“Let’s talk about it at the house,” I said. “I think we should run it by Dad.”
“Your dad?” Lewis said, following it with an audible gulp. “He knows we were going to sneak away to the cabin? He’s not going to kill me?”
“Trust me,” I answered as I put an arm around Lewis’s zombie shoulders. “During Harvest Festival, the rules seem to be a little different.”
Chapter Twenty
Dad interrogated Lewis for a few minutes, and then, satisfied that he was an accidental zombie, sent him off with Fawn and Rose to his family’s cabin. After that, Dad and I took back roads toward Cooper’s place, crossing the bridge as the sun began to dip. The October sky was lit with a powerfully red sunset. And above, the bold face of the full moon rose. I closed my eyes, forcing down the dread that was coming in waves now. The knowledge that tonight might be our last run. That it might be Alex’s final night as well. Still furious about what had happened earlier, Dad barely spoke to me.
I couldn’t stand his silence. “Shouldn’t we at least discuss what to do?” I asked.
Dad pulled the truck over to the side of the road and cut the engine. “You’ll follow my lead.” Lines deepened on his forehead and his brows drew together “No more trying to save everyone by yourself. That’s not your job.”
“When there’s nothing but inaction happening, it is my job to save everyone!” I said, the raw anger welling up inside me, seeping into my voice.
Dad let out a frustrated sigh. “I should’ve set up some pack rules, even if it was just the four of us. Then you’d have some confidence in me.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, looking at me with what I took to be disappointment and regret.
“I do have confidence in you. But sometimes, you don’t take action,” I said.
“I’m aware that I’m not impulsive. Some find that a positive trait.” Hurt reverberated in his tone. “We should be trying to solve problems with diplomacy.”
“That’s not how Ezra’s pack solves things.”
“They’re violent animals! We’re not like them.”
“You don’t want to believe that we are. You won’t even let me kill anything bigger than a rabbit when we hunt—but we are predators. That’s the plain truth.”
Dad stared at his hands on the steering wheel.
I took a deep breath and then said, “If it comes down to it, we have to kill Rick to save ourselves. Remove the leader and you create confusion, maybe disperse the rest of the hunters.” It sounded ruthless to my own ears. Ugly.
My dad blanched, but I could tell he knew that I was right. When it came down to it, kill or be killed was a real possibility. “I don’t like the thought of us hurting any human, even a hunter. So first we look to Cooper,” Dad said, his gaze stony.
“Yeah. Of course.” I knew better than to say anything else.
Dad needed to make the decision. To be the pack leader of our family. So I resolved to do my best to support him in whatever was going to happen next, not something I’d trusted in before. But that was pack life. The life he was starting to claim for us.
“Okay, you’re right,” he said, after another long moment. He relaxed back into the seat. “Diplomacy is important, but there’s room for action, too. That’s what wolves sometimes have to do. We fight for dominance. We remove threats.”
He started up the truck and pulled back out onto the road. The pavement was bathed in orange and reds from the sunset. And in the distance, we heard a long, baleful howl. Then another. A rallying cry echoed in the hills around us. Dad turned to shoot me a knowing glance. We weren’t the only ones closing in on Cooper’s compound.
***
The driveway was empty, but I could see the bed of Cooper’s truck jutting out near the kennels. Maybe he was actually tending to some hybrids that had returned. We got out of the truck. My dad was in street clothes, but his walk telegraphed cop, even off-duty. His back straight, legs slightly bowed, taking long strides.
As we approached the back of the house, where the kennels and barn were, twilight bathed the sky in watercolor shades of purple and navy blue. I felt nervous, itchy, my skin tingling slightly. This was going to have to be a fast discussion.
Ahead, Cooper loaded large bags of something from his truck into a shed. Not just something, I could smell it as we got closer. Kibble. Sacks and sacks of it. Dad turned his head toward me as if to say he’d picked it up too. A motion-sensor light clicked on as we got closer, alerting Cooper to our presence. He turned, one hand inside his work coat.
“Hold it,” Dad whispered to me.
“George? Lily? What brings you out here?” Cooper asked, as if he hadn’t the foggiest notion.
Uh-oh. I hit my dad in the side with my elbow. “Not alone,” I muttered. It wasn’t like Cooper to beat around the bush. Someone was watching this interaction. My nose twitched, trying to pick up scents on the wind.
“Hey, Cooper. Heard some hybrids yelping near the river,” Dad said, putting on a friendly tone.
“Probably some of ours.” Cooper turned back to the unloading task, hauling another bag down from the stack in the truck. “Hoping to round them up tonight.”
We moseyed closer, scanning the periphery as we approached. I was kind of glad Dad hadn’t changed out of his work clothes.
“Say, Cooper,” Dad said, extending his arms over the side of the truck. “Could we have a word?”
“Not right now, got to get these loaded in.”
“At least let us help you.” Dad waved me into the back of the truck.
Now that we were closer to Cooper, he leaned toward me and whispered, “Company at twelve and two.”
“Twelve and two, Dad,” I passed along as I slid a bag toward him. Cooper was telling us people were watching. That’s why he was acting so stiff. Cooper hopped down onto the ground from the truck, moving closer to Dad.
Dad wasted no time whispering Alex’s predicament to Cooper as he took the bag from him and went to stack it in the shed.
My muscles burned as I grabbed another bag. Cooper’s hands touched mine as we transferred the sack. He dropped the load down onto the ground and I hopped out of the truck to help him right it again. “Mrs. Gillingham was dressed as a zombie at the festival. She was with Mr. Gray,” I whispered.
Cooper’s expression didn’t change. “She’s here right now with them in the trees behind the barn,” he said between clenched teeth. “They figured you’d come to me. They won’t leave.”
I helped him hoist the bag into his arms. “So you believe she’s one of them now.”
He nodded and said, “It’s getting late. You have to go.”
“Tell Bowman if any wolf dies, so does Alex,” my dad said, taking the next bag from Cooper and heaving it onto his shoulder.
“We gotta get back to the festival. Have a nice evening,” I said loudly, climbing down from the truck bed.
Dad returned from placing the last load in the shed. “Your father would be proud,” he said, putting his hand on Cooper’s shoulder.
“Go,” Cooper said, shrugging off Dad’s gesture and turning to close the shed door. I could see a couple tears glistening on his cheek.
“We can’t drive far,” Dad said, as we got into the truck. “If Driftwood brings his pack of hybrids to Coopers, they could be ambushed.”
“Cooper could be in trouble, too, Dad, if the hunters think he’s helping us when he gives Bowman the message about Alex.”
“You’re right,” Dad said, his tone heavy.
Now we had no choice but to transform nearby. Dad parked the truck a few miles down from Cooper’s place, on a deserted private road.
As we got out, I checked my phone a last time and found a text from Rose saying they’d got to the cabin safely. Another text from Cooper read that he’d given Rick Bowman our message, but he couldn’t tell if Rick believed him. I had no idea where Nathaniel and Alex were, or if Alex even had his phone, but I hoped they’d realize they needed to send Rick some sort of proof.
> I shut down my phone and stuck it in my bag. I could feel the change taking root in my bones. Dad and I shared a look before we each staggered toward clumps of brush to undress and stash our clothes.
Chapter Twenty-One
It takes a moment to get used to seeing as a werewolf. It isn’t like natural wolves, with limitations in the colors they can see. We see it all. Nuanced. Technicolor. Like a filter on a camera. A hyper-real world vibrantly spread before us in charcoal, black, deep navy, and green. All the colors of night.
As I lifted my nose to the wind to sample all the smells floating around, Dad stepped out from behind some huckleberry bushes. He shook his dark gray body, his large ears twitching. His silvery eyes seemed to absorb all the moonlight, shining like polished brass as his gaze swept around the perimeter.
He cocked his head in the direction of Cooper’s place. I heard it then, too. Barking. It sounded like some of the hybrids I’d seen with Driftwood on the hill the other night, but I couldn’t be sure. Without any verbal cue, Dad turned toward the private road, slipping through the bushes alongside our truck.
I sprinted to catch up to him, then trotted alongside him for a few yards before he turned to nip at me. I growled and he gave me a sideways look that seemed to say, do as I tell you. I slowed a little, falling in behind him. Dad veered off the main road, ducking into a thicket of cedar and fir trees. It made sense that we wouldn’t come running up the driveway.
A few minutes later, we crested the hill behind the compound. Cooper stood in a pool of light, halfway between his truck and the kennels. A few yards away, three hybrids eased toward him, tails down with uncertainty. I spotted Driftwood standing on the periphery. He’d brought them in. He’d trusted me with the safety of these wolf-dogs.
Cooper slowly backed toward the kennels. There were already a couple occupants in the wire enclosures. He flipped the handle of an empty bay and opened the door. The three dogs gave a cautious sniff and then progressed toward the cage.
My heart lifted in my chest. They’d be all right. Beside me, Dad nudged my shoulder and moved his head in the direction of Driftwood, who pawed the ground and barked, summoning a few more wolves from the bushes. These creatures were slightly larger than the hybrids, but their eyes seemed flat, not as reflective. I could smell them, too, the musk of their fur, the scent of their diets of rodents, berries, fish. Real wolves. They were less trusting than the first group, but they inched slowly toward Cooper and then, at last, with an additional bark from Driftwood, were coaxed into a wire pen. When the door was secured, Driftwood backed into the shadows, his ears flattened.
The barn door slid open and Rick stepped out, accompanied by six people dressed as zombies, some wearing camouflage hunting gear. Rifles pointed in the air.
Cooper glanced toward his porch, where his own rifle rested against a rail, probably set aside when he began loading in the hybrids.
“Well, you got some of your dad’s critters secured now,” Bowman said. “That means anything else we shoot around town is fair game.” He grinned.
Cooper shook his head. “Your son Alex––don’t think they won’t kill him if anything happens to a wolf tonight. You have to call off the hunt.”
A murmur went through the group of zombies. Apparently, Bowman hadn’t shared this intel about Alex being held captive with his entourage. Cooper immediately seemed to realize his misstep. He glanced toward the porch, to where his rifle leaned against the railing.
“Idle threats,” Bowman said, his smile flattening. “I haven’t received any kind of note or call telling me Alex is being held, which I of course would turn over to the sheriff.” He picked up his rifle and pointed it toward the hill in the direction Driftwood had disappeared in. “Another bluff from desperate wolves trying to save their hides.”
“What are we waiting for?” Mrs. Gillingham said, stepping out from behind Bowman. Her zombie makeup covered her face, but a camouflage jacket and dark pants had replaced her wedding dress costume.
Cooper seemed visibly shaken, seeing Mrs. Gillingham in the crowd of hunters. “You,” he said, his voice angry, raw.
“We’ve got the histories now. Silly Ivan, keeping them hidden from me.” She sneered at Cooper. “Once we take you out, it’ll be easy to finally eradicate the vermin. No more Protectors. No more coverups about the history of Pioneer Falls. We’ll be able to trace the families, expose any remaining aberrations for what they are.”
I turned to look at Dad. If I could’ve rushed forward to bite Mrs. Gillingham I would’ve. I wondered how long she’d been working with Rick. And if she knew about the lupine stones when I’d been in looking for them in her shop.
“Once you take me out?” Cooper backed up a step.
Dad made a low guttural sound and pawed the ground.
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Bowman said. “The scavengers in the forest will help destroy the evidence, just like they did with your old man.”
My muscles burned with adrenaline. I wanted to race down there and tear Bowman apart, but Dad shoved me back.
Cooper lunged at Bowman, trying to grab his rifle. “You son of a—”
Bowman threw Cooper off him and handed his gun to one of the zombies. Cooper rushed him again, but two other zombies grabbed Cooper’s arms. They held him while Bowman punched him in the gut. Mrs. Gillingham looked on, a vicious smile widening on her garishly painted face. I couldn’t let this happen. I had to help Cooper.
I raced down the hill. Behind me, Dad yelped, warning me to stay back, but then rocketing past me. In seconds, we were on top of the cluster of humans. As we scratched and snapped at the zombies, Driftwood came out of the dark and launched himself off a large rock and landed on Bowman, struggling to reach his neck, his teeth snapping. Someone kicked me and I fell back. A zombie with a club took a swing at my dad, but he turned around and nearly took a bite out of the guy’s leg.
And then there was a single shot. It resounded between the barn and the house, the sound louder than a firework, filling the air with a sulfurous scent, and the scent of iron—blood.
I raced toward Cooper, but he was on his feet, holding his side—but not shot. Instead, the other humans backed up and I saw Rick, his throat torn out. And Driftwood, motionless on the ground. Four of the zombie hunters took off running. I didn’t get a good look at their faces.
Mrs. Gillingham stood there in shock, staring down at Driftwood, a small pistol in her hand. And then, before our eyes, the light gray wolf with the white on his muzzle slowly transformed into Mr. Gray, the postmaster. Mrs. Gillingham screamed and dropped her gun. She knelt on the ground next to Mr. Gray’s naked form, pulling him to her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “No, no! You can’t be!” she wailed. She actually sounded genuinely upset, as surprised as we were that Mr. Gray had been one of us. “You weren’t one of those freaks!”
Mr. Bowman, his eyes open, leaked blood all over the grass. I stepped toward him, to try to see his condition. But it was too late. He was beyond help.
Cooper let out a low whistle. “Come this way,” he said, calling to me and Dad. There was a grinding of metal on metal as the door swung open to a last metal cage. Dad hesitated.
“Really? You don’t know I’m on your side now?” Cooper said.
Dad lowered his head, then nudged me forward into the cage. We could hear Cooper calling in the homicide. And that was how we came to spend the night in a chain-linked kennel. The safest night I’d spent as a werewolf in Pioneer Falls.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cooper let us out of the kennels just before sunrise. We ran to our changing spot to transform back and retrieve our clothes. Minutes later, I brushed the leaves out of my hair and crawled into my clothes and shoes. Dad, a few bushes away, urged me to hurry. We scrambled into the truck.
Thoughts flooded my mind, all the things I’d wanted to say to Dad while we’d been in wolf form. But his mood was somber. Rick Bowman and Mr. Gray were dead. I’d been the one to say kill or be killed, but I
hadn’t thought of the aftermath. Now I felt the weight of these deaths on my shoulders. The guilt. Rick had loved Alex, as misguided as he’d been. I could tell Dad knew I was thinking about Alex. About the loss. He patted my arm.
My phone pinged with a text from Fawn asking if we were all right. I read it to Dad and he said to have Lewis bring them home. I typed in a quick reply. Then I rolled down the window to take in fresh cold air. The familiar scent of dry leaves, woodsmoke, and the river were on the wind. So many worries swirled in my mind, but the constants of Pioneer Falls felt like a balm. We were alive. We’d made it through the night. That was something.
Dad turned up the long driveway of the compound. More cars were parked near the house, including the sheriff’s cruiser.
“Oh, George,” Sheriff Polson said, running up to the window. “I tried your cell a bunch of times.”
“Sorry, I took something that must have knocked me out at home. Just woke up. Didn’t have time to change.”
The sheriff didn’t seem fazed. “We’ve got a homicide. Coroner’s on his way, he had a few too many beers last night at the festival dance.”
We both climbed out of the truck. The sheriff gave me an odd look, and then I realized I probably had a few dirt smears to go along with the traces of face paint on my face from my scarecrow costume. Dad had a few pine needles scattered in his hair. I gave them a brush with my hand, pretending to yawn really widely, stretching my arms.
The sheriff gestured to the back of the compound. “You better come take a look.”
“Cooper all right?” Dad asked, though he knew the answer.
“Yeah, he’s in the house giving Mac a statement.” She stepped up the pace and we passed her car, where Mrs. Gillingham, cuffed, screamed and banged against the window.
“Mrs. Gillingham?” I said with feigned surprise.
“George, we might have a black widow on our hands. Maybe she stood to inherit something from Mr. Gray as she did with Ivan,” the sheriff said in a low voice to my father.
A Forest So Deadly (Pioneer Falls Book 2) Page 23
