Kitty's House of Horrors

Chapter 17

Tina walked close behind me, within arm’s reach, because she didn’t have good night vision and needed me to guide her. Lee walked a few paces to my right, carrying the sniper rifle in both hands, like a character out of a Vietnam War movie.

I concentrated on listening, smelling—spotting anything out of the ordinary. A place in the shadows with the wrong colors or an odor that didn’t belong. So far, nothing. But I remembered the pine pitch Valenti had used to mask his scent. Any minute now, I’d hear the hiss of silver-tipped arrows flying.

We’d traveled maybe two miles from the lodge, but it had taken an hour, since we’d moved so carefully, soundlessly, and full of paranoia. I kept glancing at Tina, hoping for some sign that she knew where the site was, that she was leading us somewhere. And for part of the time she did look like she was searching, stopping and studying the landscape, as if trying to recognize a landmark. Mostly, though, she looked scared, her face tight, brow furrowed.

Even if we didn’t find the hunters’ shelter, that would be okay. If all we did was hike within cell phone range and call the cavalry, I’d be fine with that.

After another half hour of cautious walking, Tina put a hand on my arm.

“We’re looking for a tent,” she said. “Camouflaged, under a pair of trees. I think it’s near here. This looks familiar.”

We all looked outward, scanning the trees. I took in a long, slow breath—and smelled canvas.

I couldn’t see it until we were almost standing next to it. Just like Tina had said, it was a low tent slung between trees, a darker shadow standing out against a natural backdrop. We waited outside it a long time, like we expected it to come to life and swallow us. Lee aimed the rifle.

“I don’t hear anything,” Lee said. “Do you?”

I didn’t, and I couldn’t smell anything living inside. I supposed it was time to get a closer look at what we were up against.

The tent was little more than a tarp slung over a rope tied between the trees and staked out to form walls. It was draped with camo netting, like a hunting blind. Lee pushed back the flap with the end of his rifle—the Vietnam War movie again. My heart raced, waiting for the screaming guy with the grenade to jump out. But nothing happened.

Inside was just enough room for a low camp cot and a small, collapsible metal table. Next to the cot was a steel cage, square, just big enough to hold a person. I didn’t want to know what they planned to do with that. Under the table sat metal crates—ammo boxes and the like. On top of the table were a camp stove, a bottle of water, some packets of freeze-dried food, and a tiny portable TV showing a black-and-white image of the trail leading away from the lodge. I wondered how many other cameras were out there. They couldn’t have had one in the lodge’s interior, or they’d have known what had happened to Valenti. So they weren’t omniscient. That was something.

Leaning against the ammunition cases was a crossbow, sleek steel and black, modern and dangerous, and a cylindrical container of bolts to go with it. Silver tips. This was the weapon that had killed Jerome.

Suddenly, I wanted to break something.

“What do we do now?” Lee said.

I didn’t know. This was so big, so organized. I was just trying to live my life and do my thing, and suddenly I was furious that I kept getting interrupted by crap like this. I didn’t just want to howl, I wanted to roar. The sound an animal made when it went rabid.

I took a deep breath and tried to push that feeling away.

Concentrating on calm and not on the knot in my gut, I said, “We need to get rid of this stuff so no one can use it anymore.”

Tina shook her head. “I think we need to get out of here.”

“What’s wrong?” I said.

Lee said, “It’s just nerves. This is what we came here to do.”

“No. Nobody move,” she said.

We all stood still. I held my breath, listening, waiting. A breeze shifted the trees outside, and the tent’s canvas rippled. I tried not to jump. We were the hunters now, had to stay calm. Just keep telling myself that.

After a moment, she nodded toward a space at the edge of the table. “There,” she said. “On the table, a trip wire.”

“What?” Lee said. “I don’t see anything.”

He started toward the table when she said, “Don’t! Don’t move, don’t touch anything.”

Focusing, I could see it: a thin, clear filament, like a fishing line, running from the table to the ground. I pointed. “There. You see it?”

“If we move the table, something goes boom,” Lee said.

I sighed. “I say we back up out of here the way we came and forget about plan A.”

“Agreed,” Tina breathed.

She backed up and out the tent entrance. I followed, stepping carefully, searching all around me for the least little anomaly that might be a booby trap. Lee followed on the same path. He paused at the entrance for one last look around inside.

Something exploded. A whoosh of red fire, then a whoomp, like the air sucking out of a room. I grabbed Tina and fell to the ground, sheltering her. She screamed.

I didn’t see what caused it—I’d never learn exactly what Lee triggered, whether he tripped a line that Tina and I had missed or stepped on a pressure plate. Maybe the explosion had been on a timer. Maybe it would have gone off no matter what we’d done, and it was undoubtedly meant to catch all of us in the blast.

A searing, angry heat washed over us. Tina curled up, sheltering her head, and I did the same as debris rained. Ashes and burning filled my nose, and I choked back a howl. Time to run, Wolf said. This was dangerous, we had to get away.

No. Not without Tina. She was dead out here by herself.

I whined, shook, hugged myself to keep fur from sprouting, and finally looked up. Little fires had broken out around us, on the forest floor and in trees, but none of them seemed serious. Tongues of dancing flame flickered in a regular circle around what used to be the tent, now lying in burned, shredded pieces. Other debris remained: the charred stump of a table, flipped over and flung a dozen yards away; a mangled cot; the ammunition cases—made of metal, whatever explosives were inside them hadn’t ignited—and other unidentifiable debris. And Lee.

He’d been thrown from what had been the entrance of the tent and lay sprawled, twisted into an inhuman shape. His clothes had burned away, along with his skin and hair. All of him was charred. He still had the rifle in his burned hands. He smelled cooked. I covered my face and gagged.

Tina clung to my arm with both hands. “Lycanthropes are tough—they can survive just about anything, right?” she said.

We could survive a lot of things, but not everything. If we were decapitated, if our hearts were destroyed, if the damage was too great—I didn’t know all the limits of what we could survive. But I didn’t think a lycanthrope could survive this.

I crept forward because I had to see. Heat rolled off the whole area, baking the air, making me itch. I tried to keep from smelling it and kept my gaze on Lee. He didn’t move. When I got close enough, I could see he didn’t have a face anymore. Nothing but a black crust. He wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t hear his heart. I waited for five minutes, to be sure. When I touched his neck, the skin broke, still hot, still smoking. I didn’t feel a pulse. Too much damage, too much shock, with no chance to heal. So, high explosives could also kill a werewolf.

I hurried back to Tina, grabbed her, and kept moving. I didn’t have to urge her along to keep up.

“What do we do now?” Her voice was stiff—forced calm.

“Keep going,” I said. “We have to call someone. We have to get help.”

“I don’t know how long I can keep running.”

“We don’t have to run. We just have to keep moving.” That explosion had probably been heard all over the valley. The hunters knew their trap had been sprung. They might come back to assess the damage. We had to move.

I wondered what the others would think had happened. But I couldn’t worry about that. I hoped they wouldn’t decide to come look.

A hundred yards farther on, we came close enough to the trail to hear shouting.

“Help! Help me! Oh, God, please!” The voice was rough, as if it had been screaming for a while. No tears, no sobbing, but the despair was plain. We stopped, listened.

“That’s Conrad,” I said.

The scent of blood on the air hit me. Part of me wanted to leave him, just pass on by and keep going—he wasn’t one of us. This was probably another trap, with Conrad as bait, and we’d be better off moving on. But we didn’t.

“No, go slow,” Tina hissed, after I’d started to race forward. We crept forward more cautiously. I looked around, up into the trees, searching for the merest glint or hint of movement. Wondering where the next bullet was going to come from. And bombs, those guys were using bombs.

Tina clenched my arm and pointed ahead to a dark spot on the trail. A sinkhole, with debris scattered around the edges. Conrad clutched one side with an arm, bracing, trying to scramble out but unable to gain the leverage.

“Conrad?” I said, in as loud a whisper as I could manage.

“Kitty? Oh, my God, help me! Help!”

Tina and I rushed to the edge of the sinkhole and looked in. The bottom was lined with spears, a dozen rigid poles sticking straight up, tipped with shining metal—silver. A tiger trap. Conrad had sprung the trap and fallen in, and one of the spikes had impaled his leg through the calf, from ankle to knee. Blood dripped down the length of the spear.

He’d managed to keep himself from falling in and impaling himself on more sharp points. But he was clinging and unable to pull himself off the spear that did get him.

“Oh, shit,” Tina murmured.

Yeah. That about covered it. Maybe because we couldn’t save Lee, we worked hard to save Conrad.

I grabbed Conrad’s arms, gave him an anchor, kept him from sliding in farther. He was pale, covered in sweat, his clothes soaking with it, and shivering, no doubt on the edge of shock. Tina lay flat, as far over the edge as she could and still keep her balance, which let her stretch just far enough forward to reach the spear that pinned Conrad. She grabbed it, maybe thinking to pull it out of its hole. Her hands slipped on the blood. She tried again, working to be careful, but she couldn’t help but jerk it when she did. Every time, Conrad groaned, gritting his teeth, trying to keep from crying out. His fingers dug into me.

“I think it’s set in concrete,” Tina said. “I can’t budge it.”

Concrete? Overkill a little? Like I even had to ask at this point. I pursed my lips, bracing for the next few difficult minutes. I renewed my grip on Conrad, to make sure he knew I was there. He didn’t seem quite aware.

“Conrad? We’re going to have to slide your leg off.” I had no idea if that was the right thing to do medically. We didn’t really have a choice.

“Oh, God,” he moaned. He was past thought, wrapped only in pain and fear.

“I need you to hold on,” I said, making eye contact with Tina, trying to urge her to work quickly. She’d gone almost as pale as Conrad, but her expression was set, determined. She didn’t hesitate but shifted her reach to Conrad’s leg.

Now we had to lift at the same time.

I got a grip under Conrad’s shoulders and pulled. He screamed. Would it be gauche of me to knock him unconscious to shut him up?

“They’re going to find us,” Tina muttered. “Between the bomb and his screaming, they’ll find us.” She lay stretched out beside me, clutching the fabric of his pants and guiding the limb off its skewer.

“As soon as he’s up, we’ll run,” I said, gritting my teeth. At least, we’d run as well as we could. Conrad’s grip was starting to hurt, but at least he wasn’t thrashing. I thought he might thrash with panic, but maybe he was going limp from blood loss.

“Got it!” Tina called finally, and I fell back with my final effort, Conrad secure in my arms. He was breathing fast, hyperventilating.

“Conrad, hush, breathe slow. Slower.” I spoke softly, calmly, even though my own heart was racing in my ears, my hair standing on end, my own panic about to burst. This was just like talking down a panicking werewolf. I could handle this.

Tina pulled out a jackknife, cut away the lower half of his pants, and made two bandages of it, tying them tight around the entry and exit wounds.

“Conrad, can you stand?”

He was still gasping for breath, gulping for air. “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Tina and I didn’t have to talk. She took one of his arms over her shoulder, I took the other, and we hauled him. He let out a yelp, and I hissed at him to shut up. Not that it mattered at this point.

“Where?” Tina asked.

I nodded toward the lake. So far, all the traps had been around the lodge and the trails leading to it. If we went somewhere else, yet stuck to the edge of the forest, we might find a safe place to hunker down. If we did, I’d leave these two there and go for help.

My night vision was good enough to lead the way. Moving among the trees, we put distance between us and the tiger trap. Conrad managed to pull himself together, keeping himself upright on one leg, hopping painfully on the other. That only meant we weren’t dragging his feet behind us anymore. With every breath he whimpered, but he was obviously trying to keep quiet.

Ahead, a clearing opened up, a brighter space of open sky and moonlight shining down. The pewter gray surface of the lake shone, maybe a dozen yards away.

“Let’s rest for a minute,” I whispered, coming to a stop by the trunk of a wide old pine tree. Tina and Conrad slumped against it beside me, and we lowered him to the ground. He pulled his legs close, hugging the injured one, rocking. The whimpers sounded deep in his chest, suppressed.

I squeezed his shoulder. “Conrad? Conrad? How are you?” Really stupid question. I didn’t know how else to pull him out of himself. I needed him lucid.

He pushed himself up so he was almost sitting. He was shaking. Tina braced him, and he managed to stay upright.

“I’m sorry,” he said, panting. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He’d entered the raving stage. Now we had to dodge the hunters and get an incapacitated man to safety.

Tina was crying. I hadn’t even noticed, but tears streaked her face. She hadn’t made a sound. Stress, or her own brand of panic, I didn’t know what. I touched her hand.

“He thinks he’s dying,” she said. “He’s praying.”

I slouched against the tree, one hand on Tina’s arm, the other on Conrad’s shoulder. I looked through the last of the forest to the lake, so calm and beautiful in the crisp night air. Silver lined everything.

What had Anastasia said? Werewolves were pack animals. We were always banding together to fight, to take care of each other. I felt that now. We’d banded together, and now I felt like it was up to me to take care of these two. I didn’t have a clue how to do that.

Part of me wanted to wait here for someone to find us, to rescue us, but we couldn’t do that, because Provost would likely find us first. We were dead just sitting here. That was what Cormac would say: keep moving.

The smell of blood from Conrad’s wound was overpowering. This sent a blaze of warning to the Wolf side—that much blood was like a beacon to predators saying we were hurt, vulnerable, easy pickings—

But human hunters wouldn’t be able to smell it. We had a little time. Settle down.

I’d brought my cell phone but still didn’t get reception. Probably another ten to twenty miles before we’d get close. We couldn’t haul Conrad that far, and if we didn’t get him stationary and hydrated, he’d die of blood loss before that. The lodge was maybe three miles away. We could defend ourselves better there than we could in the open.

“We have to go back,” I said.

Conrad looked up, focused a moment. So he was lucid and paying attention. Good. “Do we have to?”

“We can’t stay in the open,” I said.

“We’re safer with the others,” Tina said. Conrad nodded. Maybe he was ready to be a team player. “Should we try to wash his leg off in the lake?”

I shook my head. “Stuff’s not clean enough. We’ll use bottled water at the lodge.” Be optimistic—we’d get back just fine. “Conrad, you ready?”

He made a sound, half sob, half chuckle. “No. But that’s okay.”

“That’s the spirit,” I said. Tina and I gathered ourselves, hoisted Conrad over our shoulders, and set off.

We made more noise than I was comfortable with, pushing around shrubs, shuffling through debris on the forest floor. Conrad couldn’t stay quiet, and I couldn’t force him to. He was doing well, considering. I tried to turn my hearing outward, searching for sounds and smells of approaching danger, and couldn’t sense anything. I couldn’t let it get to me. Just had to press forward. We’d take a break outside the lodge; I’d scout for Cabe and Provost and get in touch with the others.

Progress was slow. It would take us a couple of hours at least. We had to keep stopping to rearrange our grip on Conrad, to let him rest. Tina and I were both dripping sweat, despite the cool air. We had only just reached the edge of the lake when the hairs on my neck started prickling. Like fur, like hackles rising. The undeniable sense of being followed. Of walking into danger.

I pulled the others to a stop and waved her to silence when Tina started to speak. Conrad’s head lolled; he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness. I propped them both against a tree and took a few steps away, to get a taste of air that didn’t have so much blood, sweat, and fear in it.

A hint of breeze gave me a scent that bowled me over. I crouched, nose up, taking it in, trying to figure out what it meant. This was wild. Musk wild, without a hint of human to it. Wolf whined; my hands clenched.

The smell of blood had attracted predators.

A wolf stepped out of the trees in front of me. Tail stiff, head down, amber eyes glaring. Earthen gray and brown fur, standing on end. Lip curled, showing teeth.

And all I could think was, he looked so small. Because he wasn’t a lycanthrope.

I knelt, face-to-face with a natural, wild wolf.