‘That’s okay,’ Reuben offered, when he saw Nina’s expression. ‘I’ll stand guard. Nina’s not well enough.’
‘No.’ The doctor was adamant. He stood up and shuffled over to his medical bag, which was sitting on the table. ‘I don’t want any uninfected people nearby. It’s too risky. After seeing what Danny did, I’m not about to stick a suture into this fellow here without taking precautions.’
‘But you just told us that Danny’s not a vampire,’ Estelle objected. ‘How could this bloke be infected if Danny’s not a vampire?’
‘Yeah,’ Reuben agreed, prodding Lincoln’s shoulder. ‘And he hasn’t been acting like someone who’s just been infected. He hasn’t puked. He hasn’t passed out . . .’
‘And he hasn’t been acting like Danny did, either,’ Sergio interposed. ‘I mean, he can still talk and everything.’
‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on!’ the doctor snapped. ‘And I won’t know until I’ve got more data! I’ll have to monitor Danny. I’ll have to monitor the other two. In the meantime, there are more urgent matters to address – like that neck wound, for instance.’ He gestured at Lincoln. ‘There’s also Sergio’s arm, and Toby’s foot . . . I might even give you a shot for that dog bite, Toby. Just in case.’
To be honest, I’d almost forgotten about the dog bite. It had merged into my general sense of misery. ‘Oh! Sure. Whatever,’ I said.
‘And when I’ve done all that,’ he went on, turning to my mum, ‘I’m going to ask if you’d take these two boys back to Cobar, Mrs Vandevelde. So you’ll be out of harm’s way.’ Glancing at his watch, he concluded, ‘It’s not even ten yet – with any luck some of the pubs will still be open, and you’ll be able to get a couple of rooms for the night.’
Mum stared at him. It was Reuben who said, ‘And then what?’
‘Then we’ll play it by ear. We might have to stay here another forty-eight hours or so, until our three casualties have stabilised.’
‘Not without guinea pigs,’ Estelle warned. ‘There are no more guinea pigs, remember?’
Dr Plackett gave a grunt. I thought I must have missed something. Or had I fallen asleep? Was this all a fragmented nightmare? Were the chairs about to grow wings and fly off?
‘Guinea pigs?’ I echoed.
‘These vampires live on guinea pigs. One a day,’ Estelle advised me. I don’t know what kind of weird face I must have pulled, because she quickly added, ‘It’s better than sucking the blood out of people.’
‘We’ll organise something.’ Dr Plackett was trying to reassure her, I think. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, there are always alternative sources of nourishment. Feral pigs and so forth.’ At the sound of Nina’s wordless protest, he suddenly lost his cool, shoving the leather bag under his arm as he marched over to grab Lincoln. ‘Look, all I’m saying is that we have options!’ he barked. ‘But at the moment I’m applying triage procedures, and taking things one step at a time! So if you’d kindly let me handle this like a professional—’
‘Wait!’ I could tell that he was about to push Lincoln out of the room, and I didn’t want that to happen. Not until I’d made one more attempt to convince my mother. She was standing there with her eyes shut, gnawing her fist and shaking her head as if she’d given up on the lot of us; I wanted her to listen and understand. I wanted her to stop being so close-minded. ‘Wait,’ I said to Dr Plackett. ‘Before you go, can I just . . . I mean, it would be good if . . .’
‘If what?’ he snarled. ‘Hurry up!’
‘If he could tell Mum what he did to me.’ I finally managed to spit it out, aiming an accusatory finger at Lincoln as I did so. ‘Mum, this is the guy who kidnapped both of us. Me and Sergio. Okay? This is the guy who locked us both downstairs in the underground tanks.’ When Lincoln didn’t react, I was suddenly filled with rage. ‘Didn’t you? Huh? Didn’t you?’ I yelled, making everyone jump.
Even Lincoln responded. His bleary eyes rolled in my direction. ‘Uh . . . yeah . . .’ he mumbled.
‘Tell her why you did it!’ I leaned towards him in a threatening kind of way, but no one tried to pull me back. Not even Nina. ‘Go on! Tell her why!’
Lincoln licked his cracked lips. ‘For – for the money?’
‘No! I don’t mean that.’ Before Sergio could jump in, I rephrased my question. ‘Why did you choose us in the first place? Huh? Why did you go to all this trouble?’
‘Be-because you’re werewolves,’ Lincoln croaked. It was the reply I’d been angling for. Triumphantly, I turned to my mother.
‘See?’ I said. ‘What did I tell you? Why would he lie?’
Mum’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Toby,’ she murmured, her voice breaking, ‘can’t you see the state he’s in? He’s been terrorised. He’d say anything. He’s hurt. He’s scared.’
I couldn’t believe my ears. Neither could Estelle, to judge from the way she snorted. Reuben heaved an impatient sigh. Sergio scowled. Dr Plackett cast his gaze towards the ceiling.
Then all at once, out on the front veranda, there was an explosion of furious noise.
Danny’s dogs were whipping themselves into a frenzy.
I don’t think anyone stopped to consider what this actually might mean. We simply stampeded towards the kitchen door out of the room, desperate to see what was going on. Reuben reached the hallway first, with Sergio close at his heels. Estelle and Dr Plackett were next in line; they tried to muscle their way past the other two, without much success. Even Mum rushed to have a look. Nina lagged behind because she got stuck with Lincoln, who had to be herded along. And I, of course, had my dud foot to contend with.
When at last I caught up with the others, they were all peering down the corridor. At the very end of it, in a pool of yellow light, Gary Santos had thrown himself against the front door – whump – which slammed shut as he sagged against it. He was gulping down air, his knees shaking. Over a volley of hysterical barks, I could just hear the scratching of claws and the thump of low, heavy bodies.
Clearly, he had tried to sneak outside, not realising that four traumatised dogs were lying in wait on the welcome mat.
‘Ugh . . . ugh . . . ahh,’ he panted, pushing at the bolt with trembling fingers. Then, slowly and haltingly, he turned to confront us.
‘I’m gunna be sick,’ he moaned.
Catherine Jinks was born in Brisbane in 1963 and grew up in Sydney and Papua New Guinea. She studied medieval history at university and her love of reading led her to become a writer. Her books for children, teenagers and adults have been published all of the world, and have won numerous awards.
Catherine lives in the Blue Mountains in New South Wales with her husband, Canadian journalist Peter Dockrill, and their daughter Hannah.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title
Also_By
Imprint
Dedication
Chapter_01
Chapter_02
Chapter_03
Chapter_04
Chapter_05
Chapter_06
Chapter_07
Chapter_08
Chapter_09
Chapter_10
Chapter_11
Chapter_12
Chapter_13
Chapter_14
Chapter_15
Chapter_16
Chapter_17
Chapter_18
Chapter_19
Chapter_20
Chapter_21
Chapter_22
Chapter_23
Chapter_24
Chapter_25
Chapter_26
Chapter_27
Chapter_28
Chapter_29
Chapter_30
Author_Biography
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The Abused Werewolf Rescue Group Page 33