6 TALIESIN
The annoying Brit clamps a hand on my shoulder.
“Let’s hop up top!” he suggests, bouncing around. “Kitten liked being in the treetops, it was proper breezy. Easy peasy.”
Aurora mumbles something under her breath, but I think about his words. Climb up into the trees?
We’d be temporarily safe, but a fucking gaggle of sitting ducks if we got spotted.
Fuck. So what do we do?
Retreat back into the forest?
Race for the building site?
No. The others can wait here while I get more information. “Stay low and silent,” I command.
In the next instant, I shift, darting through the scrub grass and discarded chunks of concrete. The vehicle noise gets louder as I approach, but it’s not the engine sound of ATVs.
Slinking around a derelict storage unit, I get my first glimpse of the latest threat.
Two ancient looking trucks are idling, while three men mill around, carrying hunting rifles.
“Look, man,” the oldest guy says. “I don’t know about this, let’s just get what we came for.”
“Don’t need that reward money? Because from where I’m standing, you ain’t got dick but a beat truck and a bed in your mom’s double-wide.”
“Fuck you. Bevan’s one of us. None of us gonna snitch,” the first guy grumbles. I think I recognize him. Red? Reg?
A third man chimes in. “But the rest of those kids ain’t Ashgrave, Marlon’s right. We get them but let Bevan go. The bounty on that Elite bitch is fucking money.”
Red/Reg paces around. “I dunno, don’t seem right. Fuck it, I’m out. You do you, I’m getting scrap.” He storms off from the other two men, vaguely heading in my direction, but pausing to pull an iron frame of some kind out of the weeds.
Scrapping is an on-going thing around Ashgrave. It’s a fucking miracle there’s any metal left, but I guess this is the furthest site from town, so gets picked over the least. I move my attention away from Red/Reg and back to the other two.
They’re loading back into the bigger truck.
Off to join the hunt.
Good to know that I won’t be able to trust Ashgrave people to just instantly be loyal. Can’t blame them, I guess. When you’re dirt poor, selling someone out has got to be tempting.
I wait in the long grass until the blue truck is out of sight then make a decision. Let’s see what Reg/Red is really made of.
He shrieks when my wolf reveals itself, waving a metal rod in my direction. “Stay back,” he shouts, trying to retreat to his vehicle. I advance a few paces and the man tries to keep his eyes on me, at the same time as running, but this just means he faceplants over a rotting pallet.
In one bound, I’m on him. Two paws on his chest. He’s frozen as I lean forward and sniff, making sure my canines are on full display.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and I figure I’d better shift before he shits himself.
Red/Reg stammers when he sees me. “Y-you.”
“Yeah, me. Thanks for not joining the manhunt,” I say, putting out a hand to hoist him up.
“You heard all that?”
“Yeah, man. Those assholes got no loyalty, but I’ll remember this. Your name’s Reg, right?” I hazard a guess. The dude isn’t a ginger, so Reg seems more likely.
“Rex,” he groans, getting to his feet. “Fuck, Bevan, nearly had a heart attack.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I look at the man. He has a truck, and probably some cash.
That’s more than we have currently. “Rex, I’ve got to ask you, are you up for helping me? I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want to do, but I’d really fucking appreciate a little assistance right now.”
Rex swallows, his eyes darting around the decayed land, then back to me. “OK, I’ll help. Your mam took care of my old lady real good. Figure I owe you.”
Thanks, Mom.
I clap a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll do my best not to put you in any danger. Here’s the deal, we need to get to Northport Harbor. And we need clothes, food, any of that shit.”
He turns a shade paler. “We? It’s not just you?”
I look back to the woods and signal the rest. “No. There are four of us.”
A second later Rex lets out another shriek as London bounds up to him, still in full-on faun-mode.
“Holy fucking shit,” he gasps. “What the fuck? I’ve only seen, like, squirrels and rabbits.” Rex glances at me, “and a wolf now. But what the fuck is he?”
Francois and Aurora join us as well. “That is Mr. Tumnus,” Francois drawls in his irritating way.
Who the fuck is Mr. Tumnus?
“Hello, new friend,” London chirps. “You don’t happen to have a pork pie and some beans do you?”
I leave Rex to deal with that, and go look at the crap in the back of his truck. Most of it is scrap, but there’s also some chopped firewood and a ripped tarpaulin sheet. Good.
“We hide in the bed under the tarp. Just drop us close to the harbor at the far end of the docks, we’ll figure ourselves out from there.” When I turn back, I see Rex has opened up a brown paper sack and is offering Aurora his lunch.
Good man.
“I won’t forget this, Rex,” I reiterate. “I promise.”
He starts peeling off his plaid shirt. “You all aren’t gonna get far in those prison scrubs, stand out a mile,” he mutters. “I’ve got this, and a vest in the cab. Maybe a ballcap too.”
“We’ll take them, thanks.”
London suddenly jumps on the hood of the truck. “Company’s coming.” His hairy fucking faun ears swivel like radars. “We’d better be on our jolly-well.”
If jolly-well means go, then I agree. “Get in the back! Now!” I bark, as I start flinging Rex’s shit out to make room.
Surprisingly, Francois scrambles in first. London dives in right after him, kicking up a cloud of loose rust flakes.
“Wait, Aurora is next,” Frank snaps at him.
“Aww, Shane, I’ll look after you, don’t worry.” London slams himself down next to Francois.
“Keep your hooves to yourself,” Francois snarls.
London completely ignores him, turning back to the opening and grinning as he beckons Aurora forward with a theatrical wave. “Come into the parlor, Kitten!”
Rory slides in next, and I follow, banging on the truck so Rex knows to get the hell out of here.
As we start to move, I grab the heavy canvas and yank it over the us.
There’s not much room for four bodies. Because we're jammed together, Rory is wedged tight right between London and me.
“Snuggle up, Shane,” London coos from her other side as I slide my arm under Rory’s head as a cushion against the bouncing metal.
Her ice-blue eyes stare at me through the heavy gloom. “Do we trust him?” she whispers. “That guy?”
Having her so close chases away the exhaust fumes. Now all that fills my senses is her.
“I think so,” I mutter back, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “But if shit hits the fan, I’ll shift and tear out some throats…” My words are cut off as we’re slammed side to side. Bounce, bang, bounce.
Fuck. It’s like being inside a concrete mixer full of scrap iron. My head crashes against the cab back as Rex drives at speed through the rutted field. I hear a groan from Francois across from us.
“Hold tight, it’s going to be a bumpy fucking ride,” I growl.
“And we’ve still got company,” London adds from the dark corner. “I can feel their hunty vibrations.”
What?
There’s a rusted out hole in the bed wall, so I try to get a look outside. It’s not easy, considering we’re being thrown all over the place, but I eventually get a glimpse.
“London’s right. Fuck.”
A heavy, matte-black RRT armored carrier cruises slowly around the corner of the derelict storage units, its oversized tires crushing the gravel.
The high-intensity searchlights mounted to its roof are off, but the passenger is clutching a weapon that looks far larger than the usual pistol or suppression gun.
My muscles coil, the wolf beneath my skin baring its teeth, ready to tear through the metal if that gun aims at the truck bed. Beside me, I feel Aurora’s body go completely rigid, and I tighten my hold, locking her against my chest.
Rex isn’t stopping.
He shifts gear, grinding the clutch, and we suddenly swing a hard left. Everyone rolls in my direction, crushing Aurora right into my chest as I absorb the impact against the truck wall. Despite the mayhem, I manage to get another glimpse of the ATV.
It stays on the main track and doesn’t follow us.
Thank fuck.
“It’s good, they went the other way,” I breathe, my chest still pressed flush against Aurora's shoulder.
“So is it time to eat now?” London whines. “That nice Rex gave us his lunch. Did you know the world record for pork pie eating is eighteen pork pies in twelve minutes? Laughable, right? I could eat eighteen pork pies in twelve seconds.”
“And how many beans?” Rory asks, and I can hear the amusement in her voice and feel her body relax.
“Don’t encourage him,” Francois groans.
“Yeah, London, what’s the world record for bean eating?” I ask, just to piss him off.
I can almost feel London’s excitement at my question, and I feel sure he is beaming right now.
“Obviously, we’re talking baked beans,” he starts, as Francois groans again. “So the most baked beans eaten with a toothpick in three minutes is…drum roll…guesses please?”
“Ninety?” Rory pipes up, a giggle in her tone. “One every thirty seconds?”
“Wrong!” London trills. “What’s your guess, Shane?”
I’ve never got to the bottom of why London calls Francois ‘Shane’.
And why he calls me ‘Burt’.
‘Shane’ refuses to answer.
But seeing as I started this whole thing, I give in. “One hundred.”
“Two hundred and eleven, can you believe it? Poke, poke, poke, poke. You’d have to hit the bean dead center or it would just slide off your stick!”
“Now that’s settled, should I share-out Rex’s food?” Rory asks.
“Please, Princess.”
I feel kind of lightheaded. It’s been a long fucking twenty-four hours.
The truck keeps barrelling along as she opens Rex’s paper sack. Rory splits his one sandwich with meticulous care.
Instead of handing my portion over, her fingers brush against my chin in the dark. I freeze as her fingertips trace my lower lip, guiding a piece of the sandwich directly to my mouth.
A sudden, fierce jolt goes straight down my spine. Across from us, I can hear Francois’s breathing turn sharp, like he senses our secret moment.
Fuck. I’ve such an urge to throw the other two idiots out, and just pull her onto my body.
But I don’t.
Instead, I swallow my bite of sandwich.
Wouldn’t you fucking know?
Peanut butter and jelly.