and more dangerous than we had first suspected. If the same thing is really happening again like in 1996, then everyone in town is in danger. Our parents’ murderer could be lurking out in these very woods.
I keep looking over my shoulder and click on my flashlight as the clouds grow thicker and darker. Beneath the trees it’s already twilight. Hawk does the same and our beams scan the underbrush and yellow ground. The wind picks up and the trees whistle and creak. My cheeks and nose are already ice cold when it begins to sprinkle.
Static crackles over my walkie talkie and I pull it from my belt.
Deputy Graham’s voice comes over a bit distorted. “Come in. I found dozens of wolf tracks all crossing about fifty yards south of the campground area. They look pretty fresh.”
“I’ll head your way,” Jefferson responds. “Masons, keep checking your area.”
“Copy that,” I say and clip the radio onto my belt.
We keep walking, Hawk stopping every now and then to sniff closer at the dirt like a hound. We’ve gone about a mile through the woods heading southeast when Hawk stops again and sniffs at the wind as tiny droplets of water prick my face. He frowns and messes the back of his hair.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I could have sworn I just smelled Ben.”
“What would he be doing out here?”
“Well, that’s the question isn’t it?” He keeps rubbing the back of his neck and stares out at the lake. We’re on the top of a hill and it’s just visible in the distance. The rain picks up even more and I start to shiver in my jacket that clearly isn’t warm or dry enough for this weather.
Hawk spins around without warning and draws the pistol from his waistband. I follow his motion a fraction too slow. He lets out a shout as a great big gray wolf slams into him from the side. I’m clipped in the shoulder and stumble sideways, unable to raise my pistol in time. Hawk and the wolf going tumbling and roll end over end down the hill. Halfway in their descent another werewolf rushes out of the trees to chase after them.
> “Hawk!” I shout. I’m so focused on the three of them that I don’t see the one directly beside me.
I pull up my pistol but too late. It lunges. I let off a shot but the tranquilizer goes high over its brownish head. A cry escapes me as it bites down on my forearm and its teeth tear right through the sleeve of my jacket. The werewolf jerks its head backwards and I can feel every single one of its sharp teeth rip through my skin. I cry out in pain but have just enough sense to stick the pistol into the fur of its throat with my other hand and fire twice.
The wolf whines and its grip loosens. I pry its jaws off me and cradle my arm to my chest. It teeters for a moment, sways side to side, then collapses in a cloud of dry leaves. I breath hard between my clenched teeth and groan through the pain of the bite. I get to my knees and look down the hill for Hawk but he and the other werewolves are gone.
I shuffle along on my knees to a thick oak tree and settle on the roots with my back to it. Wheezing and my fingers going numb, I fumble with the walkie talkie on my belt and press the speak button.
“Jefferson,” I force out through gritted teeth. “I need help.”
“What’s wrong?”
I groan and try to focus through the burning pain in my arm. “We were attacked. Hawk’s gone. I don’t know where he is.”
“I’m coming right now. You gotta tell me where you are.”
Rolling my head one way then the other to locate some kind of marker, I spot the top of a camper in the distance behind me. “I’m just north of the campers I think. I can still see the lake from here. Hurry.”
“I’m on my way,” he says.
“What about Deputy Graham?”
There’s a long pause before he answers. “I can’t find him.”
“What?”
“I found his four-wheeler but he’s gone.”
I lean my head back against the trunk of the oak and grimace. This is terrible timing. I’m about to start panicking. I need help but maybe it’s already too late for me. “We can’t just leave him out there.”
“Do you think you can hold on by yourself?” he asks.
“I . . . I don’t know. But we can’t leave Graham out there alone.”
“Phoenix, are you hurt?” he demands.
I bite my lower lip trying to distract myself from the pain spreading in my arm but it doesn’t work. “I . . .”
“Are you hurt?”
“Jefferson, I’ve been bitten.”
Chapter 18
Trying to peel back the edge of my sleeve to inspect my arm is much more difficult and painful than I’m hoping it’ll be. The material isn’t exactly stretchy and doesn’t want to give. I grimace and pant and pull back the edge of my sleeve one burning inch at a time. Blood runs down my arm and soaks into the chest of my jacket where I clutch it to myself.
“I’m coming straight to you,” Jefferson says and the loud growl of an engine causes reverb through the speaker. He must be taking the deputy’s four-wheeler. “Hang on. Keep your pistol up.”
“Yeah, yeah, just hurry,” I hiss. I settle my injured arm against my stomach and set the walkie talkie next to it to free up my other hand to hold the pistol at the ready, balancing the butt of it on top of my upraised knee.
The rain and wind picks up. I’m not really protected by the oak I’m sitting against so I’m quickly soaked through and water drips into my eyes. At least the cold numbs the surface pain in my arm.
My teeth start to chatter but all I can think about is Hawk. Is he okay? I know he can take care of himself but if a pack ganged up on him, so help me . . . I thump my head against the trunk of the tree. I’m supposed to have his back and I let him down. I should get up and look for him. Who cares if I get turned into a werewolf? My brother is out there somewhere and in trouble. I can’t leave him all alone.
I set the pistol in the wet grass beside me and pick up my walkie. “Jefferson, I have to find my brother.”
“Phoenix, stay put.”
“He’s my brother.” My throat feels raw. “I can’t lose him.”
“You’re not going to lose him. He’s a tough kid.”
“He’s all I’ve got, Jefferson.”
“Stop it, Phoenix! Getting yourself killed out there isn’t going to help him either. Don’t get yourself hurt any worse.”
I clip the walkie to my belt, pick up the pistol, and push myself up using the trunk of the oak. Breathing hard, I stagger to the top of the hill. It’s gotten so dark that it’s hard to make out anything apart from the tree trunks.
“Dang it,” I mutter and shove the pistol into the waistband of my pants. I yank the flashlight out of my pocket and gingerly hold it in my injured hand, then hoist the pistol in my good hand. I carefully start to make my way down the rather steep hill. The flashlight beam sweeps over the underbrush but can’t illuminate it all. I slip on a rock but at least I fall backwards. The breath is knocked out of me and I wince.
Deciding on a different approach, I scoot down ever so slowly until I reach the bottom then push myself upright. I scan the ground but it’s hard to make out anything. I’m no tracker like Hawk. My chest constricts and it gets harder to breathe.
“Hawk!” I shout and spin in a circle. “Hawk!”
The pain in my arm starts to intensify. I wonder if it’s the pain of the transformation starting to sweep over me or the magic in my blood trying to fight the disease. I’m suddenly terrified—if I change how can I possibly protect Hawk anymore? Or what if this simply kills me? That seems more likely because I’m burning up and the pain is staggering. It’s building up and I groan, falling to my knees in the wet soil. I bend over and breathe harshly. No, this can’t happen. I can’t change, not now. I don’t want to die either.
A rumble approaches then stops. Branches snap and I hear loud shuffling. I force myself to straighten enough to raise my pistol and squint through the downpour.
“Jefferson? That better be you!”
A flashlight beam points directly at my face and hurts my eyes.
“It’s me!” Jefferson shouts. “Don’t shoot!”
I let the pistol drop to the ground and the pain in my arm grows so bad that I double up and fall to the side. Jefferson rushes over and kneels beside me. He tries to peel back my sleeve but it pulls at my feverish skin. I let out a loud cry and he stops.
“I need you to stand, Phoenix.”
“Argh . . .” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t think I can.”
“I’ve got you. Come on.”
He pulls my good arm across his shoulders and hauls me upwards. He wraps his other arm around my waist to keep me upright and starts to walk me forward. My toes catch the ground and I stumble along almost blindly.
“Hawk’s still out there,” I manage to say.
“We’ll find him after we treat that arm.”
“No! I’ve got to . . . got . . .” A wave of dizziness sweeps over me. This isn’t usual is it? I know the werewolf disease can be painful, but this? This is torture. The woods spin and I slump down face first. The world begins to hush as if someone has put headphones over my ears. My legs are hoisted up and Jefferson carries me in his arms back to the road.
I don’t remember being set on the four-wheeler, getting in the truck, or driving away from the park. I don’t remember returning to the cabin or being set on a mattress but it must have happened because when I wake up I’m lying on a cot in Jefferson’s barn. Dusty rafters come into focus above my head, there’s a smell of hay and alcohol, and my jacket’s gone replaced by a worn quilt blanket. I’m shaking and my whole body is feverish. Jefferson’s voice reaches me from downstairs.
“Yeah, she’s all right . . . I took her back to the barn. Can you make it? Okay, we’ll be waiting. It’s going to be fine.”
I push myself onto my side and sit up. Jefferson walks up the creaky wooden stairs and once he sees me rushes over to grasp my shoulder.
“You need to take it easy,” he warns.
“Where’s my brother?” I mumbl
e.
“I just talked to him on the phone. He’s okay. He’s coming back right now.” Jefferson grabs a chair behind him and pulls it up to the side of the cot. “What about you? How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve got a fever.”
He places a weathered hand on my forehead and frowns. “You’re burning up.”
I run a hand over my frazzled hair and close my eyes so I can press the cooler back of my hand against my burning eyelids. “Is that normal? I can’t remember.”
“Well, sort of. After being bitten it takes about half an hour for the disease to spread through the entire body, causing a fever and intense pain. For a normal kid, if a serum injection is given within that narrow window, it can keep them in their right mind before they first change.”
I hang my head and rub the back of my neck. “For a normal kid.”
He clears his throat. “With you being a Blessed, there’s no telling what’s going to happen. You could turn into a werewolf and the natural magic in your blood will make it so you don’t have to take injections. Or . . . well, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. I’m sorry.”
Or the two parts of disease and magic might rip me apart from the inside and kill me. The IMS might like to think of the werewolf problem as a minor thing since the invention of the serum, but the disease itself is still one of the most dangerous things out there to a Blessed.
I exhale slowly and trace my fingers over the thick white bandage Jefferson put on my arm. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is,” he says quietly. He bows his head and clasps his hands together in front of him. “I had a chance to stop this fourteen years ago but I couldn’t. I couldn’t save anyone.”
For the first time Jefferson sounds fragile. He hasn’t ever shown much emotion, unless you count anger and grouchiness. He’s vulnerable and there’s moisture gathering in his small eyes.
“You mentioned you lost people the last time,” I say. “Who did you lose?”
He rubs his hands together slowly and doesn’t look up. “My wife. It was around the same time your parents were attacked. A werewolf came into our house while I wasn’t there. I, uh . . .” He pauses to hastily wipe at his eyes and sniffs loudly. “My wife was killed and my daughter was bitten. After it happened, despite how much I tried to protect her, my daughter disappeared along with the others.”
The Curse of Moose Lake (International Monster Slayers Book 1) Page 20