Why a Wolf Cries - Julie Steimle (read a book .TXT) 📗

Dunraven Pass to Mt. Washburn. The plan was Rick would drive his car up into the pass, followed by the ranger in his vehicle, select the bend he wanted, select the self-drive feature, which he could actually control from his cellphone thanks to his friend Semour Dawson, then steer it for a bit back down that road, and force the car to shut off self-drive where it would lose control and roll off the bend.

Lots could go wrong with the plan. The gas tank could explode, for example. Or the top would get completely crunched leaving the impossibility of his survival. But he would be in the ranger’s car either way watching it all. If the worst did happen, he would simply have to go to plan B—which is to stage a bear mauling. He did not want to do B.

Rick was lightheaded as they drove up the highway, leading the ride. He nearly rolled off the road then. However, when they finally reached the shoulder Ranger Douglass had chosen, they both pulled off.

Rick caught his breath. His seat bottom was already stained with his blood. He stumbled out, and the ranger caught him before he could hit eh ground. Looking up, Rick caught his breath and shut his car door, nodding to the man in thanks.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ranger Douglass said, watching the color drain from Rick’s face.

“Yes, I do,” Rick said, feeling nauseous. He looked to him. “The irony is, Audry has constantly refused to let me buy her a new car—even though the last one she drove was a death trap. The least I can do is destroy mine to her save her life.”

Ranger Douglass opened his mouth to dispute his use of the word ‘irony’. Instead, he said, “Is that supernatural organization really that bad?”

Nodding, Rick earnestly met his gaze. “Yeah. I could tell you stories that would scare the crap out of you. But… let me put it this way, they killed my grandmother, who was as ordinary a human being the same as Audry and you are—just because she was protecting my father, who was just a pup.”

Ranger Douglass looked like he would be sick. He swallowed and thought it over again.

“Now come on.” Rick beckoned them to the ranger’s car. “Let’s do this.”

Nodding, the ranger helped Rick into his car’s passenger side, affixing his seat belt for him. The seat was already covered in plastic garbage bags, just in case. Plausible deniability was incredibly important. All incriminating evidence had to be prevented or destroyed.  

It was a bit surreal to Rick, leaving his car in drive like that. He liked that car, and he would miss it. But it was even more surreal to be driving it like a video game down the highway as they followed it in the ranger’s car. The car itself smelled of someone’s cigarette. It didn’t smell like Ranger Douglass, though. Rick had a feeling he had borrowed this car.

“Let’s start,” the ranger said.

Nodding, Rick turned on the remote feature on his phone and hoped that Semour did his complete best on this tech. Usually it was excellent, but this was technology he was dealing with, and bugs were par the course. He watched his car merge back onto the road and go just below the speed limit. He followed and steered, watching through the camera display on his cell phone. He just hoped the remote connection would not give out.

The ranger then started to follow the car about thirty feet. It was a surreal again, riding in one car while driving the other remotely. However, he did his best until he saw the bend they had chosen.

“You’re there,” the ranger said watching the road ahead.

Rick shut off controls so the car would veer off and make a natural roll down a not too terrible slope. He watched both from his cellphone and also the ranger vehicle’s vantage point. The one thing he mostly wanted to make sure of was that he did not crash into any other cars. And thankfully none were coming.

R.I.P. his beautiful upgraded hybrid. R.I.P. all his camping gear in the trunk. Rick wondered what would survive, watching the car roll twice. The front windshield broke and dented into a mesh of opaque blue spider web patterns in the glass. The next second the air bag deployed, knocking out his seat cam. And when they pulled off to the side of the road, they watched as the vehicle… did not explode.

Rick breathed easier and looked to the ranger. “Mission accomplished.”

Ranger Douglass nodded, though he appeared wiped out from watching

One car pulled to the side of the road, also seeing the wreck.

Rick ducked down immediately. “You gotta get rid of that guy. Damn those good Samaritans. Sometimes they are just in the way.”

“Yeah…” Ranger Douglass sighed. He turned off his car engine. “Give me a second. I’ll get the road flares and stuff. 

“He can’t see there is no one in the car,” Rick hissed, ducking out of the new driver’s sight. The Samaritan driver seemed to be angling to climb down the slope to the car below. “It will spoil everything.”

“I’ll handle it.” The ranger got out.

He went straight to the ‘helpful’ driver, calling him out and telling him to call 911. They got into a small debate over the effectiveness of a layperson getting in the way of law enforcement, and he told him to keep going as rubbernecking was a traffic hazard. He would get the man out of car, Ranger Douglass told the driver.

But, dammit, the one driver hesitated rather than going on just yet. However, he did make the call for emergency services. Unfortunately, he also noticed Rick limping toward the vehicle. The good Samaritan called it out to the ranger, who saw him.

“Hey!” the ranger jogged down the hill, having already pulled out the small hazard cones and flares from his trunk for the look of the thing. “What are you doing?”

Rick knew Ranger Douglass had to make a fuss, but he went on to the car anyway. He had to get this done quickly. Hopefully the man on the road would think the ranger was trying to divert another Samaritan.

“What are you doing? The man is still here.” Ranger Douglass hissed once he got closer.

“Shoo him away,” Rick said, peeling off the flannel shirt and trying to open the door. It was stuck. “I have to make this look real.”

Rick touched his back, and came up with blood on his hands. Gazing at it, Rick quickly wiped some on his face, then cringed as he forced a clawed finger out on one hand. The ranger stared as he did it, watching him create a cut in his forehead.

“What are you doing? You’re already hurt enough as it—”

“It has to look real.” Rick met his gaze. He pulled off the plastic and compression wraps, handing them all back to the ranger. “I’ll survive until the ambulance gets here.”

He rubbed blood along the smashed driver’s side window edges, making it look like he had climbed out. That side of the door was wedged shut so that part at least would be convincing. The ranger gaped at him, shaking his head, finally, though he gave up.

“Ok.” The ranger rushed back up the hill, sticking to the plan. Once up there, he made the call back to the ranger station, claiming he had discovered the accident. Then he stuffed the bloody things into the flannel shirt and rolled them up, snatching the plastic bags off of his seat to wrap it all inside. He went to his open trunk and stuffed them into the bag he had in there. According to the plan, he was to burn them all then wash his hands. Rick said his blood was toxic and should be treated as a biohazard.

It took longer to drive off the rubbernecker, but Ranger Douglass finally accomplished it. It also took a good while for an ambulance to arrive at their bend in the highway. Rangers were there first, of course, each climbing down to help the wounded man who had miraculously not broken his neck, but had crawled out of his rolled car—severely bleeding. They hauled down a stretcher and moved to bind his wounds as first aid for transport.

 

It was evening when Rick woke, feeling the rocking motion of an ambulance, a breathing mask over his face, and a sympathetic EMT sitting at his side. He wasn’t sure when he had passed out. Was it when he was finally on a stretcher with the rangers, or before that?

Rick’s thoughts whispered in and out of his muddled brain, querying in a curious yet disinterested way if he would change into a wolf in this condition—realizing the flaw in his plan. He had one more full moon to go, after all, and he had only made one kill—and that was just the first night. It kind of made him question the mythos of the whole werewolf desperately needing to kill something each night of the full moon. He had no means of killing anything yesterday. And there was no way he could do it tonight. But would he be able to stop the transformation now? Would he go wolf in front of all these people?

“Eh, are you awake? Can you tell me your name?” the EMT asked when he saw Rick’s eyes flutter open.

“Rick…” he murmured. “Deacon.”

Smiling, the EMT nodded. “Good. Can you tell me your blood type?”

Blood type. Rick froze.

Damn. Another flaw he had forgotten about.

His blood type was… well, maybe he could take O blood, positive or negative. But his blood was so rare, no way would they be able to find a match—not unless his father showed up. But his father would be hunting with the wolf pack. His father probably would not have a clue what had happened. At least with his tent and all that missing from the camp, when his father got there the next morning, his dad would search him out. After all, just vanishing was not in the plans. They were supposed to meet up at the camp in the morning after the last moon.

“Blood type?”

Rick shook his head. “Rare.”

Nodding, the EMT took out Rick’s driver’s license, holding it up. “Well, your brain’s working. Good sign. I don’t think you have a concussion. Can you tell me how you got your scars?”

“Which ones?” Rick murmured, feeling sick again. This nausea was not helping with the pain.

The EMT chuckled. “How about the healed ones?”

It hurt too much to answer.

“Stay with me. Come on. Answer me. How did they happen?”

His head was swimming out of consciousness again.

“Come on, wake up,” the EMT said, “You need to stay awake. The scars. How did they happen?”

Rick breathed hard, his back killing as the vehicle jostled down the road. “Germany.”

“Germany did that to you? The country?”

Painfully chuckling, Rick tried to nod his head.

“Ok… Uh. How?”

“Can I stop talking,” Rick muttered. “I feel sick.”

“Nausea?”

Rick nodded.

“How about pain? On a scale of—”

“My back has been peeled off—don’t give me a pain scale,” Rick muttered.

“Oh…” The EMT pulled back. “That bad.”

A wolf cry let out on the air, still heard over the rumble of the ambulance.  

Rick flinched, but even his body could not respond. It was in too much pain. He did feel his hairs prickle and his teeth pull, but he remained human, thankfully.

It was toward night when they finally pulled into a hospital emergency lane. A commotion of haste rumbled around him to get him out on the stretcher as Rick resisted to keep from puking. He had not made his hunt, but instead of making him savage, it was making him nauseous, kind of like his stomach was being pulled inside out. He finally vomited when they got into the hallway. Thankfully, he was able to turn to his side on the gurney. 

Moans and exclamations burst out along with calls for cleanup.

As they wheeled him inside, rushing him toward surgery, his information and wallet was