The boy set off back to the bus and most of the kids turned and followed him. A girl, screaming in terror, stumbled off the path, and Kim pulled her back, shoving her in the right direction. “Come on, everybody,” she cried. “Stay on the trail. Stick together!”
She and Paul went after the kids who had fled into the swamp and herded them back to the trail.
“I think that’s everybody,” said Kim, panting with exhaustion and covered with mud.
“I think so, too,” said Paul, scratched and equally dirty. “Let’s get out of here.”
I crouched in the underbrush, letting them get a little ways ahead of me before I followed, so the sight of me wouldn’t frighten them half to death. But I needed to follow, to make sure the werewolves didn’t ambush them along the way. I was just starting after the group when I heard the cry.
“Help! Heeelp!”
It was a boy’s voice. One of the kids was still in the woods and he sounded weak. I looked after my friends, racing as fast as they could back to the bus. If I left them now, the werewolves might attack. But I couldn’t abandon anyone who was crying for help.
Gnashing my fangs in worry and frustration, I bounded into the woods, toward the sound of the cries, away from my friends.
“Heeeelllp.” The hoarse cry was fainter.
I leapfrogged a small tree and sailed over a stand of pricker bushes, landing beside a thick mud bog. Even with my werewolf sight, I didn’t see the boy right away. He was almost over his head in the sucking mud. Then I saw a pale white hand grabbing at the air. His upturned face gasped for breath. He was at the far side of the bog, only a few feet from dry land.
I cleared the bog in a single jump and landed softly beside the struggling boy just as the mud closed over his head. Grabbing hold of a sapling on the bank I stretched myself out over the pool of mud. I reached for the boy’s hand but his mud-slick fingers slipped from my grasp.
I held my breath and stretched further, but the boy had sunk beyond my reach. A bubble of mud burst on the surface. I stared in horror. I had to get him out.
I slid down the bank a little further. The sapling whipped out of my hand and I fell face forward in the mud. But I didn’t sink. Quickly I thrust my hand beneath the surface of the oozing mud. I felt the boy’s wrist and grabbed it, holding on tight.
Careful not to shred his skin with my claws, I hauled his head above the surface so he could breath. The boy coughed and sputtered, shooting mud in every direction. As the moon fell on his face, I was startled to see it was Big Rick!
As he breathed in huge rasping gasps, he began to struggle again. I felt the sucking mud creep up my sides. This worthless bully was going to get us both killed! Anger and fear spun like a whirlpool in my stomach. I hissed warningly at Rick.
He went instantly rigid. As he tried to turn his head to see who was saving him, I let go of his wrist and yanked him by the hair. He tried to scream and a gob of mud stuck in his throat. As he choked I wriggled backward through the mud, dragging us both inch by inch.
But his heaving body was pulling me down. Mud lapped at my snout and crept over my back. I tasted the stinking mud on my tongue. Fear prickled along my spine.
But my werewolf leg muscles were strong. I gritted my sharp teeth, dug my toe claws into the bank and pulled. With a mighty effort I heaved Rick up out of the mud and tossed him toward the bank. Gripping the dry earth with my toe claws, I worked my way out, hauling Rick up onto the bank.
He lay, eyes tight shut, chest heaving, unable to move. But I was aware of every precious second that passed. While I was stuck here with this bully, my friends were in deadly danger.
Where were the werewolves? Of all the animals in the swamp, they were the only ones that could hide from my sharp senses. I couldn’t catch the secret scent of a werewolf and when they wanted to disappear into the shadows I couldn’t see them until their horrible eyes flashed red.
I growled in frustration. I couldn’t leave Rick here—I’d have to carry him.
At that moment, Big Rick stirred and groaned. He opened his eyes. Seeing me inches from his face, he came instantly to life, sparked by pure terror. He let out a shriek that hurt my ears and scrambled to his feet.
Mud flew in every direction as he ran. Luckily he was heading back toward the trail so I didn’t have to do anything but growl once or twice to keep him running fast.
Back on the trail I could hear the kids arguing. They were still heading toward the bus but their progress had slowed dangerously.
“We’d already be back at the bus by now if this was the right direction,” said one girl.
“I say we find Mr. Clawson and Mr. Grunter,” a boy suggested.
“Let’s face it,” said a tall kid. “We spooked ourselves in the dark woods and got panicked into seeing things. Now we’re lost. I say we stay right here and keep shouting for Mr. Clawson to come get us.”
“We’re not lost,” Paul pleaded. “It’s just a little further.”
Just then Big Rick burst on the scene, coated with mud and spouting gibberish. “A monster—fangs—kill us!” He kept running, his hair standing in stiff spikes, and set off a ripple of panic among the kids.
“Stay together!” yelled Kim.
“Run!” shouted Paul. “Let’s get to the bus!”
I loped along after them, close behind but keeping out of
