“It was your idea,” I pointed out, trying to ignore the way my stomach churned.
“It didn’t seem so crazy when we were just talking about it.”
“A jump over a razor wire–topped electric fence from forty feet in the air without a safety net below,” said Jason, “what could possibly go wrong?”
In unison, Eve and I told him to shut up.
One of the wolves handed Hank a backpack—black like our outfits. He hurled it over the fence. It cleared the top wires easily and landed with a soft thud several feet inside the camp. I tried to tell myself it was a good sign as Hank hurled a second bag over, but there was a world of difference between a pack and a man.
“At least the wall is higher than the fence,” said Eve. “Ten feet, easily. That’s a huge advantage.”
I didn’t see how ten feet was a huge anything—especially not when there was almost twice that much space between the wall and the fence—but I didn’t say so. Pointing out the obvious wouldn’t be good for anybody’s nerves.
There were only two ways into Thornhilclass="underline" through the gate or over the fence. We could have waited a few days and hijacked a delivery, but no one wanted to risk leaving the wolves in the detention block that long. By now, Sinclair would know that the hit she had put out on Jason and me had failed and there was no telling what she might do to Kyle, Serena, and Dex as payback.
Unfortunately—short of driving a tank through it—there was no way to disable the fence from outside the camp.
The zip line had been Eve’s idea. She was the one who had remembered the ancient water tower near the fence. If a wolf could survive the drop to the ground, they could run a line to the tower from the wall. Then the rest of us could propel across.
“I still don’t understand why your father is doing it,” said Jason as we watched Hank gauge the distance he’d have to clear to make it over. “Shouldn’t they have picked someone who’s not completely indispensable?”
“You don’t get to be the head of a werewolf pack without being insanely tough,” said Eve. “There are two, maybe three wolves who are stronger than Curtis, but not by much and they don’t heal nearly as fast. We need someone who can recover quickly.”
“And you’re sure he’ll be able to? Recover quickly?” I didn’t ask what would happen if he hit the fence. No werewolf, no matter how tough, would survive that.
Eve pressed her mouth into a thin, hard line and didn’t answer.
She has no idea.
I peered up at the top of the wall, trying to ignore the sudden lump in my throat. An old, familiar feeling settled over me as I watched Hank back to the very edge of the concrete. It was the same knot of uncertainty and fear I used to get when he left on jobs.
Hank shook the tension out of his arms and said something to the other wolves on the wall. Then, without warning, he ran the three steps to the edge and launched himself out into space.
For a horrible second, I thought he wasn’t going to make it, but then he twisted in midair and cleared the razor wire with just inches to spare.
Relief sparked in my chest. Before it could take hold, Hank plummeted to the ground like a bag of bricks.
He hit the earth with a horrible thud. Clouds of dust billowed around him, and when the air cleared, he wasn’t moving. He lay half-sprawled on his back, arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles.
“Get up. Get up.” Eve’s voice was low and urgent, half command, half plea. She approached the fence. “C’mon, Curtis. Get up.”
He didn’t move.
I reached for Jason’s hand and squeezed, squeezed so tightly that I was probably hurting him.
Kyle had once fallen from a second-floor window, but those had been residential stories. And as badly hurt as he’d been, he hadn’t looked nearly as broken.
The minutes dragged on. Eventually, Jason detangled his hand from mine. “Eve . . .”
“He’ll be all right,” she said. “Just give him time.”
But her voice shook with uncertainty, and around us, the other wolves had begun exchanging nervous whispers.
Years ago, I had convinced myself that I was fine with never seeing Hank again, but there was a difference between a world in which Hank chose not to be part of my life and a world in which he simply didn’t exist. The first I could handle, the second I wasn’t ready for.
I stared at Hank, willing him to get up. I stared so long and so hard that when his arm twitched, I was sure I had imagined it.
But Eve had seen it, too. “Curtis? Can you hear me?”
In response, my father’s body tore itself apart. Muscles shifted and the few bones that hadn’t shattered on impact snapped with the sound of a dozen cracking whips. When it was over, a massive wolf with fur the color of ash and snow rose to its feet.
The wolf—I still had trouble thinking of it as “Hank”—tossed its head and took a few experimental steps before breaking into a slow run.
Eve stumbled back a half step in relief. She shook her head, grinned, and then glanced up at the two wolves on the wall. “You’re good to go!”
As they began assembling and positioning equipment, the gray wolf circled back and sniffed one of the packs. It lifted its head and the air around it seemed to shimmer before fur flowed into skin and my father was left kneeling on the ground, his back to the fence.
I quickly looked away as he pulled clothes from the backpack and dressed.
“It’s safe to look,” said Jason drily, a moment later.
I turned as Hank grabbed both bags. He jogged to the water tower, scaled the ladder on the side, and then tied a white cloth around a rung near the top. I wasn’t normally scared of heights, but seeing him climb so high on the rickety structure made my stomach flip.
Jason glanced at his watch. “We’re cutting it too close.”
“They’re going as fast as they can.” I glanced back at the wall. The wolves had assembled a tripod. On it was a contraption that looked like the misbegotten offspring of a telescope and a fire extinguisher.
They waited until Hank climbed down to the ground and then adjusted their aim. With a small blast, a grappling hook shot through the air and sailed over the fence. It hit the water tower with a metallic clang and snagged the rung Hank had marked with the cloth.
Everyone seemed to collectively hold their breath.
The water tower was far from the center of camp, but if a guard had heard and decided to investigate, everything we had planned would fall apart.
The night stayed quiet.
Gradually, in small increments, the muscles in my chest unclenched.
Hank scaled the tower again. After pulling the cord taut, he slipped the grappling hook free and then secured the line using a series of intricate knots. When finished, he raised a hand to signal that everything was ready.
Eve arranged the team in order of importance. Jason and I ranked low; there were only two wolves behind us. The men on the wall would stay and protect the line on this side of the fence. If things went wrong, it might be our only way back out.
Eve started up the scaffold. As the smallest and lightest, she had the dubious honor of being the group’s guinea pig.
“Be careful,” I called up to her.
When she reached the top, she paused and pulled on a pair of heavy black gloves.
There was no harness or safety gear: Eve simply lowered herself to the edge of the wall and grabbed the rope with her gloved hands. She crossed her ankles over the line and began shimmying across. She moved impossibly fast, using the strength and speed that came with lupine syndrome.
I bit my lip as she neared the fence. There were just a few feet between her back and the top of the razor wire.
Eve made it over, but she wasn’t in the clear, yet. The wall was seven yards from the fence; the water tower had to be at least twice that.