The Amazing Wolf Boy Page 25

  We left the outlands, approaching the heart of the theme park. Sidewalks led us through an area with concrete dinosaurs. I saw a Ferris wheel, a carousel, and a lake with pontoon boats. We found an island with chimps and another with gibbons. They made a terrible racket as we neared. I was afraid a human would hear. They continued to scream even after we moved away.

  The petting zoo used a double gate system to keep the goats and sheep from wandering out. A familiar cinderblock building stood inside. Its doors were open, the animals not yet bedded down for the night. When they saw us, they hurried inside the structure of their own accord. They bleated pitifully, huddling together and staying as far from us as they could.

  The wind was in my face, carrying with it their mingled scents. I realized that terror had a distinct smell. I didn’t like it. I wanted to go back to the savannah and chase the antelope. Turning around, I saw three werewolves slinking toward us. They showed their teeth and moved in a crouch as if ready to spring. I growled a warning to Rita and Uncle Bob, but the gibbons were making so much noise I doubted anyone heard me.

  The wolves had us on three sides, the petting zoo at our back. I planted my feet and lowered my head, picking out the pack leader and locking his gaze. Uncle Bob barked, finally realizing something was up. He stood on one side of me, Rita on the other.

  The six of us stared, growling. A standoff. The sheep bleated, and the gibbons screamed. I wanted to run or fight, wanted to do something, anything but just stand there. At a yip from her leader, the female vaulted the double fence into the petting zoo. The animals cried out, trying to hide, but their stall was too small for them to get away. The wolf grabbed a lamb in her jaws, snapping its neck. She shook it, nearly severing the head.

  The other two wolves paced as if to keep us from leaving. I couldn’t imagine why. A rumble rose in my throat. I would not stand by while this she-wolf slaughtered the helpless. This was not the thrill of the hunt. There was no sport in killing penned sheep.

  My hackles rose, and I bared my teeth. I stepped forward, focusing on the leader’s throat.

  Then a human shouted, “Hey.”

  In an instant, I realized why they were keeping us there. The pack leader wanted us to be seen. If wolves were known to be in the area, no one would believe me if I said humans killed those women.

  I heard another shout and the shot of a gun. We scattered, running in all directions. I was scared I would become separated from Uncle Bob, but after a moment, he pulled alongside with Rita close behind.

  We ran the way we’d come, back toward the savannah. A voice inside warned that it was a bad idea. If the humans took a vehicle, they would easily run us down.

  There came a distant shot. Rita yelped.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see her tumbling. She was hit! I slowed, barking, afraid to stop, afraid not to. Seconds later, she was up again, running full out, catching up.

  I didn’t see the other three werewolves. Maybe they’d run the other way into the parking lot. Like we should have done instead of heading deeper into the park grounds.

  Another shot, and a bullet whizzed past my head. Its high-pitched whine left my ear ringing. I ducked and dodged, wondering how to get out of this. We reached the first dirt bridge. I leaped, soaring over it, barely touching the chains. Rita had more difficulty. Uncle Bob went back for her, barking encouragement as she stumbled across the ravine. Her coat glistened with blood.

  I watched them, my muscles trembling, wanting to flee. I whined. Hurry. At last, they picked up their pace. I turned, taking point.

  I smelled rhino. The ground was pounded flat. Trees were widely spaced. Lions roared in the distance, wanting out of their cells. I wished they could get out, too. They’d make a great diversion. I urged Rita into a trot and led across the dusty land.

  About halfway across, I heard a Jeep. For half a heartbeat, I froze, crushed by hopelessness. I looked back at bobbing headlights. A searchlight speared the darkness, glancing off the trees. It hit me full in the face. The world went white.

  “There,” yelled a human.

  The motor roared.

  I scrambled away, following my companions, my legs coiling beneath me as I pushed for more speed. Ahead, I smelled the savannah.

  My uncle angled toward the bridge between the pavilions. He and Rita were across before I got there. I hurdled over the barrier of chains, but misjudged and came down badly. My hindquarters slipped over the edge into the gorge, and for a moment, events of my life flashed before me just like in the movies.

  I clung with my front legs, clawing the dirt, trying to lever myself up. Uncle Bob barked and whined, lamenting in wolf talk that he didn’t have a hand to grab me. I kicked with my back legs, practically running up the steep slope. Gaining purchase, I clambered to the top, landing with a woof, and then stumbled across.

  The Jeep rode over the chains like they weren’t there. I ran, and the humans kept right beside me. The tires rumbled. We startled a half-dozen antelope. They galloped through the headlights, forcing the vehicle to veer.

  My uncle appeared at my side, pacing me, urging me to run faster. I concentrated on my rhythm, letting my paws eat the distance. A shot rang out and puffed in the dirt before us. I glanced at the car. A passenger aimed a rifle, weaving in his thrashing seat as he pointed the thing at me.

  My heart nearly stopped. I smelled terror in my sweat, just like the sheep in the petting zoo, and it made me angry. I was not a penned animal. Taking a lesson from the antelope, I added bounce to my stride. But instead of touching lightly and bounding away, I sprang into the Jeep.

  I intended to hit the man with the rifle, but landed on the driver instead. My weight flattened him. As he fell to the side, he pulled the steering wheel with him. The engine gunned, and the car swerved and flipped. The next thing I knew, I was flying. I hit the grass and rolled for what felt like fifty yards. Lying on my side, I tried to remember how to breathe. Rita licked my face, bringing me to my senses. I staggered to my feet, looking at the overturned Jeep. Its wheels spun. The humans stirred. I saw the rifle.

  Uncle Bob nipped my ear, and the three of us were off once more, running as fast as we could toward the back gate. I reached the bridge first, soared over the chains, and bounded twelve feet to the top of the fence. In an instant, I was over.

  Favoring her front leg, Rita followed. She got over the bridge, but when she tried to leap the fence, she hit halfway up. With a yelp, she slid to the ground. Fresh blood oozed from her shoulder. Uncle Bob barked at her, and she barked back. I didn’t know whether to wait or go. I paced, whining. She backed up and jumped again, getting nowhere near the top. Blood streaked the chain-link. She scrabbled, trying to climb, then fell again.

  I thought I heard voices.

  Her ears perked. She backed up past the bridge. With her head lowered, she streaked forward. She hurdled the barrier chains as I had, and sprang at the gate, hitting the top with one paw over. Struggling, she got her legs beneath her and jumped down to me.

  I was so relieved I licked her face. I actually felt my tail wag.

  Uncle Bob sailed over, and we were together, running through the open field. Rita limped beside me. I knew by her ragged breathing that she was in pain. My uncle ran in a zigzag manner, searching for our clothes. My initial thought was to leave them. All I wanted was to get home.

  But we couldn’t drive naked through town. I circled about, trying to pick up our scent. I mean, he’d peed on a tree, for cripe’s sake. It shouldn’t be hard to find.

  After several minutes, I caught our trail and led the others to the copse where we’d left our things. But something was wrong. It smelled of wolf. Other wolf. I ducked under the palm fronds. The stench was stronger. The pack had been there.

  Our clothes were gone.

  Uncle Bob burst into the shelter. His eyes glowed in the dark. We stood for a moment, trying to read each other’s thoughts. Then he barked and bounded away. I followed.

  He hurried us forward. I saw the fen
ce that bordered the road. Beyond it was Rita’s van and my uncle’s truck. It was a couple hours before dawn. The moon was setting. It burned like fire.

  Just let me get to the truck.

  Rita whimpered. She collapsed, twitching like she was having convulsions. Her muzzle flattened. Fingers grew from her paws.

  I turned to see my uncle, now a man on hands and knees.

  I could have held my shape a little longer, but there was no point fighting it. Braced against the pain of my repositioning limbs, I shifted back to myself. Sweat coated my skin. I got to my feet.

  Rita lay motionless. Her body was smooth and slender, like in the magazines.

  My uncle leaned over her, feeling her neck. “Get the fence for us,” he told me.

  I knew I shouldn’t stare, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Cody,” Uncle Bob snapped.

  I hobbled away, sticks and stones biting my bare feet. When I reached the slit in the chain link, I looked back. Uncle Bob got Rita up, helping her walk.

  “Just a scratch,” she mumbled.

  I held the fence open and watched her crawl through. My uncle followed. When I got to the other side, I saw Rita leaning against the truck, completely unconcerned that she was naked. She picked at her shoulder.

  “See?” she murmured, sounding wobbly. “The bullet just grazed me. The edges are already healing.”

  My uncle jabbed his finger at me. “First aid kit next to the toolbox.” He ran along the van and wrenched open the driver’s side door.

  I vaulted into the truck bed. The toolbox was large and padlocked. Next to it was a variety of stuff—a couple of fishing poles and a tackle box, a Walgreens bag with some candy wrappers and empty Coke cans, and a blue button-down work shirt that looked like it had been used as a rag. I put it on.

  Underneath everything was a white case with a red cross on top. I grabbed it and hopped down from the truck just as my uncle burst out of the back of Rita’s van. He handed her a pair of cut-off shorts. She bent over, stepping into the jeans, pulling them slowly over her thighs. I looked away, my cheeks growing hot, and opened the case. I was in love with Brittany. I didn’t need to watch anyone else get dressed, especially someone old enough to be my mother. Almost.

  “Bring that kit over here,” Uncle Bob said. I set it on the hood of the truck. He disinfected the wound and taped a wad of gauze over it. “It isn’t bad.”

  “Told you,” she said.

  “I’d still like to have Howard look at it.”

  “I don’t want to go there. He always talks me into buying something.” She glanced around. “Where’s my blouse?”

  He helped her slip it on. Instead of buttoning it, she tied it closed.

  Uncle Bob looked in the back of his extended cab. He brought out jeans and a T-shirt along with a ratty pair of work boots.

  “I don’t have anything for you,” he told me.

  “Look in my van,” Rita said.

  With a determined nod, I climbed inside. Pillows and a mattress took up most of the floor. Boxes sat to either side, filled with everything from bathing suits to parkas. Apparently, Rita was prepared for all climates. But there was nothing large enough to fit me.

  As I rummaged around, I heard the crunch of approaching tires. A car stopped outside the van. My eyes widened, and I crouched on Rita’s bed.

  “Good morning, Deputy,” Uncle Bob said.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  My stomach sank. Why was the sheriff’s department here? All I needed was to be found in the back of a woman’s van wearing a smelly work shirt that barely covered my behind.

  I knelt among the boxes, trying to look inconspicuous. Wind puffed through the open back door, chilling my sweaty face. I stared outside. Rita still leaned against Uncle Bob’s truck. Neither the deputy nor my uncle could be seen. Their voices came from the side of the van.

  “Car trouble, Mister Nowak?” the deputy asked.

  “Night fishing,” my uncle said. “Pond’s about half a mile in the woods there.”

  “Catch anything?”

  “Nothing we kept.”

  “How long you been here?”

  “Got here around, oh…three o’clock.” Uncle Bob’s voice shifted like he’d looked around at Rita. “Wouldn’t you say, honey?”

  “Sounds about right,” she said.

  The deputy said, “Ma’am, you’re bleeding.”

  I tensed, holding my breath. How would we explain a gunshot wound?

  But she just motioned nonchalantly at her shoulder. “Yeah, wouldn’t you know it? The stupid hook swung around and caught me in the shoulder. I’m going to need a Band-Aid.”

  “Humph,” said the deputy.

  “Anything we can help you with, sir?” my uncle asked.

  “Have you seen any dogs?”

  “No.”

  “How about people?”

  “Only you. Why?”

  “A pack of animals got onto the preserve. Jamie Miller says there were six of them. Biggest dogs he ever saw. They killed a lamb and a couple antelope.”

  Rita gasped. “That’s awful.”

  “How could dogs get in there?” Uncle Bob asked.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” the deputy said. “I can’t see how they could get inside. Not without help.”

  “Are you saying a person—”

  “Unusual is all. Animals can’t get out but dogs can get in? Anyway, it’s not safe. Not with dogs around learning to kill, maybe on command.”

  “What do you mean?” Rita asked. “You think these dogs are, like, murder weapons?”

  “It’s an ongoing investigation. Best you don’t loiter out here,” he said. “Go on home.”

  His boots scuffed the rocky road. Uncle Bob appeared at the back of the van. He gave me a look that clearly said keep your head down. The doors slammed. Out the windshield, I watched the deputy’s car pull away.

  “I’ll drive,” my uncle said. “We’ll leave my truck here.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Rita said. “I’m fine.”

  “You shouldn’t be moving that arm.”

  “Don’t baby me. I hate that.”

  “All right,” he said, closing her door. “I’ll follow you.”

  She started the van. The engine ran rough. She had trouble fastening her seatbelt, so I reached around and snapped it. Pain radiated from her like an aura. I wished my uncle were driving.

  We pulled off the grass and headed home at walking speed. Ahead, the deputy’s cruiser sat on the side of the road. He was standing outside, copying down the license plate of a parked car.

  The red Camaro.

  I sat back, shutting my eyes. I was an idiot. I hadn’t warned the pack leader away. I’d made him angry. It was a good thing I hadn’t told anyone about our talk.

  Rita reached to the passenger seat and produced a cassette tape. I didn’t know they made them anymore. She put it in the player, and after a moment, Carole King’s Greatest Hits filled the van.

  She was my mother’s favorite singer. I thought of Mom driving down the street with the top down and that scarf she always wore flapping in the breeze, singing along with her tunes, embarrassing the heck out of me. Sudden tears burned my eyes. I tried to shut out the music, but it was no use. I found I knew all the words.

  By the time we got to my uncle’s house, I smelled blood. Rita parked on the grass then slumped over the wheel. I squeezed between the seats until I leaned over her. She was out cold.

  My uncle wrenched open her door. His face fell. “Undo her belt for me.”

  I hit the latch, and we untangled her from the straps. She groaned but didn’t complain. Uncle Bob lifted her and carried her toward the house. I jumped out of the van, hurried around them, and opened the front door.

  Rita was pale and motionless. Her blouse was soaked through. Uncle Bob set her on the recliner. He untied her blouse and removed the bloodied bandage.

  I stood in the doorway, staring. This was my fault. If I hadn’t riled the pack,
none of this would have happened.

  A truck rattled up the driveway. Howard. My uncle must have called him on his cell. He got out carrying a cardboard box.

  “I see Aunt Fanny is here,” he said as he passed me.

  “Huh?” At first, I thought he meant Rita, but then I realized he was referring to the work shirt. Embarrassment rose in a hot wave. But as all my important parts were covered, I ignored him. Motioning at the box, I said, “What’s all this?”

  “My first aid kit.” He grinned. “Why don’t you put a big pot of water on to boil?”

  I nodded and went into the kitchen. We didn’t have a big pot. I remembered the mess I made cooking spaghetti in a skillet for Brittany. After a moment’s indecision, I filled a cereal bowl with water and popped it into the microwave.

  While it heated, I went back into the living room. Howard dabbed yellow goo onto Rita’s wound. Behind him, Uncle Bob paced, looking worried and distracted.

  “Will she be okay?” I asked.

  “We need to keep her still,” Howard said. “Whose idea was it to let her drive the van?”

  “Whose do you think?” my uncle said.

  “Do you have a clean bed sheet? Something we can cut into strips?”

  “You can use mine,” I said. I hated those Scooby sheets.

  “He said clean,” my uncle muttered as he brushed past me.

  I’d never seen him so upset. The microwave dinged, and I went in to check the water. It wasn’t hot enough, so I put it in for another couple of minutes. Then I went to my room and grabbed a pair of sweat pants from the dirty clothes pile.

  When I returned to the living room, Uncle Bob was removing Rita’s blouse while Howard cut the sheet with what looked like a bowie knife. But he didn’t use the strips to bandage Rita’s shoulder. He crossed her left arm over her breasts, and then tied it there, wrapping the lengths of bed sheet around her chest until she looked part mummy. The wound was in the open.

  “Do you want the water?” I asked.

  “No, I’ll make the tea in there.” Howard straightened, stretching his back. He looked at me. “How’s your ear?”