by Ben Reeder
“Bad idea, Chance,” Dr. C whispered. “Can’t show them too much. Hear that grinding sound? That’s a paradigm trying to shift without a clutch. Bad for the brain.”
“This is weird,” Lucas said speculatively, like he was trying the idea out to see if he really believed it. Wanda nodded slowly, mostly out of reflex.
“It just gets worse from here, if you hang out with me too much longer, man,” I said as I turned to face them. “But, I’m glad you guys came after me. I’ll explain everything a little later on. I guess we’ll catch Brad and his crew Monday?” I went to Dr. C and helped him sit up, then we levered him into a chair.
“Only if you want to wait that long. They took off like the hounds of Hell were after them, and since you weren’t out yet, we decided to follow them and come back for you. They went out to the old Boy Scout Camp on the north side of Diamond Lake.”
“It’s been abandoned for years, ever since they had that guy escape from Twisted Oaks and kill like a hundred kids or something one summer,” Wanda offered. “Is he, uh, gonna be okay?”
I understood why she was asking, because Dr. C had started muttering under his breath. I listened closely, then nodded. He was reciting a list of dates and events. My peek into his soul had shown me that he never forgot anything, and I figured he was busy sorting out the memories that were trampling roughshod across his brain. My experience hadn’t been so bad, I figured, because he’d had a pretty decent life. If anything, experiencing his memories might have helped me out some, even while mine traumatized him. I grimaced at the thought of my memories being hazardous to someone’s mental health.
“He’ll be fine,” I told her. “But I don’t think we should leave him here alone.”
“Chance,” he said softly. I looked at him. His eyes were still glazed, but he was trying to focus. “Do what you need to do. I’ll be okay.” I debated trying to argue the point that tailing Brad and his crew was just a schoolboy rivalry, but the thought of the Brad and all of his friends carrying mystical augmentations stopped me cold. They had access to a halfway-decent sorcerer, and there was no telling what else he might be capable of. I couldn’t take that risk; what if they decided to hit Wanda or Lucas instead of me, or worse, Mom or Dee? Only one thing stopped me.
“What about the four we ran into earlier?” I asked, carefully avoiding the word “werewolf.”
He pulled his jacket far enough aside that only I could see the silenced pistol still resting under his right arm, and gave me a grim smile. It would go far worse for any werewolf who came after him a second time. He reached down and found the catch for the buckle on the paintball gun’s belt. There was a click as it came unfastened. Wanda and Lucas reached for their weapons as they saw the holster come into view, then relaxed as I stepped forward and grabbed it.
“Take the paintball gun,” he managed to say. “They may still be out there. I’ll be okay here.” I sure as Hell wasn’t going to argue with him. I fumbled with the straps holding the bulky toy gun to his left thigh, and after a moment, it came loose. The spare clip things–no, Dr. C’s memories corrected me, hoppers, they were called hoppers–still rode in the pouch on the front, and I pulled the holy water one out.
“Got any spares of the blue or green ones?” I asked. He nodded, pointing to his briefcase. I went over to it and flipped the catches open, not thinking until after I raised the lid to check for any sorts of magickal surprises. I winced for a second, then relaxed after nothing happened. He probably didn’t set traps like that in a school. As I rummaged around in it, I wondered if he shouldn’t. A well-made wand was held snugly in a spot made for a pen, and amulets lay scattered across the bottom of the case. At least one potion bottle was slipped into the partition in the top, and a thin, leather-bound volume lay beneath the papers and amulets. Resting along the side were three more hoppers for the paintball gun, one each of the wolfsbane, holy water, and chloroform. I tossed the holy water hopper into the case and pulled out the spare wolfsbane and chloroform hoppers in its place. I wrapped the belt around the bulky holster and tucked it into my book bag, then turned to Lucas and Wanda.
“So, we've gone from him knocking you out and tying you up to him giving you toy guns and sage advice?” Wanda asked incredulously. “Does this strike anyone else as way weird?”
Lucas raised his hand slowly. Mine followed a heartbeat later, and I heard Lucas chuckle. I followed his eyes to see Dr. C raising a wavering hand as well. I laughed at the sight and turned to Wanda.
“I’m not sure I can explain it very well, Wanda, at least not in the time we have right now, but I can explain it. Short version…” I paused to think for a second. “No, that would still take too long. Super-short, back of the book version: Dr. C really is one of the good guys, he thought I was one of the bad guys, he wasn’t really certain, so he had to make sure. It was kind of hard on him. He’ll be okay, no hard feelings, we’ll talk later.”
“Okay, I’m good with that,” Lucas said after a moment’s pause. He looked over at Wanda, who was still blinking. It looked to me like she was replaying what I’d said in her head again. After a moment, she frowned and nodded.
“I am, too, and that’s a little freaky. This is going to require lots of chocolate and more than a little groveling from someone before it’s all over, though.” Her response was a little surprising, but I was hoping the human mind’s tendency to erase anything that was too weird would kick in for them both by the end of the night, and we’d do our best never to mention this again.
“I’m sure we’ll find a volunteer,” I told her as I went back to squat down in front of Dr. C again. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay, sir?” I asked quietly. I was surprised that I meant it when I called him “sir.” I really respected this man.
“I’ll be fine, Chance. Just got to clear my head. Can’t do that with you asking after my health every two minutes. Now get the hell out of here.”
“All right, sir. But I’ll be back in a little while.” I turned to Wanda and Lucas. “Let’s go see what Brad and the boys are up to.”
We strode through the halls, three stupid kids feeling like big damned heroes in a TV show or a movie, until we came to the stairs. There’s almost no dignified or heroic way to walk down a staircase. Thus humbled, we made it out of the school and to the Falcon. I sat in the back seat, trying to figure out how to buckle the holster for the paintball gun on and how to take the hoppers off and put them back on in a hurry. Dr. C’s memories made it easier to figure out, but they were beginning to fade.
“So, what’s with the toy gun?” Wanda asked as I fiddled with it quietly in the back seat. “Are you going to stop Duncan from beating the crap out of you by holding his wardrobe hostage or something?”
“No. The balls aren’t filled with paint. The ones in here now have a contact version of chloroform in them. The other ones have an irritant that works on some people.”
“You’re kidding!” Lucas exclaimed from his seat. I saw his eyes go wide in the rearview mirror. “Dr Corwin let you borrow that? Where did he even get paintballs like that?”
“He’s a scientist, man,” I said, wincing inwardly at the white little lie. Well, he was a scientist, but that didn't have anything to do with the paintballs “I think he made them himself.”
“That makes sense. I mean, if you have the school science lab, you could pretty much make…Hey, there they are!” He pointed excitedly as a trio of black motorcycles turned onto the road in front of us, accelerating incredibly fast until they were almost out of sight. Lucas slouched back into his seat and began the dance I had seen him do with the pedals and stick shift, and the Falcon sped up, her engine taking on a deeper hum as we began to pass cars. He managed to keep up with them, even had to slow down a little a couple of times to stay out of sight. He was surprisingly good at this, and the Falcon was damned fast for a little car. Soon, we were out of city traffic, and he fell back, letting the gloom of sunset do the work of hiding us. Besides, it wasn’t like we didn’t
know where they were going. Soon enough, we were pulling up beside a faded sign.
“Shades of Nightmare on Blood Lake,” Wanda whispered.
“Thank the gods we’re not in that flick. Still, we’d be okay,” Lucas said confidently. “None of us have had sex, none of us are naked, and none of us are going to go get a beer. We’re outside the formula!”
“What formula? What in the hell are you talking about?” I asked.
“It’s a slasher flick,” Lucas answered. “You could always tell who the psycho killer was going to get next. Anyone who’d just had sex, was naked, or said ‘I’m going to go get a beer’ inevitably died right after.”
“That’s the victim profile, idiot,” Wanda said acidly. “We‘re still in the basic plot set up! The whole movie took place at an abandoned campground. We’re doomed!”
“Guys, right now, the most dangerous thing out here is the pissed-off sophomore in the back seat with a loaded paintball gun!” I said, voice rising until I was almost yelling. “Now, let me out!”
Wanda leaned forward and pulled her seat back up so I could slide out behind her. By the glow of the Falcon’s headlights, I buckled the paintball gun’s belt around my hips and strapped the holster to my left thigh. When I had it in place, I went back to Lucas’s window and tapped on the glass. He cranked it down and looked at me seriously.
“Dude, just do me a favor okay? Don’t tell me you’ll be right back. That’s another way to make sure the killer gets you.”
I sighed. “Look, I’m just going to go in, take a quick look, and come back out. I’ll only be gone for a few minutes, maybe twenty at the outside. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, you know what to do, right?”
“Right,” he answered confidently. “We follow you and get captured, instead of going to get help like you told us to. Got it.”
“Lucas, so help me if you don’t take this seriously, I will break your nose!” I growled. The smile took a little of the threat out of it, though.
“You’re the one who changed genres on us, man. It’s not my fault if the sidekicks never listen in action movies.”
“Half an hour, no longer. If I pull a no-show, get the hell outta here fast, and call the cops. Got it?”
“Got it!” Wanda answered for Lucas, holding up her cell phone. I nodded and gave them a thumbs-up before I jumped the gate and started down the winding dirt road. The darkness got deeper as I went, the sun finally sliding down below the horizon just before I saw the lights from a long, wooden building. As night fell, I felt a rising wind come out of the north, bringing with it a chill and the promise of rain. The cold wind lashed across my left cheek as I slowed down. Beside the wood structure, I could see seven bikes parked, three of them still pinging as their engines cooled. I crouched and came up on the place slowly, just able to make out the words “Arrowhead Lodge” carved in burnt letters over the big side door. As I passed the ticking bikes, I heard the thump of music over the hiss of wind in the autumn leaves, and whoops of people celebrating.
Jimmy Two-Tone, one of my father’s men, had taught me how to case a house a couple of years ago, and I silently thanked him for it. I’d hoped never to use those skills again, but tonight, they would come in handy. I crept up to the dirt-smeared window and looked inside from just below one corner. Most of the time, people really only looked at the center of windows, so they were a lot less likely to catch sight of my face if I was down and to one side.
Inside, the room looked like a war had been waged between country sensibilities and heavy metal chaos. Liquor and beer bottles littered the floors, tables, and any other flat surface, including the window sills, while pinups of scantily clad (or completely un-clad) women were tacked anywhere that could be reached without a ladder. Old scoutmasters in black and white photos looked out from behind the T&A posters, and I got the feeling that they really didn’t approve of what they saw. At the far right side of my field of vision was a big screen TV, with almost any device you could stretch a wire from attached to it like cybernetic children to a digital mother. Beside it, a sleek CD player perched between a pair of large speakers, all mounted on an old-style entertainment center, with a green television screen in the middle of its dusty wooden case. Aside from the double door, off to my right, I saw two more doors: one on the far right wall, which was closed, and another heavy door that was ajar. Beyond it was a dark room, but I couldn't make out anything through it.
Three guys were in the middle of the room facing away from me, the center one holding a long black case covered with red symbols. Four more faced them, all eyes on the case. Another sat on a wooden couch that was covered in a cracked green vinyl, his right arm in a makeshift sling. Even he was eyeballing the case. All of them were in black leather, like they had been when we saw them last time, except the guy on the couch, who had his jacket beside him. A white bandage across his shoulder was all that he had on his upper body aside from the sling, and it was marred by a red stain near its center. He held a bottle of what looked like Johnny Walker in his good hand. I recognized him as the guy whose bell I’d rung that afternoon during my disastrous football tryout.
“Gimme some of that,” the guy holding the case demanded, and I recognized Brad's voice. “I'm gonna need it.” The guy across from him handed him the bottle, and he took a deep pull from it. I caught a familiar flash of red in my peripheral vision and switched my gaze back toward the couch as Alexis moved in from my left and bent over the wounded jock. I barely tore my eyes from the way the leather stretched tight across her ass in time to catch her pulling the bloody bandage from his shoulder. Beneath it was an almost unremarkable, slightly puckered hole that was distinctive of a gunshot wound. I blinked, wondering how they could have ended up catching bullets so early on a Friday night. A chill ran through me as I remembered at least one shot being fired today, back at the school. My mind rebelled at the thought, even as I put the pieces together.
If Duncan and his buddies were werewolves, they’d be a lot stronger than normal humans. They would heal from injuries much faster, and most minor cuts and bruises would be gone almost instantly. Another realization slammed into my head: one I didn’t want to think about. The claw sliver and hair were probably from a Were. Duncan or one of his friends had probably killed Mr. Chomsky. The big question now was, which one?
The door on the right side of the room opened, and all eyes went to the tall man who stepped into the room through it. He was dressed in black leather, had greasy, dark hair, and his face resembled a thundercloud that was about to unleash a storm. As one, each of the kids in the room fell to one knee, even Alexis and the wounded pack member.
“My Lord,” Brad said, as he extended the box toward the man. “We got it, sir. We got the case.”
The man took the box from Brad and tucked it under one arm. He looked relieved for a moment, then backhanded Brad clear across the room, bowling over the two guys behind him. “It’s about god-damned time!” he bellowed, and everyone in the room cowered in fear. “You were supposed to have this for me days ago! I just got off the phone with the buyer, and I damn near had to give it away! Do you know how much your fuck-ups cost me?”
Brad clambered back to his knees then laid himself flat on the floor as the older man walked up to him. He picked Brad up by the scruff of the neck and shook him as he yelled in his face. “I got a reputation to keep, and if you keep fucking up this bad, no one will say the name of Dominic King with the respect I deserve! You sure as HELL don’t want to pay the price for that, boy!”
“No, sir,” Brad stammered. “We did our best, sir! The place was protected! You never told us it had magic spells protecting it!”
King flung him back down to the floor and put a foot on his swollen right hand. “Too fucking bad! I gave you a job to do, and I do NOT accept excuses! I told our buyer we’d have it by Monday, and it took you almost a whole week to come up with the goods. You’re lucky I was able to get them to take it after that.” As he spoke, Dominic ground his boot into the
back of Brad’s injured hand. I could hear the whimper coming from Brad, even through the window.
“We got it, though. No one else could have!” Brad protested.
“Don't give me that 'we' bullshit!” King bent down as he bellowed at Brad. “You didn't get it. You had to have your bitch get you in!” he pointed at Alexis. “If you can't do a man's job without getting a woman to do the real work, I got no use for you!”
“I’m sorry, sir!” he yelped. “It’ll never happen again!”
“It better not,” Dominic growled. Up close, I could see that his beard covered a face that was ravaged by a hard life. His eyes were black little beads behind puffy lids, and his face was lined and pitted. When he spoke, I could see yellowed and broken teeth, and the gray in his wiry beard was threatening to win in its battle with the black. What could work a werewolf over so badly that he wasn’t able to heal from it?
“This just ain’t been your week, boy,” he said with a final twist of his heel into Brad’s hand. “You screw up a simple snatch, get your ass handed to you by some punk who stumbles onto you making a buy, then you get one of your buddies shot trying to take him out, and you want to blame your mistakes on me. Get outta my sight. Hell, go party a little, celebrate fixing your screw-up. Me and Shade, we’re gonna have a party of our own.”
Brad pulled his hand back as Dominic went over to Alexis and wrapped one arm around her waist. Brad managed to get to his knees, with his injured arm cradled against his chest.
Dominic smiled as he pulled Alexis to him and groped inside her jacket. Her hands came up and pressed against his chest, trying to keep herself away.
“Please, sir, no,” I could hear her protest. For a moment, she held herself, arms rigid against King's chest, his face darkening with the effort. She looked to Brad, and I could see her eyes pleading for help. Brad’s brows furrowed as he turned his face away from her, and I saw her arms slowly start to bend as her face fell.