Kitty Goes to War (20 page)

Ben glared at me. Shumacher’s brow furrowed.

Ben and I were wearing our full-moon clothing: old jeans and T-shirts. I went braless; the fewer
clothes to keep track of, the better. We went without coats at all—the cold didn’t affect us so much. We didn’t strike a very intimidating picture. But in our stances, our carriage, our glares, we were so much more than we appeared. Shumacher had worked with werewolves, and she knew what she was seeing: an alpha pair defending their territory.

“Let us take them,” Ben said. “Just for the night. If you really have their best interests in mind, if you really want to rehabilitate them and not just study them, it’s the right thing to do.”

Shumacher nodded, and I suppressed my sigh of relief. Clearly, Tyler and Walters were part of my pack. Maybe just for tonight, maybe not for the foreseeable future. But now, they were mine to care for. Mine and my Wolf’s.

The doctor went back inside the building. A growl burred in my throat and I started pacing in front of Ben. “What does she think she’s doing? Did she really think I’d just tell her?”

“Settle down,” he said. He looked calm, but his back was stiff, his shoulders raised. A little of his wolf showed in his eyes, as I was sure my Wolf showed in mine. It was almost time to run; we could both feel it. I stopped pacing and hugged myself. Ben touched my arm and leaned in to kiss my ear, breathing out as he did so. Wolf language: be calm.

Shumacher returned with Tyler and Walters. They were obviously edgy. They kept looking around—along
the side of the building, out to the edges of the parking lot, even up to the roof. I wondered how much of their apprehension came from being werewolves on the night of the full moon, or from being soldiers recently come home from a war zone. It was as if they expected grenades to drop.

I stood between them and gave each of their arms a squeeze to anchor them.
Everything was going to be all right
. I felt something, Wolf awakening in my eyes, catching each of their gazes in turn and staring at them, not in challenge but with assurance:
we’ll be fine, we’re a pack, I’ll look after you
. It seemed a ridiculous claim to make; I was half Tyler’s size. But they both settled, their shoulders easing, the wolves in their gazes acknowledging me.

“We’ll be fine, Doctor,” I said to Shumacher with all the confidence I’d just shown to the soldiers. “Come on, guys.” Hands on their arms, I steered them toward Ben and the car.

Shumacher looked at me, lips pursed, holding back arguments. I just didn’t care anymore and walked away.

We piled into Ben’s car, the soldiers in the backseat, me in front, Ben driving.

“You guys okay?” I said, looking over my shoulder.

“What happened back there?” Tyler said. “Shumacher looked ready to spit, but she was scared.”

We’d all smelled her fear. “She wanted to know where we were going, to keep tabs on us. Bring Stafford and his guys along, ‘just in case.’ I wouldn’t let her. She threatened not to let you out for the night.” They reacted, jaws clenched, noses flaring—nerves, anger. “Don’t worry, I talked her out of it.”

“I bet they’ll try to follow us,” Ben said. “Track us, if they can.”

“Can we dodge them? Lose them?” I looked around, out windows, for the imaginary Humvee following us. If Shumacher and Stafford really were following us and they knew what they were doing, I wouldn’t see them.

“I can try.”

Tyler leaned forward. Neither of them were belted in, but that didn’t seem important enough to worry about. It’s not as though a car wreck would be likely to kill any of us.

“Don’t take the direct route,” he said. “Are there any one-way streets around here? Big parking lots or garages with multiple exits? You can double back and get away before they’ve figured out what you’re doing.”

“We’d have to go downtown for that,” I said.

“I think I have an idea,” Ben said. He drove a few blocks then swung east on Colfax. Ten minutes later, he turned again, and a couple more blocks brought us to a familiar wide, grassy lawn. We followed the long, looping drive around Cheesman Park. It wasn’t
the mazelike parking lot Tyler had asked for, but the road here was twisting and confusing, which amounted to the same thing.

Ben said, “Even if they follow us here, we might fool them into thinking this is where we’re stopping.

“They don’t really think we’d shape-shift in downtown Denver, do they?” I said.

“I’m guessing they don’t know much of anything or they wouldn’t have called you,” Ben said, giving me a look.

“Gee, thanks,” I said.

We’d made half a circuit of the park when Ben turned onto a different street than the one we left. He made a couple more turns, then we were heading north toward I-70.

“You see anything, Walt?” Tyler said.

“No, I do not. Think we’re clear.”

Maybe Shumacher and Stafford hadn’t sent anyone after us. Maybe they had and we really had lost them. I’d never know for sure, but the soldiers were calm, and that counted for something.

Behind heavy clouds, the sun set, and as the light faded, we drove in silence.

W
E HEADED
east, into the Great Plains. Usually we spent full moons in the mountains, with sheltered forests and valleys. Close enough to town to be convenient, but far enough away to be isolated. And plenty of hunting: deer, rabbits, and so on.

In the nineteenth century the Great Plains were called the Great American Desert because the region was so desolate. You could travel for hundreds of miles without seeing a tree, or a single living creature apart from the sea of grass rippling in a constant wind. Of course, the impression wasn’t the true picture. The place was rich with life. Even in the cold of winter, I could sense a tapestry of smells: dried grass, foraging rodents, the owls and hawks that hunted them, coyotes on the prowl. The rustling of brush and grasses made a constant rhythm. I soaked it all in—my world, my territory. Inside me, Wolf kicked, ready to run.
Soon . . .

On the prairie, we’d be isolated, and we’d find plenty to eat—pronghorn, rabbits, prairie dogs—but we wouldn’t have much shelter. At the same time, Tyler and Walters wouldn’t have anywhere to hide. On the flat, wide plains, I could keep an eye on them. We could keep watch over each other. And we’d avoid the snow scheduled to hit the mountains overnight.

A hundred years ago, wild wolves lived out here. We could, too.

We didn’t all park in the same place, as we usually did when we went to the mountains, where we had a sheltered turnout on private land to use. Here, the sudden midnight parking lot would have attracted too much attention. Instead, we used state park trailheads, remote dirt roads, and fence lines, a car or two in each place. Then we gathered, down a sloping hill where a creek lined with cottonwoods cut a gully through the land. We’d be safe out here. I made doubly sure we were well away from cattle ranches and any herds of grazing cattle. Fresh steaks might sound great, but I couldn’t think of a worse way to draw attention to ourselves.

Ben and I reached the rendezvous spot first with the two soldiers and waited for the others.

Tyler stood on a rise, face turned to the sky, to a silver-lined bank of clouds that hid the rising moon. He pulled off his T-shirt, dropped it. Flexing the
powerful muscles of his shoulders, he was like a living shadow. Nearby, the smaller, wirier Walters was pacing.

“We haven’t been free on a full moon since Afghanistan,” Tyler said.

“How does it feel?”

“I’m excited. I want to run.” A faint smile turned on his lips. He was more excited than nervous. His wolf was rising.

“What was it like?” I said, cautious, because I was maybe opening wounds. “In Afghanistan, when Gordon was leading you. What did you do during full moons?”

“We hunted,” he said. Walters barked a laugh.

Quiet and thoughtful, Ben watched us. We exchanged a glance. I could almost tell what he was thinking:
we’re going to have to be careful. Stick together and watch out for them
. I nodded.

Ben glanced toward the horizon. “They’re here.”

“Okay,” I said. “I want you guys to stay together—stay with the group. That’s all I want you to worry about—”

Tyler said, “But we hunt—”

“We hunt as a pack. But don’t worry about that, it’ll happen. I need you two to stay close. That’s more important this time around. Walters?” I called to the other soldier, who was looking over the plains at the spot where Shaun approached with Becky.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said.

“Any questions before the party starts?” I said to them.

Shaun wore only sweatpants and went barefoot. Becky had on sweats and a tank top. We looked like we were out here for a picnic, despite the cold nighttime breeze.

Tyler was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his neck. He was trying to keep it together. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he said. “I don’t know if I can get along with the rest of them.”

“You’ll be fine. Walters, can you please stand still?” I said. And wonder of wonders, he stopped pacing.

Maybe there was a better way to introduce new wolves to a pack. Maybe there was a ceremony or ritual that would have made this easier. These were werewolves, not friends at a cocktail party. I couldn’t just ask them to shake hands and tell each other about their jobs.

I moved to stand between the new arrivals and the soldiers. They’d have to cross me to get to each other. I was hoping to keep it that way all night.

“Shaun,” I said. “You’ve met Tyler and Walters. And Becky.”

The four of them looked each other up and down. None of them were happy. But they weren’t exactly unhappy, either. Hackles were up, but no one was baring teeth.

“Are we going to have trouble?” Shaun asked.

“No, man,” Tyler said. “No trouble.”

Shaun nodded, satisfied. He went to the first tree in the grove and stripped off his sweatpants. He stood waiting, naked and powerful in the dim, cloud-shrouded moonlight. Becky followed him to the tree, keeping her gaze on Walters—who glanced away.

The other wolves of the pack arrived, stalking cautiously, looking to me for reassurance after glancing at the strangers. Most of them hadn’t met Tyler and Walters yet. I made sure to introduce them all, give them names, make them look at each other. I’d touch my pack member on the shoulder or arm, then touch Tyler and Walters. Nostrils flared, heads cocked as they studied each other, smelling each other. The soldiers were starting to smell like pack. Some of the antiseptic, institutional tinge that clung to them because of their time in the hospital was wearing off. They were picking up the scent of other wolves, of the wild wind that blew from the mountains and over the plains.

The biggest problem we’d have was if one of my wolves decided to challenge either of the soldiers for dominance. It was bound to happen—they looked like dominant wolves. They looked like threats. But if I acted as if they weren’t a threat, and if they in turn didn’t do anything threatening, we ought to be able to get through this. The point was to show Tyler and Walters what a normal, peaceful wolf pack looked like.

Becky grunted and fell to a crouch. Anticipation spiked through the air, and the scent of fur began to overpower the scent of skin. Experienced, she hardly made a sound when she changed, just a gasp of effort, and her body began to melt, a sheen of fur sprouting over her skin, bones sliding into new shapes. Others followed quickly after that, until a dozen wolves were shaking out newly grown fur, stretching limbs, and trotting, jumping, spinning to revel in new muscles, like pups at play. The wolves were free; it was a time of celebration. Some of them came up to me, heads and tails bowed and submissive. They rubbed against me, bumping my hips with their heads. Smiling, I dragged my fingers through their coats. Their bodies were furnaces in the freezing air.

Walters shifted first. Crying out, he fell and ripped his clothing off as if it was burning him. Tyler quickly went to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s never gotten used to this,” Tyler said. He kept a hand on Walters, whose body shifted under him, from human to wolf, from skin to fur. “Take it easy, man. It’s okay,” he murmured. The whole time, Walters’s teeth were bared in a pain-wracked grimace. He didn’t want to let go; his wolf was raging inside him, clawing at him, tearing its way free, and Walters struggled against it.

It hurt less when you just let it happen.

Then it was over, and Walters’s silver-furred wolf
lay panting for a moment. Tyler backed away and quickly shoved off his pants. Breathing deeply, wordlessly, he glanced at me—asking permission. I nodded.

He curved his back, hunched over, and Changed. Unlike Walters, he knew how to let go, to let the Change pour over him like water. When his hands touched the ground, they were furred and clawed. When he turned his face upward, to the moon, he had a long snout and amber eyes. In a handful of heartbeats, he was a wolf, reddish and bristling. And he was huge, broad through the chest and shoulders, with hindquarters that could keep him running across the harshest landscape for days.

Walters looked at him and bared his teeth, and Tyler pounced on him, knocking him over. Walters rolled and showed his belly. Tyler outranked Walters and would keep him in line.