Elzie leans against the railing as though her knees have gone weak.
"Oh, Danny," she says. "Why couldn't you just have stayed away?"
I look back at the van, feeling sick.
"They killed him," I say. "They just up and killed him."
Elzie shakes her head. "No, those were tranq guns. They just want him down for the count so they can take him away. Not as harsh as using Tasers, but damn!"
She smacks the railing with her palm.
Everything has happened so fast that it's over before most people even have the chance to notice. Some kid on the boardwalk has his phone out, shooting a video, but one of the agents runs over and grabs it away from him. The kid protests until the agent opens his suit coat and shows the kid something. I don't know what it is. His badge, maybe? His gun? Whatever it is, the kid shuts right up.
The other men are talking, then they look down the pier. The one who took the phone from the kid starts toward us.
Elzie gets up and starts to walk away from me. "Got to go," she says. "What's your cell number?"
The argument we were having appears to be forgotten.
I tell her the number.
"I'll call you," she says and heads briskly toward the restaurant at the end of the pier.
I turn to watch her go. Though she doesn't appear to be exerting herself, she's really motoring along. But it's not going to do her any good. There's nothing on the other side of the restaurant except for the Pacific Ocean and it's a ten- maybe fifteen-foot drop to the water.
When I look back, the man in the suit has almost reached me. I brace myself for whatever he's going to do to me, but he goes right by my bench, talking into his Bluetooth. He's chasing after Elzie, not me.
I realize that's my cue to leave.
I stand up, pop my skateboard into my hand and go the other way, toward the parking lot. As I walk by the van, an itchy nervous tension has me feeling like I've had too much caffeine. I drop my skateboard to the pavement, but before I can push off, a hand falls on my shoulder.
I almost growl at the touch, stopping myself before the sound actually comes out of my mouth. I turn to find the other guy in a suit has stopped me. The guy back on the pier was white, this one's Hispanic. He drops his hand and flashes me a picture ID billfold with the letters "FBI" prominently displayed on it.
"That girl you were talking to," he says.
I give him a puzzled look. "You mean the one with the dreads?"
He nods. "How do you know her?"
"Am I in trouble?"
I let some of my nervousness spill into my voice. I hope it sounds like anybody would when a Federal agent stops them, not that I'm guilty of anything.
"I want to know what your relationship is."
I use Cory's advice again. The best way to lie is to have your story be mostly true.
"I just met her," I say. "She's some kind of eco-freak, but she was pretty cute so I let her go into her spiel."
I can't tell what he's thinking behind those dark sunglasses. I don't let myself look at the van where they've got Danny tranquilized and wrapped up in a net.
"What kind of spiel?" the agent asks.
I shrug. "You know, the usual. Save the whales. We're destroying the planet. Don't eat meat."
"So you've never met her before?"
"No, sir."
He starts to say something, then puts a hand to the headset in his ear, obviously listening to something.
"I'll be right there," he says.
I pretend I don't know what he's talking about.
"Excuse me?"
"Not you," he says to me. He takes a business card out of his pocket. "If she should approach you again, please call the number on the card."
I look down the length of the pier.
"What's going on?" I ask. "Is she in trouble?"
"Just call the number if you see her again."
Then he motions to a couple of the SWAT team guys and the three of them set off at a jog down the pier. I watch them for a moment, then I put a foot on my board and get the hell out of there before someone changes their mind.
We have band practice that evening in Desmond's garage. While Desmond and I are tuning up, I tell them what happened.
"I've seen that girl around," Marina says from behind her drum kit, "with her dreads and that tattooed necklace. She's a total skank."
"What makes you say that?"
"You know the kind. She's just always mooching for stuff. Like she's trying to get guys to buy her a coffee or lunch, panhandling along the boardwalk, or she's trying to borrow stuff. One time she actually asked Stu if she could use his board."
"Not cool," Desmond says.
"She's homeless," I tell them.
Desmond shrugs. "So how's that our problem?"
"Her parents kicked her out of the house because she changed," I say. "What happened to me happened to her, except her parents just threw her out to fend for herself."
"Dude," Desmond says, "I hate to rain on your parade, but your mother doesn't even know you're a Wildling."
"Yeah, but if she did, she wouldn't do that to me."
"Probably not," Marina says. "Yours should give good-mom courses."
Desmond nods in agreement. "Except for the jerk boyfriends thing."
That hurts, but it's true, so I let it slide.
"And while I can see why you sympathize with that girl," Marina goes on.
"Elzie. Her name's Elzie."
"Okay. Elzie. I just think you should be careful if she comes around again. Some people are takers and she seems like one of them."
"I don't know," I say. "She seems to care a lot about the environment and stuff. So that doesn't seem like a taker to me. I don't really agree with everything she says, but you can't pretend things aren't pretty messed up."
"Things are totally messed up," Marina agrees.
I nod. "And at least she seems committed to do something about it."
"I just don't trust her."
"You don't know her."
"And neither do you," Marina says. "I get it. You're both Wildlings. But that doesn't mean you have to automatically get involved in whatever she's doing."
I'm a little surprised. Marina usually sees the best in people, so I can't figure out why she's so down on this girl she really doesn't know anything about.
"Guys, guys," Desmond says.
We both turn to him.
"You know Marina's just looking out for you," he says to me. "It's not like she's jealous or anything. And Marina. Come on. Cut the dude some slack. He's just had his world turned on its ass. So let him enjoy a bit of attention from some cute little Rasta girl. It sure beats him mooning over Rachel Armstrong."
I look at Marina. Jealous? That'd be the day.
"You're right," she tells Des. She gives me a peace sign. "We're cool, right?"
"Of course we're cool."
"So let's play some music."
Marina
Every beat on my drum kit lets me blow off some of the steam I feel about Josh hooking up with that girl Elzie. I hate the fact that it's her and Josh making Wildling alliances instead of him and me. I know. It's my own fault. But still.
I am so not a fan of jealousy, but it's one of those emotions that worms its way under your skin. I've never been all that bugged by his mooning over that stupid jock-magnet Rachel Armstrong. She never gave Josh a second look before he was on the news.
But this is different. He only just met Elzie and it's already like he's all connected with her, standing up for her and everything.
I feel a bit guilty for not having more sympathy that her parents threw her out. That does suck big-time, but why does it have to be Josh that she turns to? Elzie's gorgeous. She could have her pick of any guy she wanted.
And then there's Chaingang getting all friendly with Josh. I didn't expect them to get buddy-buddy. I know they weren't really talking about the band. Josh only said that for our sake. Chaingang gave me the same pep talk on being a
Wildling after I changed.
He wasn't the first to give me advice, though. A guy named Jez showed up the first time I changed and told me the basics. I'm glad it wasn't Chaingang who did that, because I was buck naked. I've learned to change back wearing my clothes since then.
But when Chaingang did approach me, he was really sweet. Before I actually met him, I was scared to death of the guy. When he called me over at the beach that day, I thought I may as well drown myself right then and there. Instead, he told me that he knew what I was and warned me to be careful and all. He said he'd protect me if I got into trouble.
I kind of enjoyed the fact that he was, I don't know, softer around me than he'd ever acted before. I guess I felt as though he'd specifically chosen me to be close to. Now I realize I misread him. I know he won't out me to Josh, but somehow it hurts that they're all pals now.
Josh is free to like whoever he wants and so is Chaingang, but it's just hard to feel less and less special to either one of them.
Tomorrow morning I'm going to catch the biggest swells I can find and ride them like there's nothing on the planet except for me and a few tons of crazy water.
Josh
My phone vibrates under my pillow that night at around two in the morning. I'd turned it on with the ringer off. Let's face it, I was curious if Elzie would call. I look at the call display and my pulse does a little jump.
"Josh?" her voice says in my ear as soon as I press talk.
"Hi," I say. "Are you okay?"
"Oh sure."
"How'd you get away?"
"I'm good at that kind of thing."
"I guess you are."
"Did they stop you at all?" she asks.
"Just to ask a couple of questions."
"What did they want to know?"
"Mostly how I knew you."
"What did you say?"
"That I didn't. I told them that you just came up to me and started trying to sell me on getting proactive about the environment and I was only listening because you're cute."
I want to call the word back as soon as it comes out of my mouth, but it's too late.
"You think I'm cute?"
"Well … um …"
She responds with a throaty laugh and I feel something stirring under the sheets. I never really got the concept of phone sex before, but I think I do now.
"That's sweet," she says. "Living like I do, I kind of forget that there are nice guys like you out there."
Nice. Man. Do I want to be the nice guy? The nice guy never gets the girl.
"So where are you now?" I ask.
"Safe. But maybe not for long."
"Why not? Are they still after you?"
"I don't know if they're exactly after me. I think I'm just a 'person of interest' because they've seen me hanging around with Danny."
"So why aren't you safe?"
"I'm going after Danny."
"Really? But the FBI has him."
"And that's so not right. I've tried to get some of the others to help me, but everybody thinks Danny's a flake and that we should just cut him loose."
"But you can't."
"I know he's a flake," she says, "but he's still one of us. They shouldn't be allowed to take him away like that. He never did anything to anyone. And he helped me sometimes."
"So what are you going to do?"
She doesn't answer right away, but then she says, "I was hoping you might help me."
I remember what Marina said about her being a taker, but I think of how I'd feel if I was the one that the FBI shot full of tranqs and then locked away in some secret place. I'd sure want someone to help me.
"What do you want me to do?" I ask.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm standing in the shadows by the Evoras' garage. I've done what Elzie asked. I'm waiting for her here, dressed in black jeans and runners with a dark hoodie over my T-shirt. I shift my weight from foot to foot, trying to use the mountain lion to sense what's out there in the night. I guess I'm not very good at it yet, because suddenly Elzie's standing right beside me. I never saw or heard her approach.
She puts a hand on my upper arm and gives it a squeeze as we start walking.
"Thanks for coming," she says. "It means a lot."
"If it was me instead of him, I'd like to think people were trying to get me out, so it was hard to say no."
"Yeah, but you still could have."
I shrug, trying to be cool.
"Do you know where he is?" I ask.
"It has to be the old naval base. That's where everyone says the government's keeping the Wildlings they take off the street."
"Won't they have guards all over that place? We used to goof around in the wildlife refuge near there, but you can't get in at all anymore. I'm not so sure anyone can get by their security."
"I've got to try," she says.
Oh boy. What have I gotten myself into?
A couple of blocks from my street, she stops at a car and goes around to the driver's side.
"Is this your car?" I say. "I thought you were homeless."
It's not fancy, just a 2001 Ford Taurus wagon, but a car costs money—not only for the initial outlay, but for gas and upkeep, too. You don't see homeless people driving around. You see them on traffic islands, trying to cadge change from the drivers stopped at the lights.
"It's borrowed," she says.
"Borrowed?"
"Relax. It's Danny's. I don't think he's going to mind if we use it to rescue him."
A sour smell hits me when I open the door. I see that the back seats are down and there's a rough bed taking up the length of the rear compartment, along with piles of clothing and a collection of fast food wrappers and empty pop cans.
"Yeah," Elzie says as she slides in behind the wheel. "He's not exactly the world's best housekeeper."
"This is where he lives?"
"Beats couch surfing or sleeping on the beach. At least he's got a place."
"I guess."
There's a bunch of junk on the passenger's seat and on the floor. A damp towel that I wish I hadn't touched, old newspapers, a pizza box, a screwdriver, some paperbacks with the covers torn off. I toss it all into the back and get in.
She takes us out the Pacific Coast Highway heading south. With the windows all open, front and back, the stench isn't as pervasive. Eventually it pretty much goes away. It's that or I'm just getting used to it.
I expect her to be a reckless driver—everything about her seems a little wild and reckless—but she sticks to just a few miles over the speed limit. Fifteen minutes later, she pulls into a parking lot overlooking the ocean. There are over a dozen cars and vans in the lot and I can see a fire down on the beach. Surfer party. It makes me think of Marina. I should go out with her tomorrow morning if the waves are good. I'll make a fool of myself—I don't know why I can ride my wheels like they're a pair of shoes, yet I keep falling off a surfboard—but we always have a good time.
Elzie pulls the Taurus into a spot between a classic Woody, oak panels gleaming in our headlights, and a powder-blue T-Bird convertible with the top down. Killing the engine, she reaches under the seat and pulls out a pair of luchador head masks and hands me one. Mine's shiny gold with red flames around the eye and mouth holes. Hers is a deep blue with yellow highlights.
"You've got to be kidding me," I say. "What's going out like Mexican wrestlers going to prove?"
"It'll keep your secret identity secret."
"Come on, seriously?"
She puts hers on. All I can see is her green eyes, nose and lips. The long dreads are bunched at the back of her neck and make a weird bump under the mask.
"There are cameras everywhere now," she says. "Weather cameras, traffic cameras and at the base, there are sure to be security cameras."
I sigh and put on the mask she gave me. I feel like an idiot.
"Stick some of these in your pockets," she says, passing me a handful of energy bars. "It's in case we have to change," she adds. "You know how to focus
on keeping your clothes when you change so that you've got them when you've come back out of your animal shape?"
I nod. "That's what Cory told me, but I haven't tried it. How does that even work, anyway?"
"Don't know, don't care," she says. "Just so long as it works. The food's for if we have to take our animal shapes. Whatever makes it work uses up a lot of energy. You'll be starving."
I remember how hungry I was the morning Cory found me in the alley. It didn't happen the second time in my bathroom, but I'd only been in the mountain lion shape for a moment before switching back.
"You ready?" she asks.
"Yeah."
I join her on the pavement. We wait for a car to go by, then cross the highway and duck into the scrub along the verge. Moments later we come to the chain-link fence that protects the wild bird sanctuary from intruders. I can smell the salt marsh, rich and heady.
"We need to keep low," she says. "They've got cameras in there for monthly night surveys of mammals passing through. I don't know what night they do the survey, but I'm guessing they actually leave them running all the time."
"How do you know that?"
"I Googled the refuge. It's got its own website."
"Of course it does."
We follow the fence along the highway, turning when it leads us inland. Elzie starts out at a fast walk, but as soon as we make the turn, she breaks into a jog. I want to tell her that I'm not really in shape for a long run, but I don't think she's going to listen, so I just try to keep up for as long as I can. Five minutes into our run, when I should be calling for a time-out, I'm not even out of breath.
Stronger and faster. No kidding.
"I feel like I could run like this forever," I say.
Elzie laughs. "You could make even better time in your animal shape, but even as humans we've got serious chops. Why do you think everybody wants a piece of what we are?"
"I thought they couldn't figure out what causes the whole Wildlings thing."
"Maybe not yet. Which is why they're after us. They can't duplicate what we are, so they want us to work for them."
It isn't fair. This should be like Desmond thinks it is—totally cool. We shouldn't have to live in the shadows, hiding from our own government.
Under My Skin Page 6