Indigo Moon

by Gill McKnight

  Ren looked at the scratches on the patio door. The only discordant note about this den, and this time her growl came out sounding right. A snarl of pure white rage. The scents were old, they were weak and sour, but she recognized them and the story they told. This was bad. This was dangerous.

  Isabelle was on the run again, and rightly so. This den was helping her, and Ren was jealous and morbidly downcast. She wanted to be the one Isabelle turned to. Ren knew this pack scent. It told her who lived here, and who came and went. And it told her where to look next.

  *

  “How fast can these things run?” Godfrey glanced warily out his side window. The Lexus zoomed along night roads. Rain beat on the windows, the tires threw up water, and the wipers slammed back and forth at high speed. Every so often a shadow would detach from the surrounding gloom and race toward the car. Godfrey hauled on the wheel and swerved to avoid it.

  “They’re playing with us,” Isabelle murmured, an oasis of calm in the tense atmosphere inside the car. Her mind was relaxed where her companions were on the verge of panic. The attack plan seemed crystal clear to her. She wondered how she could see it while Godfrey and Hope couldn’t.

  “Why don’t they just jump and try to stop the car?” Hope asked.

  “I don’t think that’s the plan. They can chase alongside for short bursts, but we’ll always outrun them.” Isabelle watched as another beast came crashing out of the trees. Rainwater flew off its coat; its eyes gleamed in the approaching headlights.

  “Shit, here comes another one.” Godfrey gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  “Don’t swerve this time,” Isabelle said. “They want us to swerve away from them. These lunges are just distractions.” She glanced off to the opposite side of the road but could see nothing through the rain-beaded glass. “Remember, they have better night vision. You don’t know what you’re driving toward every time you swerve.”

  “I can’t just drive over it.” Godfrey was panicked.

  Stressing out the driver was probably part of the plan. It all clicked into place in Isabelle’s mind. She saw the logic in it. It made sense. She must be acquiring some sort of inherited hunt instinct.

  “Believe me, it can see you. It will move.” She gripped the back of Godfrey’s seat and watched over his shoulder as he hit the gas and kept a steady line. The beast roared and ran toward them. With a grating thud it bounced off the passenger side front fender. They all winced.

  “So much for that theory,” Hope said. “They’re obviously on a suicide mission.”

  “I think it expected me to swerve.” Godfrey kept on going. “Can you hear that noise? I think the fender is rubbing on the tire or something. Shit.”

  Isabelle stared out the back window into the night. She’d had countless nightmares reliving the moment her car hit Joey. His tawny, blood-soaked fur crushed against her windshield was an image etched on her mind now and forever. The hunt and her terrified efforts to escape it had returned to her full force soon after she’d arrived in Portland. She had nearly all her memory now, except for a frustratingly small segment…meeting Ren. Their first meeting and the start of their friendship still eluded her. Often she had thumbed through the charred pages of her journal hoping that some word, some daydream, or idle thought would bring it all flooding back. But always she drew a blank, while the images of Joey howling in pain and the rest of the pack closing in on her were as vivid as if it had happened only yesterday.

  Her guts roiled as parts of her nightmare were re-enacted before her. This was a standard hunt procedure, to unnerve a moving prey by continuous charging, making it swerve and skew until it became disoriented and exhausted.

  She looked back to see if the creature had risen or was still lying wherever it had been thrown, but couldn’t see in the red glow of their taillights. The darkness had swallowed it. She should feel sorry for it, perhaps lying by the side of the road badly hurt, but all she could think was, One down, God knows how many to go. In a fight for survival, she could be as cold-blooded as the rest of them.

  Her hands were shaking with adrenaline, and her heart thumped until it felt pinched and sore. She wanted to get out of the car and run, run and never stop. Run through the rain into the wet world of the forest, where the earth would dig between her toes and raise a myriad of scents. She wanted the rain to stick to her pelt like jeweled buttons, and the wind to fill her head with forest sounds until her ears twitched with pleasure. Her tongue clicked on the roof of her mouth. She licked her lips and flicked the edges of her teeth. She wanted to live her dreams. It was almost time.

  “Do you really think if we swerve around them we could be driving into something worse? Like a trap?” Hope asked her anxiously.

  “I’m certain of it.” Isabelle spanned her fingers as far as they would stretch until every bone in her hand popped. Her feet were hot. Too hot for her shoes. She kicked them off.

  As if to prove her words, up ahead another creature slid from the woods. This time they looked for a trap and could plainly see two others waiting on the opposite side of the road.

  “Why didn’t they trick us the first few times?” Hope said.

  “Timing? Luck? Maybe you didn’t swerve far enough. Maybe they weren’t all in place. It’s not meticulously planned, it’s just opportunism. There aren’t that many of them, and they have to run through the woods to the next turn in the road to catch up with us. They’ll be getting exhausted and desperate by now,” Isabelle said with satisfaction.

  “You know a lot about it,” Godfrey said.

  “I do.”

  “So we’re stuck with them because this road is twisty?” Hope asked. “How soon till we hit a straight stretch and get the hell out of here?”

  Godfrey shrugged. “I’m not sure. This road is for tourists to enjoy the scenery, you’re not meant to drive through it like Casey at the throttle.”

  The Were began its run toward them and Godfrey stepped on the gas, steadied the steering, and aimed straight for it. It stumbled uncertainly, then leapt aside at the last minute. It avoided the car by inches but slammed hard into a tree.

  “Aha! Take that, you bastard,” Godfrey crowed. “How’s that for a taste of your own medicine.”

  “Another one bites the dust.” Hope high-fived him. “Take your mama bowling tonight—” The roof above their heads dented in with an almighty bang. “What was that!”

  Isabelle peered out the back window as a huge branch bounced off the roof onto the road behind them. “They’re in the trees throwing things.”

  They all peered overhead in disbelief.

  “In the trees?” Hope was flabbergasted. “I’ve never seen Jolie in a tree in her life.”

  “Duck!” Isabelle yelled. A huge branch shattered the sunroof, showering them in glass and rainwater. At the same time, they rammed into a pile of rocks scattered across the road. The Lexus tore over the top of them with an excruciating screech. Metal ripped and grated. Part of the exhaust jettisoned across the asphalt.

  “Holy shit!” Godfrey struggled with the wheel. “We keep veering to the right. The steering’s damaged.”

  Hope and Isabelle pushed the branch back out of the sunroof.

  “It’s an ambush.” They were closing in. Isabelle could sense it. The car was damaged. Godfrey was freaked. The hunt was winning. The Lexus and its passengers were becoming more helpless by the minute. In the red glow of the taillights, Isabelle could see a stream of oil in the wake of the car.

  “Andre will kill me. He loves his car,” Godfrey said.

  “Shut up and keep driving,” Hope shouted at him over the clatter of a trailing exhaust.

  “I’ve got to get out,” Isabelle said. She was burning. She pulled at her clothes; they stuck to her sweat-slicked body, uncomfortable and claustrophobic.

  “What?” Hope turned to her. “Oh God. Not now.”

  “What? What is it?” Godfrey asked, his eyes glued to the road.

  “She’s changing.” Hope bit out.
/>   “Jesus. Talk about timing. Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” Godfrey shrieked. “What will we do? What will we do?”

  “You drive. I’m going in the back with her.” Hope grabbed a bottle of water and clambered awkwardly in beside Isabelle. She cupped her hand and poured some water in it.

  “Here, honey. This will cool you down a little.” She bathed Isabelle’s burning face and cupped her cool hand around the nape of her neck.

  “I want out.” Isabelle raised her face to the rain and cold air racing in through the broken sunroof. She was ablaze. “The car’s had it. Let me out. They’ll follow me and you two can get away.”

  “No.” Hope shook her head. “Won’t work. You know I can’t move fast, and Godfrey runs like a pregnant teenager. We’d get ten paces and it would be over. We need to stick together, Isabelle, or we all lose.”

  “I’ll need to pull over soon,” Godfrey shouted from the front. “This car’s going nowhere…well, nowhere I point it at. The oil light’s on and I smell smoke. It’s kaput. What will we do? What will we do—Oh my God! It’s the Lucky Seven.”

  They rolled into the parking lot, into the same space they’d vacated just half an hour ago. Several inquisitive faces peered at them through the plate glass windows.

  “You mean we drove in a circle all this time?” Hope was outraged. “No wonder they kept bombarding us. All they had to do was stand still and wait for our next circuit!”

  “Well, how was I to know with all that swerving?” Godfrey yelled back.

  Isabelle kicked open the door and staggered out into the night air.

  “Isabelle,” Hope called after her.

  “I just need air. Lots and lots of air.” Isabelle sucked great gulps of it.

  “You guys okay?” The waitress stood on the top steps under the awning, out of the rain.

  “That’s what a big tip gets you,” Godfrey muttered, pleased. “We had a run-in with a rock. Can I get a tow truck out here?” he called over.

  “Sure, hon. Come in and use the phone.”

  “I’m staying here with her.” Hope nodded at Isabelle.

  “I’ll be two minutes.” Godfrey ran over to the diner steps.

  Isabelle urged Hope to follow him. “Go and get warm. I’ll come in a moment.”

  “No. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I am. Leave me. I’m fine.”

  Hope shook her head. “No way.”

  The bushes nearby rustled and Isabelle whipped her head around and snarled out a warning. Hope blinked.

  “That’s a very impressive snarl,” she said. “Is there something out there?”

  Isabelle shook her head. “I was spooked.” Nevertheless, she headed toward the bushes to make sure. “Wait here.”

  She slid through a gap into a thicket and stood still, her face raised to the breeze. Fox musk. That was the rustling. They came here to scavenge around the diner bins. Her nostrils flared delicately. Mice in abundance, and squirrel, too. New shoots, old wood. Spring. It made her want to grin, and stretch, and scratch her back on fresh, new grass. Tadpole’s tinny bark turned her toward the parking lot. She pricked her ears, the wind snatched at another, weaker bark, and tore it away from her.

  “Hey!” Godfrey’s call came from close by.

  “You guys,” he called again. “Come in here and get some coffee. The tow truck’s on its way.”

  Hope didn’t answer. Isabelle pushed through the bushes back to the parking lot.

  “There’s pie.” Godfrey was even closer now. “Hope? I said there’s pie—Jeez, you scared me.” He jumped when Isabelle appeared beside him.

  He looked past her. “Where’s Hope?”

  Isabelle frowned. “In the car.”

  “No, she’s not.”

  They looked over at the Lexus. Rain drummed on its bent and scratched paintwork. The fender was crushed, grill dented, and left headlight busted. The back doors lay wide open. Not that it mattered. Rain poured through the broken sunroof staining the luxury cream leather to a lurid butter yellow.

  “Where is she?” Godfrey asked again, his voice scratchy with panic. “Hope?” he called out to the half-empty lot. A soft whimper came from the far side of the car. They ran toward it.

  “Oh, Taddy.” He knelt down beside the rain-soaked dog. Tadpole lay on the grass, his side swelling and falling as he fought for breath. He gave a wheezing whine as they approached. He lay there, unable to move, even when Godfrey reached out with trembling hands to touch him. “I think his ribs are broken.” Godfrey’s voice shook.

  The wind shifted in a sharp, leaf-rattling swirl. Isabelle’s nostrils filled with a familiar and unwelcome scent.

  “Patrick!” she spat out. She lurched to her feet, and in a crouched run took off across the parking lot, leaving Godfrey kneeling in the mud calling her name.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Ren’s tires squealed on the wet asphalt. She screeched to a halt before the stricken man. He hunkered on his knees, water running from his clothing, a scrap of a dog in his lap. She pushed open the passenger door.

  “Get in,” she growled over the downpour. “Now. There’s more on the way.”

  He shivered all over from shock and the cold, and stared at her unmoving. Across the lot bushes rattled. Dark shapes slunk through the shadows, leery of the light from the diner windows and the neon glow reflecting off every wet surface.

  “Now!” she roared. He lurched to his feet and staggered into the passenger seat. He cradled the injured dog in his arms; rainwater dripped off both of them onto the floor. She had to stretch across to slam his door shut. He stank of fear and despair and wet dog…and Garoul. She stepped on the gas.

  “My friends are back there. I have to help them,” he babbled, shivering violently.

  “We will.”

  He squinted at her through the gloom. She could hear his heart pounding, the faint chatter of his teeth, the short, snatched puffs of his breath.

  “Who are you?” he asked. The quiver in his voice gave him away. He knew who she was. She turned her head and stared him directly in the eye.

  “Ren.”

  “You’re a Garoul.” He wasn’t asking a question.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “No.”

  They sped on in silence while he digested this. The drum of rain on the roof and the swish of tires on the wet road were the only sounds.

  “You must be the talkative one,” he finally said.

  She ignored him and smoothly drove her car at top speed around the broken tree boughs and huge rocks strewn across the road. The crude ambush had been the giveaway. Ren knew this trick well. Isabelle and her companions had to be nearby, hopefully still unharmed. The oil spill and telltale drag of their exhaust along the road had led her to the Lucky Seven parking lot.

  “I’m Godfrey. Andre’s partner,” he said.

  She grunted. The little dog whimpered weakly.

  “It’s going to be okay, Taddy. Ren will help us. She’s family,” the man whispered, his fingers gently stroked a bloody paw.

  She looked at him sideways and made up her mind.

  “Yes,” she said, and kept driving.

  *

  He dragged Hope from the car trunk by her hair. She tried to swing out at him but his fist connected with her temple. Hope saw stars, her stomach lurched, and she felt her temporal bones creak. She sagged and went along quietly. She didn’t need a shattered eye socket. Not on her good side.

  The shack he was hauling her toward was shabby and weather-worn, and perversely enough, she recognized it. She had passed by here with Amy Fortune last fall, looking for Castilleja levisecta. The shack was about five miles outside of Lost Creek, and several more from Little Dip. She had tried to guess how much time she had spent in the suffocating car trunk while empty beer bottles bumped against her head and the smell of oily rags choked her. Little had she known their breakneck speed was taking her in the direction she’d been headed in
all along.

  Whoever he was, he had chosen his bolt-hole poorly, unless the proximity to the Garoul home valley was deliberate. It was dangerous for a feral to come this close to Garoul territory. The fact she was still alive told her she was a pawn in someone’s game. Already she could feel the side of her face swell from his punch. Her current ill treatment did not bode well. Whatever their plans, there was a good chance her general well-being was of no importance.

  He kicked open the door and tossed her on to the floor. Without a word, the door slammed closed and the lock rattled. She was plunged into darkness. Hope sat up and brushed dirt off her gashed knees. Her head throbbed, and her temple was bruised to the touch. Her fingers gently probed the tender patches on her scalp where her hair had been torn out in clumps. She struggled not to cry, but every time she thought of Tadpole the tears welled up and rolled silently down her cheeks. He had tried so hard to protect her. She prayed Godfrey was caring for him.

  And where was Godfrey? Had he managed to get Isabelle to Claude? A metallic clink snapped her from her desperate thoughts and into pure panic. Her throat closed over with fear. It came again, the quiet clink of a chain scraping against the wooden floor. She was not alone. Something was in here with her.

  “You smell nice,” a child’s voice whispered in the darkness. It sounded lost yet hopeful all at the same time. “Who are you?”

  Hope scanned the room. As her sight adjusted to the dark, she could just about make out a small, shadowy figure sitting on the floor diagonally across from her.

  “I’m Hope. Who are you?”

  “Mouse. And that’s Patrick who pushed you in here. He’s mean. He made you cry.”

  “Just a little.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Not much. He pulled my hair.”

  “He pulled mine, too. I hate him.”

  “He’s not my favorite person either. How’d you get here, Mouse?”

  “I was sleeping and he grabbed me.”

  “From your bed?” Hope was horrified. What did they want with a child? Then it occurred to her the child was in chains and she, the adult, was not. Her stomach felt leaden.