Hollow Moon

by Rebecca York

  Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to his knees, then his feet. He was in a shed. At least that was a deeply embedded recent memory. But the walls pulsed around him, as though he were in a huge, beating heart.

  Outside he heard a voice. “Close the fucking door. We don’t want to breathe that stuff.”

  A banging sound reverberated like a giant drum all around him.

  Coherence was spinning out of control. Still, as the door rattled, the primal reaction of his kind welled up inside him. He was a man now. He’d have a better chance as a wolf.

  He was already shirtless and shoeless. He scrabbled at the button at the top of his jeans while he muttered the ancient chant that would turn him from man to beast.

  “Taranis, Epona, Cerridwen,” he said, slurring the words together in his haste. He repeated the same phrase and went on to another that had been a part of his consciousness for almost fifteen years.

  “Ga. Feart. Cleas. Duais. Aithriocht. Go gcumhdai is dtreorai na deithe thu.”

  An angry voice reached him through the fog of transformation.

  “I told you not to open the door.”’

  “Oh come on.”

  As the door gaped wide, he leaped forward, hearing a gasp from the men who blocked his path.

  “Jesus.”

  “What the fuck?”

  He might have stopped to gouge out a throat or two, but even with his brain in another county, he knew that escape was more important than attack.

  He fled into the night, hearing the sound of gunshots behind him. A stinging pain in a leg didn’t slow his pace.

  He plunged into the shadows under the trees and kept running full tilt, with no plan but putting distance between himself and the men.

  CHAPTER 3

  A loud sound jolted Maggie Leland awake. Springing bolt upright in her sleeping bag, she turned her head toward the mesh window of her tent. She saw no threats, only the gray light that comes before dawn.

  The noise had stopped abruptly. And as she strained her ears, she detected nothing. Shouldn’t the birds be chirping in the trees?

  Then she did hear something again—a rustling in the dry brush, like a creature sneaking up on the tent. No, not sneaking. As she analyzed the noise she’d heard, she decided an animal had been running amok through the underbrush out there—until the sound had subsided to the rustle.

  She sat in her sleeping bag, listening, but now she could only hear the wind gently moving the branches of the oaks and sycamores above her. She’d picked this camping spot because it was isolated. And in the two-days she’d been here, living in her blue- domed tent, she’d seen no one else. But now she thought a forest creature was prowling around out there. Or maybe not.

  Did she hear a groan? Was that just the wind—or her nerves?

  Straining her ears, she tried to pick up something else, but heard nothing besides the tree branches skittering above her.

  She had brought a semiautomatic on this camping trip because the woods were not as safe as they’d been when she’d come here as a girl with her dad and brother. Now she laid the weapon beside the sleeping bag while she wiggled out of the covering and pushed her feet into running shoes. She’d slept in warn jeans and a tee shirt. All she had to do to get ready was unzip the closure at the front of the tent and crawl through.

  Outside, she crouched, shivering in the chill early morning air, listening intently as she gripped the gun and surveyed her surroundings. The stone circle where she’d built her campfire was as she’d left it. Her cooking pan and utensils were undisturbed. And the backpack she’d worn on her trek from the road was still resting against the nearby tree where she’d propped it.

  Nothing seemed out of place—until she saw a pale form sprawled on the ground about thirty yards from her tent. She blinked. It looked like a naked human whose body was partially obscured by dead leaves and underbrush. With the gun in a two-handed grip, she approached cautiously, deliberately stepping on a couple of twigs to make a little noise. The figure didn’t stir, and when she reached his side, she saw it was a naked man lying prone. She took in his dark hair, his powerful muscles, and the curve of a well-toned ass. He looked to be in top physical shape except that scratches from brambles and twigs marred his skin, and a red circle on his left lower leg oozed blood.

  She caught her breath, recognizing a gunshot wound. An entry wound, which meant that he’d been running away when he’d been hit.

  Someone had clipped him, and she had no idea who or why. Had he fled from the cops? From thugs? Or had he been in an argument that had gotten out of hand?

  She doubted there were any cops out here. But there was no way to find out what had happened without asking him—and no way to know if he was a threat to her.

  As she stared at the man, she wondered if it was more dangerous to have the gun in her hand when she got closer to him—or put it out of sight. You weren’t supposed to tuck a gun into your waistband, but she didn’t see any alternative as she shoved it into the back of her jeans.

  With the weapon concealed, she came down beside the man’s bed of leaves and put a hand on his shoulder. His skin was cold, but not icy. She was about to turn him over when he wrenched away.

  She gasped as he pushed himself up, twisting to face her.

  It looked like he was about to lunge, and for a terrified moment, she fumbled behind her for the gun. Then she saw puzzlement in his dark eyes—followed by relief.

  “You’re not one of them?” he gasped out.

  “Who?”

  “Drug lab guys.” As he flopped back against the ground, his eyes closing.

  “What happened to you?”“

  When he didn’t answer, she thought he might have lost consciousness. Finally he said, “Long story.”

  “A drug lab out here?”

  “Somewhere.”

  She might have asked how far he’d run, but probably he didn’t know. And speaking would sap more of his energy.

  She saw him drag in a breath and let it out. When he opened his eyes again, he blinked. It looked like he was making a tremendous effort to focus on her.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Can’t see straight.” He pressed shaky fingers to his forehead, breathing hard. “Get . . . away from me. I could be dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  “Hallucinations from the crap they gave me.”

  “I’m not going to leave you out here. You’ve been shot.”

  “Bullet went through my calf.”

  “Lucky for you. But you still need the wound dressed—and antibiotics if you don’t want an infection.”

  He grunted in acknowledgment.

  As he lay with his eyes closed once more, she studied him. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, his male equipment impressive. She pulled her eyes away from his genitals and focused on his wound. Seeing the front of him, she knew he was correct. The bullet had passed through his flesh. Lucky for him.

  “I want to check your leg,” she said, running her hand along his hair-roughened flesh.

  “Doctor?”

  “Nurse. There’s no obvious break in the bone.”

  “If there were—I wouldn’t be here.” He breathed in and out again. “Stupid. Should have called for backup.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “P.I.”

  “We can talk later. I need to take care of you.” Thinking it would be easier to work out here than in the cramped confines of the tent, she turned. “Wait here,”

  He managed a harsh laugh.

  She stood and went back to the tent for the plastic box she carried with her on camping trips—since that time Campbell had tripped over a fallen log and whacked his shoulder on a rock. She’d had a hell of a time getting him back to the house.

  She was sorry she’d let thoughts of her brother intrude. They hadn’t exactly been friends for a long time, and they needed to have a serious discussion. But not until she returned from this little vacation t
hat had suddenly turned into an emergency.

  The wounded man said drug dealers had shot him. No, drug manufacturers. She grimaced, wondering who they were and—more importantly—where they were.

  After transferring the gun to the medical kit, she prepared to leave—then stopped. If she was going to bring him back here, she’d better open up her sleeping bag. At least it wasn’t one of those models that tapered down at the legs like a mummy case, she thought, as she spread out the quilted fabric. For a moment, she stared at the double bed she’d made. Was she really going to be lying next to this guy she didn’t know?

  Well, she couldn’t see any alternative.

  Before leaving, she gathered up some of the clothing she’d brought—sweatpants and an oversized tee shirt, then started back toward her patient. The pants would be too short, but they’d cover him up.

  When she was halfway back with the medical supplies, she stopped abruptly. The wounded man had vanished.

  CHAPTER 4

  Knox rolled his head to the side as he watched the woman leave, watched her slender form swim in and out of sharpness. She was heading for a bright blue blob that stood out against the greens and browns of the woods.

  It looked like a magic bubble, pulsing in the early morning light, expanding and contracting as though it were a giant heart beating.

  A giant blue heart?

  He dismissed that idea, then glommed onto another. What if it was an alien spaceship? And she was from another planet. Only she wasn’t a little green man. She was a very good-looking woman with pale skin, sable hair, and—he thought—blue eyes. Maybe he was wrong about the eye color.

  He knew he had loved looking into them. For a moment, he let himself think about their beauty—and the breasts bobbing under her sweatshirt. If the aliens wanted to get his confidence, they’d send someone who wasn’t threatening, right? Someone sexy and appealing.

  He watched her walking back to the bubble, watched her disappear inside.

  Poof. Magic. Not werewolf magic. Something much more dangerous. She had claimed she wanted to help him. But he had seen the gun tucked into the back of her pants as soon as she’d turned around.

  A Sig, he thought. Would an alien have a Sig? Or could they make a blaster look like an earth weapon?

  How could he trust her? In his current condition, how could he trust anyone?

  That thought lodged in his mind as he saw blue flames licking at the bubble, spreading across the dry leaves, crawling toward him.

  He gasped, knowing he had to get away before they burned him to a blue crisp.

  He had run all night. On a leg that would have collapsed under an ordinary man. But he wasn’t ordinary. He was a wolf.

  The wolf had gotten him away from the bastards making the drugs. It could get him away from the alien woman. But first he had to get farther from the fire and the strange bubble that was growing in size every second.

  He pushed himself up, fighting a stab of pain as he wavered on unsteady feet. He could hide in the woods and change. Then?

  He couldn’t plan any further than escape.

  To his horror, while he’d struggled to his feet, the otherworldly flames had sneaked up on him. They were already lapping at his skin, burning his flesh. He wanted to scream, but he kept any sound locked in his throat as he tried to get away from the fire without warning the woman that he was on to her game.

  It took a tremendous effort to make his legs work. They felt like blocks of wood as he stamped into the woods. But the exertion paid off. When he turned around, he saw the blue tide was now ten feet away. And as he watched, it fell back.

  He kept his gaze on it for several moments, willing it to keep receding. When he was sure the ground was safe, he pressed his back against a tree trunk and lowered himself to a sitting position, dragging in gulps of air.

  ###

  Maggie clenched her hands into fists as she stared at the spot where the wounded man had been lying. She hadn’t imagined him. The vegetation was crushed down from the weight of his body. He had been here, and he needed help.

  She didn’t even know his name to call out to him. But maybe raising her voice would be a mistake.

  What if the shooter had tracked him?

  With a shudder, she scanned the woods. Of course, this was private property. But there weren’t exactly any boundary markers warning people to stay out.

  Hurrying to the place where he’d been, she crouched and inspected the ground. Was there a faint trail moving away from the location? With no better idea, she followed it deeper into the woods—and found him, This time he was sitting with his back propped against a tree, and it sounded like he was speaking—no chanting—in a foreign language.

  Something about the strange words and the way he said them made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

  “What?” she called out as she rushed toward him.

  The chanting cut off abruptly, and he raised his head, facing in her direction. Only it looked like he wasn’t seeing her at all. She’d heard the expression “thousand-mile stare,” and she’d always wondered what it meant. Now she knew.

  She spotted confusion in his eyes. Or was it madness?

  “What happened to the blue flames?” he gasped.

  “What?”

  “Blue flames,” he choked out. “From that blue bubble.” Panic filled his voice. “Is it a spaceship? Are you from the planet Zoron?”

  Oh Christ. He had lost his mind. Then she remembered what he had said at the beginning. He might be dangerous. He might have a flashback. Or at least not be able to recognize reality when he was seeing it.

  “I’m not from any planet but this one. Everything’s okay,” she murmured.

  “Is it?”

  At least he seemed willing to listen.

  She wanted to rush toward him. Instead she moved slowly.

  “It’s okay,” she repeated. “My name is Maggie Leland. I’m going to help you.”

  “What about the blue flames?” he pressed, then shook his head, “Oh shit. That was a hallucination, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesus. I thought you were a space alien. And your tent was a spaceship. Or a magic bubble.”

  “But not now?” she asked, watching him carefully.

  His lips curled in self-derision. “No.”

  Still, she kept her pace cautious as she approached. When he didn’t lunge toward her, she came down on the ground beside him. First she held up the oversized tee shirt that she’d brought from the tent. “Let’s get this on you.”

  He let her pull the shirt over his head, then slipped his arms through the sleeves. The shirt reached below his waist.

  When the top half of him was covered, she turned to the wound on his calf.

  “I’m going to clean it with soap and water, then put on antiseptic and a bandage.”

  “Okay.”

  As she opened the medical kit, she started to talk.

  “I told you my name is Maggie Leland. What’s yours?”

  “Knox Marshall.”

  “Knox? That’s unusual.”

  He winced as she washed the wound with medicated soap and bottled water.

  “Yeah. My parents liked making sure their kids would stand out.” He laughed.

  “Why is that funny?”

  “Private joke.”

  When he didn’t share it, she asked, “What were you doing out here?”

  “Enjoying the woods. Like you, I assume.”

  “Yes. Where’s your camp?”

  “I packed everything up and put it in the car. God knows where that is.”

  She finished bandaging the wound, then helped him pull on the sweatpants. They were high-waters, but they did the job of covering his midsection. “Can you stand?”

  “I made it this far.”

  She helped him up, slinging her arm around his waist and taking part of his weight as they made their slow way back to the tent.

  “The blue bubble,” he murmured as he star
ed at the ordinary piece of camping equipment.

  “It’s a standard tent. I got it online.”

  She pulled the flaps back as far as they’d go. He grimaced as he crawled inside and flopped onto one side of the sleeping bag.

  He lay with his eyes closed, breathing hard, as she got water and an antibiotic tablet, then helped prop him up so he could swallow the pill.

  “Get some sleep,” she said when she turned back from stowing the medical kit, but she saw he had already closed his eyes.

  Outside, she pulled out her cell phone. But the damn thing was out of power. Her fault. She must have left a bunch of apps open. In D. C. that didn’t matter so much. Out here, it could be a fatal mistake.

  But maybe calling wasn’t such a good idea—until she understood what she was dealing with. Weirdly, she liked the guy—maybe because at the beginning he’d told her he could be dangerous. How many wounded men would be in such bad shape and still be thinking of someone else?

  She looked back toward the tent. He was peacefully sleeping, but she couldn’t count on his not wigging out again.

  She got out a power bar and ate it for breakfast. She’d carried in some plastic bottles of water, but not enough to supply herself for the whole trip. Picking up a small bucket, she took it to the nearby stream. After adding a purifier tablet, she transferred some of the water to a plastic pitcher and mixed it with the fruit juice concentrate she’d brought. It wasn’t great, but it disguised the taste of the purifier. She left the rest of the water in the bucket—to use for cooking.

  ###

  Back at headquarters in Beltsville, Frank Decorah called Cole Marshall into his office.

  When the younger man entered, Frank gestured toward one of the guest chairs across from his desk.

  Cole sat, his expression troubled.

  “You haven’t gotten a line on Knox?” Frank asked as he picked up the gold eagle coin on his desk and turned it in his hand. Playing with it was one of the habits he’d acquired over years of working as a P.I.

  “Still no answer from his mobile, so we checked the GPS. The phone is now untraceable.”

  “And your conclusion?”

  “He could have deliberately cut off communications, but I don’t think he’d do that,” Cole added quickly.