Running with the Pack

That would solve his problems real quick, wouldn’t it?

He hitched a ride with some friends of Mitch who were on their way into town. T.J. must have sounded convincing when he said he was meeting somebody and that everything was okay. The sun was close to setting, washing out the sky to a pale yellow, and summer heat radiated off the dusty earth. The air was hot, sticky, making his breath catch.

The Dustbowl was part of a row of simple wooden buildings set up to look like an old-west street, but without disguising the modern shingles, windows, and neon beer signs. At one end was a barbeque place that T.J. had heard was pretty mediocre but cheap. The place smelled like overcooked pork, which made his stomach turn.

Walking into the bar alone, he felt like an idiot. Not just a loser, but a loser looking for trouble. The bullies would be drawn to him. He had to shake off the feeling—if he looked scared, of course he’d get picked on. He straightened, rounded his shoulders, and took a deep breath to relax. He had to look at ease, like he belonged.

Feeling a little more settled in his skin—he tried to convince himself that everyone in the half-filled room wasn’t staring at him—he went to the bar, ordered a Coke, and asked if Alex Price was here.

“He might be in back,” the bartender said. “That guy’s nuts—did you see his crash last week?”

“Yeah,” T.J. said. “I had a front row seat. It was bad.”

“And he gets up and walks away. Crazy.” Shaking his head, the bartender turned away.

T.J. put his back to the bar and looked around. TV screens mounted in the corners showed baseball. Tables and chairs were scattered, without any particular order to them. A waitress in a short skirt delivered a tray of beers to a table of mechanics from the track. No sign of Price. He’d give it the time it took to finish the Coke, resisting the urge to upend it and down the whole thing in a go.

Halfway through, a woman came out a door in back and sauntered along the bar toward him. She was petite, cute, with softly curling brown hair bouncing around her shoulders and a size too small T-shirt showing off curves.

“Are you the guy looking for Alex?” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Come on back, he’s waiting for you.” She gave him a wide smile and tipped her head to the back door.

And if that didn’t look like a bad situation. . . “There a reason he can’t talk to me out here?”

“Not scared, are you? Come on, you can trust me.” She sidled closer, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes and brushing a finger up his arm.

He never knew in these situations if he should tell her she was wasting her efforts, or just let her have her fun. He let it go and went with her. He was good enough in a fight—he just wouldn’t let anyone get between him and the door. It would be okay.

She led him through a hallway with a concrete floor and aged walls. A swinging door on the left opened to a kitchen; doors on the right were labeled as men’s and women’s restrooms. At the end of the hall was a storage closet. Through there, another door opened into a huge garage—four, maybe five cars could fit inside. Nobody out front would hear him if he yelled. He tried not to be nervous.

A tall, windowless overhead door was closed and locked. A few cardboard boxes and a steel tool closet were pushed up against the walls. Right in the middle sat a steel cage, big enough to hold a lion. A dozen or so people were gathered around the cage. Alex Price stood at the head of the group, drawn straight and tall, his arms crossed.

Oh, this did not look good. T.J. turned to go back the way he’d come, hoping to make it a confident walk instead of a panicked run.

The woman grabbed his arm. “No no, wait, we’re not going to hurt you.” Her flirting manner was gone.

T.J. brushed himself out of her grip and put his back to the wall. She gave him space, keeping her hands raised and visible. None of the others had moved. Their gazes were curious, amused, watchful, suspicious—but not hateful. Not bloodthirsty.

Price just kept smiling. “The cage isn’t for you, kid,” he said. “Remember when I asked you if you’re willing to become a monster?”

T.J. shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I can cure you, but it won’t be easy.”

“It never is,” T.J. said. He met Price’s gaze and held it, refusing to be scared of this guy. “I still don’t understand.”

“We’re a pack,” he said, nodding at the people gathered around him. “We’ve talked it over, and we can help you. But you have to really want it.”

“Pack,” T.J. said. “Not a gang?”

“No.”

The people only looked like a group because they were standing together; they didn’t look anything alike— three were women, a couple of the men were young, maybe even younger than T.J. A couple wore jeans and T- shirts, a couple looked like bikers, like Price. One guy was in a business suit, the tie loosened, his jacket over his arm. One of the women wore a skirt and blouse. They were normal—shockingly normal, considering they were standing in an empty garage behind a bar, next to a large steel cage. T.J. felt a little dizzy.

“He’s not going to believe anything until we show him, Alex,” the woman with the curling brown hair said.

“Believe what?” T.J. said, off balance, nearing panic again. She had a sly, smiling look in her eyes.

“You want to do it?” Price said to her.

“Yeah. Sure.” She looked at T.J., then quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Her skin was hot—T.J. hadn’t realized that his hands were cold. She whispered, “I want to help. I really do.” Then she went to the cage.

This was a cult, he thought. Some weird, freaky religious thing. They had some kind of faith healing going on. Did Price really think faith healing had saved him?

T.J. stayed because something had saved Price.

The woman took off her clothes, handing them to the woman in the skirt. One of the others opened the cage. Naked, she crawled in and sat on all fours, and seemed happy to do so, as the cage door was locked behind her.

“Ready, Jane?” Price said, reaching a hand into the cage. The woman licked it, quick and dog-like.

As if this couldn’t get any stranger. T.J. inched toward the doorway.

“Don’t go,” Price said. “Wait just another minute.”

The woman in the cage bowed her back and grunted. Then, she blurred. T.J. blinked and squinted, to better see what was happening. He moved closer.

Her skin had turned to fur. Her bones were melting, her face stretching. She opened her mouth and had thick, sharp teeth; that hadn’t been there before. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t possible, it was some kind of hoax.

T.J. stumbled back, launching himself toward the door. But Price was at his side, grabbing his arms, holding him. T.J. could have sworn he’d been on the other side of the room.

“Just wait,” Price said, calmly, soothing, as T.J. thrashed in his grip. “Calm down and watch.”

In another minute, a wolf stood in the cage, long-legged and rangy, with a gray back and pale belly. It shook out its fur, rubbed its face on its legs, and looked out at Price. T.J. couldn’t catch his breath, not even to speak.

“That’s right,” Price said, as if he knew the word T.J. was trying to spit out.

And that was the secret. That was how Price had survived. Because he was one of those, too. Every one of them was like her.

He tried to convince himself he wasn’t afraid of them. “It’s crazy. You’re all crazy.” He hated that his voice shook. He still pulled against Price’s grip—but Price had a monster’s strength.

“You’re not the only one who’s stood there and said so,” Price said.

“So what are you saying? That’s the cure? Become like that?”

“We’re all invulnerable. We don’t get sick. We don’t get hurt. Oh, we still age, we’ll all still die someday. And the silver bullet part is real. But when nobody else believes in this, what are the odds anyone’s going to shoot you with a silver bullet?”

“And the full moon thing is real, too?” T.J. said, chuckling, because what else could he do?