by Lia Silver
Roy was impressed. “That was some cool thinking under pressure. Well, I never saw him before either. But I think he was after me, and you were just in the way. I already got captured by bad guys once.”
“Werewolf bad guys?” Laura asked eagerly.
“I have no idea.”
She leaned forward, her eyes bright with curiosity. “You promised to tell me about the werewolf thing. So tell.”
Roy hesitated, then figured he should at least explain why he was hesitating. “I’m trying to figure out what would be safe for you to know.”
“I already know that werewolves exist. And that your buddy DJ is one too—”
Roy’s hand jerked, knocking over his coffee mug. He grabbed it before it could roll off the table. “How did you know about DJ?”
Laura pulled back, her eyes widening with alarm. “You told me yourself!”
“I did? Damn.”
“You don’t remember?”
“Not much. It’s all hazy.” Roy almost didn’t want to know, but he had to ask. “What else did I tell you?”
A wicked smile curled Laura’s lips. “Well, you told me all about your first crush…”
“I did not!” Then, doubtfully, he asked, “Did I?”
Deadpan, she added, “And then you gave me a play-by-play account of how you lost your virginity.”
Roy had a moment of ultimate embarrassment before he realized that she was pulling his leg. “This is so unfair. I need to get you drunk or something, so we can be even. Come on, what did I really say?”
The amusement faded from her pretty face. “You said you missed your buddies.”
“What else?”
Laura started to reach out toward him, like she was going to take his hand. Then she jerked it back, as if she hadn’t meant to make that gesture. “You said you needed your pack.”
“My pack?” Roy repeated blankly. “You mean my rucksack?”
Laura looked intrigued. “Funny you should say that. That’s what I thought you meant, too. You said you meant your wolf pack. You said you didn’t know where they were or who they were, but you needed them.”
Roy wondered what the hell he’d meant by that. It sounded like a fever dream. But when he imagined being a wolf and running with a pack, the loneliness that had gnawed at him ever since he’d been changed rose up to engulf him, like he was falling into a vast, black nothingness…
“Roy!”
He jerked himself back to reality. “What’s the matter?”
“I was about to ask you that.” She sounded scared. “You went white. I thought you were going to pass out.”
“I don’t know what happened,” he confessed. “And I don’t know what I meant about the wolf pack. I don’t know… I don’t know a lot of things.”
“Do you have amnesia?” Laura asked curiously.
Roy almost laughed. “No. I can see why you’d think that, though… Okay, I’ll tell you my story. Hang on, I’ll clear the table first.”
He was buying himself time, though he knew it was pointless. Clearing the table would only get him a few seconds, or minutes if he also washed the dishes. But he couldn’t help trying to delay telling Laura that story. He had never told it to anyone. All the therapist at the hospital-lab had gotten out of him was, “The last thing I remember was this huge explosion.”
Roy stood up. He instantly realized that he’d done so too quickly. His vision grayed out, and the floor seemed to slide out from under him. He clutched wildly for the table, and caught Laura’s warm, soft body instead.
Laura braced him as he tried to regain his balance. The dizziness faded, but again left him shaky.
“Sorry,” he muttered. He was still leaning on her, afraid that he’d fall if he let go.
“Forget the story. You’re going back to bed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not even close to fine,” she retorted.
“This happened before,” he said. That obviously didn’t reassure her. “It only lasted a few seconds.”
“That’s plenty of time to fall over and hit your head.”
“I don’t want to go to bed, okay?” Roy cautiously stepped away from Laura. He had to lock his knees to keep them from buckling.
She kept a firm grip on his elbow. “You need to lie down before you fall down.”
“I’ll sit down. On the sofa.”
“Deal.”
He had to lean on Laura for the last few steps, then gratefully sank down on the sofa.
“Now stay there,” she insisted. “If you want anything, tell me and I’ll get it for you.”
“I feel bad making you fetch and carry,” he protested.
Laura sat down beside him. He could feel the warmth of her body. “Roy, you got shot. You got shot yesterday. You don’t get any better excuse for taking it easy. Settle down.”
Since he didn’t seem to have any choice, he leaned back and put his feet up on a footstool.
Laura grinned at him. “All you need is a cold beer and a remote control. Every man’s dream.”
“Complete with a gorgeous woman at my beck and call,” he couldn’t resist adding.
Pink crept across Laura’s cheeks. She got up and went into the kitchen. He was wondering if he’d gone too far when she returned. With two bottles of beer.
He laughed. “Isn’t it a little early to start drinking?”
“You gave me such a straight line, I couldn’t resist. Have yours later, if you like.”
Roy raised his bottle. “To the bravest woman I’ve ever met.”
She gave him that sad look again, making him wonder what that was about, then clinked her bottle against his. “To the toughest man I’ve ever met.”
They drank. It was a dark beer, earthy and rich. The bottle didn’t have a label.
“Home brew?” Roy asked.
Laura nodded. “Dad gets it from the same guy who gave him the venison.”
They drank in silence, watching the snow fall.
“Okay,” Roy said at last. “I’ll tell you my story.”
“You don’t have to. I mean, I definitely want to know about werewolves. But you could just give me the facts about them in general. You don’t have to tell me anything personal.”
She was offering him an out. Earlier, he’d have welcomed it. But not now.
“No,” he said. “I’d like you to know. But I warn you, it’s… intense.”
The look Laura gave him reminded him of how he’d first seen her with a scarf wrapped around her face, and he’d wondered if she was scarred.
She is scarred, he thought. I don’t know how, but I know that she is. I guess that’s why I feel like she’ll understand.
“If you can stand to talk about it, I can stand to listen,” she said.
Chapter Six: Roy
Roy’s Story: One Tough Wolf
It all happened because we got a really crappy equipment “upgrade.”
We were seven months into another tour of duty in Afghanistan. DJ and I got ordered to run a training at another camp because we’d already used the new equipment in field conditions. I was supposed to give them tips on using the new and improved machine gun that jammed more than the old one, and DJ was supposed to coach them on driving this weird modular vehicle that stalled out if you looked at it funny.
DJ was on my fire team. That’s a four-man team. Marco was the team leader, and he carried the grenade launcher. I was the automatic rifleman and second in command. I carried the SAW—the squad automatic weapon. DJ was the assistant automatic rifleman and carried extra ammunition. Alec was the rifleman and scout. Alec and Marco were doing trainings too, but at a different camp.
DJ’s not that big—we always teased him that his rifle was taller than he was—but he’s strong. I mean, ridiculously strong. He can bench-press fifty pounds more than I can. If you saw him, you wouldn’t think that was physically possible.
His family’s Filipino-American. They’re nice, I’ve met them. He’s on the phone with
them every chance he gets. They all have these funny nicknames. His sister’s name is Danielle, but they call her “Five,” for Chanel Number 5. His brother is Dominic, AKA “Nutmeg.” They call DJ “Lechon,” which is Filipino-style roast pork. You get the picture.
A helicopter picked up DJ and me and three guys I didn’t know. We all agreed that the new equipment sucked. DJ kept talking to the other guys because he never shuts up, but I hadn’t gotten any sleep in a while, and I was exhausted. I was starting to doze off when we got hit.
There was this huge explosion, and something slammed into my chest. By the time I looked down, the whole front of my uniform was already soaked in blood.
DJ had a couple cuts on his arm and face, nothing serious. Part of the floor was blown open, right under where two of the guys had been. They were just… gone. The guy who’d been next to me was—you know, it’s bad enough having that image in my head. I don’t want to put it yours. He was dead. I’ll leave it at that.
The co-pilot was obviously dead too. The helo was spinning around and going down, with the pilot wrestling with the controls. She had her back to me and I thought she hadn’t been hit too bad.
DJ shouted, “I can take the radio!”
She yelled back, “It’s wrecked!”
That helo pilot did an amazing job getting us out of there. Half the controls must have been out, and it turned out that she was dying when she did it. I didn’t ever catch her name, but she was brave.
I must have grabbed my SAW automatically, because I was holding on to it with one hand and a strap with the other. DJ started scrabbling around, looking for something. Our gear had been thrown all over the place, and most of it was gone. He finally found a first aid kit and hung on to it for dear life.
The pilot got us out of range of whoever had fired on us and put the helo down in this hilly area. It wasn’t a great landing zone, but I guess it was as far as she could go. Beautiful landing, all things considered. But she hit a rock, and part of the floor crumpled up where DJ was.
He wasn’t badly hurt—that guy has the luck of the Devil—but his foot was trapped. He was prying at the metal and swearing. I actually saw him bend it a little bit, but he couldn’t get loose.
There was gasoline spilled everywhere and torn wires sparking. The whole thing could blow at any moment.
I got up to look for something to use as a lever, but my legs wouldn’t support me. I went sprawling.
DJ lunged out to try to catch me, but he couldn’t reach me. He was pulling so hard, blood started dripping down the metal wrapped around his leg.
He yelled, “Roy! Talk to me!”
I couldn’t. I was having trouble breathing, and I felt dizzy and sick. I started coughing, and all this blood ran into my mouth. I spat it out on to the floor.
DJ stopped struggling. He said, very calmly, “That’s it. I’m getting us out of here.”
And then he… changed. The air shimmered around him, and then there was a wolf where he’d been. His paw was way smaller than his foot, so that got him free.
I blinked, and he was a man again.
I was bleeding internally and inhaling gasoline fumes, so a hallucination made a lot more sense than DJ turning into a wolf. But I knew what I’d seen. DJ was a werewolf.
I remember thinking, Maybe that explains the bench press.
DJ checked the pilot, who had slumped over the instrument panel. I thought she’d passed out, but he turned to me and shook his head. Then he shoved the first aid kit into my hands, and he grabbed me and hauled me out of the helo.
I weigh a lot more than DJ does, but he put me over his shoulders and carried me. He got me over to some boulders where we’d have cover if anyone started shooting at us.
He took the SAW and first aid kit out of my hands, and ripped my shirt off. It looked like I’d been slashed with a knife, but it was shrapnel and it had gone in deep. I felt like I was drowning. DJ bandaged my chest, but I was all torn up inside and there was nothing he could do about that.
“I’m going back for the others,” he said.
You never leave anyone behind. Even if they’re dead.
I opened my mouth to remind DJ to look for a radio, but I started coughing again and I couldn’t get the words out. But we knew each other so well, we didn’t need words.
“And a radio,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m on it. Can you—”
I rolled on to my stomach and grabbed my SAW. I couldn’t speak, but I could still cover him.
“Thanks,” he said, and ran back toward the helo.
No one shot at him. We must have been in an uninhabited area. That was lucky. I don’t know how much use I would have been in a firefight. My vision was going black around the edges, and I could barely hold the SAW.
The helo went up in a huge fireball when DJ was halfway there. He skidded to a stop and stood there for a second, silhouetted against the flames. Then he turned around and ran back to me.
He sat down beside me and slammed his fist into the sand. I knew he was wishing he’d gone back sooner or searched for a working radio before he’d left. It was going to be hours before anyone tracked us down. At least.
That was when it sank in that I was going to die. But I was in such bad shape, I couldn’t even get it together to be sad or scared or anything. The only thing I could think of was that I ought to say good-bye to DJ. But I couldn’t get enough breath to speak.
He said, “I know you can’t talk, Roy. So just listen, and nod if you understand.”
I nodded. I could see that he was holding my hands, but I could barely feel his grip.
DJ said, “You really did see me turn into a wolf. I could bite you now and try to make you a werewolf, like me. It might save your life. We heal fast. But there’s only about a fifty-fifty chance it’ll work. If it doesn’t, it’ll kill you.”
Who cares? I thought. I’m dying now.
He must have known what I was thinking, because he said, “Yeah, I know, what do you have to lose? If you do survive, though, your life will never be the same. You could—”
He leaned in closer, and I saw that he was scared. It was weird. Nothing ever scared him. “Never mind. There’s no time. Nod if you want me to do it.”
I nodded. Like he said, what did I have to lose? Besides, I thought it would be cool to be able to turn into a wolf. Wolves are badass.
The air shimmered, and a wolf stood over me. I could feel his hot breath on my face. Then he bent down and bit my shoulder. My chest hurt so much that I barely even felt his teeth go in.
I grayed out for a moment, so I didn’t see him change again. But when my vision cleared, he was a man again.
He said, “Okay, my part’s done. The next part’s yours. You have to turn into a wolf to complete the change. You won’t start healing until you do.”
I could sense that I was different. I can’t explain how. But once I had the intention of changing, I could feel that there was a part of me that was a wolf.
I knew how to turn into that wolf. But that didn’t mean it was easy to do. It was like someone telling you to lift a car. You know how—you squat down, get your hands under the bumper, and push up. But it’s easier said than done.
I tried as hard as I could to become a wolf. But every moment that went by, it got harder and harder for me to breathe, and that made it harder and harder to concentrate. You try lifting a car while you’re suffocating.
Everything started fading out. I saw DJ’s lips moving, but I couldn’t hear his voice. I couldn’t feel the ground under my back. It was like I was sinking into warm water. I knew I was dying, but I didn’t even care.
DJ slapped me across the face. I was too far gone to feel it as pain, but I felt the impact. It brought me just enough back to myself that I could hear what he was saying.
He was screaming at me from about six inches away, like our drill instructor in boot camp. “Your wolf! Find your wolf! You’re dying, Roy! You have to change, or you won’t make it! Change, Roy! Now! Do it now!
”
I wanted to tell him that I was trying. I took a deep breath, and my mouth filled up with blood. He rolled me on to my side so I wouldn’t choke on it.
Then he hit me again. I heard a sound like a far-off rifle shot, but I barely felt the blow.
DJ yelled so loud that his voice cracked. “Find your wolf!”
I gave it everything I had. And I lifted that car.
It was like waking up in a new world, not just a new body. Everything was different. I couldn’t see colors. Scents were more vivid than sight. It was all so bright and surprising that it distracted me from the pain.
There was the coppery tang of blood and the acrid sting of smoke—I’d smelled those as a man, but they were more complex now. But I also detected scents I couldn’t have smelled at all before, like the dry hay smell of the weeds, the minerals in the sand, and a rich smell beneath the sweat and dust and blood that was DJ himself.
I’d thought my wounds would heal instantly, but they didn’t. I lay there panting like a dog, with blood soaking into the sand beneath my muzzle.
“You did it, Roy,” DJ said. “Look at you. You’re a wolf.”
He stroked my fur. His hands were gentle, but I could feel his touch. I could feel the hot sand under my body, and I could hear the whisper of wind and the crackle of flames from the bushes around the helo.
I was alive. And I knew that I had enough strength to hold on for a while longer.
“Now change back,” he said. “It’ll be easier. The first time is the hardest.”
He was right. All I had to do was try, and I was a man again.
My chest hurt like hell. So did my shoulder. Even my mouth hurt. DJ had hit me so hard that he’d driven my teeth into the insides of my cheeks. But I was glad to feel anything, even pain.
“Thanks,” I said. I could speak again, though not easily. “You saved my life.”
DJ said, “Usually I’d say ‘you would have done the same for me.’ But in this case, I’ll just say, ‘you’re welcome.’”
His voice was raspy. I guess he’d torn up his throat screaming at me.
“Do I still need medevac?” I asked.
