Dreamwalkers (22 page)

And now I can’t move.

As I’m floundering, staring at Mom dancing
around him, wishing I was helping her, Mom ducks under Matthew’s
arm and rips into the flesh of his stomach.

A stew of dark blood and soft innards spills
to the ground.

He howls, a sound which is cut off when she
rips out this throat.

It is only as he gags and drowns in his own
blood that I feel my muscles relax. And with that sudden relaxation
comes a sense of crushing defeat.

Mom beat her fears. I did not.

She looks at me suddenly, as if she can sense
my thoughts. Her muzzle is coated with blood. I turn away and
survey the others.

The battle has scattered. Small groups
struggle and fight and run. I can’t see Daniel or Remy in the
darkness, but I know they are together. Aunt Jenny is protecting
Misty from several wolves, and Martin is helping her.

Behind me I hear car doors slamming, and the
truck roars off down the road, Ben’s face barely visible in the
rearview mirror.

My wolf wants me to chase the vehicle.
Knowing I won’t be able to catch up on foot, I instead go to help
Aunt Jenny and Martin. Two wolves are harassing them, growling and
threatening with their size but not much else. They don’t even
notice me coming up behind them until I am beside the brown one. He
looks at me, and then I rip his throat out. Aunt Jenny uses this
distraction to rip out the other’s throat.

The taste of blood in my mouth makes me feel
ill.

I move on to the next group. It’s Anna,
wrestling with one of the guys who had been in the pen with me
toward the end. I wait for the choice moment and dart in and take a
chunk out of his abdomen, pulling his intestines out and strewing
them upon the ground while he dies.

I move on. Kill again. And again. And
again.

My exhaustion bleeds out into the ground.
It’s cold and hard yet somehow also the most comfortable place I’ve
ever been.

Here, beside the unconscious boy.

I crawled up to his side and stared at his
peaceful face. A peace smeared with blood and battered with
bruises.

Eventually everyone regroups near Remy’s
Jeep. I listen to their tired footsteps dragging near and don’t
move. Can’t move.

“Kayla?” Mom says.

She has turned human and put on clothes that
she had brought along in the Jeep. I wonder how many of the others
are now human. How many have dressed, cleaned up, sanitized while I
have lain on the ground and maybe slept and maybe blanked out.

Mom strokes my head.

I close my eyes.

When I wake up I am in the Jeep. In the back,
on the floor. Mom and Remy sit up front. They are not talking; the
radio is playing softly some kind of classic rock. I lift my head
as quietly as I can and look at the boy lying across the
backseat.

Where did he come from? Whose side is he on?
His mind is a big dark blank. Kind of nice. His smell, on the other
hand, is not a blank. It isn’t like Matthew’s smell of
other
.
Yet if he is a part of my
pack, I can’t feel the pull of him.

Deep inhale from his sweatshirt.

forest sweat metal blood grief

By the time we get to the major highways, I
am human again. Mom had some clothes for me, and I squeeze into the
back so I don’t disturb the boy. Jeff. His name is Jeff, I suddenly
remember.

Jeans and a t-shirt and that fisherman
sweater. As I stretch to push my arms through the sleeves, I feel
every bruise and cut on my torso. No black and blue, just red where
the open wounds are starting to heal. My ribs are another story.
They definitely hurt more than just a bruise. But I can already
take deep breaths without wincing, so maybe those are healing,
too.

I crouch in the floor area of the back and
lean over the center console. “How is everyone else getting back?”
I ask.

Remy jerks his head to gesture behind us.
“We’ve got a convoy.”

The Jeep’s rear window is basically a piece
of plastic, and I peer through it. A line of assorted SUVs and
trucks follow us, about six in total. “Where did they all come
from?”

“There were a lot of cars at the campground.”
Mom shrugs. “So we took them.”

“How many? Not cars,” I ask.

“About ten.”

“I thought there were more.”

Mom looks out the window. “Ten that
survived.”

“Oh.” Awkward silence. “Were any of them
left?”

“A truck load of them got away. Maybe some
others. None of them were left in the campground, that we could
find trace of.”

“That’s good, then.”

No one says anything for a few miles. I watch
the trees, think about how hungry I am.

Suddenly Mom snaps, “Kayla, how could you do
that?”

I flinch. “Do what?”

nothing. you did nothing.

“Go off on your own like that?” Her voice is
filled with annoyance and anger. Like I should have known that’s
what she meant.

“Oh.” My voice is tiny.

“You have a pack. We stick together because
it’s safer that way. You are the alpha. You have responsibilities.
What the hell were you thinking running off? Right into their
hands. Do you have any idea what they could have done to you? Of
course you do. You know. And yet you did it anyway. You are not
invincible, Kayla.”

I don’t know what to say except, “I
know.”

I know now. I’m not invincible.

“Of course you do. You’re a teenager. You
know everything.” Mom huffs and folds her arms over her chest.

That’s my cue to retreat, sliding back from
the center console, curling up in the foot space of the backseat. I
rest my head on the seat beside Jeff’s shoulder.

He doesn’t look like Alex Lo. His hair is
longer than Alex’s buzz cut. Looks like he hasn’t had a proper
haircut in a long time. His skin is darker, browner. A tan? Has he
been living outside?

Resting my head on the seat, I put my nose
close to Jeff’s shoulder, close my eyes, and inhale.

blood dirt forest blood fresh blood

I lift my head and look at him. He’s
bleeding, right now he’s bleeding. He was shot, I remember that
from last night.

I reach up and unzip his hooded sweatshirt.
The t-shirt underneath is barely white anymore. Some dirt, and the
whole front is crusted with brown, dried blood. After a glance back
to see that Mom is glaring out the window with her arms folded over
her chest, I scoot over and lift up the bottom the t-shirt.

The fabric doesn’t stick to his skin–a good
sign. Underneath, his torso is wrapped in bandages and gauze. Blood
has seeped through, but not a lot. It makes the shape of a small
circle. Someone must have bandaged him up before we left the
campground.

Gingerly, I touch the skin on his stomach.
The muscles beneath are firm and warm.

I jerk my hand away and pull Jeff’s shirt
back down, then sit with my back resting against the door. At this
angle, I can see Remy’s left arm in the space between the seat and
the driver’s side door.

Only a moment of rest and I can feel every
hurt in my body. I wasn’t shot up like Jeff here, but I nearly got
my ass handed to me several times today.

I lean my head back and try to ignore how the
bumpy roads make the back of my skull slam back.

thud thud thud thud thud

There most definitely is not enough space for
fifteen people at our shitty little cabin in the woods.

Misty and a couple others too exhausted to
complain shuffle out of the vehicles and into the cabin and claim
the first soft-ish looking place they saw to collapse back into
sleep. Others like Terry and Mike, however, look around doubtfully.
Like,

(we traded
that
for
this
?)

Terry, a brawny guy with a full head of
reddish hair and a matching bushy beard, looks at Mike in surprise.
Mike doesn’t seem to notice anything wrong as he surveys the cabin
with his arms crossed. His plaid flannel shirt is ripped in several
spots, revealing bits of his golden brown skin and firm
muscles.

“Did you just say something?” Terry asks.

Mike looks at Terry in surprise. “No.”

“You did. I heard you. And, frankly, it was
really rude.”

“Hey, man, mind your own business.” Mike’s
arms aren’t crossed anymore. They’re at his sides, balled up into
fists.

The living room suddenly feels even
smaller.

“Whoa, there, fellas,” Mom says, coming
between them. “We all heard what Mike was thinking. That happens in
a pack.”

Terry and Mike look at my mother with a mix
of confusion and sudden realization that a female was in their
midst.

Mom takes a deep breath and explains. “Those
guys may have turned you, but you were connected to Kayla somehow,
and part of our pack. So you haven’t had the benefit of hearing the
thoughts of your packmates until now.”

“So everyone’s gonna know what I’m thinking
now?” Mike says. “Shit.”

“You can control it,” Mom says.

Martin grabs my arm. I’d been standing
against the wall, sorta hoping no one would notice me, watching as
Daniel and Remy carried Jeff into the bedroom.

“Kayla,” he says, his voice panicky. “There
isn’t any soap by the sink.”

Oh, Martin. I sigh. “There should be some in
the bathroom.”

“I need to–I need to–” He wrings his
hands.

“Just go wash up in the bathroom, Martin,” I
say.

He hurries off, glancing around with wide
eyes at his new surroundings, spooking at anything resembling
dirt.

I should do something. It’s overwhelming,
though, and as I look around I don’t know what I can do. Mom’s got
her hands full with Mike and Terry and all their questions, which
has drawn the attention of a few other people, and Aunt Jenny has
unearthed a first aid kit and is going around to everyone asking if
they have any injuries.

I peel myself off the wall and weave my way
into the bedroom. Daniel and Remy are having a low-voiced
discussion and stop when I walk in.

“Hi,” I say in what is possibly the most
awkward way ever.

“Hi,” Daniel says.

I raise my eyebrows.

Remy jerks a thumb toward Jeff. “Dan and I
were discussing this one.”

“Jeff,” I say. “His name is Jeff.”

“He smells like Zeke,” Daniel says.

Am I missing something? “Who’s Zeke?”

“Zeke, my friend Zeke. I told you about
him.”

Vague memory. “Okay. So, Jeff smells like
Zeke?”

“He doesn’t smell like pack,” Remy states,
folding his arms.

Uh-oh. Daniel’s fists are clenching and
unclenching and I’m suddenly feeling nervous, like Daniel’s quiet
anger is pumping directly into my veins.

“Zeke was in my pack. So maybe that’s why he
doesn’t smell like your pack.”

“Okay, guys, here’s the deal,” I say fast,
before Remy can respond. “What we do know is that he isn’t one of
Ben’s pack, which means he isn’t one of Geo’s. Let’s wait until he
wakes up and then we can ask him about Zeke.”

“What if he killed Zeke?” Daniel asks.

I blink against the surge of rage coming from
him.

“If Zeke is your pack, you’d know if he
died,” Remy shoots back. “And if Zeke is still part of your pack,
then this guy would smell like your pack.”

“Hold on,” I say. “If Daniel was Zeke’s
alpha, and I’m Daniel’s alpha, does that make Zeke part of my
pack?”

“Yes.” Remy looks at Daniel as if daring
him.

“Okay. So Zeke should smell like pack. But if
this guy smells like Zeke, but he doesn’t smell like pack...” I
trail off. None of the possibilities are good.

“Then this guy was either one of the guys who
grabbed him,” Remy says, “or he met Zeke at some later point.”

“No, Ben said his tracker had smelled
Daniel’s scent on him,” I tell them.

“How do they know what I smell like?” Daniel
shakes his head and glares down at Jeff. “He must have done
something to Zeke. That’s why I can’t feel Zeke anymore.”

“You... can’t feel him? At all?” I ask
carefully, because Daniel’s anger level is bordering on the
dangerous red zone. “And Zeke’s scent on him... that doesn’t smell
like pack to you?”

Instead of answering, Daniel lunges at Jeff,
grabs his shoulders, and starts shaking. “Wake up, you fucking
bastard!”

Remy and I are on him before he can do too
much damage. “Stop it, Daniel!”

“What’s going on in here?” Mom demands,
running into the room.

“He killed Zeke!” Daniel half-growls.

“We don’t know that!” I yell. “We don’t know
anything for sure until he wakes up!”

Jeff now lay crumpled up on the bed, his eyes
closed. A limp rag doll.

“There is no good reason why he’s been shot
and he smells like Zeke and Ben’s pack had him!” Daniel growls.

“And who’s to say he’ll tell us the truth
when he does wake up,” Remy asks unhelpfully.

“Really?” I say to him.

“There is one thing we can do...” Remy
says.

I wait.

“One thing
you
can do.”

“What? What can I do? Do you have some other
secret knowledge about alphas up your sleeve?”

Remy lifts one eyebrow like I should know the
answer. “You can dreamwalk.”

My brain won’t stop racing. The anxious
thoughts of everyone crammed in our cabin press in on me, so I grab
a blanket and go outside and lay on the picnic table, looking up at
the sky. It’s really too chilly to be doing this, and the bright
sun just makes my tired eyes feel scratchy. Every so often I feel
myself start to shake, and will myself to stop.

Every time I close my eyes, I am back at the
campground with Matthew leering at me.