by Jeff Sampson
I leaped through the window as well, narrowly missing the pile of shattered glass as I landed in the parking lot. I dropped Dalton’s clothes and my pants to the ground, then stalked forward, growling.
Dalton’s ears twitched. I knew he could hear me, could hear the warning I was so clearly giving. But he did not back down.
The driver leaped into the van and slammed the door shut. I heard the engine turn over.
One of the guards looked back over his shoulder. “Don’t you leave us, man! Don’t you go nowhere!” At his feet, his dog was backing away, its tail tucked between its legs.
I stalked ever closer to Dalton. Growls burst from my jaws, louder and louder. Back down, I was commanding. Come with me. Now.
Everything happened at once.
The only guard who hadn’t spoken leveled his gun, aiming it at Dalton’s torso.
That guard’s Doberman darted toward Dalton, yapping and barking, stupidly baring its teeth.
And I howled one last plea for Dalton to stop.
The guard fired, the boom of his rifle cracking between the buildings. Dalton ducked the bullet easily and lunged forward, going for the Doberman. His jaws wrapped around the Doberman’s throat, and he reared back, shaking the poor creature back and forth, snapping its neck, killing it instantly.
The other Doberman yelped and fled back toward the van, followed by his guard, who made crosses over his chest as he dove into the vehicle. The remaining guard—the one who’d fired—dropped his gun, staring stupefied as Dalton wrenched the dead Doberman back and forth, back and forth.
Blood leaked from Dalton’s teeth, dripped down his chin. The dog hung from his jaws, lifeless. Dalton’s eyes narrowed on the man who’d tried to shoot him. With one last wrench of his head, he tore free the Doberman’s throat and tossed its body at the guard.
The man leaped back, narrowly missing being hit square in the chest. He let out a devastated sound somewhere between a moan and a scream.
Dalton bunched his legs, preparing to leap at the man, to kill him just as he’d done the dog.
I leaped first.
I landed on Dalton’s back with both feet, flattening him to the ground. He roared in protest. Straddling him, I roared right back.
The lone remaining guard stood there watching us, every limb shaking. Behind him, the van’s wheels screeched as its driver forced it to turn much too fast, to get them away from the devil wolf creatures they probably weren’t warned were the source of the alarm.
I met the man’s eyes, growling. I flicked my jaw toward the van. He got the hint and turned and ran, screaming for the men in the van to wait for him.
Dalton growled beneath me and snapped at my heels. Get off me!
I swatted his face with my clawed hand. Stop. You’ve done enough.
He bucked beneath me, struggling to force me off as he barked his protests, his eyes manic and wild. Let me go, you bitch! Let me feed!
No.
He carried on like that, for how long I didn’t know. But he couldn’t buck me free. I stayed focused, wouldn’t let him best me. Wouldn’t let him hurt anyone else.
As I did, I tried not to look at the dead dog. Tried not to smell its blood, its meat. Forced myself to bury the urges that made me want to bite into its flesh and—
No. I would never.
Eventually, Dalton’s adrenaline died down. He lay mostly still beneath my bulk, his chest heaving. Blood still dripped from his jaws and coated his fur, but his eyes had calmed. He was still angry at me, I was sure of it. But he was calm.
I climbed off him slowly. Growled once more. Come.
He made no noise of response. Did not flick his ears. Did not gesture with his eyes or snout. I stood and watched as he walked slowly back the way we’d come, to the pile of clothes on the ground. Stopping just before them, he looked back over his shoulder at his kill. I barked. He bent over and collected our clothing.
Exhaustion flooded my furry limbs. I walked behind him, forcing him through the tear in the fence and toward the trees. The night had been long. Eventful. Much too eventful. I wasn’t sure if I even had the energy to run home, but the smell of the woods soothed me. There was earth here instead of asphalt. The scent of pine needles instead of the stench of melted plastic.
We were almost to the trees when a chill rushed through me, shoulders to tail.
The shadowmen.
My whole body stiffened. I watched them appear, one by one, the shadowy man-shaped figures that had been stalking me the entire week. Just like the night of the drag race, there were dozens of them. One second nothing, then one would appear. In front of me, blocking the woods. Behind me, guarding the way we’d come.
Any semblance of Dalton’s rage faded then. He howled, not loud and defiant, but plaintive, frightened. Much like the Doberman that had escaped its confrontation with a werewolf, Dalton tucked his tail between his legs and came to stand close to me.
The shadows stood in their staggered pattern, some very close to me, some deeper in the trees. Not a single one moved. They just watched. Always watching.
Werewolf me could not move. Could not take another step. These things, whatever they were, had some sort of DNA memory with the wolf side of me that I could not escape. Fear flooded over me, drowning me. I whimpered.
And in the absence of the wolf’s instincts to guide me, Nighttime took control. Commanded with a bark for me and Dalton. Run!
I did just that, barreling forward past the nearest shadowmen. Dalton’s claws clacked against the asphalt as he followed. These guys are incorporeal, Nighttime reasoned. What can they do? Nothing! Not a thing!
To prove herself right, Nighttime guided werewolf me to bound through a shadowman directly between me and the trees. If that night in my room was any indication, I’d bound through it none the worse for wear. Perhaps with a slight chill.
Nighttime laughed defiantly in the back of my mind. I lowered my head and made to leap through the shadowman.
I thudded against a solid, icy body. Stunned, I fell back, and Dalton skidded to a stop in the dirt next to me.
The shadowman I’d tried to tackle wasn’t incorporeal at all. It was very much physically there. Which was impossible, because it was just a wispy, smoky figure! I could see right through it! My hand had gone through it when I was human!
Tilting its head, the shadowman raised a hand toward my face, as though to stroke my jaw.
Nighttime Emily was no longer in control. The wolf took over. I howled at the sky in absolute terror, then I ran, my shoes slapping against my chest. I darted around the shadows as they reached out to touch me with their frozen fingers, wolf me not caring if Dalton was following me or not.
I made for the woods, hearing Dalton galloping at my heels. I ran, the world becoming a haze around me until I got to my backyard, where I collapsed in the grass next to the shed. Dalton was there too, sapped of energy, unable to get back to his own house.
Distantly, I sensed someone there, watching us. Another shadowman, probably. Always shadowmen. I whimpered and curled up into a fetal position.
Somehow, I fell asleep.
20
YOU ARE NOT A KILLER
I have vague memories of becoming human again in the middle of the night. Of ushering Dalton into the shed and both of us groggily putting our clothes back on. It felt like a dream at the time, but considering we both woke up the next morning dressed in wrinkled, slobbered-on clothes and hidden behind the shed’s doors, it must have happened something like that.
The first thing I clearly remember after the night in BioZenith, though, was waking up to gray morning light and crisp, damp air on my skin. My eyes fluttered open, taking in the plywood walls around me, the tools hanging from nails above me, and I thought, Wow, déjà vu.
Only this time, I wasn’t naked with splinters in my back. And this time, I wasn’t alone.
Realizing that, I sat up with a start. The blurry figure of Dalton sat across from me, knees to chest, back against the wa
ll. He was rocking back and forth, shivering from the chill. I pulled my glasses out of my pocket and placed them on my face, seeing him clearly. There were rips in his pants and his jacket, but they were still wearable.
His chin was coated with rust-red blood.
He blinked at me as I sat up, his stare haunted. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a dry croak came out.
“Sit still,” I whispered. “It’s okay. Just sit still.”
Groaning, I got to my feet. My whole body ached, from sleeping on the hard, dusty floor all night, or the untimely forced change into a werewolf, or the fight with the cheerleaders. Or all three. New information threatened to overwhelm me—Robots! Psychics! Solid shadowmen! Creatures in jars!—but I made myself focus on one thing, and that was Dalton.
The shed’s door groaned as I opened it. I squinted, the light burning my eyes. There was no one around. It felt really early—there was that damp feeling of early morning, and the silence of no cars, no kids awake, and no TVs blaring. It was day, but no one was up yet.
My shoes were still in the shed, so my bare feet squelched in the grass as I went to the side of the building. I uncoiled the hose there, cranked on the faucet. Cool water gurgled from the hose’s end.
I brought the hose to the front of the shed and told Dalton to drink. He grabbed it from me and gulped down the water, and even though it was cold outside, he held the hose over his head and let the water cascade down his forehead. He pulled the hose away quickly, shaking his head to free the excess water.
The blood on his chin had not yet washed away.
“Here,” I said softly. I crouched next to him and took over the water. I made him jut his chin out toward me. But water wasn’t enough. I stuck the end of my shirt over my hand and used it as a rag, scrubbing at his face until the only red on it was from the cloth rubbing his skin raw.
I put the hose away. When I came back, Dalton had retreated inside the shed and was back to sitting, rocking back and forth. I crawled inside myself and pulled the shed door closed.
For a moment, we both sat there in silence, not really looking at each other.
“I killed that dog,” Dalton said flatly.
I swallowed. “I know.”
His eyes still weren’t focused on me. “I wanted to kill those men, too. I wanted it so bad, Emily. Just to go at them and slice them open and watch them bleed at my feet.”
“Dalton…”
His hazel eyes snapped to mine. “I don’t understand,” he said. “All I can see now is that poor dog just lying there. And I did that to it; its blood was all over my face. I would never do that. I love dogs. What if it had been Max I did that to instead? What if I—”
I leaned forward on my knees and grabbed both his hands in mine. I whispered “Shhh” and let him rock there. All I could think about as I watched him there was the night Spencer and I killed Dr. Elliott. How after I lost the high of Spencer’s calming pheromones, after being interrogated by the police about what we saw, all I could do was sit in my room and clutch Ein and stare at the wall. Seeing Dr. Elliott’s face. Seeing his horrible wound. Smelling the coppery scent of his blood.
Knowing that as the wolf I’d wanted nothing so bad as to rip the man apart.
Knowing I was a monster.
Dalton grabbed my hands back, gripping them hard. “I told you before, I get angry a lot. I never really told anyone but you. I always kept it down, just shoved it way deep down, because I’m not allowed to be that guy. I’m Big D. I’m the superhero.” He licked his chapped lips and took in a shaky breath. “It felt really good letting it all burst out the past few nights. But I killed that little dog. I wanted to—”
“Hey,” I said, placing a hand on his cheek. “Look at me.” He did. “You are not a killer. There is that wolf side in all of us now, and it’s dangerous, and it’s deadly, and that’s why we’ve got to learn to keep it in check. You’re only as much of a monster as you choose to be.”
And as I said the words, I knew they weren’t just for Dalton. It was something I’d needed to tell myself for a while now.
“Emily, what if I can never control it?” Dalton whispered. “I keep trying, or telling myself to try, but each time I change, the nighttime side of me cares less and less about what I want.”
“But you did, though,” I said. “You got through to the wolf at least. You followed me when I asked.”
Shaking his head, Dalton pulled my hand away from his cheek. “I was planning to attack you when we reached the woods. I was going to bite you and kill you because of how you stopped me in front of the prey—the guards, I mean. If it wasn’t for the shadowmen showing up, I would have.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. I dropped my hands and rocked backward to sit on my butt.
“You hate me now,” Dalton said.
“No,” I said quickly, much too quickly. I’m sure I sounded shrill too. Way to lie, Emily. “No,” I said again, calmer this time. “I’m just scared for you. For all of us. All that’s happened, it’s a lot to take in.”
Running his hand through his short hair, Dalton looked back up at me. “Hey, yeah, isn’t Nikki some sort of psychic? Wow, when did that happen?”
I laughed. Couldn’t help myself. It was all pretty absurd. “I have no idea.”
Dalton and I both put our shoes on and gathered our things. We stepped out of the shed, and I made sure the door was shut tight.
“I’m gonna go home now,” Dalton said, staring past my house to the street. He leaned in close to me, suddenly, gathering me into a hug. I stood there, arms unsure what to do. I awkwardly patted his back, and I heard him sniff in, loudly.
And I realized: He was smelling me. Calming himself. Like I always did with Spencer.
Oh yeah, Spencer. And Tracie. I’d need to get inside, get in touch… There was so much to deal with still.
Dalton’s body went slack, and when he let go of me, his eyes were glassy, his smile vacant. “Okay, now I’m going home.”
I grabbed his wrist, stopping him from going. “Dalton, tonight you need to take some sleeping pills before you change, okay? Until we find out what those files say about us, at least. Just to be safe. Okay?”
He nodded solemnly. “I will. I promise I will. I don’t want to keep hurting people.”
He wandered off then, to the sidewalk and down the street in the general direction of his house. It occurred to me that if any neighbor saw some random boy leaving my backyard, it would seem sort of strange. But I figured, with how early it was on a Saturday? I could probably relax.
My keys were in my pocket, thankfully, somehow not having fallen out during the trek home. I let myself in through the back door, tiptoeing my way to the stairs and up to my room. I held my breath the entire time, certain that this would be the morning someone would catch me, that the jig would finally be up.
I made it to my room and quietly shut the door. Good thing my entire family are late sleepers.
I collapsed onto my bed, arms spread wide. I kicked off my shoes, then grabbed my comforter on either side of me and pulled it to envelop me, wrap me in a cloth cocoon.
So. Where to start, brain? I asked myself.
I cycled through everything: The suddenly corporeal shadowmen. The human experiments in BioZenith. The strange city visible through the spinning rings. Hovering robots. Telekinetic cheerleaders who loathed me. My new pack. The super-high-tech flat-screen computers everywhere full of … files!
My hand shot to my throat, and then beneath my shirt. It was still there, the thumb drive on the lanyard. I sighed in relief.
I leaned over my bed and found my phone, charging on the bedside table. I unplugged it, then lay flat on my back once more. Holding it above my face, I flicked through the contact list to the one person I needed to see most.
Spencer.
A quick back-and-forth text convo revealed that Spencer had gotten Tracie home before he’d managed to sneak into his own bedroom safely. Like me, he was groggy and distu
rbed, but he agreed to come over.
Though first he’d have to take a taxi to pick up his mom’s minivan where we’d left it the night before.
I set my phone aside, flush with relief. I’d been endlessly debating internally whether I should let myself go with this whole pheromone high, but honestly? I was ready for it.
While I waited for him to arrive, I stuck the thumb drive in my USB port and began clicking through the files. Most were labeled with serial numbers in no particular order that I could see. I clicked aimlessly, opening spreadsheet after document full of long, impenetrable phrases I didn’t have the first clue how to parse.
Then, with a few more clicks, I stumbled into the folder labeled HAVOC.
Biting my lip, my finger hovered over the button atop my mouse. Something about the name, as though whatever it contained was meant to cause trouble, made me hesitate. But we’d come so far. Gone through so much to get at least this little bit of info.
I double-clicked. A bunch of documents populated the screen. One of the first read “Biological Imperatives.”
I’m not sure why, but my eye was drawn to that one. I opened it, scanned the first few useless paragraphs—and then things got interesting.
One decision was to utilize the technology to place an inherent fail-safe in each Vesper, it read.
Utilizing natural pheromones from within the wolves used as our base, we created a certain sensory pattern that would force the Vespers to focus on nothing except locating one another, once active. It is our hope this makes our subjects more likely to bond in the necessary pack mentality for our goals. Using our base wolf subjects, our tests in adjusting the pheromones proved successful in achieving these goals.
My lips were tight as I read. I breathed in heavily through my nose, in and out, faster and faster.
One advantage of adjusting the pheromone levels is that, when the Vespers come of age and are activated, we can easily placate each subject if the need arises. It is still uncertain how the human and animal DNA will ultimately react, though the Akhakhu research we have been privy to shows that in most cases, using their particular bindings, hybrid combinations more often than not…
