Chapter 3
Ali
"Hello, Sheriff," Ali said, answering her phone with the fake sweetness that used to make Cottonmouth's eye twitch when she was sixteen.
"Alison." Cottonmouth’s voice carried that familiar mix of authority and condescension. "I just received a very interesting report about some photographer causing a disturbance at Moonbeam's Truck Stop."
Of course he did. Cottonmouth had informants everywhere, especially in supernatural communities he considered "problematic." Ali caught Tim's questioning look and mouthed 'speaker phone' before switching the call.
"Just doing my job," she said. "Documenting hardworking truckers going about their business."
"Is that what you call it?" Cottonmouth's laugh held no humor. "Because from what I hear, you've gotten yourself mixed up with Timothy McGraw and his little medical supply operation."
Tim's knuckles went white on the steering wheel at the mention of his real name, and Ali could practically feel the tension radiating from him. His scent spiked and it made her think of territorial animals preparing for a fight.
"Medical supply operation?" Ali kept her voice light despite the way her heart was hammering. "That's interesting. What makes you think legitimate medical deliveries are suspicious?"
"Alison, you have no idea what you've stumbled into." Cottonmouth's tone turned paternal, which was somehow worse than when he was being openly hostile. "These people are criminals. They're using you to legitimize their operation."
"Which people, exactly?" Ali glanced at Tim, whose jaw was clenched so tight she was surprised his teeth didn't crack. "The yeti running a legal medical supply business? The sasquatch with a perfect driving record? Or are you talking about supernatural communities in general?"
The silence stretched long enough that Ali wondered if the call had dropped. When Cottonmouth spoke again, his voice had dropped to the dangerous register she remembered from childhood.
"Where are you?"
"Working," Ali replied. "Like I said."
"Alison, I'm going to ask you one more time. Where are you?"
Tim reached over and ended the call, his expression grim. "That was a mistake."
"Was it?" Ali stared at her phone as it immediately started ringing again. "Because now we know he's been watching the supernatural trucking network, and he's specifically targeting medical supplies."
"We also just told him you're with me and you're not leaving." Tim ignored the ringing phone and focused on the road ahead. "He's going to escalate."
As if summoned by his words, Ali's phone buzzed with a text message: Come home now, and we can forget this happened. Stay with him, and you'll both regret it.
"Well," Ali said, showing Tim the message, "that's not ominous at all."
"Your stepfather doesn't make idle threats, does he?"
"Never." Ali turned off her phone completely. "Which means he's probably already calling in backup. Cottonmouth doesn't like to get his hands dirty when he can get other people to do it for him."
Tim was quiet for a moment, his hands steady on the wheel despite the tension in his shoulders. "There's something you should know about this delivery."
"What?"
"It's not just medical supplies for one community.
We're the lead truck in a convoy." Tim checked his mirrors before continuing.
"Luna's pack is hauling related medications to three other communities.
Snowman has specialized equipment heading to a supernatural medical clinic in Colorado.
When word gets out that Cottonmouth's actively hunting us. .."
"The whole network will respond," Ali finished. "How many trucks are we talking about?"
"Could be twenty, maybe thirty by the time we hit the state line. Every supernatural trucker within two hundred miles who's tired of watching communities suffer."
Ali stared out the windshield, trying to process the implications. This wasn't just about one medical delivery anymore. This was about to become a rolling symbol of resistance against systematic discrimination.
Scrolling through her camera, she selected more pictures to upload.
Ali touched each photo before uploading, weaving a subtle truth-revealing charm into the images.
Anyone who looked would see not just trucks, but the desperation of the communities waiting for supplies, the integrity of the drivers.
Magic that made people FEEL the story, not just see it.
"Your stepfather's going to see this as a direct challenge to his authority," Tim said. "He won't let it slide."
"Good," Ali said, surprising herself with the vehemence in her voice. "I'm tired of his authority going unchallenged."
The CB radio crackled to life with Luna's voice: "Big Timber, this is Luna. We've got company forming up. Word's spreading about Cottonmouth's interest in our medical run."
"Copy that, Luna. How many are we talking about?"
"Twelve rigs so far, with more joining every hour. Even got some regular freight haulers wanting to convoy with us for support."
Ali grabbed the radio before Tim could respond. "Luna, this is Ali, Big Timber's partner. What kind of support are we talking about?"
"Solidarity, mostly. Word's getting out that this is about medical discrimination. Regular truckers don't like seeing anyone getting hassled for doing legitimate work."
"Big Timber," Luna's voice continued, "we've got another problem. Bertha just closed the diner and she's packing up her mobile kitchen unit. Says if we're gonna make a stand, we might as well eat good while we're doing it."
"Wait," Ali said, "Bertha's joining the convoy? I thought she told Cottonmouth about me being at the diner."
"Negative," Luna replied. "Bertha didn't tell Cottonmouth nothing. He's got other sources watching supernatural gathering places. But when word got back to her about his interest in our medical runs, she decided it was time to pick a side."
Tim nodded approvingly. "Bertha's got her own reasons for not trusting corrupt law enforcement. Her mobile kitchen will be a godsend if this turns into a long haul."
The CB erupted with chatter as more truckers joined the convoy frequency. Ali listened in fascination as supernatural truckers coordinated their routes, shared information about law enforcement positions, and discussed strategy.
"This is incredible," she said, grabbing her camera to document the radio chatter. "You're like a mobile community."
"Have to be," Tim said. "Nobody else looks out for us."
Ali's phone, which she'd turned back on to monitor the situation, started buzzing with notifications. Her Instagram account was exploding with activity as people shared her convoy photos. Her editor was calling. News outlets were trying to reach her.
"Tim," she said slowly, "I think our little medical supply run just became national news."
Through the CB, they could hear reports of news crews setting up at truck stops along their route, of social media campaigns supporting the convoy, of politicians being asked to comment on supernatural medical rights.
"Big Timber," Luna's voice crackled over the radio, "we've got a decision to make. Cottonmouth's mobilizing resources, and this convoy's about to become the symbol of supernatural civil rights, whether we want it to or not. You stay lead truck, and you're part of it. All of it."
Tim looked at Ali, his dark eyes serious. "You sure about this? Once we commit to leading this convoy, there's no backing down. Cottonmouth is going to see this as a declaration of war."
Ali thought about her safe life documenting sanitized stories, about the empty apartment and overdue bills waiting back home. Then she thought about the werewolf children who needed insulin, and about supernatural discrimination.
"Tim," she said, "I've been backing down from confrontation my entire life. Maybe it's time I stopped."
But even as she said it, doubt crept in. Was she really ready to take on Cottonmouth directly? What if she was just caught up in the mate bond, making decisions with her ovaries instead of her brain?
Before she could voice her concerns, the CB crackled with urgent chatter: "Big Timber, this is Snowman. We've got law enforcement mobilizing all along our route. Multiple agencies coordinating. This is getting bigger than just Cottonmouth."
Tim's expression grew grim. "Copy that, Snowman. What kind of agencies?"
"State patrol, county sheriffs from three different jurisdictions. Someone's calling in a lot of favors to stop this convoy."
Ali tried not to freak out. This wasn't just about one corrupt sheriff anymore. Cottonmouth had turned their medical delivery into some kind of multi-agency operation.
"Maybe we should..." she started, then stopped. Maybe they should what? Give up? Let the werewolf community go without their insulin? Let Cottonmouth win?
Tim must have sensed her internal struggle because he pulled the truck over to the shoulder of the highway. The moment they stopped, he turned to face her fully, his dark eyes intense.
"Ali, if you want out, now's the time. This is about to get dangerous."
"I don't want out," she said, but her voice carried less conviction than she'd hoped.
Tim studied her face, and she could see him cataloging her uncertainty, her fear, her conflicted feelings. "But you're scared."
"Terrified," she admitted. "I'm not built for this kind of confrontation, Tim. I take pictures. I document things from a safe distance. I don't lead rebellions against corrupt law enforcement."
"No," Tim agreed, his voice gentle. "But maybe that's exactly why you're the right person to do it."
Before Ali could ask what he meant, the air in the cab grew thick with tension, and she realized he was fighting his own internal battle.
"Ali," he said, his voice rougher now, "I need you to know something. The mate bond... it's getting stronger. Being this close to you, knowing you're choosing to stay with me despite the danger... it's making it hard to think straight."