by Megan Morgan
People stood outside the shacks and watched them pass, in silence. Everyone was in human form. Not everyone was a Wolvite, though—most weren’t, actually. Witches outnumbered them by far. Their gazes were cold on Lorena. They were unkempt and dirty, their clothes tattered, faces sallow and bony.
Neala led them along the stream to the other end of the ravine. There, a bigger shack stood, a larger fire crackling in front of it.
“What is this place?” Lorena asked.
“Our home.” Neala stopped. “For now.”
“You made this…camp? I thought Wolvites lived in caves.”
“Caves are temporary shelter. We knew better than to retreat to them, where Lycans and their allies would come looking for us.” Neala stepped behind her. She started undoing the rope on Lorena’s wrists. “Witches and Wolvites have long lived together in villages, deep in the wilderness, beyond the reach of humans and Lycans.”
“This is a village?”
“No.” Neala jerked at the rope and it came loose. “Many of the survivors fled the area, but those who were too wounded and weak, this place was created for them, until they can either travel, or they die.”
“Neala.” Lorena looked over her shoulder. “I never meant for this to happen. I wanted peace between us, I wanted the agency to understand.”
Neala stepped in front of her. Her eyes burned with anger. “You aligned yourself with Lycans. You led your agency to destroy us.”
“No.” Lorena brought her arms around and rubbed her wrists. “I tried to stop them, I swear, Neala. I never meant for—”
Neala held a hand up. “It’s another matter right now. Because unfortunately, I need help, and you’re the only one who can provide it.”
Lorena stared at her.
“You see all the witches here?”
Lorena looked around.
“Many of them have lost their mates. Those of us who were uninjured set up this place, those of us who dared to stay behind. Dafydd and I led the effort.”
“He’s alive?”
“Yes. We escaped together. It wasn’t easy, seeing so many of our family slaughtered around us. Some ran, some got away, but many didn’t. Witches can only heal so much. Some of the wounded died in the days after.”
“I’m sorry.” Lorena couldn’t imagine losing Deacon, though she almost had. “I wish things had been different. I wish I could have stopped it.”
“Yet, you put up a ward against us.” Neala stepped toward her. “You stopped us from defending ourselves.”
Lorena tensed. “If I hadn’t put that ward up, it would have been much worse. If your group had been able to come at the soldiers, they would have slaughtered you entirely. They stopped firing because I begged them to. If you would just allow peace talks between—”
She held up her hand again. “That’s not why I brought you here. We will discuss your crimes and the crimes of those you keep company with in due time. Right now, I have another urgent matter.”
Lorena furrowed her brow.
Neala turned and motioned for her to follow. They walked toward the shack.
Lorena had to duck to pass through the doorway, but the ceiling inside was high enough to stand upright. The interior walls were covered in woven mats of grass and leaves. The room they stood in had a doorway to the right. The place stank of Wolvite and Lorena tried not to breathe through her nose.
A lantern hung on a branch in the corner, a flame inside. Lorena stared at it. It was the lantern from her dream. Neala took it down and led Lorena through the doorway.
In the room beyond, the stench was much worse. The reason why became quickly obvious. On the floor, on a pile of blankets and furs, lay a Wolvite.
The creature was not in human form, but shaggy and monstrous. It seemed to be asleep, but when Neala stepped toward it, it flinched and growled, and then began to thrash.
Lorena backed away.
The Wolvite lunged at Neala, snapping its great jaws. Its fangs glistened in the light from the lantern; however, its limbs were bound with thick ropes, and more were wrapped around its chest. The ropes were attached to metal stakes driven into the dirt floor.
Neala looked back at Lorena, her eyes glistening. “My beloved Dafydd.”
Lorena gaped at the writhing, straining Wolvite. Foamy spittle dripped from its jowls and collected in the black hair of its snout.
“What’s wrong with him?” Lorena hovered by the doorway in case she needed to run. “Why is he restrained like that?”
“To protect him, and us. He’s dying.” Her voice quavered.
“He was wounded?”
“No, he’s fallen ill. Madness has overtaken him.”
Lorena narrowed her eyes.
“The Sickness.” Neala turned to her, lantern swaying in her hand. “It infected others in the south, last year. Many died.”
Lorena opened her mouth.
“They tried to contain it, but it must have spread here, with those who came for the battle. He hasn’t attacked anyone yet, but…” Her face crumpled. “I can’t let him die. He survived only to have this befall him.”
“The rabies-like virus,” Lorena murmured, mostly to herself.
“Yes.” Tears slipped down Neala’s cheeks. “Your agency knows about this. That’s why you have to help him. You have to cure him.”
Lorena blinked. “I don’t—there isn’t a cure.”
Neala stepped closer. “You must. None of our potions have helped him. We need your science.”
“Dr. Winston only just discovered the virus when it became prevalent. He’s been studying it in recovered bodies, but he doesn’t know how—”
“If you don’t help him”—Neala moved in close and spoke lowly—“you will never see Deacon again. And Deacon will never see you again, at least not in one piece.”
“Neala, no one knows anything about this virus yet.”
“He’s been ill for three days. They say no one has made it longer than a week. His time is running out.”
“I understand, but what can I do?”
“You must examine him.”
Lorena looked at the agitated Wolvite. “He’ll bite me. What can I do if he kills me?”
“His bonds will hold, just stay away from his mouth.”
“I don’t have a collection kit. I need equipment. I need to collect samples, things I can test. And even then, I’m not an expert, I wouldn’t know what I’m looking for. Dr. Winston is the expert.”
Neala tilted her chin up. “Then, we need Dr. Winston.”
“He’s not here, I report to him online. His office is in DC.”
Neala gripped her shoulder, hard, making her wince. “Then you’re going to bring him here.”
* * * *
“Ain’t nothing in these caves,” Zeke said.
Deacon stood on a ridge that overlooked the holler, the morning sun baking the treetops orange, the sky blue and clear and vast, everything peaceful and right. And yet, everything was wrong. The woman he loved was still missing, and with every passing moment, he grew more certain he’d never see her again.
He turned to his cousins, who stood at the cave mouth behind him. They both looked as tired as he felt.
Zeke shouldered his rifle. “They’re long gone out of here. I don’t smell them, ain’t no sign they been holed up here, either. I reckon they been gone since the night they were gunned down.”
Deacon clenched and unclenched his hand at his side. He hadn’t smelled them either, and Zeke was right. No tracks, no leavings, no picked-over animal carcasses.
He looked out over the holler again, desperate for some sign. “We gotta keep looking. Your army boys need to get out here and comb this forest again.”
Zeke sighed. “They need some rest. We all do, Deacon.”
Deacon turned on him. “I ain’t resting until I find her! What if it was Stacy they carried off, huh? Would you wanna go lay down if it was her, or would you keep looking?”
Zeke clamped his lips together and
looked away.
Deacon rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, Zeke. I damn well do need some rest, but I know I can’t get it.”
Jack stepped forward. “Trust me, we understand why you’re riled up. We’ll keep looking. If we can’t find her soon, though, maybe we’ll have to get more help. Bigger help.”
“Like the rangers,” Zeke said. “Someone who can search this land a lot deeper and farther than we can. Better than my boys can.”
“Even with our senses,” Jack squinted across the treetops, “this is a damn lot of country to turn over.”
Deacon’s stomach was a pit he kept falling deeper into, every time he thought how far away she might be. If the Wolvites did have vehicles, they could have her out of the county, even the state, by now.
They descended the ridge and walked to meet up with Deacon’s Daddy and Grandpa and uncles. They gathered near a pool at the head of the valley.
His Daddy took him aside. “We haven’t found a trace of anything out here, beast or human. I guess in some way, that’s a good thing. Better to find nothing than something bad.” He lowered his voice. “I know this is hard, on account of your sister. You must be thinking of her.”
Deacon stiffened.
“The way she disappeared and we never found a trace of her, I mean.”
Deacon glanced sidelong at him.
“But this ain’t like that. We know what took Lorena, and we got some idea why.” He paused, gazing off into the trees. “I know this seems a lot like your sister, but trust me, it’s not. It don’t feel nothing like it.”
Deacon looked down and kicked at the grass.
“I expect one of them will come forward soon,” his Daddy said. “They want something from us. We gotta be ready for whatever it is.”
Deacon lifted his head. “Maybe some of us ought to go back while others keep looking. If they do wanna negotiate, they need someone to negotiate with. I don’t think they’ll talk to Grammy. They’ll want a Lycan.”
“I reckon you’re right.”
“Maybe I ought to go back, then.”
His Daddy gripped his shoulder. “I think that’s a good idea. You need rest. We’ll stay out here.” He let go of him. “You ought to take Jack back with you, too. This has to be grinding on him.”
Deacon looked around. Jack stood with his back to the rest of them, gun on his shoulder, staring toward Black Mountain.
“I reckon it does.” Deacon slumped. “This is one hell of a homecoming.”
Deacon couldn’t stay out there searching fruitlessly and wearing himself down. He needed to clear his head, rest, and get to thinking straight. And if the monsters really wanted Jack, it was probably best he get the hell out of the woods too.
Deacon and Jack headed back to the pull off where the trucks were parked. They were silent as they followed the old paths they treaded when they were on the hunt. They knew their way through the forest nearly on instinct.
“I’m sorry you came home to this,” Deacon finally said. “We all wanted you to be happy here, instead of thinking about the past.”
Jack snorted. “They won’t let me forget. Even if I never saw another Wolvite long as I lived, I wouldn’t be able to forget. That’s my cross to bear.”
Deacon grimaced. “Keeps me awake at night too, and gets into my dreams—all them years, not knowing what happened to her, and there she was. My own lost sister, trying to kill all of us. I can’t never let Mama and Daddy find out. Best they go to their graves not knowing.”
“Sometimes it don’t feel real, like it was just some nightmare. Them monsters nearly took us all to Hell with them, and she was driving the wagon.”
“She ain’t no blood of mine.” Deacon spat to the side. “Far as I’m concerned, Chelsea’s long dead. Whatever she was, whatever she is, she’s just another one of them.”
They fell back into silence as they tromped along. Deacon was bone weary. Yet, every exhausted part of him cried out for Lorena, begging her to be alive, begging her to be all right.
They reached the trucks and radioed back to let the others know they’d made it safe. Deacon checked his phone, though even out of the woods his signal was spotty. No messages.
“Reckon we ought to go back to Mama and Daddy’s?” Deacon squinted at Jack. “If they wanna talk, they’ll probably come there, don’t you think?”
Jack nodded. “Reckon so.”
“They ain’t getting none of us. All they’re gonna get is a mangy hide full of bullet holes. We’ll burn these whole goddamn woods down if we have to.”
Jack didn’t speak.
“Maybe I ought to get in touch with Dr. Winston.” Deacon looked down at his phone again. “Or the agency. Maybe they could do something.”
“I think Zeke’s right, we ought to get the rangers out here. Tell ‘em someone’s been drug off by Wolvites. They got even better equipment than Zeke’s buddies.”
Deacon tossed his phone in the truck. “I’m gonna stop by my house on the way, get some fresh clothes.”
“I’ll meet you over there, then.” Jack climbed in his truck, closed the door, and leaned out the window. “I see anything on the way, I’ll give you a call.”
Deacon climbed in his own truck.
Driving toward town was the first time Deacon had been alone since last night. The tension in him unraveled in the quiet of the truck cab, by himself, trapped with his thoughts. He burst into tears, which quickly transformed into ragged sobs, so hard he had to pull the truck over.
Thankfully, no one passed as he sat hunched over the wheel, gripping it and crying out the anguish, the exhaustion, the unrelenting terror. No matter how much of his Daddy’s reason he tried to listen to and accept, he kept picturing her body, mangled and bloody, left in some cave. He imagined her torn apart, or worse, bitten and left to suffer until the venom ate through her. He imagined them bastards laughing over her, laughing at him, laughing at all them.
He lifted his head and wiped his eyes, and felt around for his discarded flannel on the seat. He found it and used it to mop his face and blow his nose. He took a few deep, ragged breaths.
“Whatever state you’re in, girl,” his voice shook, “I’m gonna find you. If it ain’t to save you, I’ll make sure you get a proper grave.”
Those words leaving his lips brought on fresh tears. He buried his face in the shirt.
He tried to imagine instead holding her, safe and sound. Her sitting on his lap on his parent’s deck, drinking a beer. Dressed in white. Carrying a baby in her arms.
He calmed down and tossed the shirt away. He jammed the truck in drive and continued on. Crying just made his head hurt and his eyes burn on top the weariness in his bones. He was miserable.
As he pulled into the driveway of his house, he was in a daze. Driving up it, the morning sun in his eyes, he caught a glimpse of something and thought he’d imagined it for a moment. But as he pulled into the shadow of the house and he could see clearly, he realized his tired, aching eyes weren’t playing tricks on him.
He ran the truck straight off the driveway into the yard and brought it to a skidding halt. He flung his door open and jumped out, and sprinted full tilt toward the house, with a renewed burst of energy like God Himself had hit him with a lightning bolt.
“Lorena!”
She lifted her head and jerked as though she’d been dozing. She sat on the front steps, her hair a mess, dirt on her clothes, but no blood. He didn’t smell any wounds.
He scooped her off the steps and clutched her against him, barely able to believe what he was seeing and feeling. She clung to him.
He panted, shaking, tears falling. “My God, you’re alive.” He set her down and gripped her face in both hands.
She swayed, her eyelids droopy.
“What happened?” he asked. “What did they do to you?”
“I’m okay.” She gripped his wrists. “I’m not hurt. I’m just freakin’ exhausted. It’s been a long night.”
Chapter 5
Lorena ro
lled over in bed. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the window. Her limbs ached and she was still groggy, but her stomach had growled her awake.
Last night felt like a bad dream, but the nightmare was real.
Deacon sat on the edge of the bed. He’d been sleeping with her earlier, his arms around her, pressed to her back.
She rubbed her eyes. “You should get some more rest. I just need something to eat.” She hauled herself into a sitting position and winced.
“I got enough.” He reached out and gripped her hand. “I was so goddamn scared,” he whispered. “I was afraid they’d killed you.”
“I know.” She squeezed his hand in return. “All I could think was how you must feel.”
He caressed his thumb over her fingers. “Daddy and them are coming over in a bit, I can’t hold them off no more. They want to know what happened, from your mouth.”
“I figured. Is Jack coming?”
“I reckon so. But even if he don’t, we can’t keep it a secret from him.”
She nodded. “I have to call Dr. Winston. I told him I’d call after I got some rest.”
Deacon released her hand. “You really wanna help them things, after everything they done to us?”
She’d been too exhausted earlier to argue about it, or explain the situation adequately. “If I don’t, they’ll kill us. She meant what she said. If I don’t help her, they’re going to kill you, your family, me, all of us.”
“I’d like to see them try.”
“I wouldn’t.” She yanked the sheet off her legs. “This isn’t something the agency can take care of. The Wolvites won’t swarm us this time and risk being shot down. They’ll do it subtly. We won’t see it coming.”
Neala’s eyes had been wild and her expression fierce as she led Lorena out of the woods. She was desperate, crazed, and dead serious.
“If you don’t come back with help,” she’d said, “you will regret it. We’ll start with your animals and children. We’ll be waiting at back doors and under your cars. We’ll crawl in your windows at night. Fires will be set. Locks broken. Every damn generation of that Lycan family will pay.”
