Chapter 17
The next day is quiet. Gretch gets her ankle rewrapped in the afternoon.
I avoid having my bandages redone. Despite not allowing them to heal, I know the cuts will be beyond what a human’s would be.
We spend the rest of the day lounging on Gretch’s couch with her ankle propped up.
She tells me about when she was found by Hudson, when she felt lost in life and he gave her a purpose.
After grabbing dinner at the kitchen, we slip into our layers. Gretch wants to go to some fire. “Come on. If we want to get seats close, we got to get moving.”
Each time we leave, she picks up the same gun, making my heart jump.
We head to a wide opening in the buildings and voices travel toward us. Specks of ash float high above the trailers, glowing against the night sky. There’s a group of ten people, all men, some sitting and others standing. Gretch and I take seats on stumps a few feet away from the fires coals.
“You must be Aly,” a short man to my left says, taking a seat. Good to know word travels fast. This place can’t be too big.
“That’s me. And you are . . . ?”
“Mike. Welcome to the Uprising.”
A few others give supportive hoots.
I force a smile at the excitement. “Yeah, thanks. Not sure how useful I’ll be.”
“We’ll get you there in no time.” The light of the fire reflects off the side of his clean-shaven face. He’s got a hat on over his ears and gloves like a lot of the others. “Who’s got a story tonight?” Mike asks the group.
A few step closer and take the remaining seats.
“That would be me.”
I turn to see a man step into the glow—the “boss” from last night. He gives me a look and winks.
I look back toward Gretch. “Who’s that?”
She leans toward me. “Tripp, Hudson’s second-in-command.”
“Not on patrol tonight, sir?” Mike asks.
“I’ll be going back after midnight.”
“Need our number-one shooter out there.” Another man claps Tripp on the back.
Tripp takes a seat right across from me and stares through the fire. I bite my bottom lip and look off to the side. When I look back, Tripp’s eyes bore into mine, and I raise my eyebrows to look intrigued. I can play this game.
“Let’s hear it,” Mike says.
“All right.” Tripp rubs his hands together.
“This one is more of a myth than a story, but even more haunting. We know there are different colors of werewolves out there—various browns, blacks, some mixes. But there’s another that comes from the depths of hell and fire.
It can kill humans from a distance with the powerful ability to penetrate your own thoughts and demand you take your own life.
This werewolf could make you walk into this fire and stand there as it burns you into the ashes.
It has no remorse for death, being immortal itself. And that’s why it’s a legend.”
They look terrified—except Tripp, whose cheeks rise as he smiles at the response.
“One day, a young man got lost in the woods and came across this wolf. He was starving and in need of a shower. The werewolf, with no value for human life, played a game with him, making him step closer and closer to the edge of a cliff, until his own mind made him step one more time. It wasn’t his mind making him act.
He didn’t know his thoughts were no longer his own.
The poor young man’s scream was drowned out by the werewolf’s howl. ”
A few of them let out mimics of howls.
I shudder and close my eyes.
“Monsters,” Mike says, tossing something into the flame.
“What color was it?” asked Gretch.
The rest nod, agreeing, waiting for the response.
“Red,” Tripp answers voice lower than before.
I stand up, the fire’s heat adding to the one inside.
“You good, Aly?” she asks.
“Just need a minute.”
I move outside the fire’s light to the narrow path between two buildings.
I press my bare hands on the cool metal and try to slow my breath.
What are the fucking odds? But I can’t penetrate minds.
If that were possible, I would not be sitting at a fire surrounded by humans who have shot the ones I care for.
My hands start to shake and drop from the metal as I pull in a few steady breaths of frigid air. My heart beats loudly in my ears.
They’ve even killed them.
This has to be for something—moving out of my home to be surrounded by those who hate me, being attacked, the daily agony of not turning. I will succeed in my mission here for Pratt, for my home, for . . .
I shake my head. He’s not mine.
“Not one for scary stories?”
I ignore the man’s question as I kick some snow over the melted patch at my feet. I need a minute, and I need to cool the fuck down. I touch the metal once more and let the heat from me drain, the frost melting in the dark.
“You okay?” Tripp moves closer to me, his head above mine. I can see the outline of his eyes without stepping further away. He’s dressed in white camo gear with his hood up.
I wipe my face. “Oh yeah, I needed a minute.”
“Where’s your gun?” He touches my shoulder and rotates me.
“What?”
“Your gun. You can’t be walking around here unarmed. It’s not safe.” His voice rises as he talks.
I cross my arms. “Are one of you going to hurt me?”
“No, but the beasts will not hesitate. They might not have come here yet, but they will, and we need to be ready.”
I just nod, and he grabs my lower arm and pulls me in closer.
“You held your own last night. I was impressed.”
Our dense coats flatten as his body shapes into mine.
“Oh, thanks. I have no time for men harassing me.”
“Well, good thing I’m not harassing you.” He brushes his lips over my head, and the hate in my gut screams. I look up for a better view, but his hood blocks the light from the buildings. “I’ll find you tomorrow. I got a shift.”
“See you then,” I say, only loud enough for him to hear.
He steps around me and walks away from the path to the fire.
Great. They want to give me a damn weapon.
I join Gretch at the fire and my lungs release. This place is better with her around.
“Did Tripp go after you?”
“Uh, yeah, he did.” I lift up the water beside my stool and rinse my mouth.
She shifts and almost bounces off her stool. “Wow, he doesn’t go after anyone.”
“Weird,” I say.
If he’s the second-in-command, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to get close to him.
We stay for another two hours, as more Uprising members share stories. A few go on about recent war wounds they’ve earned. If I could just ignore the fact they’re hunting my own, I might be able to enjoy myself. Instead, I’m proud they got hurt. They deserve it.
We make it back to Gretch’s, and I lay awake as her breathing shifts into sleep mode. I’ve been here for almost forty-eight hours and part of me wants to abandon my plan. Tomorrow, they want to give me a gun.
Fire flames in my legs, and I let it burn long enough for tears to drip onto my pillow.