Chapter Fourteen – Jack
Chapter Fourteen
Jack
I woke up, surrounded by dirt.
All the nightmares that I’d ever had as a human—about dying, being buried alive—I was living them now.
My arms were bound—one overhead, one below—and neither of them could move. I attempted to struggle like some man-sized worm and got nowhere, only dirt into places it hadn’t been before. I tried to shout but my lungs had been crushed.
I would’ve been dead a thousand times over if I were mortal, but because I wasn’t, I was trapped here, in limbo, my own personal version of hell. I would die when the sun rose, and wake when it sank and I would still be here. For days, weeks, months. No one would care—and no one would find me.
How did vampires die? Could I starve to death? Would I dwindle? I could feel myself trying to heal the unhealable even now and willed my body to stop. Because why? What would be the point of living, if it was only this?
“Help!”
I managed to bellow it, more like a groan really, and dirt poured into my mouth. I would never shout again. Oh God, oh God, oh God—
Time passed.
And I may very well have gone insane.
Because I could swear I felt something licking at my outstretched hand.
The insanity continued. Maybe this was what happened to vampires when they truly died, all the madness that their ‘lives’ created caught up with them, making them feel things that were impossible.
And then I felt something nip me.
Oh God. I was going to be eaten alive by desert rats.
I wriggled my fingers and found them free and tried to swat away whatever I felt, streaks of fur, wet tongue, sharp teeth.
What would protect me during the day? Nothing. I’d wake up tomorrow night—if there was enough of me left to wake up at all—with my hand eaten to a ragged stump, all the juicy little muscles bitten off and bones gnawed on.
As I panicked, things shifted overhead. Whatever was up there had rolled away a huge clump of earth to get at more of me.
What else roamed the desert at night? Mountain lions.
Bobcats. Coyotes. I could hear whatever it was industriously scraping away the dirt—if it got my elbow free before it started eating me, I was going to punch it.
Then, wave after wave of dirt began pouring away, sifting off.
There was enough space that I could move—I wriggled up, fighting the earth itself to release me.
I hauled myself out of the ground with a gasp, choking out the dirt that’d suffocated me.
I took in long gulps of fresh, real, air.
I was broken, I was starving, and there was blood—his blood.
The thing that’d freed me was a little feral wolf. Memories of being bitten rose hard and I wanted, needed, blood—and then I realized the smell of blood was coming from his paws. His claws were worn to nubs and he’d hurt himself, trying to rescue me.
I flopped down into the pit he’d dug and stared up at the night, waiting for my fangs to recede. He came up beside and snuffled me.
“Hey, Buster,” I said, coming to my senses at long last. “I don’t suppose you know what time it is.”
He got his face in my face, looking down, and licked me.
We were far past the middle of the night and we were on the distant ass-cheek of civilization.
My healing abilities seemed to have given up on my whole ribs-lung issue, to concentrate on my ankle first, which was good because I could walk now—but every step I took made the rest of me hurt.
The moon was out, nearly full, and with its light I could see the mess I’d made behind me—a large chunk of the desert looked slumped in, where the explosion had crushed the rest of the mine and bunker like a soda can, letting it fill in from the top down with rubble.
Boulders had shifted and I couldn’t make out anything of the trailer anymore, although could clearly see the plume of smoke drifting up from it, as could anyone else out tonight.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” I told Buster. Rabbit seemed content to stay a wolf, and I was happy for him to be like that—it made traveling easier. Together, we staggered toward the nearest road.
Walking took an hour. I could feel the moon shifting overhead—if we were still exposed by dawn, I didn’t know what I’d tell Rabbit to do.
We were on the shoulder of a two lane road—Buster kept jogging off, doing wolf things, then coming back.
I wondered what it felt like to be an animal in body, not just in spirit.
Just as I’d despaired of ever seeing a strip-mall again, headlights lit up the road ahead. I made my way out into the center of the road and waved my hands frantically. It was a late model Volvo and it slowed but the engine didn’t stop.
“Accident—up ahead—need help,” I said, clutching my side. I definitely still looked like a victim, and a thin coat of earth hid all of my tattoos. “Please.”
I moved closer, blocking them, until I heard one of the windows roll down. “What?” asked a wary man with a European accent.
“Turn off the car,” I commanded, and he did so.
I slid in beside him, and Buster hopped into the back.
I didn’t want to steal his ride, nor did I particularly want to drive.
I directed him, while Buster paced back and forth in the back seat, looking out each window in turn.
I hoped he wasn’t leaving dusty wolfprints—I could make the driver pretty much forget everything else.
I slumped against the window, watching the Volvo’s clock count down.
An hour before dawn, I had him pull into a business-park—it was the only safe place I could think of.
I got out, Buster leapt out, and I told the guy to forget everything and sent him on his way. And then I took Buster into the leafy bushes that flanked the business park’s doors.
“You need to change back now, Buster.”
Buster tilted his head at me. I knew he could hear me speaking, but did the words really make sense to him?
“I need to talk to Rabbit.” I put my hand out, gesturing about how tall Rabbit was. Buster licked my palm, making that patch now the cleanest on my entire body. “Ugh,” I protested, wiping my hand on my dirty jeans and—
With a strange unfurling, like the things that made Rabbit human were the petals of a carnivorous plant, the wolf tucked back inside, leaving a confused and naked little boy. He stood up, shaky. “What—happened?”
“You were a wolf again for a few hours.”
“I was?” he asked, looking around, as if the night could prove it to him. “Why can’t I remember anything?”
“I don’t rightly know.” I’d been worried about taking a wolf into Fran’s—I hadn’t really considered the alternative.
But I needed to get somewhere safe to sleep, fast. I pulled off my shirt to give to him.
“Come on, okay?” I said, putting my hand out.
He took it, and we went to the front door together.