The path that was marked on the map was fairly easy to see, right up until the time the rain started coming down. It wasn’t exactly a torrential downpour, but it was fast and heavy enough to run into his eyes and blur everything ahead of him.
The chill seeped into his clothing, ran through the layers of fabric in no time and then into his skin. Mark did his best to ignore the sensations as he started to run, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like Coach Walker had taught him back when he was a runner.
In a very short time he’d developed a good rhythm and a better pace. All he had to do now was make sure he didn’t fall and break his fool neck as he moved through the woods. Even with a path, there were a lot of obstacles.
Off behind him and to the right, he heard the sound of George jogging along. Like Mark, he’d apparently decided the best way to live was to cover some serious distance. Unlike Mark, he was wearing a thinner coat that was waterproof. “Lucky bastard.”
It happened sooner than he expected. In what seemed like only minutes, he heard the howl of the things in hot pursuit. When Mark looked back he realized the road was long gone from his view, hidden by the trees and the shape of the land, but he knew where the howls came from.
They were long and low and mournful, the sounds he’d heard far more often in movies than he ever had in real life, and they froze him in his tracks.
It was beginning now and he had no point of reference, no idea how far he’d run. He could only pray it was far enough.
His name was Roland Weilland, and he was a werewolf. Roland had led the local pack for a long time, both in light of his command abilities and because he was still the fastest and meanest of them.
He folded his clothes neatly, placing them inside the police wagon. When he was completely stripped, he placed his books on the clothes to weigh them down. The air was just above freezing and getting colder by the second as the storm moved deeper into the area, but he barely noticed it as he stood and looked down at the woods below.
John was looking at him, his face set in lines of anger. John still wasn’t thrilled with the decision to make this a hunt instead of merely killing the humans that had done in his wife. He didn’t understand the reasons for it, and in all fairness, Roland hadn’t shared them.
He wanted a hunt because he could feel his younger charges growing restless. They had everything they needed, including secrecy, and several of the men folk had started taking up new hobbies to stop themselves from going mad with boredom.
Settling down had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe they weren’t meant to sit still and get jobs; it was the human way, not the way of werewolves. But damn it, it had made sense. It was harder to hide yourself when the world around you kept changing.
He let the beast free and reveled in the sudden pain of transformation. His form didn’t grow slowly, but in a sudden explosion of cellular activity. Bones shifted and muscles stretched to accommodate a new position; his teeth swelled inside a growing mouth and his nails thickened even as his hands took on a new shape.
When he yelled to release the pain, his voice had changed and the sound quickly became a roar. Dead skin fell away from his body as he shrugged and his fur pushed out from beneath. In a matter of seconds, Roland and his charges were all in their truest form, breathing in the cold night air and shaking away the freezing precipitation that pelted their hides.
They did not need words to understand him. Their eyes could see the expressions he made, the simply gestures he used were easily recognized. “We hunt,” he said. “Pick your prey.”
John did exactly as he expected, and chased after the lingering scent of the human called Cullie Landers. He chose the trail that Mark Loman had taken. John wanted the man who had started the desecration of his wife. Roland wanted the man who had ensured her complete death by hacking through his daughter’s neck until her head fell away.
The rest left to go after George Heatherly.
As he moved, he called out for the hunt to begin. The others responded, their voices mingling with his and echoing off the trees around them.
He followed the scent of fear Mark Loman had left behind, taking his time. The man was running, and would probably get careless. More importantly, the man was scared.
He had every reason to be afraid. Roland intended to kill him, and to date no one had ever escaped from the leader of the group when he went on a hunt.
Eric Fulford stood up and walked toward the restrooms, his eyes shifting constantly to see who was near him and whether or not he could make a break for the door.
He was not being hunted, true enough, but he also didn’t know if he trusted the man who’d said they would be safe. Want to know what will make a soldier paranoid? When every single person left in the diner looks at him as if he were potentially a meal.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought it was very possible that every single person left in the place was a werewolf.
Instead of going for the bathroom doors, Eric made a sharp right turn and pushed through the front exit of the building. No one came after him, despite his fear.
The air had grown a lot colder and the road outside was starting to turn white under a layer of ice. For a moment he thought about running for his car and driving off to find his family, but one look around stopped him. The biggest problem was simply that he had no idea where his family was being kept.
The door opened a moment later and Scott coughed into his hand rather than trying to touch him.
“You all right, Eric?”
“No.” He shrugged. “How can I be all right? I want my family back.” He looked back at Scott and saw the same desire in his friend’s eyes.
“Listen, I figure if that guy wanted us dead, we’d be in the middle of the woods right now.” He paused a moment and they both heard the sound of distant howls carried by the wind. They couldn’t have proved a damned thing, but Eric knew they were both thinking the hunt might have just begun. “I want to help them too, Eric. But you have Sarah and the kids to think about and I have Allison.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about that.” Eric nodded and looked back at his friend. “I’ll accept his reasons for all of this, but if he did anything at all to Sarah or the kids, I swear I’ll kill every last one of them.”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t think they did anything to them except maybe settle them down somewhere and keep them locked up.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he seems like a fair enough guy. I think maybe he doesn’t even like what he’s done so far, but you know what? I think if I was in his shoes, I might have just gone and killed everyone instead of checking first.”
Eric looked hard at Scott, surprised by the comment. “Really?”
“Seriously. What would you do if someone had killed Sarah like that?”
He nodded.
“I hope you’re right.”
“All I know for sure is he sounded sincere. And I think if he wanted everyone dead, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble. He gave them an out. Maybe not much of one, but he gave them something.”
“What I don’t get is he said his daughter went back to her human form when she… when they killed her. So why not report it to the police?”
Scott shivered a bit and coughed a plume of steam into the air before he answered. “Too many questions.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t mean official questions. No matter what shape she took, it would have been easy enough for him to find the evidence. He could have said he was an eyewitness and I bet most of the people in this county would take one look at his record on the highway patrol and side with him in a court. But if they’re trying to hide what they are, and George and the others said they hit a wolf and we’re so sorry and all of that crap, it would have made somebody look twice, maybe a reporter from a piece of crap like the Enquirer or maybe someone from the local news. Whatever the case, it might have started rumors.”