Red Rider's Hood

13 Abject End Park

Crossbow practice needs space. Crossbow practice needs soli­tude. And, most importantly, crossbow practice requires a target―in my case, a very big target―and one that can stop an arrow without splintering it. Like the massively thick oaks that have taken over Abject End Park―the border between our part of town and the ruined buildings of the Canyons.

I figured the best time to practice would be at dawn. Aside from the occasional cop car or garbage truck, the city would still be asleep―and so would the Wolves, sleeping off whatever mayhem they had gotten into the night before. As long as I got back home before any of them were up and about, they wouldn't know what I was doing.

I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. and was in the park just as the sun was beginning to rise, turning the eastern sky a grimy yel­low. It was barely sunrise, and the day was already beginning to get hot.

Marissa was already there, waiting for me. "So you made it."

She stifled a yawn as she stepped out from the shadows of the bushes.

"I told you I'd be here," I said.

"I came prepared." She picked up a heavy thermos, unscrewed the lid, and poured us both a cup of hot chocolate. "I should have brought something cold, but I gotta have my morning cocoa."

"Thanks," I looked at Marissa with a mixture of feelings. She was thoughtful, and smart, and ready to take on anything. Too bad she had to take on something as nasty as werewolves. Thinking about that made me angry―not just at the Wolves, but at Marissa, too, and I didn't understand why. So instead of thinking about it, I forced all my attention back to target practice.

"Time to shoot me some tree," I said, then put down the cup and picked up the crossbow, looking around for a likely target. About fifty yards away, I saw an ancient oak with a dark circle on its bark where a branch once had been, and an even darker spot near the center of the circle. A natural target. "That's my bull's-eye."

My quiver of arrows was slung over my shoulder, the way all professional merry men carry it. Without looking, I smoothly reached back for an arrow . . . and jabbed my finger on one of the sharp arrowheads. "Youch!" I put my finger in my mouth to suck the droplet of blood that appeared. Marissa grimaced.

"Note to self," I said with a laugh, "arrows go in point down."

Marissa chuckled.

Gingerly, I grasped an arrow by its shaft and pulled it out.

Then I placed it in the groove of the crossbow and pulled it back until the bowline was taut and the arrow locked into place.

I stared down the arrow with one eye closed, aiming at my victim tree until the sharp arrowhead pointed dead center, then I squeezed the trigger.

With a sharp hiss, the arrow was away. I followed its lightning-fast flight, so smooth, so quick―and so far off the mark. The arrow missed the tree by a good ten feet and landed some­where in the bushes twenty yards beyond, stirring up a flock of pigeons.

"Nice shot, Robin Hood," Marissa said drily. "I think you just killed two birds with one arrow."

"I meant to do that," I said, pulling another arrow out of my quiver.

"I'll tell them to put that on your tombstone."

I gave her the cold look of a not-so-merry man and lined up my next shot. This time I held my breath as I pulled the trigger.

Thwack! The arrow hit the tree! Okay, so it wasn't anywhere near the target, but it was actually stuck in the tree I was aim­ing for.

"Nice," Marissa said, and I could tell by her tone that she really meant it.

I aimed my next shot high, and actually got the arrow closer to the circle. My next arrow was inside the outer ring of the target.

"I think maybe I just found my sport," I said, after firing the last of my arrows. "Too bad it took a battle with supernatural evil to find it."

We walked together to the tree to retrieve the arrows.

"I hope you have found your sport," Marissa said, suddenly intense. "I hope you can hit that bull's-eye again and again. Maybe . . ."

Her voice trailed off.

"Maybe what?"

She spoke so softly I could barely hear her voice. "Maybe that will save him."

"Save who?" I asked, knowing full well who she meant, but wanting to hear her say it.

"Marvin."

I nodded in understanding. Now I knew why this battle was so important to her. She saw it as a battle for Marvin's soul. She wanted to destroy all the Wolves before Marvin got bit and was turned into one.

"Come on," I said. We had reached the tree, and I grabbed the shafts sticking out of the bark. "We've got time for a few more rounds. You want to try?"

"No thanks," she said. "My taste in weapons is a little less . . . medieval. Your grandma's been taking me out to the firing range. We're not using silver bullets, of course, but the princi­ple's the same."

I shot through the quiver of arrows three more times before I began to get paranoid that one of the Wolves might wander into the park and find us. Only about half my shots hit the tree. I knew with a few more weeks of practice I'd be much better. The problem was, I didn't have a few more weeks. I had only three more days.

"I don't know, Red, it's like your heart isn't really in it."

"Of course it is," I told her, and to prove it I fired three more shots. All three nailed the tree.

I went over to Grandma's house to report on my progress that night. She was proud of me, but I could tell she was worried about me, too―and in more ways than one.

She listened without saying a word as I told about my early-morning session with the crossbow. When I was done she stared at me for a long time, thinking. Finally, just as the silence was about to turn uncomfortable, she nodded her head.

"You're doing good, Red," she said. "You're proving yourself every day."

There was a mold on the dining-room table, holding about fifteen silver bullets.

"That's the last of them," Grandma said. "I've melted down every bit of silver in the house, and a whole bunch I got from the neighbors." She glanced up at me. "Will you be seeing Marissa tomorrow?" she asked. "She couldn't come by tonight."

I nodded. "She's meeting me at practice again in the morning."

Grandma went over to the cabinet next to the dining-room table and pulled out a drawer.

"Here." She reached in and lifted out a paper bag, handing it to me. It was heavy, and I could hear something rattling around inside.

"There are thirty silver bullets in there."

All at once I felt queasy, but if I got pale, Grandma didn't notice.

"Give them to Marissa when you see her," she said.

"All thirty?"

"She'll need as many bullets as she can get, come the night of the hunt."

The night of the hunt. It was getting real. This last week had flown by way too fast, and I don't know about Grandma and Marissa, but I didn't feel prepared.

I was back in the park for more crossbow practice the next morning―a drizzly dawn where it was hard to spot the tree through the mist. Marissa met me there, and I held up the paper bag Grandma had given me.

She looked at the pile of silver bullets inside the bag and shivered.

"That's a lot of silver," she said. "But it's not just about the ammo. I'm hoping I have what it takes to use them."

I nodded, trying not to show her how scared I was, too.

I set the bag on the grass, on top of my jacket, and picked up the crossbow.

I went through the quiver quickly. I was getting better. More arrows were hitting the tree, more were closer to the target. I even hit the bull's-eye once.

Marissa's curiosity got the better of her, and she finally tried the crossbow herself. She was just as bad as I had been when I first started.

I practiced long past when I should have stopped, but I was making real progress, and what were the chances that one of the Wolves would stumble upon us? The park was so over­grown, you could barely see us from the street.

It was midmorning when the arrow slipped.

It was careless. I had just locked the last arrow into the crossbow and hadn't aimed it yet when my finger accidentally hit the trigger. Marissa and I watched in shock as the arrow went flying out of the park. We heard a crash of glass, then the blaring car alarm.

Marissa bounded through the bushes, retrieved the arrow from the car's interior, and came running back. She laughed when she saw my stricken face.

"Don't worry," she said. "You didn't kill anybody. But you have to be more careful."

"Well, I'm done for today anyway," I said, walking with her to the tree to retrieve the rest of the arrows.

Then we heard the voices.

"Over here." It was A/C. "It's this one."

"Hey, the window's broken, but the stereo's still inside." It was Warhead.

"Grab it."

Marissa and I glanced at each other. My hand was already closing on the arrows in the tree.

"Hey―someone's coming!" I heard Loogie shout.

"So what? We didn't do it," said Marvin.

"Yeah, but they don't know that!"

And then I heard the worst sound I could possibly hear: The four of them were rustling through the bushes, coming into the park to hide, and headed straight for us.