Chapter 19 #2
“Then you deserve our hospitality, even if we can’t help you with your problem.
” Rhino Guy glances at the old man, who’s huffing on his cigarette, pretending we’re not here.
“But who knows, maybe we can work something out. Terrance, why don’t you take these boys someplace they can wash up and rest?
We’re having a little party this evening, and lord knows we could all use a wash.
We can talk more about what we can do for you then. ”
He leans forward, resting his elbow on his knee, the chair straining underneath his mass. “And what you can do for us.”
“Don’t worry about old Horace,” Terrance says as he leads us away from the so-called council. “He’s stuck in his ways. But Gerald, that’s the big guy, he’s sort of our de facto leader, he’s got a good head on those massive shoulders. He’ll listen to what you have to say.”
“Great.”
I wish I could say our conversation hadn’t left me with a sickly, skin-prickling feeling, like a million ants scattering all over my skin.
But something about this place is putting me on edge.
As we stop outside one of the cleaner-looking RVs I try to tell myself not to let my own inherent prejudices stop me from making connections.
At least Gerald seems willing to talk. Though I have no idea what he could want from us in return for their help.
“You boys can rest up in here. This trailer’s been empty for a while, so you’ll have to excuse the dust. Dinner’s at sundown and you won’t want to miss the festivities after.”
The trailer creaks on its wheels as Omar, then I, step inside.
Only a thin stream of afternoon sun is shining through a gap in the busted blinds.
We both cram into the narrow benches on either side of a two-seater table built into the wall.
The driver’s seat is behind me, and in front, a kitchen that looks like it could take a thousand deep cleans and still not be verifiably sanitary.
Further on is a narrow hall and one of those sliding accordion doors, pulled at a weird jaunty angle, which I assume means it’s broken too, and behind that is a messed-up bed.
The smell is earthy and strong but not unbearable.
“What are you thinking?”
Omar is picking at the skin around his thumbnail and staring at the table.
“It’s weird right,” he says, “that there’s no women?”
“Yeah, I mean, it does feel strange but then again, we just met that all-female community. They were nice.”
“Yeah, but do these guys seem nice to you?”
I think about it for a second. In the last couple of weeks, I’ve had to brace myself for every possible reaction to my arrival in these spaces. The rogues are right to be wary of pack wolves. After the way we’ve treated them, the way we’re taught about them in schools.
“I keep thinking about Malachi,” I say. “The way we found him. All feral and violent.”
Omar bows his head. “Poor guy.”
“That’s how we were taught all rogues were. Feral. Dangerous. But he was only that way because of what happened to him. And we were able to bring him back to himself not by reciprocating his violence but by trying to help him. Maybe we’re just jumping to conclusions about these guys too.”
He drums his fingers on the table. “You’ve been doing a lot of deprogramming on this trip haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “And even before then.”
“Right. But you’ve been exposed to rogues before now. So have I. Hell, I am one. And still, there’s something bugging me about these guys.”
I look around the dusty camper van.
“I just don’t want to judge too quickly. We should hear what they have to say.”
“I agree.” Omar nods. “But we should also keep our guard up. Rogues as a whole aren’t what you learned about in your pack lessons. But that doesn’t mean they’re all good either.”
A dark expression has captured Omar’s face. I wonder if he’s thinking back to his time in Rogue City, and the wolves who branded him with their tattoo.
“Let’s see what they want and then we can decide,” I say. “If things get bad, we can always run back to the car and get the hell out of here.”
“Agreed.”
The sun is already down when there’s a knock on the door of what I suppose I can call “our” trailer. Omar and I took turns napping during the long afternoon while we waited, then sat in silence listening as the sounds of doors, and footsteps, and voices began to emerge.
“You boys ready?” Terrance says when we open the door to find him outside, no longer in his faux military getup, now wearing a loose flannel shirt and jeans.
We follow him back through the maze of ancient RVs toward the glowing orange light of a bonfire.
Other wolves are making their way there as well, all of them men, in trucker hats and denim shirts with the sleeves torn off, or grease-stained T-shirts and tanks.
The rogues are gathered around the fire, which sits a little ways beyond the higgledy circle of trailers.
Stopping a short distance from the gathering male rogues, we watch as they crack open cans of beer, patting each other on the back, waiting for something to happen. Off to the side a couple guys are throwing a football back and forth, and another guy is manning a grill, flipping burgers.
“Is it like a cookout?” I ask.
Terrance makes a low grunting sound. “Something like that. Come on, you don’t want to miss this.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder a little too firmly and leads us closer to the bonfire, where I finally notice a makeshift stage has been built out of old fruit crates.
After a few minutes, Gerald appears, emerging from the shadows and into the light of the fire to take the stage.
He holds his arms out wide and waits for the noise of the crowd to die down.
“Alphas!” he bellows, provoking a cheer and a sea of pumped fists all around.
But I shake my head in confusion. What does he mean, alphas? I glance at Omar, who shrugs, as lost as I am.
“My brothers! I thank you for gathering this evening. Tonight is a special night.” Gerald’s eyes scan the crowd, eventually landing on me and—did he just grin? “Tonight we have come together to solidify our power, to join the march of progress. And to take back our place in society.”
Another jolting cheer goes up from the crowd, making me flinch.
“How many of us have suffered under the weight of the tyrannical forces shaping this once-great land?” A cry of ascent follows each of Gerald’s statements. “How many of us have been persecuted by those lesser than us? How many of us were promised greatness and delivered squalor?”
After another almighty howl, Gerald holds his hands out flat to quiet the crowd.
“Tonight, gentlemen, that all changes.”
Every scruffy face is turned to Gerald, watching with undivided attention.
“You were all once great men. Alphas, leaders, the pinnacle of werewolf society.”
While he speaks, I try to look around without drawing attention to myself, while also using my wolf senses and blood-wolf powers to get a better read on this ragtag group. Quickly, I notice one great unifying factor. And I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before.
They’re alphas! Or at least they were. I have no idea why they were kicked out of their packs.
But every wolf here was once in line to be leader.
Their blood is alpha blood. Only now they’re rogues.
And I can’t imagine what that combination means, except that these wolves are very powerful and, perhaps, even angrier than I first thought.
“All of us share in the pain of abandonment, all of us were born to rule like our fathers before us. All of us were promised power.”
Even Terrance, who’s remained stoic throughout, holds a fist in front of his chest, agreeing with a “Yes” hissed through clenched teeth.
Omar glances at me, still confused.
I don’t want to say anything and risk pulling focus—what I don’t need is a crowd of angry rogues channeling their building rage in my direction—so I shoot him a wide-eyed look, telling him we’re in danger.