“Move,” Daddy Coy Wolf said.
Mallory hopped out of the van, heading for the truck.
“Hold up,” Daddy Coy Wolf said. “Me and the Trickster first. You can ride in the back of the truck or ride in the van with my boys.”
“I can drive stick,” Mallory said.
“I’m sure you can,” Daddy Coy Wolf said, taking the cooler with Maggie’s hand in it from her. “But I don’t trust you and I’m sick of your attitude.”
The youngest coy wolf emerged from the store with a plastic bag, which he handed to Daddy Coy Wolf, who pulled out a pair of large, clunky sunglasses. He stuck duct tape on the insides. He motioned for Jared to get in the truck. From Mallory’s expression, if she had any power, Jared guessed they’d all be burning.
“Seat belt,” Daddy Coy Wolf said, sliding into the cab beside him.
The driver was wiry and narrow-faced like a greyhound. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Once Daddy Coy Wolf was in, they were uncomfortably close. He rested the cooler with Jared’s mom’s hand on his lap.
“Sorry,” the wiry coy wolf said as he shifted gears and hit Jared’s leg.
Daddy Coy Wolf handed Jared the sunglasses and when he put them on, most of the world was blocked out. Jared didn’t see the point of them, but he settled them on his face, smelling the adhesive. He was expecting the zip ties again, but that didn’t happen.
They drove randomly, turning and twisting, the signal light click-clicking. Wiry said sorry each time he banged Jared’s leg, occasionally grinding the gears in heavy traffic. When they finally turned onto a straight stretch, Jared guessed they were going east. The steady hum of nearby vehicles passing them meant a larger highway, probably the Trans-Canada, which bisected the Lower Mainland before it wound towards the Rockies and crossed the Prairies.
“Water?” Daddy Coy Wolf said, nudging him.
“I’m good,” Jared said.
“Suit yourself.”
They entered a fog of smell, rotten eggs and ammonia, sickening and thick. Jared gagged, cleared his throat and pulled his T-shirt over his nose.
“Chicken farm,” Daddy Coy Wolf said. “Or processing plant. It’s hard to tell with these human noses. Give me a good hunt. Torture like it happens in those places ruins the flavour. Gives the flesh a texture like that weird thing with the bits of brain in aspic. What’s it called again?”
“Headcheese,” Wiry said.
“Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” Jared said, thinking about what had happened to David.
Daddy Coy Wolf snorted. “The apocalypse can’t start soon enough.”
—
The truck squealed to a stop. Someone needed to check the brake pads. He sat while Daddy Coy Wolf and Wiry exited.
“Slide out,” Daddy Coy Wolf said.
Gravel driveway under his feet. Dark, dark all around, except for a flashlight bobbing. Someone’s hand gripped him just above the elbow, dragging him towards his very short future. Cold, frosty. Up a small incline. The sound of a large door creaking open and then voices, murmuring. The light of an old-fashioned bulb, some dim wattage, barely above a night light. Daddy Coy Wolf’s boots thunking against a wooden floor. Wiry’s sneakers making a steady squeak. Water on his left shoe.
“Sit,” Daddy Coy Wolf said.
So he sat, half expecting the chair to be yanked away. Captain’s chair, smooth wood under his hands and a cushioned seat. Wiry took off his sunglasses and Jared blinked to focus. He was in a large, dim living room, empty except for a battered wooden table and mismatched chairs. Four men and two women studied him as he studied them. All of them about Daddy Coy Wolf’s age. He was facing away from the entrance. French doors with glass windows led to a large kitchen.
Coy wolves came up to him, tongues lolling. One of them sniffed his knee, whining, its tail flicking. One of the women pulled zip ties out of her purse and he wanted to make a Fifty Shades quip, but he sat very still. Her brown hair with streaked blond chunks waved down her back. Wiry went to stand behind his father. The coy wolf who’d sniffed Jared nipped at his leg and Daddy Coy Wolf mimed smacking it, so it slunk back to lurk near the wall.
“He don’t look like much,” Zip Tie said.
“Granny G wants him,” Daddy Coy Wolf said. “So he’s here. Why didn’t any of you tell me he had a pack?”
The men remained silent.
“That why you didn’t bring more hostages?” Zip Tie said. “Gutless much?”
“They were armed and there were three witches.”
“You know she wants more hostages.”
“Put your own ass on the line.”
Zip Tie put her hands on her hips. “Maybe give that skin to someone with balls enough to get shit done.”
“Did you see the shithole portables she had her pack living in? She’s stinking rich, but she hasn’t paid me a cent. This is all on my own dime and my own time. You want this skin, you come take it.”
“It’s not about the money,” Zip Tie said.
“If she hadn’t got her pack killed, she wouldn’t deign to talk to us mutts. Ask yourself why no one is willing to help Granny G but us.”
Whispering through the room. Zip Tie took a seat again, staring down Daddy Coy Wolf, who studied the men then Zip Tie, who glanced back at the men uneasily.
“You’re free to leave,” she said.
“And you’re free to face the thing that killed most of her pack all by your glorious selves.”
Another strained silence. Jared shifted in his chair and everyone stopped to watch him. He froze.
“I want to see Mom,” Jared said.
“We’re not allowed to
