The Wereling 2: Prey

by Stephen Cole

  A second later, someone else crouched down beside the window and peered in at Tom, smirking triumphantly. A trail of yellow shot through the man’s dark eyes.

  Looked like he and the other Porsche ’wolves had decided to take out the trash too.

  Tom’s senses grew sharper, stinging his mind into focus. He felt the now-familiar ache and compulsion; the one that terrified and exhilarated him all at once. But he couldn’t risk the transformation with Jasmine and Rico so close by.

  Could he?

  The smoke in the car grew thicker, beginning to screen out the leering lupine face at the window. ‘Jasmine, Rico! Wake up!’ Tom yelled, still fumbling with the clasp on the seat belt. ‘We’ve got to get out of here!’

  Jasmine turned her head to face him, her straight black hair hanging down, brushing against the pale roof fabric. ‘What’s happening?’ she murmured.

  ‘Electrics have gone. And I can smell gasoline.’ Tom prised his thumbs desperately against the stubborn clasp. ‘I think the car’s going to explode or something.’

  The car rocked again as someone slammed up against it; Tom couldn’t see who, the smoke was too thick now.

  Jasmine stared about, wide-eyed. ‘Is that the cavalry?’

  ‘Cavalry getting their asses kicked,’ Tom said. His insides felt on fire. The urge was becoming overwhelming. It would be so easy … ‘No!’ he yelled in frustration. ‘Come on! Open!’ He gasped with effort as he put all his strength into forcing open the stuck clasp. ‘Come on!’

  But his human strength wasn’t enough. He was still trapped, powerless to get Jasmine and Rico out of there. His blood burned hot in his body, his mouth stung with the tang of iron. The ’wolves from the Porsche could break in and do anything to them while he and Jasmine and Rico just hung there, helpless …

  And then, though his head was swimming, Tom heard the quiet whoosh of flames igniting. He gave in to the change at last.

  As he roared at the delicious pain coursing through his body, the windshield cracked and shattered. Arms reached in eerily through the smoke that belched out from the fusing electrics in the dashboard, fingers urgently groping the air, searching them out.

  g

  g

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘No! Leave us alone!’

  To Tom, with his heightened hearing, Jasmine’s shriek was almost deafening. Flames were now licking at the window beside him. As his clothes tore open, as his bones warped, and his body refashioned itself into sleek lupine form, Tom fought to retain control, to stop himself from simply tearing into their attackers. He had to focus on getting Jasmine and Rico safely out before the whole car went up. Only that mattered.

  But the smoke was being sucked out through the jagged hole in the windshield, and the air was clearing. He was exposed.

  Jasmine stared at him, horrified. ‘Jesus, you’re one of them!’ she screamed, tears rolling down her face. She was no longer cool, no longer assured. Her voice was shrill, almost childish; terror and hopelessness shone wetly in her eyes.

  The seat belt could no longer support Tom’s weight. The fabric snapped and he fell against the roof of the car. One of the groping hands fastened around his throat and he snapped at it, drew tangy blood, began to drool.

  Jasmine writhed in her seat, still dangling upside down, trying to free herself from the belt. ‘Keep away from me!’ she yelled – at Tom, at the groping hands, at the flames that were now roaring up beside the driver’s side window.

  A loud clunk from the rear of the car sent a sudden realisation sparking through Tom’s clouded thoughts. The hands hadn’t been reaching in for them at all. They’d been searching for the switch on the dash that opened the trunk.

  The thugs in the Porsche didn’t give a damn about Jasmine or Rico or Tom. They wanted the phials of blood from Woollard’s apartment, chilled and packed tight in that frosty metal box. Tom didn’t know why, and right now he didn’t much care. He only wanted to fight back.

  With their objective achieved, the hands withdrew. The car began to rock up and down as the heavies attempted to raise up the burning car enough to open the trunk lid and prise out the gory hoard inside.

  Tom nuzzled his lupine head into Jasmine’s waist. She yelled and pummelled his skull with her fists, but he barely felt the blows. Her musky cologne irritated his sensitive nose, masked the smell of her flesh … His teeth scraped against the skin of her stomach. He drooled over her and she shrieked. If he bit her she would stop. If he bit her he could feed …

  No! He tore his head away from her, tugging through the fabric of her seat belt as he did so. It snapped, and she fell half on top of him. She recoiled, pushing against him, kicking him, as she struggled to get clear.

  ‘It’s OK, Jas!’ Rico shouted to her above the din. ‘’S’OK. It’s still Tom!’

  Jasmine froze, and stared into Tom’s eyes. Her own were streaming from the smoke and the terror, but she didn’t blink or break contact. Then slowly, trying not to shake, she nodded.

  Rico had wriggled free of his own belt, and was staring at Tom in wonder. Past him, through the rear windshield, Tom saw the Porsche ’wolves dragging Woollard’s metal carry-case clear of the car. Rage flared in his belly, his eyes narrowed at the thought of all they had done.

  He turned to the front and clawed out the remaining shards of glass protruding like teeth from the frame of the windshield. Then he grabbed the neck of Rico’s top with one clumsy paw and backed up and out, hauling the boy clear of the blazing car.

  As they emerged, Tom saw the garbage collectors lying beaten and dazed all around their vehicle, where the thugs had cleared them away from their prey. He could hear the slow, whining approach of distant sirens. Laying Rico on the ground, Tom turned to find Jasmine had already crawled out by herself. Clear of the car, she swept up Rico in her arms and held him close.

  The thugs were clambering into the Porsche with their prize. Rage growled in Tom’s belly. He bounded up on to the exposed undercarriage of the over-toppled car. It rocked under his weight, lending leverage to his leap as he flew at them.

  He landed barely a metre from the battered sports car, but it was already reversing. One of the thugs had been left behind. He swung around to face Tom, swiping at him with a metal bar. The bar caught Tom heavily behind the ear, knocking him flat on the asphalt. Everything went hazy.

  As the world rolled back into focus, Tom heard the engine of the Porsche receding into the distance. The thug who’d jumped him was pelting away down a side street.

  There was a deafening explosion as the Lexus erupted in flames. The force of the blast sent Tom tumbling further out into the road. Then he heard light footsteps, someone running towards him. He tried to move but his limbs were sluggish. He turned his head, bared his dagger-teeth in warning. It was Rico, staring at him with his big, dark eyes.

  ‘Stay away from him, Ric!’ Jasmine warned. She was peering around from behind the garbage truck, it must’ve shielded her and Rico from the blast.

  ‘He’s hurt,’ Rico shouted back. ‘We gotta get him outta here. He got us out.’

  Tom’s ’wolf limbs were cramping up; his whole body was shaking. With the rage literally knocked out of him, he could feel his body preparing to shift back to human form. He would be weak, defenceless, exposed – not to mention stark naked. This place would be swarming with emergency services and crowds of onlookers anytime now. He couldn’t be found here.

  Rising jerkily to his feet, he limped painfully towards the same side street the thug had taken, then paused and looked back. Jasmine had skirted the burning wreck and stood beside Rico, grabbing hold of his shoulders.

  But Rico wriggled clear. ‘I think he wants us to go with him.’

  ‘What, so he’s Lassie now?’ Jasmine retorted. ‘Jeez, Ric, he’s a ’wolf. You know what they can do. You more than most.’

  ‘He ain’t like them, Jas, I swear it.’

  But Tom couldn’t listen any longer. He ran stiffly for the side street, felt his teeth
ache and his jaw tighten; felt his pelvic bones start to burn and melt as the metamorphosis took hold.

  Time and motion blurred, and suddenly he was moving on two legs, not four, and he was freezing cold, slumped naked against a graffiti-strewn wall with his head thumping to the erratic beat of his heart. He gingerly felt for the wound from the iron bar. The speeding of his blood through the metamorphosis had reduced the damage to little more than an egg-shaped bump.

  He turned to find Rico and Jasmine standing before him.

  Jasmine’s eyes had dried, she stood cold and composed. ‘Things ain’t bad enough already? I got to see you butt-naked now before I even get breakfast?’ She held out a bundle of clothes – a fluorescent garbage collector’s jacket, grimy trousers, and heavy boots. ‘Get these on.’

  Rico led them into a nearby vacant lot so that they were off the street, and Tom gratefully slipped on the baggy trousers. ‘Nice. I always wanted to dress as a garbage collector.’

  ‘Figured you needed the clothes more than he did,’ Jasmine muttered. ‘Ambulance is coming for him now.’

  Rico smiled. ‘Jas can strip a guy faster than any girl I seen.’

  ‘Shut your dirty mouth,’ she retorted, and looked back at Tom warily. ‘No wonder you wanted to go see Stacy Stein. You need the cure, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tom replied quietly.

  ‘So, what – you gonna stay this way now?’

  ‘The urge to change happens when I get real mad,’ Tom explained. ‘Or scared. Or when the moon’s full.’

  Jasmine nodded, blew out a long sigh. ‘Ric’s right. I guess you did help us. I was thinking maybe you were a spy, but now …’

  ‘I’m not a spy. I helped Ramone, too. That’s how we met, in Central Park. He didn’t want to tell you in case you freaked.’ Tom could see the doubt in her deep brown eyes. ‘Jasmine, everything Kate and I told you back at Ramone’s was true. I’m no ordinary ’wolf. Takapa wants me for study and Marcie Folan – Kate’s mom – wants me dead.’

  ‘That bitch on TV,’ Jasmine recalled. ‘You say she’s gonna kill your folks if you don’t give yourself up?’

  ‘You a wanted man,’ said Rico, his eyes shining like this was just some way cool game. ‘So what you gonna do?’

  ‘I figure I’ve got maybe a day or so before Marcie moves again,’ Tom said, as he finished tying his borrowed boots. ‘There’s supposed to be a man in this city who can cure me, but I don’t know how to find him.’

  ‘That Zhee-khaki guy you asked Woollard about, right?’ Jasmine nodded. ‘And you think maybe Stacy Stein knows?’

  ‘If Stacy knows about the ’wolves and is researching for a cure herself …’ He shrugged. ‘It’s the only lead I have.’

  Tom tested out the boots. They were at least two sizes too big, but better than nothing. ‘You know, those ’wolves went to a lot of risk and trouble to get those phials of blood before we could take them to Stacy.’ He smoothed a hand through his tangled hair. ‘Why would that be? Just what is this treatment Woollard’s given the stuff?’

  Jasmine shrugged. ‘Go ask him. Or Stacy.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Tom said, thinking. ‘Woollard said she needed them urgently. If I can get them back, she’ll owe me a favour, right?’ He looked at Jasmine and Rico. ‘You two go. I’ll come find you later.’

  ‘Uh-uh. We’re coming with you,’ said Jasmine. ‘Be good to know what hole in the ground those lowlifes slink back to. Then we can go tell Ramone. Get us some revenge.’

  ‘I just hope he and Kate are OK,’ Tom muttered. ‘Come on. The guy who slugged me went this way. I think I can pick up his scent, we can follow him.’

  Jasmine stared at him uncertainly. ‘You can do that shit when you’re not howling?’

  ‘Kind of. If I really concentrate.’

  ‘Jeez, Tom, you’re freaking me—’

  ‘Quiet, Jas!’ Rico slapped her arm. ‘Let the man concentrate!’

  Trying to hide a wry smile, Tom led the way back on to the street and scented the air. The search was on.

  g

  Kate was beginning to wonder if she’d ever find a chance to escape. Swagger was sticking to her like glue, and while he’d mentioned bed a couple of times, she was quite sure sleep was not on his mind.

  She shuddered. Watching ’wolves beating the crap out of each other in a fight to the death may float your boat, freak boy, but it doesn’t do much for me.

  So far he seemed to find her reticence somehow cute. She just prayed he didn’t tire of it too quickly. She guessed Swagger was used to getting his own way, and probably enjoyed the use of force. Truthfully, she was scared stiff.

  While Eric cleaned up the bloody arena, Swagger had announced he would give Kate a guided tour of his headquarters. She had the awful feeling that the tour would conclude in whatever stinking pit he used for a bedroom, and she knew she had to get away before then. But Shaun, his big bruiser bodyguard, was keeping careful pace close behind and every door in the place was locked and bolted. Even if she ran, there was no way out.

  Having walked her around the stadium and shown her his cherished video games room – a squalid shrine to all things PlayStation – they’d moved on to the main lobby. Kate was eyeing the boarded-up doors longingly when one of them started to thud and rattle.

  Swagger grinned wide, dry skin cracking around his lips. ‘My boys are home.’ He gestured to Shaun. ‘Open up.’

  Shaun obeyed in silence, unbolting the doors.

  ‘Your boys?’ Kate queried, heart sinking.

  ‘My generals,’ said Swagger. ‘We rule this city – just that the city don’t know it yet. But it will.’

  ‘So,’ Kate deduced as Shaun threw the final bolts, ‘they’ve been checking out the other gangs in New York, making sure they’ll all be at your big fight come Friday?’

  Swagger’s eyes were cold, his smile a little less sure on his face. ‘Clever kid, ain’t you? Yeah, we’re about through with the heats. Time now for the main event.’

  The doors were opened and four men burst in, in almost drunken good spirits. They were Swagger clones: all acne, black leather and denim. The tallest of them was hefting a metal carry-case. Swagger and Shaun greeted them with whoops and weird tribal salutes.

  ‘You wanna progress report, Swag?’ said a barrel-chested man with a whiny voice, whose chest hair curled up to his pointed chin.

  ‘Later, Mikey. When I ain’t got company.’

  The tall guy looked at Kate and licked his lips. ‘See you got yourself breakfast already, Swag.’

  Swagger nodded and slapped Kate’s butt. ‘And damn, am I hungry this morning.’ Their sycophantic laughter was sickening.

  Kate gritted her teeth.

  ‘So, what’s with the new purse, Kes?’ Swagger demanded.

  ‘Hope you’re thirsty as well as hungry,’ said Kes, the tall guy. ‘’Cause we have brought back a treat.’ He opened up the case and pulled out a test tube. A thick, dark syrupy liquid sloshed inside. Blood.

  The gang, Swagger included, all stared at the haul like it was solid gold.

  Swagger seemed to snap out of the trance first. ‘What you even thinkin’ about, taking this?’

  Mikey shrugged. ‘We can handle it, Swag.’

  Kes looked suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Thought we’d have us a party to celebrate Friday night comin’.’

  ‘You ain’t got no orders to!’ Swagger advanced threateningly on his so-called generals. ‘Where’d you get this? And where’s Danno?’

  Mikey looked at the others for support. ‘We saw some of Ramone’s gang taking it from Woollard’s place …’

  ‘And you couldn’t help yourselves, huh?’ Swagger bore down on him, imitated Mikey’s nasal Bronx accent. ‘We can handle it, Swag! Come on, what happened?’

  Kate listened in horror as Kes and his buddies told Swagger about how they’d run what had to be Jasmine’s car off the road, and how the guy inside had turned ’wolf, and how Danno had slugged him with an iron bar while the rest
of them took off. Danno was following on, but the ’wolf wouldn’t be going anywhere fast …

  Exhausted, frightened now for Tom as much as for herself, Kate felt tears prickling the backs of her eyes. But she kept them inside. There was no way these animals would ever see her cry.

  ‘You dumb-ass son of a bitch,’ Swagger told Kes, suddenly dead serious. ‘These tubes were meant for Stacy Stein over at Park East Hospital. She needs ’em, man!’

  ‘We need ’em,’ said Mikey, and the others agreed.

  Kes offered a tube to Swagger. ‘Hey, there’s two crates of these babies. We can just take some of ’em, and—’

  ‘You’re no better than that scum in the locker room!’ Swagger snatched the test tube away and smacked Kes in the face with enough force to floor him. ‘You don’t do shit like this again, none of you, y’hear?’ he raged. ‘I’m ruling here. Me.’ He stabbed his grimy finger into Chest Hair Man’s shoulder. ‘I say when you can pull this kind of crap, and when I tell you to do something straight, you don’t make no circus out of it. Get me?’

  Kes got up, wiped blood from his lip and nodded silently. The others signalled their understanding too, the joking around all over, eyes downcast now.

  But Kate realised that Shaun had not reacted to a single word or gesture. All his attention was on the phial of blood in Swagger’s hand. He was practically drooling, picking at his fingers and shuffling his feet around like he needed the bathroom.

  Swagger selected another tube from the crate and handed it to Shaun. ‘I guess a little treat from time to time don’t hurt.’

  Kate grimaced as Shaun pulled out the cork and held it to his mouth, about to drain it, but Swagger shook his head.

  ‘Bad manners, man,’ he said. ‘First we drink a toast … to Ms Stacy Stein, the dumbest bitch on the East Coast!’

  He raised his tube mockingly at the others, then he and Shaun drank. Kes and the others eyed Shaun balefully now as the sticky red liquid disappeared down his throat. He shuddered and moaned softly as the last of it slipped down. Then he cracked open the glass tube and flicked his tongue over the slivers, determined not to miss a drop.