Over My Head (Wildlings) (2 page)

Losing all your clothes happens to everybody the first time. You learn pretty fast how to be wearing them when you change back to your human shape. Don't know how it works. Don't much care. Just so long as it does.

Anyway, we have a clubhouse just outside of town, on the land side of the Pacific Coast Highway—not right on the highway, just back a little ways down a dirt road. It used to be some rich dude's ranch until he owed J-Dog a little too much money and signed the deed over. Now it belongs to the Ocean Avers.

It's got a guesthouse in back and that's my crib, my private space. Nobody just walks in. I've got AC and a sweet sound system, Blu-ray, big-ass TV, top-of-the line computer, Playstation, Wii. It's where, if I don't want to join the boys when they're partying, I can kick back and take it easy.

That's what I'm doing the night Lenny changed. Surfing the Net while some old black-and-white horror flick's on the flat-screen. I can hear the
boom-boom-boom
of the bass from the main building, but it's no more irritating than the sound of traffic out on the highway.

Then in comes Lenny not wearing a stitch of clothing and looking like the sky just fell down on his head.

I knew right away what had happened to him—Wildlings have a kind of radar in their heads that lets us recognize each other. Doesn't always work on people you know well, but Lenny could never keep anything from me and his bare ass was a big giveaway.

If I had him under my wing before, now I really needed to take care of him or he'd end up in some government lab or something. I gave him some ground rules. Lenny's not smart, like I already said, but he can follow orders.

Rule number one: no changing where anybody could see him.

Rule number two: no telling anybody about what had happened.

Rule number three: if something happened—he got the urge to change and couldn't fight it, or he got surprised into it—he had to stay put and call me right away, as soon as he could.

So that's why I'm in here at Tiki Bay tonight.

I take another look around the parking lot. Nothing's changed. There's still just me and my bike. No sign of Lenny. No sign of his ride. But it's no coincidence that this elder Wildling is waiting for me on the sand.

If I were smart, I'd be calling for some backup, but who am I going to call? The Avers know dick-all about Wildlings—never mind the old-school cousins—and the only Wildlings I know have less of a clue about any of this than I do. And the thing is, I don't depend on anybody else for help. People come to
me
for that. I've always been the guy that fixes the problem, not the one that goes around crying about it.

So I take that tire iron from its holster and walk down the metal stairs to the beach, holding it loosely at my side. Ready, but not threatening.

That vibe from the stranger just gets stronger and stronger. By the time I'm standing in front of him the
ping
's going full tilt in my head like a pinball machine that just hit the jackpot.

He's a tall dude—taller than me. I'm two-fifty on a six-foot-two frame and he's got a couple of inches on me, all long lines and wiry. Pale skinned with jet hair, face chiselled like a cliff and just as still. It's funny. You don't see many of the elders with skin that pale. He's shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a dark cotton suit that's seen better days.

I don't say anything but my nose is working. I can smell him—musky and strong. I also get a faint whiff of Lenny. He's been here.

"I have a job for you," the guy says, like I work for him.

"Where's Lenny?" I ask.

"I need you to kill the boy with the mountain lion inside him," he says like I never spoke. "I don't care how he dies, just do it so it's clear he was killed by a human."

I know who he's talking about. Every Wildling and cousin from L.A. to the Mexican border would know.

"You want Josh dead," I tell him, "do it yourself. But you've got to know he won't be alone when you come for him."

Josh is a good kid, but everybody makes enemies. Thing I can't figure is why this old-school cousin wants him dead. Last time I heard, the elders all thought Josh was like the second coming.

"Don't try my patience, boy."

I can't tell if he's insulting me, or he's just calling me that because he's so much older than me. Doesn't really matter. First off, I don't do anybody's dirty work. Second thing, I like Josh. And only my grandma gets to call me "boy."

"Now you're just pissing me off," I say.

I move fast, bringing up the tire iron. I'm not planning to kill the guy. I'm just going to put a hurt on him.

But he's faster. And stronger.

He catches the tire iron as it's swinging toward him and plucks it out of my hand like he's dealing with some little kid. I'm too surprised to stop him from giving me a whack with the iron. If he'd wanted to, he could have bashed my head in. I know that. But I still feel like I've run headfirst into a wall.

I can't keep my balance and put out my hands to stop my fall. The sand doesn't feel right under my palms when I land on the beach. It gives too much. I brush away at it and there's Lenny's dead face looking up at me.

"You son of a bitch!" I yell.

I come up off the sand, done with playing around. But before I can even take a swing at him, he grabs me by my throat and lifts me from the sand. I dangle like a doll in his grip. My head's still ringing from the tire iron. Now I'm seeing stars and I can't breathe. But I can't get loose. Every time I try, he gives me a shake. Just before I black out he tosses me back on the sand.

I lie there wheezing. I've never run into anybody this strong before and I don't know what to do. I want to kill him for what he did to Lenny, but I play it smart and just lie there, catching my breath. Gathering my strength.

He hunkers down, sitting on his calves. There's still no emotion on his face. He doesn't say anything, just stares at me.

"I don't like repeating myself," he finally says. "Kill the boy and we're done. And make it look clean. Nothing that even hints at an animal attack or that cousins were ever involved. I'll give you a week. That should be time enough to do it right."

"Kill him yourself."

Something flickers in his eyes, then it's like I'm looking at a statue again.

"There's nothing I'd like better," he says, "but I have to stay out of this. The other cousins can't know I'm involved."

I try to keep him talking, hoping he'll lower his guard.

"What've you got against Josh?" I ask.

"It's not the boy himself. It's what they have planned for him. We need to disappear back into story and legend, not parade ourselves like cheap whores."

"Sure," I say. "I get it."

I make a show of moving slow as I sit up. Get my feet under me. But before I can lunge at him he reaches out and hits me at the base of my neck with the side of his hand. Just like that I lose all feeling in the right side of my body and fall face down onto the beach. I choke on a mouthful of sand.

"See that you do," he says, standing. "One week. If you don't have the job done by then, it'll be your grandmother lying here under the sand. Or that little Mexican girl that pals around with the boy. I know you like her."

Then he walks away. I struggle to get up. By the time I get my left arm under me and lever myself into a sitting position, he's gone. There's just me and dead Lenny left on the beach.

If I were human, I'd have to soldier through the physical pain. But I'm not. Wildlings aren't just stronger and faster than regular people. We heal quicker, too. It's just a matter of shifting from our animal shapes and back again. I guess the physics are the same as how we can shift our clothes with us and bring them back again.

Still don't care how it works. Just that it does.

I embrace the animal under my skin, then shift right back to my human shape. I look down at Lenny, his face bathed in the moonlight. You know how on TV, you always see somebody closing the dead guy's eyes? I never got that till now. There's just something wrong about poor Lenny's dead stare.

I close his eyes and stand up. I pull out my phone and call J-Dog, tell him about Lenny's call, how I found Lenny murdered here at Tiki Bay. I don't mention the old-school cousin.

It's too early to figure out how I'm going to handle this, but I know one thing for sure. That dude's going to be dead by the end of the week. I don't care how hardcore he thinks he is.

Then I pull Lenny the rest of the way out of the sand and sit down beside him to wait for my brother.

Marina

I'm at my dad's house watching a documentary on TV with my stepsisters Ria and Suelo when my sister Ampora walks in. I'm surprised to see her since she usually makes herself scarce when she knows I'm coming over. She frowns when she sees me sitting on the couch with the girls, but that's the most she can do. The first time I visited after the divorce she tore into me and Papá laid down the law. So now I mostly get the cold shoulder. She waits until school to give me the finger and mouth "
pocha
" when she can't avoid walking by me.

Ampora's a year younger than me. We look a lot alike—same crazy dark hair and trim build, same cheekbones and big brown eyes—but no one would ever mistake one of us for the other because of our fashion choices. I'm the surfer girl with the built-in tan, while she makes like she runs with the bandas. I don't know if she does or doesn't for real. She never wears gang colours and Papá would kill her if she got any tattoos.

She never comes over to my house. She and Mamá both feel the other betrayed them—Mamá by leaving Papá, Ampora by refusing to have anything to do with Mamá and me. I'll be honest. I used to come here in the hope that we could be close again, but I gave that up a long time ago. Now I just come for Papá, my stepmom, Elena, and the girls.

"Crap," she says looking at me. "Is it Tuesday already?"

I feel the girls tense up on either side of me, but she doesn't go on and I keep my mouth shut, so that keeps the peace.

The documentary we're watching is about Wildlings. They just ran that old footage that everybody who lives here in Santa Feliz has seen a thousand times.

The grainy video, shot by a surveillance camera, shows a teenage boy crossing a parking lot, about to be swarmed by a half-dozen other kids. Halfway across the lot, he changes into a hawk—snap! Just like that. The film ends with him flying out of camera range. All that's left on the ground is a heap of clothes, a pair of running shoes and the other kids staring up into the sky with their mouths hanging open.

It's been a little over six months now since that happened, and to this day no one has any idea why some kids change while most don't, or why it's only happening to kids in Santa Feliz. There's all this talk—repeated in the documentary—about how there are no genetic markers, no sign of a virus or anomalies in the blood, which makes it impossible to predict or treat, or even develop a vaccine to prevent further occurrences. Blah blah blah. All most people living here really know is that every week or so some poor kid or another turns into a shapechanging freak. At least, those are the ones that we know about.

The male narrator's voice is low and ominous, trying to evoke fear. He speculates as to how many teenagers among our population of twenty thousand will be changed into Wildlings, how many already have and how one of them could be a seagull floating above the pier, a lizard on your garden wall or the kangaroo rat living in your garage.

I have all this stuff memorized by now—pretty much everybody in Santa Feliz does. I guess you'd think if you lived in the place where it was happening, you'd be sick of hearing about it, but reactions are pretty much evenly divided. The phenomenon captivates and excites people like my stepsisters, who can't hear enough about it. And then there are others who are terrified by it, wish it had never happened and want it all to just go away.

Or those like my sister, with her own blinkered view of the situation.

She slumps into a chair and looks at the screen. "Is this all that's on?"

"We like this," Suelo says.

Ria nods. "Yeah, Wildlings are cool."

Ampora laughs. "Come on. They're not even real."

My stepsisters look at me.

"Of course they're real," I tell them.

I mean, I should know, right?

"Oh please," Ampora says. "That's exactly what they want you to think."

"Who's
they
?" Ria asks.

There's only one year's difference between my stepsisters, the same as Ampora and me. Unlike us, they get along just fine. Ria's eight and the youngest, which makes all of us want to protect her.

"You know," Ampora says, "the government. Big business. Whatever."

"What would be the point?" I ask.

I don't really want to be drawn into an argument, but this is just stupid.

"To keep us under control."

"Why would they want to control us? We're just another beach town. There's nothing special about us."

"Until now," Suelo says.

Ampora ignores her.

"We're the guinea pigs," she says. "They're running tests on us to see what they can get away with."

"By turning kids into Wildlings."

She shakes her head. "No, by making up a crisis. You just wait until the quarantine comes down and we're locked up tight. Under. Their. Control."

The sad thing is, she's not the only person who thinks like this. I know it's not true, but with people like Ampora it's impossible to change their minds. I don't really care what she thinks, but I don't like her scaring my stepsisters.

"Is that really going to happen?" Ria asks me.

I shake my head.

"God," Ampora says. "How can you be so naive?"

"I'm not being naive. No matter what you might want to believe, Wildlings are real—not a government conspiracy.

"Just look at the surveillance footage from the 7-Eleven," I go on. "That kid turns into a hawk. You can't fake that."

Ampora rolls her eyes. "Have you been to a movie lately?"

Before I can answer, my stepmother Elena comes out of the kitchen and fixes Ampora with a stern look.