The Abused Werewolf Rescue Group

by Catherine Jinks

  ‘It’s for keeping us in,’ Sergio softly rejoined.

  ‘But we can step over it!’

  ‘Only when we’re like this.’ He grabbed my wrist, pulling me up. ‘If it was a full moon and we managed to jump out, we’d probably run straight into that wire.’

  I felt a sudden chill, though the night was pretty warm. And I was grateful when Sergio changed the subject. Gesturing into the darkness, he said, ‘The padlock’s over there.’ At which point I realised that we were penned in by a high fence made of steel mesh and barbed wire.

  It was so close, I could reach out and touch it.

  ‘Jesus,’ I said again, appalled at the size of the thing. ‘They’re really serious, eh?’

  ‘That’s what the people stand behind.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The people who come to watch.’ Sergio’s low-pitched voice became unsteady. ‘I was down in the pool and I saw them, once. Before sunset. While I could still . . .’

  He choked up, thank God, because I didn’t want to hear. No way.

  ‘This is gunna be tricky,’ I announced, as I carefully stepped over the tripwire. It was hard to see. Everything was hard to see. Beyond the mesh fence lay a dim, uneven, grey-washed landscape that seemed to roll on forever. It was covered in mysterious black tufts. The only bright spot was a distant square of golden light – possibly a lamp in a window – which was embedded in a dense, shadowy, squared-off shape and surmounted by a sheet of something that had a faint gleam to it.

  ‘There’s the house,’ I murmured, unnecessarily. I was surprised at how far away it was. Why build your pool so far from your back door? ‘I thought it would be closer than that.’

  ‘It’s still too close for comfort,’ was Sergio’s jittery response. ‘We gotta get out. Sooner the better.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s what I’m trying to tell you. It won’t be easy. I’ve never picked a lock in the dark before.’ Taking care to avoid the razor wire that lurked at my heels, I groped along the fence until I reached the gate that Sergio had mentioned. As promised, it was padlocked shut. ‘You know what you should do?’ I said quietly, fingering the lock. (It was smaller than the last one.) ‘You should go get your mattress. Just in case.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘See, I’m not sure if this’ll work. And even if it does, I’m not sure how long it will take.’ I began to fish in my pocket for the shim. ‘But we could easily climb this fence if we had something to put over the barbed wire on top. Like a mattress, for instance.’

  Sergio swallowed. I could actually hear him do it.

  And I sympathised.

  ‘I know you don’t wanna go back. Who does? It’s just that we need a plan B,’ I went on. ‘And now that we’ve got the ladder, it won’t be too hard – not with a foam mattress, anyway. Those things are really light.’ As he hesitated, I was struck by a sudden misgiving. ‘Is your mattress down there a foam one?’ I asked. ‘Because mine was.’

  After a moment’s silence, he mumbled, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Okay. I figured it would be.’ My gaze wandered away from the padlock towards our barely visible escape route: an endless stretch of scrubby terrain that smelled as dry as wood ash. ‘You should bring back your bottle of water, so we won’t die of thirst out there,’ I added. ‘It looks like we’re miles from the nearest town.’ When Sergio didn’t reply, I turned my head – and saw, to my astonishment, that his shadowy form had retreated to the edge of the pool. ‘Will you be okay?’ I said. ‘Do you want me to hold that ladder?’

  ‘No.’ The top rung creaked under his weight. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  He didn’t sound fine, but I let him go. To be honest, I wasn’t too hopeful about the lock in my hand; it felt a bit rusty (though I couldn’t be sure, because the light wasn’t good enough for a close look), and I didn’t think rusty tumblers would be a cinch to pick. It seemed to me that climbing the fence would be much easier and quicker than standing around for half an hour, flick-flick-flicking away with my shim.

  So I tackled the lock in a half-hearted kind of way, casting worried glances at the house while I listened for any telltale noises down in the pool. I heard the pad of Sergio’s footsteps. I heard the hatch creak open as he crawled back into the tunnel. After that, there was dead silence for quite some time, except for a breeze rustling through leaf litter and the tap-tap-tap of the shim that I was jiggling.

  Left alone, I was suddenly conscious of the vast, mysterious space in which I stood. We could be anywhere, I thought. We could be in the Simpson Desert. I felt sure that I was still in Australia, because the stars looked familiar and the air smelled of native plants. Until the sun rose, however, I wouldn’t even know my compass points. So how would I find a way out? Where was the nearest road? What if we walked off into the wilderness and died of thirst in the baking summer heat?

  I could feel a nasty surge of panic bubbling up inside my chest, like rapidly boiling water. Then all of a sudden – click! The lock fell open. I couldn’t believe it. Were my ears playing tricks on me? Cautiously I felt around, tugging at the lock, sliding back the bolt, pushing at the gate. When the hinges squealed, I knew that I wasn’t mistaken.

  I’d done it. I was free.

  The trouble was, I now faced another problem. What should I do about Sergio? It crossed my mind (very briefly) that I could make a dash for it and leave him to fend for himself. But I dismissed this thought almost at once. It wasn’t only mean, it was impractical. Why run off and leave Sergio with the water? More to the point, why run off and leave him with the mattress? Because we were going to need the mattress. I realised that as soon as I took a step through the gate and felt something hard and sharp prick at my bare heel.

  ‘Hey! Sergio!’ I rasped, trying to call his name without making too much noise. I’d been hoping that he might be on his way back, but he wasn’t. No one replied. So I pocketed the shim and retraced my steps until I was standing in front of the hatchway again, shoulders hunched, peering into a long dark hole.

  ‘Hey! Sergio!’ I repeated, even more softly. Still nothing. To say I was nervous is an understatement. The last thing I wanted to do was to climb into that tunnel again. As I tried to stoke up my courage, however, I became aware of a scraping, shuffling sound. And I held my breath to listen.

  It wasn’t the sort of commotion made by two people fighting. Straining my ears, I decided that someone was dragging something down the tunnel towards me. Was it Sergio dragging the mattress? Or was it an armed gaoler dragging Sergio? In case the news was bad, I stationed myself to one side of the gaping hatch, with my back pressed against the tiles.

  I had picked up the chain, which Sergio had discarded at the pool’s edge; with a length of swinging metal in my hand I felt more secure, though the pounding of my heart was so loud that it deafened me to the noises in the tunnel. I couldn’t hear much – and I couldn’t see much, either. Only when a hushed voice said ‘Toby?’ did I realise that I was safe.

  ‘Sergio?’ I croaked.

  There was an extended pause. Then Sergio whispered, ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Here.’ I swung around to face the hatchway, beyond which I could just make out some vague, glimmering, pale patches that moved as I spoke. ‘Here I am.’

  ‘Why?’ Sergio asked breathlessly, out of the darkness. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ve picked the lock.’

  ‘Oh, man.’ For some reason, he seemed cross rather than overjoyed. ‘You mean I didn’t have to do this after all?’

  ‘Don’t worry. We need this mattress,’ I assured him. ‘We won’t be getting far without it.’ And as I helped him to bundle the mattress into the pool, I quietly explained how we could put together some makeshift shoes out of foam rubber and ticking. ‘I just hope my shim is sharp enough,’ I added, gingerly pressing my thumb against the jagged piece of metal.

  It was certainly sharp enough to poke a hole through the ticking, which Sergio then tore into strips with his bare hands. But by the time he�
��d finished, I was still sawing away grimly at the foam – which was very hard to cut and almost impossible to tear. When at last I managed to detach a large, uneven chunk from the main body of the mattress, we decided to abandon the shim and slice our foam fragment into smaller pieces using razor wire. At least, I decided to use razor wire. Sergio wanted to abandon the whole project, until I pointed out that there might be snakes out in the desert.

  I guess he must have been scared of snakes, because he suddenly became very keen on my idea. Instead of grumbling about the delay, he began to help me carve up our piece of foam. Within minutes we each had two thick chunks of the stuff, which we bound to our feet with several layers of ticking. The result was . . . well, let’s just say it wasn’t ideal.

  ‘They’re not exactly Nikes,’ I muttered, ‘but they’ll have to do.’

  I suppose they were better than nothing, though after about ten minutes spent hobbling over rough ground, I was beginning to wonder how much more we could take. Have you ever gone on a cross-country walk wearing bits of mattress tied to your feet? Take my advice: don’t. It’s very, very uncomfortable. In fact it was so uncomfortable that it distracted me from the looming horror of our situation. There we were, stumbling through the darkness in the middle of nowhere, with no shoes, no map, no compass, only half a bottle of water, and not the slightest notion of how to reach the nearest settlement. The one thing we did know was that we should steer well clear of the house near the pool. We both agreed that our first goal should be to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the light in the window.

  Then, after about fifteen minutes, it suddenly occurred to me: what if the house was on a road?

  ‘There must be some way to reach that place by car,’ I said with a cough. When Sergio didn’t reply, I pressed him more urgently. ‘If we walk around the house in a big, wide circle, we might find a track. It’d be better than wandering off like this.’

  Sergio, however, didn’t agree.

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Keep your voice down.’

  ‘Okay.’ I adjusted my volume. ‘But people die in the outback, Sergio. Especially in summer.’

  ‘We should keep off the roads,’ was Sergio’s stubborn response. ‘Otherwise they’ll see us.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ I knew that he was referring to Gary and Lincoln. ‘Not if we’re careful—’

  ‘It’s the first place they’ll look!’ he interrupted. ‘They’ll jump in their car and hit the road! It’s where they’ll expect to find us!’

  He had a point. ‘Yeah, but we’ll hear ’em coming a mile off, won’t we?’ I said. ‘And we can take cover before they’re anywhere near us.’

  ‘Take cover? Behind what?’ He waved an arm. ‘There aren’t any trees! There’s nothing!’

  ‘There are bushes. And ditches.’

  ‘You’re crazy!’

  I stopped in my tracks. ‘Listen,’ I begged, trying to reason with him, ‘there are things we can do. We can roll around in the dust to camouflage ourselves. We can stay off the road, as long we keep it in sight.’ I could understand why he was terrified of running into Gary again, but when he kept on walking, I grabbed his arm. ‘Someone else might come along!’ I argued. ‘We might be able to hitchhike! Wouldn’t that be better than dying of heatstroke on a salt pan somewhere?’

  ‘Let go.’

  ‘Will you listen to me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t be such a wuss!’ I said – and instantly regretted it. He batted me off with a shove, his teeth snapping.

  ‘Get off!’

  ‘Sorry . . .’ I fell back, thoroughly intimidated.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’

  ‘I won’t. Okay? It’s all right.’ The words had barely left my mouth when I heard a faint buzz, which made us both fall silent and listen hard. Within seconds, the buzz had grown louder. It became more of a whine.

  If I hadn’t been so shaken up, I probably would have recognised it sooner.

  ‘That’s a car,’ I squeaked. Sergio’s head began to snap back and forth wildly.

  ‘Where – where . . .?’ he stammered.

  ‘I dunno.’

  I couldn’t see any headlights. The engine’s low growl was very misleading; I’d think at first that it was coming from one direction, before changing my mind, then changing it again.

  ‘It’s heading for the house!’ Sergio yelped, ducking down onto his haunches.

  I followed suit. ‘You reckon?’

  ‘Maybe they were out. Maybe that’s why they didn’t hear us.’

  ‘Unless it isn’t them in that car,’ I said. And after a minute or two of intense concentration, I added, ‘That isn’t the same car.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s not the car they were driving in Sydney.’ I focused on the throaty roar as it grew louder and louder. ‘I don’t even think it is a car. I think it’s some sort of truck.’

  As I straightened my knees and raised my head, Sergio pulled me back down again with a jerk – but not before I’d glimpsed the approaching vehicle. It was closer than I’d expected. In fact, as I cowered behind a low, prickly shrub, I heard the crunch of gravel and the squeal of brakes.

  Oh my God, I thought. It’s stopped.

  There was no mistaking the rattle-and-throb of an idling engine. I held my breath. Sergio clutched my arm. We both waited, paralysed.

  Then the engine died. A door slammed. I recognised the grinding squeal of a tailgate being lowered. But it was the snuffling that really scared me – that and the clicking of toenails on metal. I could smell dogs.

  ‘They saw you,’ Sergio breathed into my ear.

  ‘Shh!’

  He began to grope about for a rock. I didn’t know what to do. Use my chain? Make a run for it? So far, I could only hear one set of footsteps.

  ‘Hey. Toby. Is that you?’ somebody said.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  ‘I can smell you, okay?’ The voice was a rough-edged drawl, too low to be Gary’s and too Australian to be Lincoln’s. ‘Reuben sent me. I’m Danny Ruiz.’

  Danny Ruiz? That rang a bell. Reuben and Sanford had both mentioned Danny Ruiz. Danny was the one from the desert. The damaged one.

  The menace.

  ‘You gunna come out? Or will I send me dogs in after ya?’ he growled. Then there was a ratcheting noise that I recognised instantly as a rifle-bolt being drawn – don’t ask me how. (Television, maybe? I’d never laid eyes on a real rifle.) ‘Whyn’t you say something?’ he demanded. ‘Hey! Is that Toby or not?’

  Beside me, Sergio suddenly moved. He exploded into the air like shrapnel from a landmine. ‘Yaagh!’ he screamed, hurling something heavy. It hit solid metal with a ringing clang! A dog yipped. Danny swore. Sergio bolted.

  Even now, I’m not sure exactly what happened. It was dark and I was confused. Somebody whistled. There seemed to be dogs everywhere. As I sprang to my feet, four of them bounded past me, two on each side. Then a dark shape loomed up and shoved a long, metal tube under my nose.

  I froze as I realised that the tube was the barrel of a gun, gleaming dully in the moonlight.

  ‘You are just a kid,’ said Danny, from the other end of the gun. ‘I thought so.’ Raising his voice, he added, ‘Move a muscle and they’ll go for ya! I swear to God!’

  That was when I became conscious of the low rumble behind me. It made the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Glancing around, I saw that Sergio had been surrounded by snarling dogs – four tense silhouettes with raised hackles and glinting teeth.

  I lifted both hands, dropping my chain.

  ‘So which one’s Toby?’ Danny asked. I had to clear my throat before answering.

  ‘M-me,’ I stuttered.

  ‘And who’s that?’ The gun jerked slightly, indicating Sergio.

  ‘That’s – um – that’s . . .’ My mind was a blank. I couldn’t think. I was shaking and sweating, and I felt nauseous.

  May
be Danny sensed this, because all at once he lowered his gun.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’m on your side. I came to get yiz out. I never figured you woulda done it on your own.’ He gave a harsh chuckle, which sounded like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. I couldn’t see much of his face in the shadows, but his outline was tall and lanky, and his wispy hair seemed to be worn quite long. ‘How in the hell didja pull it off?’ he asked. Then, in a chatty tone, he added, ‘I went for the jugular, meself. Got shot a few times, but I kept on going. Bulled me way out.’

  Sergio gasped. He’d been standing like a statue, with one knee up and one arm bent, staring at the dogs. But now he turned his head to look at Danny. ‘You mean – you mean you were locked down there? In a tank? Like us?’ he quavered.

  Danny gave a snort.

  ‘Too bloody right I was! Didn’t you work that out already?’ He shouldered his rifle, as if to demonstrate that we were all allies. ‘I’m a werewolf. Just like you,’ he said. ‘And I’m here to make those bastards suffer.’

  ‘Wait a second.’ My voice was hoarse and my hands were still up. ‘How – how did you know I was here?’

  ‘I just told you, didn’t I?’ Danny growled. ‘Reuben Schneider called me.’

  ‘Yeah, but how did he know?’ Unless, I thought, he was in on this deal. ‘Who would have told him?’

  Danny shrugged. He didn’t seem interested. ‘Reuben called me – I dunno – round four hours ago?’ he replied. ‘Said some blokes were back at Wolgaroo, running fights again. Said they’d probably snatched a frienda his, called Toby.’ Peering at Sergio, he added, ‘Didn’t mention this guy. What’s your name?’

  ‘S-Sergio.’

  Danny grunted. Then he clicked his tongue at the dogs, calling them to heel. They immediately abandoned their posts, slinking back towards their master.

  Sergio heaved a long, quivering sigh as he adopted a more comfortable position, with both feet planted firmly on the ground.