by Lexy Timms
“How can you see where you’re going?” Angelica braced herself in the truck. “There’s not even a full moon out.”
“Those exercises you hate so much,” he said quietly, “teach you to activate part of the cat, like being able to shift one hand so you have claws. I’m using the eyes.” He glanced at her and smiled. “Night vision.”
“Handy.” She stared out the window, wishing she could do the same but too scared to try. She couldn’t face more failure this early in the day.
He nodded but said nothing.
She bit her lip, sensing she’d disappointed him somehow. After a minute she asked, “What did your father mean about the barn?”
“This community was constructed from the forest,” Taylor said, raising a hand from the steering wheel to gesture at the wall of trees just beyond the perimeter of the field. “It was founded in a clearing, and a lot of logging was done to clear more space.” He turned and headed west. The wheels bumped over another dirt track, rocking as they dove in and out of unseen ruts. It was definitely not a comfortable ride. “At some point they built up the remaining forest and put up defenses. That line of unbroken underbrush is deceiving—there’s a fence under there, all the way around the town.”
“Wow.” Angelica thought about the little town of a few hundred people and how much space it took up. But in this case, it wasn’t just the people; these were farmers with pasture and fields. The area he was talking about had to be enormous. “That’s a lot of fence.”
“And camouflage, and maintenance, and...” In the soft glow of the lights on the dash, she could see he was smiling at her. “There’s even a moat.”
“Seriously?” She blinked. “A moat?”
“It’s what we call it. It’s a ditch that we keep covered and... well, spiked.”
“Spiked.” She shook her head. Of course it was. Why wouldn’t people put spikes in a moat? They must be expecting a battle. Maybe a war.
Wasn’t that what she’d brought them? A war?
“It’s not for people, but for vehicles. The only way to the town is that dirt track. Most people don’t even see it. If you do get past the fence, your vehicle goes nose down into a deep, narrow ditch and the spikes make sure that your engine is toast.”
“Clever.” Horrific, but clever.
“They’ve learned from experience,” Taylor said, and his voice sounded sad. And tired. “When we get out of here, I’ll tell you about that.”
She nodded, letting that topic drop. “So, what’s with the barn?”
“Back in medieval times, churches and monasteries had all the wealth. They were often the target of thieves, like Vikings, Visigoths, highwaymen. So while the raiders were breaking down the gates...” He turned off the road and headed to someone’s house. He sped up. Fast. “...the priests would run out the back through a secret exit. It was called a bolt-hole. Or a priest-hole.”
The truck hit a pothole and, despite the seatbelt, Angelica hit her head on the ceiling. She yelped painfully. “TAYLOR!” she cried and brought her legs up against the dashboard, grabbing the handle over her head. He was driving at freeway speed and heading into an open barn. She closed her eyes just before impact with the far side of the barn, but fear had locked them open. As he drove in through the open door, there was a clunk. He had driven over a large flat metal sheet and the wall in front of them simply fell over.
The truck roared over what was once a wall, and she looked down to note that it had become a bridge spanning a narrow chasm. She saw metallic spikes shooting from the bottom of the channel. The foliage in front of them fell away a moment later, and after another head-crashing bounce they were back on the road that ran past the town.
“Where are...” She looked around, trying to get her bearings. The sky was lightening over the trees. Either that way was east, or there was a bigger military force assembling than she’d thought.
East. We’ll call that east.
“We’re on the other side of the town.” He laughed, sounding relieved.
We’re clear of the compound at any rate. But are we safe? That was when she heard the helicopter. I take back my question.
Taylor floored the truck, but he was limited to roads and the rental truck was white. Headlights or no, it was clearly visible. He took the vehicle as fast as he was able, the saving grace being a smooth, flat road. If there had been any turns at all, they would have flown off the edge of the street and into the ditch.
The helicopter backed off slightly, but Taylor didn’t.
He slammed the brake with both feet and skidded to a halt at an intersection. The truck tried to slide sideways, but he fought the fishtail and ground it to a halt. He looked up out of the driver’s side window.
“You’re waiting for them to catch up?” Angelica gasped, her knuckles white where she was clinging to the seat.
“No,” he said and pulled his head back in, turning the truck left and flying east, thankfully, definitely east, toward a sky that was becoming progressively lighter as the sun approached dawn. “I wasn’t getting ahead. They were going to give up and go look for someone else to catch.”
Angelica heard them then, growing close once more. This time, the thrumming of the helicopter’s blades seemed to vibrate the truck itself. Taylor sped along, taking the truck to 80, 90, 95 miles per hour. The sun broke over the horizon and the helicopter broke off and headed back toward town.
Taylor slowed, gracefully this time, letting the truck wind down until it came to stop. Angelica could barely breathe.
Adrenaline: a hormone secreted by the adrenal glands, especially in conditions of stress, increasing rates of blood circulation, breathing, carbohydrate metabolism, and preparing muscles for exertion.
He got out and looked back, westward, as if he could see the town from here. “I hope they had enough of a window to get away,” he said. He shook his head and sighed, then climbed back into the cab and took off again.
Her breathing was still ragged. She couldn’t seem to find her way back to calm.
“Watch yourself,” he warned her.
She blinked and automatically focused on being human, on dancing on two legs, on her back straight and tall. She felt the shift releasing her.
“You have to be more careful,” he said, not looking at her. “There’s no safe place now to hide. There’s no place to change without being seen.”
“I know that,” Angelica muttered, trying to run the exercises in her mind. Not that they worked. But they did help her focus.
“Sorry. I know you know. I’m just worried.” Taylor sighed. He tried to smile, to take her hand, but she shook him off, drawing her arms back tight around her middle. His reprimand had stung. Couldn’t he see that she was trying?
“Who are the elders?” she asked, looking anywhere but at him.
“We’re a long-lived people,” he started, and stumbled to a halt, seeming to have difficulty finding the words.
She shot him a glance. “Immortal?”
“No, just longer than normal. It’s something about the change and renewing cells constantly.” He shrugged. “I suspect that’ll change with you, too. That part is purely physical. So even your artif—your created physical change will most likely extend your life. The elders are like India’s fakirs, or yogis. They’ve spent their lives researching the shift and how to exploit it, work with it. They’re really old, more so than the rest of us will probably ever get.”
“How old? Like they were there to see Moses being pulled from the reeds, or watch Troy fall?”
“Not that long.” He shook his head, but he seemed uncertain. “All I know is that no one knows more about shifting than they do. Some people say that they can do things. Like, supernatural things.”
Like shifting wasn’t supernatural enough? “Like what?”
He blew air out of his nose, sounding frustrated. Not with her, but with the ability to not fully be able to answer the question to suit her. “I don’t know; it’s all nonsense, really. They’re
a group of old people with a great deal of knowledge. They seem mysterious so, naturally, there’s going to be rumors about them.” He rubbed his face. “I agree that they probably know more about shifting than anyone, but again,” he waved one hand in the air as if trying to quantify the hesitation in his speech. “you’re a... well, unique case.”
She needed to ask, much as she didn’t want to hear the answer. “What if your mother is right? What if I can’t change back one day? What if my body decides that the lion is its natural function and I get stuck?”
“I don’t know...” he said, and she could see he was just as frustrated as she was. “I think that might be...”
“No. Taylor, it’s like...” Angelica thought of an example. “It’s like being diabetic. Type two.” Diabetes mellitus. “Your body doesn’t make enough insulin, or you’re resistant to it, but when you start injecting it your body decides it doesn’t need to make any more at all, because it has an alternate source.” Other benefits of insulin include its effects on reducing triglycerides levels and increasing HDL. Not that that matters right now. “If my body determines that shifting is good for my cells, it will revert to that rather than generating new ones. If I can’t keep a disease that the feline body is immune to, then it will rely on that instead of creating antibodies.”
He thought about that a moment and finally nodded. “I understand what you’re saying. I don’t have answers. I promised that I was taking you to see the elders. So maybe let’s see what they have to say.”
“What if—”
“I don’t know!” He sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated I can’t control this.”
Not as frustrated as I am. I’m the one who has to live with this. Not you. Angelica sighed and turned her head to look at the passing scenery. She spoke to the window. “I’m scared, Taylor.”
She felt his hand take hers again. This time she didn’t pull away. But she didn’t respond either. Her thoughts were a million miles away.
“We need to get rid of the truck,” he said after driving this way for several minutes. “It’s too dangerous. By now they have a full description of it. There isn’t a cop in the state who won’t be on the lookout for it.”
“It’s a rental,” she pointed out. “We can’t just sink it in one of your ten thousand lakes.”
He smiled. “I don’t think it’ll come to that. Randall will take care of the details. I’ll get in touch with him. He’ll just have to have someone fetch it from wherever we stash it. Not,” he added, “from the bottom of a lake.”
A sign ahead said PILLAGER–10 Miles. “I think there’s a bus station there,” Taylor said. “We’ll drop the truck and get a bus to Duluth. From there we’ll figure out a way to see the elders.”
She turned to look at him, trying to ignore the fact that the name of the town left her with visions of Vikings doing Viking things. Didn’t a lot of Scandinavians live in Minnesota? “Where are they?” she asked, more to distract herself than anything.
“Nepal.”
Angelica blinked. “Nepal? Seriously?”
Taylor nodded.
Pillager loomed before them in the distance.
There really wasn’t anything Angelica could add to that.
PILLAGER PROVED TO have all the appeal she had expected from the name. A market, two bars, a post office, and a volunteer fire station laid claim to the booming populace of 465 people, according to the sign. There was a bus stop on the main street, though the ticket had to be purchased at a mini-mart. She stared at a display of Paul Bunyan souvenirs, sandwiched between advertisements for LOTTO and a rack of Slim-Jims.
Taylor paid for two bus tickets with a company card, and the man behind the counter called him Mr. Summers after running the price of the fare. He never so much as batted an eye. Apparently, government conspiracies hadn’t made it as far as this small-fry town. Angelica foraged, buying them juice and a couple of bananas that had seen better days, adding to the pile a few snacks that would keep them going until they got to Duluth. Rabbit stew with his parents seemed a long time ago.
He pulled their bags out of the truck and reached into his back pocket for his phone.
“We have four hours to kill,” Taylor said, looking around the town with narrowed eyes. Looking for threats, she realized.
Not a thing moved on the streets, with the exception of a stray dog sniffing around the dumpster next to the mini-mart.
It certainly didn’t have much to occupy their time. There was a little diner on the corner nearby, but even they hadn’t opened yet. She dug in her bag and pulled out a banana and offered it to him. Taylor held up one finger and listened carefully to someone she suspected was a recording on the phone. He pushed a button and said the words ‘Pillage, Rental, AT underway’, and hung up, dropping the phone in the cab of the truck before locking the door. He dropped the key into his pocket and picked up both bags, waving off the fruit with a muttered, “Later.”
“What was that all about?” she asked, tucking her purchases into her shoulder bag and following.
“Just telling Randall our status,” he said, taking her hand and leading her across the street. “We’ll wait for them to open,” he said, nodding at the diner, “and get something to eat.”
She eyed the restaurant dubiously. They hadn’t eaten out since they’d gotten back to the States. “Aren’t you afraid I might spontaneously change?” Her voice held more than a hint of sarcasm laced with anger that had been a long time brewing.
“Yes,” he said bluntly, looking at the hours posted on the door. “But we do need to eat, and the truck was spotted. We have to ditch it.”
Given it was the only vehicle parked on the street it already stuck out like a sore thumb, but she didn’t say that. Where could he have stashed it? There wasn’t another car in sight, with the exception of a delivery truck that had pulled up at the mini-mart and was unloading crates of milk and juice from the back.
“Four hours. That’s a long time.” Angelica leaned against the window of the restaurant, crossing her arms and watching as the stray dog went to lap water from a puddle down by the road. “Isn’t it only a matter of time before they figure out where we went? It’s not like we passed through a lot of towns on the road.”
“Probably,” Taylor said, “but we’re safer in public, such as it is.” From the scowl on his face, he didn’t like it any better than she did. He stared at the deserted streets, vigilant. Alert. “At least it’s better than if we were still on the road somewhere. Out there we’re vulnerable. And the next sizable town is several miles from here.”
The door opened behind him. An older man leaned out to look at them. He was grizzled, lean, and wearing a blue uniform shirt that said ‘Carl’ on the chest just above the pocket. “Can I help you folks?”
“We were just wanting to get a bite before the bus comes.” Taylor smiled politely. “Just waiting until you opened.”
The man looked over his shoulder at the clock over the counter. He looked back at them, forehead creased. “Huh. Long wait, I bet. Come on in, then.” He retreated behind the door, holding it open that they could walk in. The inside of the café was neat and spotless, if well-worn. The tile floor had a path cut through the linoleum at the door, the result of years of mud and snow-encrusted boots and endless mopping.
Four booths comprised the dining area, though the counter would hold another six. There were only five stools, though, and one tall chair that might have once belonged to a different place, but had been pressed into service to replace the stool marked by four holes in the floor where it had once been installed.
The predominant color of the café was a light orange and brown with the occasional silver of duct tape highlighting old wounds in the upholstery. Taylor took a seat on one of the stools near the door.
“I was just setting up.” the old man said. “Coffee isn’t ready yet, but I don’t expect that to take too long. I don’t usually open for another half hour at least.”
“Thank you for opening early.” Angelica placed her bag on the floor and perched next to her fiancé. The old man waved in acknowledgement and reached up to slap the power button on the television. It flared to life, the screen turned black and slowly resolved into an image of a weather map and someone pointing to series of concentric circles, talking about the next six days being warmer and sunnier than the previous six days and ending up with a joke that went over Angelica’s head.
By the time the coffee was done and the old man had placed a plate of eggs and bacon and slightly burned hash browns in front of each of them, the television featured a children’s show host who alternated between condescending and cloying.
“What does AT mean?” she asked Taylor as she spread jam on her toast.
He looked up at the kitchen, but the owner of the café was busy with his preparations for whatever morning rush a town this size offered.
“You said it on the phone just before we got here,” she prodded when he didn’t answer.
“Oh. Alternate Transportation.”
She poked some of eggs across the plate. Oddly enough, she wasn’t as hungry as she’d thought. Somehow even asking had brought back the reminder that things weren’t safe. That they were still very much in danger. She stared at congealing bacon grease. “Are...are they going to be okay?”
The door suddenly banged open, bells jangling wildly announcing the new arrival. “Hi, Dad!” A woman came smiling through the door and hesitated when she spotted them. “Well, hello! You’re here awful early! Or I’m awful late!” She waved as she walked past.
“You? Late?” the old man called. “You’re always exactly fifteen minutes late to everything, May. I just never figured out how you time it so precisely.”
“Oh, hush!” May waved him off, but she was still laughing. She ducked behind the counter, dropping her purse somewhere out of sight, and grabbed an apron from somewhere, pulling it over her head and tying it securely behind her.
