I yawn, surprised when my jaw opens wider than I expect. I’m still in wolf form. I test my muscles – sleeping on the snow must have helped to numb some of my injuries, although the stitches in my side still feel pretty sharp. I roll my shoulder, feel nothing. There’s blood in the snow and my fur is matted and sticky, but no pain. When I lick the blood away, there’s nothing. Like I never got shot. I guess I overreacted last night, the bullet just grazed me or something.
(I flew backwards off my feet definitely got shot how did it heal so fast?)
The sun shines like the high beams of a car when I emerge from the shade of the evergreen. My own scent hangs heavy from last night, a trail back to the Whittemores.
If only I hadn’t had that dream about Zeke. If only I could spurn all that Zeke and his dad have done for me.
Following my own scent back through the forest, I try to remember what Kayla told me about werewolves. Did she mention anything about biting, or am I confusing it with some movie I saw when I was younger – much younger – I haven’t seen a movie in the past three years. Maybe something I read, although I don’t read horror.
It doesn’t matter. Zeke got bit, and whether it has an effect or not, he’s hurt, and Mr. Whittemore might be too.
The morning is overcast and threatening snow. My shoulder might have felt good when I woke, but a few miles of steady trotting makes it sore again. The shoulder is the least of my worries. I begin to feel a tickle in my chest and cough a few times before noticing the blood spray I’ve coughed up onto the snow. There is something seriously wrong there.
(a punctured lung)
Definitely something that will be a problem if I don’t do something about it. Of course, I can’t just waltz into a hospital, no health insurance, covered in my own sloppy stitches, and a werewolf gene in my blood.
I smell the Whittemore farm long before I see it. Death hangs heavy over the entire place. It’s too quiet. I can sense the restlessness of the farm animals. They can smell the death too. And the fear. The animals aren’t used to being neglected in the morning, and after what they heard last night, they fear for their safety.
No, there’s another fear tainting the air.
Zeke
The fear amplifies his scent, the one I’d grown used to over the weeks, the woodsmoke and onions and milk and manure that’s engrained in his pores being pushed out through his sweat. My shoulder’s on fire and my back leg feels like the stitches are ready to pop out, but I break into a run and head straight for the house.
The carcasses strewn about the yard are those of wolves, torn to pieces. One body lies whole amid broken glass. His neck is at an odd angle, likely paralyzed. When I approach him, one dying gray eye rolls toward me, seeking mercy. I grant him that much.
From the open window I smell Zeke and Mr. Whittemore and two other wolves inside, the coppery aroma of blood, lots of blood. Gunpowder stings my nose, and underneath the pungencies of shit and urine.
I hear breathing. One creature inside is alive.
There is no way I can leap through the shattered window like I did last night, and besides, If Mr. Whittemore is still alive in there with Zeke, I’d be smart not to show up as a wolf.
The change to human takes my breath away. I gasp sharply as my leg swells out and pulls the stitches, forcing me to use the house as a brace.
Inside, the living soul hears me.
He sounds almost like Zeke, smells almost like him. He moves when he hears me, readies himself.
“Zeke,” I say when I can manage. “It’s me, Dan.”
I open the door and head inside.
Zeke’s fear has not abated. In fact, it fills the air. I hesitate, confused. “Zeke?”
A scrabbling sound. He still hasn’t answered. I listen for what he is doing. Dragging something, closing a door. Hiding something. I saw the dead wolves last night. And it smells like Mr. Whittemore is dead too, although that must have occurred after I chased the black wolf.
Slowly, I make my way down the hall, taking care not to slip in one of the many puddles of blood. I note the dark stain on the wall where I was shot, the nearly black puddle on the floor there.
“Zeke, it’s only me. Daniel.”
Then I smell it –
wolf
and I connect my dream to reality. “Zeke, I know you were bitten. You’re probably confused right now. But I can help you. You don’t need to be afraid.” I reach for the doorknob.
The room inside is dark, the curtains drawn over the broken window. A pair of legs, heavy workboots laced on the feet, stick out from under the bed. I don’t see Zeke but I sense him, waiting, in the closet. I keep my face half-turned in that direction as I edge toward the body.
I know Mr. Whittemore is dead, but what I still can’t understand is why Zeke would hide his body. And so I need to see it. Pulling him out nearly pulls out my stitches, but then I see.
“Oh, Zeke.”
Mr. Whittemore’s face is half-eaten, and it looks fresh, blood dripping, no flies yet. His nose and one cheek are entirely gone, leaving slick white bits of bone showing, his teeth forever in a bare grimace.
“I killed him.” Zeke’s voice is guttural, nearly unintelligible. “I couldn’t help it.” A choked bark.
“Zeke…”
What can I say to make him feel better, when I murdered my own father? When I killed and ate a toddler?
“I’m a monster!”
I look at the closed closet door. “Zeke, come out.”
“Nooo…” But the knob turns, and my friend emerges.
His face belongs in a freak show, his nose black, his mouth stretched wider than is human, his teeth sharp. Pointy wolf ears poke out from under his mop of dirty blond hair. His hands are huge, the fingers ending in black claws.
(have I ever looked like this?)
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Zeke yelps, and covers his face with his paws.
-60-
I explain to Zeke about werewolves, what little I know. I try to talk him through the change
(try to get him back to human)
and I transform several times to give him the image he can use to visualize the process for himself. Nothing works.
“Kayla didn’t tell me people can become werewolves by being bitten. I guess it’s different than if you’re born a werewolf.”
Zeke, who at this point is beyond frustrated, punches his hand through the wall. “Why, why, why?” he howls.
“I don’t know, but look, everything will be okay. We can find Kayla, and she can help us.”
“Nothing’s okay!” Another hole in the wall. “Why did you have to come here? Why did you have to ruin everything?”
There’s no answer for that. I hang my head. Stare at the destruction around me. All my fault. Yes. All mine. I brought this mess here.
“I’m sorry,” I say hoarsely.
Easy to slip down into that black hole of everything’s my fault, I’m a monster, everyone I know dies. Much harder to swallow and continue. “We need to go. Pack some clothes and food, let the animals go. We need to leave before night falls.”
“Go? Go where?” Zeke demands.
“Just get ready.”
I trudge out to the barn and open the stalls. The animals cower inside – they can smell what I am. I leave the barn doors open. Eventually they will look for food. Better they be attacked by some wild animal than starve to death in their stalls.
Using one of Mr. Whittemore’s rucksacks, I fill it with bread, cheese, and salted meat. Get dressed and wait for Zeke, who has shut himself in his room. He is crying in there.
I knock. “Zeke, let’s go.”
“I can’t go out there like this,” he sobs. “I look like a monster.”
“Come on, we’ll figure something out.”
I find him a big red checkered hunting cap with ear flaps, some mittens, and a big scarf that I arrange to cover the wolfish half of his face.
“We’ll be fine as long as we don’t get too
close to people,” I tell him. It’s not quite a lie.
Zeke leads us to the roads. It’s about three miles of dirt road before we hit pavement, another three before we see any kind of sign.
“Cottonwood Lake,” I read. “Where’s that?”
Zeke shrugs.
“I mean, like, what state are we in?”
He stares at me before answering. “Nebraska.”
Still in Nebraska. Shit.
“What’s the closest town?”
“We usually go down to Hyannis. It’s not real big, though.”
“And the nearest highway?”
“We’re on it, Route 61.”
Scanning the empty road, I feel my heart sink. We won’t get a ride on this road. We should’ve taken Mr. Whittemore’s truck, if only I knew how to drive it.
“Route 2 runs through Hyannis. It don’t look much different than this one, but lots more people drive on it.”
“How far to Hyannis, then?”
Zeke burrows his nose into his scarf. “About thirty miles.”
* * *
The walking sucks, with the snow drifts piled up on the side of the highway and the frost heaves and pot holes that make even the road treacherous for walking.
We won’t make it to Hyannis today. Maybe not even tomorrow. And when we do get there, we’ll still be walking. Unless…
(you don’t know how to drive but maybe Zeke does)
I think on this as I gather wood for a fire. Most of the wood is wet from the snow, but luckily I packed a box of matches. Instead of helping, Zeke sits in the one dry spot in the clearing and stares at the area where I’m piling kindling and brush. With his hat pulled down over his brows and the scarf up over his nose, his facial expression is completely hidden.
My stomach is growling by the time I get the fire going
by myself
and I sit next to Zeke, not too close, and open the backpack. He doesn’t move as I turn the bread, cheese, and meat into a sandwich.
I’d love to tear into it and devour the whole thing myself.
Instead, I hold out half to him. “You want some?”
He stares into the flames.
“Come on, you have to eat. You haven’t eaten all day.”
No response.
If Zeke is going to have an attitude, fine. Zeke hasn’t been eating jailhouse rations for the past two weeks. I take as big a bite as my jaws will allow.
“So,” I say after I’ve eaten, “the best way to stay warm is to use each other’s body heat.” I clear my throat. “I mean, we don’t have to spoon or anything… but it will make sleeping easier. If we’re warm, I mean.”
Zeke’s eyes slide in my direction. Maybe it’s the fire reflecting there, but I can guess what he’s thinking.
“Or, we can just be cold,” I sigh.
I create myself a sort of shelter from the wind, using some fallen trees and branches and packing snow and dead leaves against it. The last I see of Zeke before I close my eyes he is still sitting there, staring at the dying fire.
In my dream I am back in the forest, running after the scent of that black wolf. More and more I can smell the lilacs over the black wolf, but even the lilacs begin to fade. I try to run faster – I’m still injured, and it hurts to run faster – yet the scent grows weaker and weaker, even as my body grows weaker and it’s a colossal effort to lift my paws, and the snow seems to be thicker, as high as my chest. I have to find Kayla. I have to find her.
By the time the sun shines into my eyes, waking me, I feel thoroughly exhausted. For a few moments I can’t move my arms and legs and I wonder if I’m back in my dream. Then I feel the pinpricks of sensation seeping back into my limbs. I lie there, looking up at the bright sunlight through the tree branches until I can move again, however sorely.
“Zeke?” He’s sleeping practically in the embers of the fire. “Zeke, time to get up.” I nudge him with the toe of my boot.
A growl rises from within his scarf.
a challenge
I swallow.
“Come on.”
“Leave me alone,” he snarls, and now his weird half-wolf muzzle emerges from its hiding place, where I’d almost forgotten how freakish it looked. I step back and he rolls, rises into a crouch.
a challenge fight force him to submit
The nausea and dizziness roll over me. “Knock it off, Zeke,” I snarl back, shaking as I try to keep myself human.
From the look in Zeke’s eyes, I know he is not in control. My hands clench into fists as my vision blurs. Zeke isn’t in control, and if I don’t keep myself in control, I could wake up to find Zeke torn into pieces.
(or maybe he’ll tear me into pieces)
fight dominate he must submit if he wishes to be part of your pack
I swallow, take some deep breaths, all the while keeping eye contact. I stand over him. “Zeke, calm down. No one needs to fight. We’re friends, right?”
He definitely growls at me this time. A thick blob of drool leaks out from his deformed mouth. His teeth look very sharp.
“It’s probably the wolf in you that’s making you act this way. You just have to control the wolf part. Try taking some deep breaths.”
He shifts in his crouch, looking even more wolfish than before. This trying to talk him down definitely isn’t working.
he will only listen to his alpha wolf make him listen
I need to protect him. It’s my fault he’s a monster now. If I end up having to fight him, it’s only another setback to finding Kayla, to keeping my promise to protect her.
“Zeke,” I growl at him. “I am the leader here. I will take care of you. And if you attack me, I will kill you.”
I didn’t mean to say that last part, but now that it’s out, I realize it’s true. He needs to make a choice. If he chooses to be my enemy, I will end up killing him. A simple fact.
His gaze flickers downward in recognition that I am his leader.
“Good. Now get up. We need to get moving.”
-61-
It’s strange how Zeke’s demeanor changes after I threaten him. He’s still hard to read, with his face all covered, but he comes along and follows directions without the weird moodiness of yesterday. Around noontime I pull him deeper into the trees alongside the road and ask him to wait. In seconds I shed my clothes and turn wolf.
A family of rabbits has dug a burrow nearby, and I sniff it out, then kill two.
When I return to Zeke, relieved that he hasn’t run off, he is starting up a fire. He stares at me while I transform, then quickly averts his eyes.
“It’s weird,” he says finally. “I could smell what you caught. I figured cooked rabbit would taste better.” He throws more wood onto the flames as I zip up my jeans. “Have you always been… this way?”
I unsheathe my knife and start preparing the rabbits. “I guess. I mean, I was born this way… but I didn’t know it until I turned thirteen. That was the first time I changed.”
“Didn’t you know you were different, though? Before?”
I shrug.
Zeke comes over and starts on the other rabbit as I’m skinning the first. “I can smell things I never thought had a smell. I can hear things that must be miles away like they’re right next to me.” He looks at me. “You must have known.”
“I had no idea,” I say.
I almost can’t believe it myself, but growing up I was so isolated. My parents and Kayla, they all had the same powerful senses. It didn’t seem abnormal. They never told me I was abnormal.
(would’ve been nice if they had, maybe then I wouldn’t have spent three years running from myself)
Only the kids at school, but they were mean about everything.
what did you say danny you think i smell like shit well smell this
The swirlies in the boys’ bathroom, one time getting upended into the trash can in the cafeteria. The constant headaches from the too-loud chatter of a hundred children all at once, the scraping of chalk on the
blackboard, the stink of the dumpster behind the school.
look who smells now but you always smelled like trash didn’t you danny you and your drunk-ass dad down there in that trailer your whore of a mother
My grip tightens around the knife and I rip out the rabbits innards with enough force to spray its coagulating blood across the snow.
(it was a long time ago)
(none of that was as bad as what dad did)
It’s all in the past, and besides, they didn’t pick on me very often. Mostly because I could hear them coming and hide. I thought they bullied me because I wasn’t a townie or a rancher. I thought they bullied me because my family was white trash.
Definitely not because I was a werewolf.
After we’ve eaten, put out the fire, and started walking again, I offer Zeke my idea. “Do you know how to drive a car?”
“I drove my dad’s truck a couple of times. Like two feet forward, or backing up.”
I nod. “That’s good.”
“What, you don’t know how to drive?”
“No.”
“Really? I figured you were old enough to have your license already.”
“Nope, just turned sixteen a couple months ago.”
“So… if we were to steal a car, you could drive it?”
“Driving on a highway is a lot different from backing the truck up in front of my house.” We walk on for a few more minutes. “Besides, you’d need to find a car with keys. I don’t know how to hotwire a car. And it’d have to be an automatic. I have no idea how to drive standard.”
“It won’t be that hard.”
By nightfall the big green highway signs tell us we are nearing Hyannis. There’s some traffic on the road, but not much. No one slows down for us, anyway. No one wants to pick up two hitchhikers.
“Let’s go down into a neighborhood,” I suggest. “We check cars in people’s driveways. There’s gotta be some trusting person who leaves their keys in their unlocked car.”
We hit the houses where the lights are off. It’s pitch black out now, most people in bed. Zeke takes one side of the street while I take the other. It gets to be a routine. Open the door as quietly as possible. Check the ignition first. Then the visor, then under the floor mat, then the glove box. Then close the door as quietly as possible and move on to the next car. I find a set of keys in a Dodge Ram truck, then notice the stick shift. Zeke hasn’t signaled me yet, so I guess he’s having the same luck as I am.
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