“That we know of,” the woman said in disgust. “Let’s get him out of here. Ready boys?”
“Ready,” a chorus of voices replied. Killian heard the sounds of multiple rifles cocking at once, and his mouth went dry.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” the woman’s voice told him. “We’re dropping the tailgate now. Don’t move.”
The gate went down and the burst of light blinded Killian. He tucked his face into the crook of his arm, shielding his eyes.
“We’re taking the chain off the bar now. Stay put.” Her calm voice tickled something in Killian’s brain, but he still couldn’t place what it was. His chains fell away from the bar.
“Crawl out on your belly,” she instructed. “Then slowly swing your feet around. No sudden movements, or we fire.”
Killian did as he was told, blinking to adjust to the buzzing fluorescent light. As his feet hit the cement, his eyes took in the scene before him. He stood in a wide, tall, windowless concrete building with several garage doors on one end, and a single regular door to his right. The man who had bought him from Clyde was peeling off his facial hair, revealing a chubby, jowled face. Behind him were six men, built like body builders and dressed like soldiers, each pointing a gun at Killian. To his left stood the woman who had spoken. Her auburn hair cascaded over her straight, proud shoulders. Her chiseled chin tipped back slightly, emphasizing the defiant glare in her golden-haloed eyes.
“Maureen O’Conner,” Killian identified out loud. “In the flesh.”
“And you are?”
“Killian Walsh.”
“Where are you from, Mr. Walsh?”
“Originally? Dublin, but I moved to the U.S. when I was three. Which, by the way, was only thirty-two years ago, thank you very much. Fifty? Really? How’d you get to be a doctor with those observational skills, Douglas?” Killian asked the now clean-faced man. Once he’d seen Maureen, the whole picture had fallen into place.
“Shifters age differently than humans,” Douglas replied gruffly. “Your age is unclear within a twenty-year margin, and is dependent on when and how you changed.”
“Uh-huh. Nice save. So who wants to explain why three…nope, four, I see you down there…muscle-bound shifters, two muscle-bound humans, one human wildlife biologist and his shifter cohort rescued me from that trailer only to shackle me and point guns in my face?”
Maureen raised an impeccable eyebrow. “Quick study. How can you be so sure that we are shifters?”
“That gold halo behind your irises, darlin’. Dead giveaway.”
“What halo?” Douglas asked, pushing past Killian to peer up into Maureen’s eyes. She opened her eyes a little wider for him, but kept her eyebrow aloft. Douglas squinted and tilted his head left and right for a full minute before stepping back with a thoughtful hum. He turned toward the line of men.
“You, look at each other’s eyes. Can any of you see what he’s talking about? Oh, put the guns down, he isn’t going to do anything. Come on, come on, look for the gold halo.”
The men turned to each other, looking panicked and uncomfortable. Killian grinned at their awkwardness, leaned against the back of the truck, and waited. This was standard shifter identification, how could they not know this?
“I see it,” one of them said.
“Me too.”
“Yeah, so do I.”
The final shifter squinted, changed partners, tilted his head this way and that, but couldn’t seem to see it. The human men couldn’t, either. Maureen made no indication one way or the other, and Douglas didn’t ask.
“Remind me the circumstances under which you turned,” Douglas said to the shifter.
“Caught in a swarm of those bugs,” the man said.
“How long ago?”
“Three years next week.”
“Hm,” Douglas said, tapping his chin. “And you?”
“Bitten by a shifter, seven years ago.”
“Born shifter or turned?”
“Turned.”
Douglas nodded and pointed to the next in line.
“Bugs, ten years ago.”
“And you?”
“Bugs, six years.”
“Mr. Walsh?”
“Bugs, first wave,” Killian said. “Thirteen years ago.”
“And I know Maureen’s story. Now, Mr. Walsh, you have the ability to transform into a wolf completely, is that right?”
“Yes,” Killian acknowledged. “But I didn’t eat anybody’s chickens. I was chasing my friend when Clyde picked me up.”
“You think your friend ate the chickens?” Douglas asked.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me why I’m here, then I’ll tell you about my friend.”
“Fair enough,” Maureen said briskly. “Peter, remove his shackles and meet me inside. We have much to discuss.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pan soon discovered that there were many positives, but just as many negatives, to running with a pack. The five shifters who had essentially adopted him seemed to be tireless. In spite of the weight of their things (which were strapped to their bodies with the bulk pulled tight against their bellies), they managed to cover sixty miles of uneven terrain at an easy jog before Floyd called them to a halt. Pan limped along behind, feeling like he was going to die every few minutes from the cramps which were still ravaging his abdomen no matter what form he was in. Still, it was good to be with a group. They took turns circling back to run beside him for a mile or two, then switched places. Finally, to Pan’s great relief, Floyd stopped in a small, protected hollow surrounded by trees.
“We’ll rest here for an hour, then head west,” he said. “Can’t stop for long. Sleep.”
Pan hesitated for a moment, but the other wolves instantly curled up into balls, snuggling together in a tight circle. Pan hesitantly joined them, hovering on the edge, until Ru stepped around behind him and nudged him into the center with his snout. He grinned a wolfish smile and snuggled up to Pan, invading all of his personal space in utter platonic bliss. Pan shrugged and let it happen. There were worse things in the world than to be warm and surrounded by soft fur. Time seemed to pass in an instant, and Ru was nudging him awake before he’d even become aware of falling asleep.
“Time to go,” Ru whispered.
Pan still hadn’t managed to speak in his full-wolf form, but he tried. It came out sounding like a puppy’s whine, and he grunted at himself in frustration. Ru merely cackled and cocked his head, indicating that Pan should follow. The rest of the pack was already on their way, and Pan sprinted to keep up. As he crested a rolling hill, he watched the little pack stretch out across the grassy valley before him, and some primal, ancient part of himself sang for joy. He fell in line and kept pace happily, almost forgetting that he was supposed to be heading home to Regis Thyme. The pain in his gut had faded to a mild irritant which spiked only occasionally into full-blown agony, so he wasn’t as far behind as he had been during the day.
After several hours, Floyd stopped suddenly. The rest of the pack circled around him, and Pan joined them without a moment of hesitation. Floyd said nothing, but his ears were swiveling madly on the top of his head. Pan listened, trying to hear what he heard. All was crickets and wind; but then there was something else. Almost a flutter, almost a drum beat, a dull and insistent thud drifted over the valley. The hills around them threw the sound, obscuring its source and true rhythm. The valley was split long-ways by a thin, silvery river, and was dotted with thick clusters of bushes and trees. There was nothing that Pan could see which would account for the sound. Suddenly Floyd sprinted toward the far end of the valley. Pan and the rest followed him closely as he wound through the trees into the darkness. The sound grew louder the farther they went, until it thundered through the air around them and vibrated the trees. Thud-thud-thud in rapid succession, like an irritated giant drumming his fingers against a mattress. Floyd paused again, looking around. This end of the valley seemed no different from the other aside from the incessa
nt noise.
Pan circled the group, peering closely at the landscape. The sound had to be coming from somewhere. A bit of tree trunk caught his eye once, then again. At first it seemed to be perfectly natural, just another patch of wilderness; but something about the angle of this particular trunk struck him as odd. He stepped through the grass gingerly, his eyes fixed on that one awkward tree, when he smashed headlong into thin air. He took a step back and shook the ringing out of his ears, then touched a timid paw to the solid nothingness. It felt like brick, and it was vibrating in time with the sound.
The pack was at his side in moments, each of them gingerly feeling the camouflaged wall. Floyd eventually pressed his side against it and cocked his head, silently telling them to fall in line. They did so, feeling their way as he did along the thundering stone. After a few hundred yards, Pan watched as Floyd, then Alice, Philip, Jacob, and Ru disappeared from sight. He followed on blind trust, hoping for a corner rather than a pit, and was rewarded. The pack followed this adjacent wall a half mile up the slope, then disappeared again. At the second corner, Pan looked down behind him. The base of the valley was at least ten feet below him, which meant the wall was at least fourteen feet tall. Wondering just how big the invisible building was, Pan stood on his hind legs to slide up the wall. His front paws found the top of it, less than five feet up from where he stood. He jumped up onto it and followed the pack from this vantage point above until the wall began to vibrate insistently beneath his feet. He paused, then tentatively slid one paw toward the center of the building. Concrete turned to heavy, slick canvas under his paw. Impulsively, he punched his claws through the fabric and dragged, ripping a head-sized hole in the intricately painted camouflage.
He turned to see the pack below, watching him, then stuck his head into the hole to find the source of the sound. His eyes were slow to adjust, and even slower to register what he was seeing. Rage and terror boiled his gut, turning it over on itself, and he backed away too quickly. He landed hard on his side, then emptied his stomach contents onto the grass. Panting and trembling, he forced himself to shift in baby steps, wolf to beast to man. Heaving faded into wracking sobs, then gasps, and finally groans. He rolled away from the puddle he’d created and pressed his back against the cool concrete wall, pressing tears from his eyes with the heels of his hands. The pack waited patiently for him to finish, then shifted to human and sat naked with him in the grass.
“What did you see?” Alice asked gently.
“Shifters…hundreds of shifters…all in cages. Third shift, second, first…all running. Running until they hit the wall, then running the other way. Beasts, wolves, humans…all three at once…killing themselves against the walls. Walls are padded, but it’s not enough. Blood and piss. The whole room smells like blood and piss, and it’s the size of a freaking football field. Doesn’t fill the whole building, though. We walked farther on the other side. It ends over here, but there’s more that way. Who would do this?”
“We need to calm them down,” Ru said, chewing his fingernails. “If there are that many, they can escape, they just have to calm down.”
“They can’t,” Pan said. “There is no calming down with this, you run until you collapse, remember?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I remember. But Chains…Do you still have the thing?”
“Yeah,” she said, opening her pack.
“What thing?” Pan asked.
“Music box,” Ru said absently. “Helped me with mine. Just hope it’s loud enough.”
Alice pulled an old, sturdy box out of her pack and held it out to Pan. “Take it up there and wind it. It will help.”
“But whoever’s running this place will hear it. They’ll come looking for us,” Pan argued.
“We’ve got your back, Pan. Get up there and play.”
Pan wiped his mouth nervously and stood, leaning his elbows on the top of the wall and pointing the box at the tear he’d made in the canvas. He wound the box and opened it, pointing its music at the shifters below. The song was old and soothing, and reminded Pan of his grandmother, though he couldn’t really pinpoint why. The sleepy music trickled down into the warehouse, echoing off the cages and walls. It didn’t seem to be working. The wolves ran as hard as they had before.
“It isn’t loud enough,” Pan said in desperate frustration. “We need something else.”
“I have something,” Jacob said hesitantly. “Last thing my mom ever gave me. I can’t play it, though.”
“What is it?” Pan asked.
Jacob pulled a flute from his pack. A beautifully carved wood flute, with his name etched into the side in gold. He turned it over in his hands a few times, then looked up at the group. “Can anyone play?”
“I can,” Pan said. “I have one at home. Not a wood flute, a pan flute, but… I think I can manage.”
“Go on, then,” Alice said. “I’ll hold the box.”
She moved to replace him, and he took the flute out of Jacob’s reluctant fingers.
“Hey,” Pan said, forcing the kid to meet his eyes. “When we get back to Regis Thyme, I’ll teach you. Okay?”
“Okay,” Jacob said shyly, releasing the flute.
Pan lay on the wall with the flute at his lips and began to accompany the music box with the flute. His mouth went dry too quickly and he messed up, then nervously lost the tempo when he had recovered. It was a mess, and it was just getting messier.
“You know the tune,” Alice said softly as she set a tiny, comforting hand on him. “Trust yourself.”
Pan nodded and swallowed hard. She tapped a slow rhythm on his back, giving him an anchor. He matched his tune to her rhythm, harmonizing with the tune from the box. Nothing seemed to change, at first. But the longer he played, the slower the shifters in the pit moved. Vibrations lessened in the wall, then stopped completely. One by one, the crazed shifters collapsed, succumbing to the sweet, hypnotic tune. Still he played, through the night, until his lips were chapped and his mouth was rubbery. He didn’t stop until the first rays of sunlight tipped over the horizon and spilled through the valley, outlining the invisible building with a stark, rectangular shadow. Satisfied, he slid down the wall again and handed the flute back to Jacob.
“You did it,” Philip said with a grin. “You saved the shifters.”
“No, I really didn’t,” Pan said grimly. “They’re still trapped.”
“Yes,” Alice agreed thoughtfully. “I don’t know about you boys, but I am dying to find out who trapped them and why. I say we get dressed and go knock on some invisible doors.”
“I dunno, Chains,” Ru said. “If they’re collecting shifters do we really wanna go bother them? That’s like…turning ourselves in.”
“He has a point,” Philip said cautiously.
“Well I’m not just going to walk away from this,” Alice said fiercely. “Those are our people in there, we can’t just leave them.”
“I’m with her,” Pan piped up. “We can’t just ignore this.”
“Never land in chains,” Ru said, shaking his head. “Feels like a trap.”
“If it is, it’s a very bad trap,” Floyd said, stroking his beard. “Traps have to be stumbled into. They made sure that no one would stumble into this.”
“Just because Pink rhymes with Think doesn’t mean you should do it,” Ru snapped. “It’s a trap for smart thinking shifters who are curious and interjectory. We’re all that way. Except Bender and Ghost. They’re singular.”
“Is that a good thing?” Jacob whispered to Philip.
Philip shrugged. “Man, I can’t follow what he says. Ru’s crazy.”
“Crazy like a wolf,” Ru said darkly. “And I know a trap when I see one.”
“Then we’ll compromise,” Alice said matter-of-factly. “Pan and I will go find a door to knock on. The rest of you stay alert and watch our backs. I mean, if that’s alright with you, Floyd.”
“It sounds like a plan to me,” Floyd said, looking relieved. “Thoughts?”
“We�
�ll watch your backs, but you have to watch your fronts. I can’t do everything, you know. And the people inside are going to be more interested in your front than your back. If you wind up in the dog run, just whistle, and we’ll make a daisy chain for you.”
“Sounds lovely, Ru,” Alice said, rolling her eyes. “Daisy chains make everything better.”
Ru huffed a frustrated sigh, and Pan had the sneaking suspicion that he hadn’t meant what he said the way she’d interpreted it. He didn’t have a chance to figure out what Ru had meant, though, as Alice was already halfway dressed and walking along the building. She trailed her fingers along the wall with one hand, and pulled her shirt on with the other. Pan jogged to catch up with her, pulling the grey shorts over his ass just as she turned the corner.
“What are we going to say?” Pan asked. “Shouldn’t we have a cover story or something?”
“Depends on who answers the door. Hunters? I caught you, and you came along willingly because of my masterful seduction. Scientists? We’re performing field research on shifters, and lost our equipment in the river. Militia? We….”
“What if we just lost our stuff in the river?” Pan suggested. “We were camping and decided to wander, then we fell in. Saved ourselves, but lost our stuff. Ran into the wall while we were looking for a highway, and thought that someone inside might help us. Also we’re really cold and thirsty, and could use a drink.”
She slid a sideways look at him, then grinned and shook her head. “Fine, you win. Also, you are our official story teller now. And musician.”
“I’m a bard?”
“You’re a born bard, baby.”
Pan grinned, and there was an extra little bounce in his step. He sashayed merrily beside her until she stopped short.
“Door frame,” she said. “Deep breath, bard. You’re on.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“So let me get this straight,” Killian said, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “You pay trappers to catch shifters so the hunters don’t get to us first. You’ve been studying shifters for thirteen years. But you didn’t know about the halos, and you’re just now learning about the various different ways to transmit the shifter thing, and you’re asking me for a blood sample so you can synthesize the spread agent?”
Dying to Live: The Shifter City Complete Series Page 26