Feral

by Nicole Luiken

  Mrs. Graham had also packed him apple juice—sticky sweet, but drinkable—and two cookies, which he traded for Kyle’s potato chips. He ate all the chips and licked the salty grease off his fingers afterward. So good.

  Lunch done, he resumed watching Chloe.

  She smiled and laughed with her friends. Maybe once she finished eating they could sneak off and run as wolves.

  But Chloe suggested playing soccer, so they all chased after a white ball that wasn’t even edible until the bell rang and they had to go back inside.

  Marcus couldn’t focus on the teacher for more than a few moments at a time. He stared longingly out the window. Even chasing a stupid white ball was better than being cooped up indoors.

  A cramp suddenly seized his belly. Marcus remembered this feeling from eating rotten meat, leftovers from a road kill. He had food poisoning.

  He stood up.

  The teacher and Chloe both said his name so he paused at the door. “Sick,” he said.

  Chloe got to her feet. “He looks pale. I better go with him.”

  The teacher said something more, and Chloe paused to reply. Marcus’s belly cramped again, and he couldn’t wait. He rushed down the hall and outdoors.

  Fresh air. The sweat on his forehead chilled. He kept going, crossing the parking lot to the woods that fringed the sports field.

  Sweat dripped from his forehead. More spasms hit his belly, sending him to his knees. His head spun, lightheaded. Instinct prodded him: danger! He obeyed the urge to Change into a wolf, shucking his clothes and crouching on his hands and knees in the litter of conifer needles.

  Fur swept over him, but the pain in his belly didn’t ease.

  Wolf instinct took over, and he swallowed two mouthfuls of grass, which induced vomiting.

  He ought to have felt better with the bad food out, but his blood burned in his veins. He vomited a second time, but brought up little.

  This was more than just indigestion. He’d been poisoned.

  He needed to find Chloe. She would help.

  He stumbled out of the woods, whining, and headed back to the school.

  The burning in his blood engulfed his entire body. His mind clouded over. A memory came to him:

  Hanging upside-down in a tree, tight bands across his lap and chest. Blood ran down his neck and arms. Fur prickled under his skin, his Change coming at the worst possible time.

  Heat bloomed against his face as a fireball exploded a hundred yards away. The plane.

  The tree branch broke. He fell, screaming.

  No. Someone else was screaming. A child’s high-pitched shriek yanked him out of the memory. “Wolf!” a little boy yelled.

  chapter

  17

  “Marcus, are you in there?” Chloe rapped on the door to the boy’s washroom. By the time she’d convinced Mr. Presley that Marcus needed help, he’d disappeared on her.

  No reply.

  She knocked again. “Is anyone in there?”

  She listened hard. A drift of voices came from the office. “Jefferson … on my way north on a hunting trip … thought I’d stop by and thank you for hosting our informational meeting … ”

  Visions of Marcus passed out on the floor had her easing the washroom door open. She’d just called his name again when screams blasted from the playground. Not I’m-having-fun-on-the-swings or Jimmy-took-my-toy screams, but real, terror-filled shrieks.

  Chloe sprinted down the hall and stiff-armed through the school’s double doors. The screaming child, a red-haired boy of kindergarten age, was pointing at an animal twenty feet away at the edge of the field.

  A wolf with a bisected face. Marcus.

  Oh, crap. Her blood ran cold.

  Coach had drilled them on what to do if someone’s hormones took over and he or she Changed in public. Step one: damage control.

  Six little kids dotted the playground, but only the screaming kid looked frightened. The kindergarten teacher was headed for the boy at a run. Had anybody seen Marcus Change? Chloe couldn’t see his clothes, which gave her hope that he’d Changed elsewhere. Even if the red-headed kid had seen, he was young enough to be disbelieved.

  Step two: get the wolf out of sight.

  Chloe cut across the gravel parking lot toward Marcus. “Shoo! Go away, wolf.” She waved her hands. “Go back to the woods.”

  Marcus didn’t listen, didn’t even seem to see her. His path wove back and forth erratically, and he was panting. She moved to intercept him, and he veered again, now trotting parallel to the school.

  “Everybody inside!” the teacher yelled.

  A second kid spotted the wolf and started howling. Four of the six kids ran for the school doors, but the red-haired boy stood still, paralyzed by fear, and a dark-haired girl refused to leave the monkey bars. The teacher grabbed one under each arm and staggered toward the door.

  The hullabaloo had attracted attention, and adults spilled outside.

  The principal, Ms. Kim, hurried outside and took the second child from the teacher’s arms. “Is that everyone? What’s Chloe doing out there?”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Coach pushed past Ms. Kim.

  “Get everyone inside. I’ll call Forestry Services.” The principal vanished inside. The doors closed on the upset children.

  Coach strode toward Chloe and the wolf. Chloe was torn between relief that an adult was there and worry for Marcus. Coach muttered under his breath in another language. “What’s going on?” he demanded as he came closer.

  “Marcus is sick,” Chloe said quickly. “I don’t know why he Changed, but there’s something wrong with him.”

  “What’s wrong is that he’s a crazy feral and he has no control,” Coach said, his expression harsh.

  “I’m telling you: he’s sick. Look at how he’s walking in circles.” Chloe’s voice sharpened, worry for Marcus’s health blending with fear of what Coach might do.

  “He’s broken Pack Law,” Coach said implacably.

  “He’s sick!”

  “And none of your Packmates have been sick at school? Did they Change? Marcus should have more control.”

  Chloe glared at him, to cover the sick fear trembling in her stomach. Because Coach was right. If she’d gotten sick she would have called her mom, not slunk off into the woods to Change. “We can argue about it later. Right now, we need to get him out of sight.”

  The two of them approached Marcus, fanning out to keep him from bolting. “Marcus?” Chloe said gently.

  The wolf bared his fangs at Coach and growled.

  Right. Chloe had forgotten about that wrinkle. “Stay back. He won’t bite me,” she said.

  “Are you sure?” Coach asked.

  Doubt nipped Chloe’s confidence—how out of it was Marcus?—but she didn’t let it show on her face. “I’m sure.” She crouched down five feet away from the wolf. “Marcus, it’s me.” She waited for him to catch her scent.

  Time was playing tricks on Marcus, leaping forward, then circling back around.

  Again and again he found himself in the fire caused by the burning plane:

  The flames were everywhere, burning through the underbrush, in the trees. A fir toppled in his path, the crown on fire. He veered left, running on four legs. Smoke scraped at his lungs as he raced to keep ahead of the blaze. Rabbits and deer ran beside him, all fleeing the hungry monster behind—

  The vanilla and soap scent of Chloe … suddenly, he found himself in a field of grass next to a building. Chloe held her hand out to him. He quivered. Chloe meant safety from the memories that hurt him.

  Movement caught his eye. Behind Chloe loomed a man. Blond, muscular, frowning. Conrad Wharton!

  Marcus lunged at his enemy and snapped his teeth.

  Coach jumped back out of reach. Marcus growled at him, teeth bared. He tried to move between Chloe and Coach, but Chloe grabbed him around the neck. She didn’t understand the danger.

  She thought he disliked Coach for shooting him, but that wasn’t it at all. There
was something else, something to do with Abby… .

  The flames beckoned in his peripheral vision. Marcus shuddered. He didn’t want to go into the flames, didn’t want to remember—but the secret lay in the past. The reason why he didn’t trust Conrad Wharton.

  Without a reason, Chloe wouldn’t believe him. She’d let Coach too close.

  Whining, Marcus walked into the scorching flames of memory and let them burn him.

  Smoke lingered in the air, but the fire had passed.

  Marcus sniffed at the pieces of burnt fuselage and the skull in the pilot seat. He tipped back his head and howled, telling his grief to the moon.

  No. Marcus pushed back the terrible, debilitating loss. This was the end. He needed to remember the beginning.

  The flames beckoned again, and he walked through them like a ghost, through the forest fire and out the other side. Smoke morphed into grey clouds:

  The plane spiralled steeply down, rushing toward the treetops below. His heart swelled in his throat, and he bit his lip to keep from screaming. His mom fought to control the plane. His dad was out of his seat, bending over a slumped Abby. Marcus’s hands clutched the arm rests. Suddenly his fingers sprouted claws—

  No. He knew what happened from here. Not far enough. Marcus trotted farther into the gray mists of memory. He needed to go back to before it had all started to go wrong.

  Sitting beside Abby in the six-seater Piper Seneca, in the row behind his parents, listening to round five of Abby’s argument with their mother.

  “He shouldn’t be giving gifts to young girls,” their mom said from the pilot’s seat.

  “But Mom, it wasn’t like that! It was just a thank you for helping him.” Abby’s voice crackled over the headsets they all wore to allow them to talk over the engine noise.

  Marcus peered out his window, hoping for a glimpse of forest, but they were flying above a layer of light grey clouds. Except for occasional ripples, the clouds were as boring as an endless lake.

  “It was inappropriate, and I don’t want you to be alone with him ever again.”

  Abby crossed her arms. “What do you want me to do, Mom? Quit track and field? Stop going to school where he teaches? Stop going to Pack meetings? How’s that going to work?”

  “I’m going to talk to the Alphas about getting rid of him,” their mom said.

  “You can’t do that!”

  “Oh, yes, I can. It’s my job as Beta to inspect his background. I know I initially recommended that he be allowed to join the Pack, but since then I’ve received some disturbing indications that Conrad Wharton is an assumed name. He’s hiding something, and he’s ambitious. I think he means to take over the Pack or gain some followers and split off on his own.”

  “You don’t know him!” Abby stormed. “He wouldn’t do that!”

  Marcus leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. His heartbeat picked up. He’d glimpsed something about thirty metres away from the wing. Something crazy. A woman.

  “Neither do you,” their father said. “He’s very close-mouthed about his past—”

  “His Pack was killed. Of course, he doesn’t talk about it,” Abby said shrilly.

  Marcus tuned her out, staring out the window. A chill crawled up his spine. They were thousands of feet in the air. How could he have seen a woman? There were no mountains out here. Was she hang-gliding? Parasailing? But he hadn’t seen a glider.

  “Hey, Dad,” he said. “Look out the window.”

  Nobody heard him, because Abby was yelling now. And crying. “You can’t keep me away from him!”

  Marcus craned his neck. There she was: the flying woman. She sat in a giant cup, her grey hair streaming behind her in the wind. She had a hooked nose, and her skin stretched tight over her bones.

  While he gaped, the woman made a throwing gesture and the left engine cut out. The plane immediately swung hard to the left. Abby shut up.

  The plane dropped down out of the clouds, emerging several thousand feet over forest while their mom fought to steady out their flight with just the right engine. “It’s okay,” their mom said over the headphones when they’d levelled out. “Give me a minute. I should be able to restart it.” Her fingers danced over the console, but the other engine didn’t turn over.

  “Karen,” his father said, gripping the dash.

  “I can still land it with one engine,” his mom insisted.

  The second engine cut out. His dad swore, shockingly loud in the suddenly silent cockpit. His mom pushed down the nose of the plane, once again fighting to level them out.

  “What’s happening?” Abby cried.

  “You kids keep quiet and let your mom concentrate,” their dad snapped.

  “I’m going to do a glide landing,” their mom said.

  Marcus could barely breathe. The flying woman—the witch, for what else could she be?—had done this.

  “Winston, get on the radio,” his mom said with an eerie calm. “Give them our position. Kids, start looking out the window for a place to land. A road or a clearing or even a body of water. We can belly down onto the treetops if we have to, but I’d rather not.”

  His dad swore again. “The radio’s out.”

  Marcus understood instantly: the witch had hexed their radio too.

  And then time flickered, stuttered forward, flinging him back into the grassy field with Chloe.

  “Stay back,” Chloe warned Coach, struggling to hold onto the wolf in her arms. “He thinks he’s protecting me.”

  Just then a woman’s hysterical voice intruded. “Wolf! It has rabies! Shoot it!”

  What now?

  While she was distracted, Marcus pulled free of her hold. He kept growling but didn’t attack, and she spared a glance toward the newcomers.

  A dark-haired bearded man wearing a puffy orange hunter’s vest stood beside a pickup truck with Jefferson & McIntosh Logging printed on the side. The conversation she’d overheard in the hallway came back to her. This must be the logging executive, Jefferson. After a moment Chloe recognized the thirtyish blonde clutching his arm as Basia Novaskaya, Ilona’s mother/aunt. Instead of her usual New Age funky clothes, she wore a skirt suit and had twisted her blonde hair up in a chignon. She’d restricted her crystals to a couple of rings that flashed in the sunlight. What was she doing here? Oh, right. Kyle had said Ilona’s mother was pro-logging.

  Jefferson shrugged off Basia’s grip and removed a rifle from the rack on the back of his pickup. “Everyone get away from the wolf! Let me get a clean shot!” he yelled.

  “No!” Chloe shouted.

  “Get back!” Jefferson finished loading the rifle. Basia cowered behind the pickup truck.

  Coach swore again. “Chloe, back away.”

  Chloe didn’t move. She stared at Coach. “You can’t just let him shoot one of the Pack.”

  “Marcus has broken Pack Law,” Coach said in a harsh undertone. “There are consequences.”

  Chloe glared at him, her eyes so hot they ought to have shot out laser beams. “He’s Pack. We don’t abandon Pack. Ever.”

  Marcus lunged at Coach again; Coach skipped back. To Chloe it was clear that Marcus was just trying to scare him off. The wolf could easily have sprung twice that distance and taken Coach down by the throat if he’d truly gone feral.

  “I said, out of the way!” Jefferson yelled. The hunter had moved out into the center of the parking lot where he’d have a better shot. He sighted down his rifle barrel—and fired.

  Bang!

  A hole cratered the parking lot. Marcus growled and shifted his focus to the hunter.

  Even though Jefferson had obviously missed on purpose, trying to scare the wolf away with the noise, fury roared through Chloe. “Stop it, you idiot! That’s not a wolf, it’s a wolf-dog hybrid. Someone’s pet. My dad’s the vet. He’s treated him before.” The lies spilled out.

  Jefferson didn’t put down his rifle. “I don’t care if its name is Fluffy. It’s clearly sick, probably rabid. Move away
before it bites you.”

  “I’ve had my rabies shot,” Chloe shouted back. “Why don’t you move away?” It couldn’t be rabies, could it? Her dad had given all the Pack kids their shots. After a few initial doses, the rabies vaccine was long-lasting and rarely needed a booster.

  “I’m not going to tell you again. Move away from the wolf.”

  Chloe’s blood ignited. “Or what?” she yelled back. “Are you going to shoot me?”

  Arms grabbed her from behind and yanked her off her feet. Coach. He’d sneaked up on her while she was distracted. Bastard.

  “No!” Chloe struggled, but couldn’t break his grip. She hammered her heels back, kicking him in the shin, then smashed her skull into his face—

  Bang!

  Another rifle report cracked the air. Coach’s grip loosened, and Chloe broke free, darting forward. Terror seized her lungs. Blood. Blood on Marcus’s white chest. He collapsed onto the ground.

  He’s not dead. He’s a werewolf; he’ll heal. Except Jefferson was advancing forward, lining up another shot, this time to the head.

  Snarling, Chloe grabbed the muzzle of the rifle—singeing her hands in the process—and twisted it away. She threw it behind her while Jefferson gaped in astonishment. “Leave the dog alone!”

  He swore and ran after the rifle.

  Protectively, Chloe threw her arms around the wolf. Her heart pounded. Jefferson wouldn’t shoot her, but if he shot Marcus in the head …

  “He’s dead!” She let tears come to her eyes while simultaneously leaning her full weight on Marcus. “Play dead,” she whispered in his furry ears.

  His eyes stayed closed though his chest still rose and fell. Blood soaked her shirt. Too much blood.

  “Move away,” Coach ordered. His voice sounded thick.

  Chloe bared her teeth in vicious satisfaction: she’d given him a bloody nose.

  Unexpectedly, Basia saved the day. She came forward, not tottering at all despite her high heels and the parking lot’s uneven surface, and laid her head on Jefferson’s shoulder. “Please, may we go? It’s dead, and the sight of blood makes me ill. They’ll know who to call to dispose of the mess.” She shuddered again.