by S. L. Naeole
It had taken me an entire year to do it, but I didn’t care. Everything about the bike had been my choice, and I was proud of it. It didn’t matter that the paintjob had been done using cans of spray paint bought at a garage sale on base. It didn’t matter that the seat had a big crack in the middle that exposed the old, orange foam inside.
All that mattered was that when I turned sixteen, I didn’t have to beg anyone for a car or ask anyone for a ride anywhere. I had freedom that a lot of my friends didn’t, and I was willing to protect that freedom at all costs. It’s why I’d convinced my parents to let me bring the bike in the trailer, instead of shipping it along with all of the rest of our things like they’d wanted; I didn’t trust it in the hands of anyone else but me.
I walked the bike away from the house and then checked my switches. The choke was off, as was the petcock valve; I turned all of the switches to on, and climbed onto the seat. My foot found the kick starter and with a slight jump, I pushed down, adding the weight of my body to the peg. It took half a dozen tries to get the engine to roar to life, but I knew that was mostly because it had been sitting idle for too long.
“Even bikes can grow lazy,” Mom said before she’d said goodbye to me.
“It’s a bike,” I laughed as I kissed her cheek.
“Don’t be home past lunch. And mind your manners! I’ll find out if you don’t!” she yelled.
“Yeah, yeah,” I laughed as I waved.
But as I rode, I began to feel the doubt grow within me. This was a small island. My parents had always found out about me getting into trouble while we lived on base, no matter how big or small it was; it was almost guaranteed that the same thing would happen here.
Doing my best to ignore that doubt, I rode my bike down the main road, following it all the way to the pier. The slip where the ferries docked was currently empty, and most of the other boats were gone as well. I stopped the bike and pulled out the piece of paper with the directions on it. There was a small side street that left the main road and traveled past a few gray homes and shops before ending in front of a two-story home that was only a shade lighter than the gray homes before it.
I looked at the directions again and then looked at that last house. There was a ramp that wound around up to the porch, and I knew right away it was the right house. I rode up to the porch and then turned the bike off. I kicked the stand out and left the bike at the end of the ramp. I walked up and quickly took a look around before knocking on the screen door.
There was a wooden bench pushed up against the wall beneath a window with flowered curtains. A pair of tall boots had fallen beneath the bench, a bucket and a tattered towel sitting beside them. My knuckles had barely brushed against the weathered wood of the door when Audrey appeared behind the screen, her smile beaming clear through the dark, torn surface.
“You’re here! I heard a lot of rumbling and thought maybe it was my brother working on the truck. Come inside! I hope you’re hungry; I made pie!” She pushed the door open for me, and I walked in, the sound of my heavy boots on the wooden floor a complete contrast to the quiet of her wheels rolling ahead of me.
Unlike the tiny house that I’d just left, this one was big and roomy. There wasn’t much furniture in the living room – just a sofa and a chair with a coffee table between them – which made it easier for Audrey to maneuver her wheelchair around. She went through a wide doorway, calling out for me to follow, and we entered a kitchen with low countertops and a rectangular table with two chairs on one side and none on the other.
On one end of the table was a three-tiered metal rack with several small pies on the bottom two and a large one on the top. I inhaled the thick, heavy aroma in the air and wrinkled my nose. The combination of fruit and fish made my stomach grumble in a way that said quite clearly that hungry was the last thing I was about to be.
“Please, please tell me you’re not gonna try to feed me an apple and sardine pie,” I groaned as I saw her pull a couple of plates from off the counter.
Audrey laughed. “The fish pies are for my dad. He’s going out on his boat for the next week.”
“That’s all he’s gonna eat?” I asked, counting only six pies.
Nervously, she giggled and nodded before taking the smaller pies into her lap and then putting them on the counter. She pulled open a drawer and removed a pie server and a couple of forks and then turned around.
“Dad’s on this particular diet and can’t eat too much heavy food-”
“But…that’s a sardine pie,” I pointed out. “Anything with the word ‘pie’ in it is gonna be, you know, heavy.”
“Yeah, well…it’s a diet sardine pie,” she said quickly before pulling the apple pie down from the rack and slicing it.
She placed a wedge on one of the plates and handed it to me. I accepted it and the fork she offered, leaning against the counter before sniffing the pie skeptically. “Are you sure there’s no fish in it?” I asked, knowing that the conversation we’d had over dinner about my extreme dislike of fish had not yet been forgotten.
“It’s just apples, some butter, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and lemon juice. No fish; scout’s honor.” She held up her hand with index and ring fingers crossed.
“That’s not how the scouts do it,” I mumbled before dipping my fork into the crispy pastry and pulling out a bite. I placed it into my mouth and waited for my gag reflex to kick in. When it didn’t, I made a sound that told her clearly that I was surprised.
“I told you,” she said smugly before taking a wedge for herself. She didn’t take a bite, I noticed, and instead just watched me eat.
“Not hungry?”
Her head shook from side to side. “I’ve been picking at filling and dough for the past few hours. I shouldn’t have even grabbed this slice, but I thought it would be rude to have you eat alone.”
I took the plate from her and finished the slice for her, scraping the fork against the white china to gather up all of the filling. “You know, this is probably one of the best apple pies I’ve ever had,” I said with my mouth still full.
“Thanks. It’s my grans’ recipe. She serves it for all the tourists.”
“Don’t you mean trogs?” I corrected, watching her reaction to the word.
“No. Liam…he and his friends like to use that word, but I don’t.”
My mouth pinched up into an annoyed pout at the mention of her brother. I knew that he’d come up sooner or later; I was just hoping that later would mean way after I’d already gone back home.
“You don’t like my brother, do you?”
How do I answer that her without offending her?
“No. I think he’s a jerk.”
That’s not exactly the way to do it…
“You’re right. He was a jerk to you and I don’t blame you. But he’s my brother and I’ve gotta defend him.”
“I know,” I agreed. “I’d probably do the same thing if I had a brother.”
“He’s a really good guy, once you get to know him.”
“Uh-huh,” I nodded.
“You don’t believe me, do you?”
I looked at her, at her brown eyes and the way she frowned slightly at the thought of me doubting her. “I’m sorry, Audrey. I get why you guys don’t like tourists. We moved around so much that it was basically like being a tourist; professional new kid…that’s what kids like me call ourselves because of how many times we’ve moved. I know how people who’ve lived somewhere all their lives feel about people like me when we show up.
“But I’ve never been treated the way Liam’s treated me. I know that he’s your brother, but both times that I’ve seen him, he’s acted like I’ve got cancer or something and I’m trying to give it to you.”
Audrey’s face paled and her eyes watered at my words. I quickly went over what I’d said to cause such a dramatic reaction but I couldn’t find anything that was anywhere near insulting. It didn’t matter, though. The look in her eyes was all it took to feel like the vulture of gui
lt was eating my heart out. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-” My apology was cut short.
Audrey’s watery eyes glazed over and she made a sort of wheezy sound before her bottom lip began to tremble. Her hands clutched the armrests of her wheelchair so tightly, her knuckles turned white while the tips of her fingers turned a frighteningly deep blood red.
“Audrey?” I knelt beside her and saw her jaw clench and then snap open so suddenly that I heard it pop, the sound of it so loud I flinched. “Audrey, are you okay?”
I put my hand against her head and pushed some hair that had fallen into her face back before looking closely at her. She looked past me, and I could feel a slight vibration in her, a hum just beneath her skin. It grew louder, and though I knew that I was calling out her name over and over again, asking repeatedly if she was all right, I couldn’t hear it; it was as if the humming was drowning out everything.
The floor was hard against my knees as I leaned into the wheelchair to put my hands on Audrey’s. I looked down at them and for the first time noticed how thin and bony they were. There were scars on them as well; small, ghostly lines that looked like scratches from a cat or a dog. There was also a thick, raised scar that ran along her left calf and beneath the crook of her knee. There was a fine layer of hair growing on the skin that traced the scar, making it stand out even more than it should.
“Audrey-” I began once again, this time hearing my voice loud and clear, the growing panic obvious, but I couldn’t even begin to do anything about it when, with a sudden jerk, Audrey twisted and fell out of the chair and onto me. I fell back onto the hard, wooden floor and hit my elbow, the shock of it shooting all the way to my foot.
Small spasms took Audrey’s body from limp to rigid in intervals, her back arching so sharply that her useless legs pulled up and then pushed down like uncontrollable pistons. Every quake made it more and more difficult for me to sit up without dropping her onto the floor. A stuttered gasp kept coming out of her mouth, as though each time she inhaled it hit a wall and then bounced back, half spit, half air. It passed through her clenched teeth, her jaw having snapped shut when she fell.
Audrey was having a seizure. I’d only ever seen it happen once before, with a teacher in the third grade, but I knew that she needed help and she needed it fast. I looked around quickly for a phone. I couldn’t see one on the walls anywhere in the kitchen or on the table and I’d left my cell phone at home. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I said to myself.
“Help!” It was the only thing I could do. I called out, shouting as loud as I could, hoping that someone in one of the houses along the street could hear me. “Help! Someone help me!”
Each call for help seemed to trigger another spasm in Audrey, and her head butted against my ribs, causing my cries to break up. “Help” turned into “hell”, and I felt the panic within me grow. I wrapped my arms around Audrey’s head, trying to keep her from hurting herself as again and again, she stiffened and relaxed, her teeth grinding against each other so loudly, my own teeth hurt at the sound.
“It’s okay, Audrey. Everything’s gonna be okay,” I whispered into her ear. I put my hands behind me and began pulling myself backwards, inch by inch, my legs holding onto Audrey’s waist to keep her as steady as possible. I continued to call out for help, but the eerie silence that met each shout told me that either no one was listening, or no one cared.
As I made it past the doorway, I heard the mechanical grumble of a car engine. Whether it was coming or going, I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I screamed for help, feeling the desperation leave scratches in my throat.
The unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps on the porch numbed my throat, and I yelled louder than ever. The squeak of the screen door opening was like a switch in my voice, and I turned my neck around as much as possible to direct my cries toward whoever had arrived.
Liam stood in the doorway for a second before rushing toward us, his hands clawing at me, grabbing me by my neck and pulling me out from beneath his sister with ease. He looked at me, his eyes fierce with that same rage that had filled them yesterday, and he growled. “Get out of my house.”
I stood and backed away, unsure if it was the right thing to do but once again unable to stop him as he picked his sister up and ran past me, out of the house.
CHAPTER SIX
LIAM
I’d heard the cries long before the truck stopped in front of the house. I knew before I’d even stepped inside what had happened, and it was like I was ten-years-old all over again and seeing my little sister unconscious and dying, only this time the person holding her was the trog.
I was so scared and so angry. The combination of those two feelings would drive anyone to kill, and I wanted to kill Fallon. I wanted to kill her for whatever it was that she did to my sister. She might have been helping yesterday, but there was no reason for Audrey to have one of her episodes while safe at home unless Fallon gave her a reason.
Jameson was standing on the porch when I ran past him with Audrey in my arms. He called out to me, said something that I swore I’d remember later. It didn’t matter what he wanted right now, not when I could feel the humming in Audrey’s body grow stronger. She was grunting, her teeth grinding in pain. Her body wanted to change but it couldn’t. It couldn’t change the way mine could, the way our father’s could…the way everyone who had been born on this rock could.
Her skin and hair wanted to grow thicker and darker. Her bones were begging to stretch and curve beneath the muscles that were struggling to expand and grow. I looked at her and saw her jaw expanding, widening. Teeth that had just been sharp were now dangerous and jutted out past lips that had grown thinner and black. Her eyes were open and wide, staring at me blankly as her pupil shook, the golden ring that surrounded it shimmering as it grew, widening and doubling in size.
“Hold on, Audrey,” I begged as I put the truck in reverse and slammed my foot on the gas. I spun around at the start of our small street and raced past the pier, down the main road and toward the small clinic near the end of town. I pulled her head down into my lap so that no one could see what was happening to her.
Already her long, red hair was gone, her face completely covered in dark auburn fur. But the change was incomplete. Her ears remained round and hairless despite now being on the top of her head, while her nose still looked human in most ways, though wider now with nostrils that flared at the pain I knew was attacking the rest of her body.
Her hands had swelled up, her palms now fat and callused. Her fingernails had thickened and grew, curling from her darkened fingertips and ending in deadly points. Her wrists and arms had the same thick, glossy auburn hair covering them as her face, and where she’d once been thin, muscles now rippled and flexed like they were a separate animal completely.
But even as her arms and hands changed, the rest of her didn’t. Her chest, her frail legs, her bare feet all remained human and untouched. It was always the same, always the same result. She could never change at will like the rest of us could. Instead, it was only through the seizures that her body would allow a partial transformation. Her emotional state had to be protected at all costs, Dad had told me.
It was why she couldn’t be left alone in town, with all those damn trogs who pounced on weakness just as quickly as we did. They didn’t know what they could provoke; none of them did. It was the black secret of this island, the dark truth that we would protect at all costs.
Black Cat Rock was home to the Panthus. We’ve been called many things: cat people, cat walkers, werecats, but no one has ever seen us change and lived to tell about it. This meant no one could see Audrey, half-formed, and be allowed to live. The consequences of killing an island full of tourists…I couldn’t even think about it.
The stories people told about our island, that we depended on the tourists to survive, were only partially true. They ate the fish we caught, they slept in the beds we made, and bought the souvenirs with our island screen printed on them, but they never once kn
ew that it wasn’t their money we really wanted.
“Liam,” I heard gasped beside me.
I looked down and saw Audrey’s eyes. They were filled with pain and confusion. “Hey, sis. How are you feeling?”
Her mouth moved, and little growls slipped past her sharp fangs. Human ears would have heard the growls only, but I heard the words in them, the whimpers. “It hurts,” she said. “It hurts everywhere.”
“I know, I know. I’m taking you to get help. We’re almost there, Aud. Just hold on…”
I put my hand on her shoulder to try and calm her, but when she snarled, I knew that the pain was becoming too much for her, and I snatched my hand away. Without being able to complete the transformation, her body would continue to stress itself. If she didn’t turn back, she would die.
The small clinic that stood at the end of town had only one employee, Dr. Phan, a veterinarian and the only human who knew the truth about us. She was older than Grans, and she was meaner than fleas. Not many people on the rock liked her, but she was the only human we knew we could trust. And she was the only one who could help Audrey.
I parked the truck and ran into the clinic, leaving Audrey inside, afraid to move her or touch her. The clinic was small, with only a curtain separating the waiting area from the exam area, which meant if I didn’t already hear Dr. Phan or see her, she wasn’t there.
Thankfully, she was. The minute she saw me, saw the terror in my eyes, she knew what was wrong. She grabbed a sheet from a shelf beside a stack of cages, and a syringe. She opened up a mini refrigerator that sat on the floor next to a set of chairs, pulling out a small bottle and tucking it into the pocket of her dingy coat.
“Is she in the truck?” she asked, rushing past me.
