The Society - Part Two

The pup in me quivered, but the burgeoning wolf snarled as I thrashed my head around, trying to get the black nylon hood off my head. The hood smelled from a mixture of creatures’ sweat and I couldn’t pick out a distinct scent, but I was sure of the other smell: men. There were two of them in the room. One of them reminded me of the woods: balsam and pine. The other man’s scent was waterless: dry earth, yellow pollen, and sun.

            A punch in the gut knocked me into a concrete wall, and then the hood was yanked off. I didn’t fall. I wasn’t about to look weak, despite my stomach seizing and my lungs gasping for air. I kept my back to the wall, surveying the room. It was dim. A single light bulb muddied the edges of the small, concrete room. A couple of chairs were lined along one wall and a mirrored window was set in the other.

            “You’re a stupid dog,” said the man with the waterless scent. He wore a t-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots. A thick black spiral was tattooed on his tan flesh–the mark of the Huntsmen.

            “Technically, he’s a werewolf,” said the man with the balsam scent. He sat in a metal chair, and had the same thick black spiral tattooed on the white flesh of his wrist. He had a pudgy face and soft eyes, but a stout body.

            “Political correctness aside,” said the waterless man, “he tried to break into our compound, so why isn’t he dead yet?”

            “Enough, Smith,” said the balsam man, and then smiled as he turned to me. “What’s your name?”

            “Max,” I said. “Like you don’t know.”

            He grinned. “I’m Regent Bondurant. He is Regent Smith.”

            I glared at Smith, the waterless man, and allowed a short smile. I had found that a smile was scarier at times than baring teeth or slashing into someone’s flesh. Quiet was scary too. I opted for the smile and malicious eyes.

            “Did you really think you’d get through our security?” said Smith.

            “Had to try,” I said. “You came after me.” I flashed my teeth with a broad smile. “So I came after you.”

            Bondurant snickered. “The Society’s headquarters is on flat land, with a three-hundred and sixty degree view of everything, which is to say, nothing. There are no trees, no bushes, no dark corners or shaded outcrops to hide behind, just sand and gravel. At night there’s a quarter mile circle of flood lights around the encampment, and infrared cameras and sensors. Even if you breached the gate, which is topped in silver razor wire, there are half a dozen warehouses, each with their own unique security.”

            “Hell Bondurant,” said Smith. “Tell the dog all our secrets.”

            “Oh, I’m sure he already knows. He’s been stalking us for a while.”

            Smith laughed as he tapped his neck. “How’s your head, dog? It should have been a bullet, instead of a dart.”

            Bondurant glanced at Smith. “Perhaps you want to leave me to the interrogation.”

            “Leave you alone, with him?”

            “He’s barely a wolf.” Bondurant stood and smiled. “He’s not going to say anything to you. You’ve hunted down too many wolves and beasts. Max can probably smell their blood on your hands.”

            Smith glowered, but bowed out of the room after a cold look, which gave me a chill. Bondurant pulled a chair and sat it next to me. “Sit. Please. I apologize for Smith. He’s spent too much of his youth hunting in the desert, and not enough time learning the world is full of gray.” Bondurant smiled. “Tell me Max, what were you going to do if you got inside our gates?”

            Bondurant’s voice wasn’t gristly or booming, but a soft tenor, which numbed my desire to kill him. I expected all huntsmen to be like Otis Hein–the man who had killed my sister Shar. Otis had crazy eyes, a piercing taunt, and an eagerness to stick me with a blade.

            A year ago I was fresh into the change, an eighteen year old wolf excited about my new body. My six foot frame had become layered in thick muscle, my brown skin had taken on a shine, and for once in my life my sister Shar was envious of me.

            Shar had been sixteen, two years away from the change, when she had asked:

            ‘Did it hurt, changing into a wolf?’

            ‘Yes,’ I had said, ‘but only the first time.’

            ‘Do you crave meat all the time?’

            ‘It’s not a craving,” I had said, “but a need.’

            ‘Do you feel stronger now?’

            I had smiled at that question. ‘Yes.’

            But, stronger didn’t help Shar. Otis had killed her in the woods behind our home. Then, Otis tried to kill me and when he couldn’t, he jabbed a cold threat into my heart: another huntsmen would come and finish the job of killing me. I had spent months hiding, a coward in a fledgling wolf’s body. The shame of it rotted my mind, until all that was left was the desire to die. But, wolves don’t kill themselves, however they do go into battles outnumbered and prideful.

            But, I had no pride, just remorse.

            Shar was dead.

            I was alive.

            “Max, why would you think we came after you?”

            I jumped up, hoping Bondurant would flinch, but he didn’t move or look an ounce nervous. I glared at the pane of reflective glass, knowing Smith sat on the other side, but after a silent, still minute I sat down in the chair and stared at Bondurant.

            “You know why,” I said.

            “If I knew why you’ve been skulking around town for the past six months I wouldn’t have asked. Smith wants to write you off as another rogue wolf, and killed you.” Bondurant shifted forward. “Max, what are you doing here?”

            Why does it matter, I wondered? Because Shar is dead, I thought, and they have to pay, but what would one dead huntsman, or even a dozen of them, mean to me? Shar would still be dead. I’d still be alone. Yet, here I was locked in a room with a huntsman.

            “How about we don’t play games,” I said, “and let’s get this over with.”

            “You speak as if you want us to kill you.” Bondurant smiled. “But, you don’t want to die Max. I can see life in those eyes of yours. It’s buried deep, but it’s there clawing its way up.” I glanced away, but Bondurant’s eyes stalked mine. “What were you planning? An attack? Are you working with someone? What were you after? And, please, be mindful that wolves aren’t good at lying.”

             “And after I tell you, then what? You kill me?”

            “I’d like to know who misinformed you about the Society. We don’t kill creatures just for the fun of it. We have agreements with many Packs, and that makes you lucky. If you had been some beast or a vampire…well, let’s just say Smith would be very happy right now.”

            I laughed. “Are you trying to convince me you don’t kill all creatures, just some?” I laughed, again. I didn’t mean to, but I felt unglued. My lips loosened. “I’m a wolf. The Society is full of huntsmen. Why do you think I’m here?” I smiled, letting my hate surge. “I came alone, and I promise I’ll take at least one of you down before you finish me.”

            Bondurant whistled. “This was suicide run? That’s a rare act for a wolf. Tell me Max, what was your plan? How were you going to get pass the gates, gain access to our buildings, and get to our men without us noticing?”

            I slouched, shrugged, and then inhaled the air. Bondurant didn’t smell of fear. His confidence, a heavy musk of testosterone, flowed off of him, but there was something else mixed in, a floral scent of lily-of-the-valley; Bondurant was tough, but also delicate.

            Yet, Bondurant was the strong one.

            I was weak.

            I knew it, and didn’t care.

            “One of yours told me more would come, that they’d hunt me until I was dead,” I said. “I decided to make it easier for you.”

            “Why would any of us come after you?  We don’t even know who you are.”

            Lies, I wanted to scream, but I held the hate in my throat and swallowed it back down. I didn’t want to believe that Bondurant knew nothing of me, because if it was true who else could I blame for Shar’s death?

            “Otis Hein did,” I said. “He killed my sister, and then he tried to kill me.”

            Bondurant grimaced. “Otis, the son of Waylon Hein? Waylon was a huntsman, but his son…” He shook his head. “Waylon died after rushing into a pit. A couple of feral under-dwellers killed him, but Otis was convinced wolves killed his father, even after we put the dwellers down.”

            “Under-dwellers?” I said. “What are they?”

            “You don’t know much about Creaturekind, do you?” Bondurant shook his head, as if he was ashamed for me.

            “Otis, a huntsman, killed my sister,” I said. “That’s all I need to know.”

            “You got it wrong. Otis never made it into the rank and file of the Society. He was too…well, wild. Some boys get it stuck in their head that just because their daddy was a huntsman they’ll be one too. Some just want to kill a creature, but that’s not what the Society is about, at least we’re not supposed to be. So, no, Otis wasn’t one of ours. Did you kill him?”

            I eyed Bondurant, wondering what he’d do if I said yes. I gulped the air as if it was my last, and then said, “He killed my sister.”

            “Why would Otis kill your sister? What was she to him?”

            I shrugged. “She was nothing to him.” But everything to me. “Shar was only a pup.”

            “Only a pup?” Bondurant snickered. “Otis hated wolves. He blamed them for Waylon’s death, so I can understand why he’d go after your sister, a young, weak pup. Otis was a coward and his mind wasn’t right, but none of that excuses him for killing her. I apologize for that, even though it is not the Society’s responsibility to monitor every man who wants to kill a creature, but just the same we must bear some of the blame.”

            “That’s it?” I said. “I get an apology?”

            “What else would you like?” Bondurant smiled. “Oh, I know, you want to kill a few of us, perhaps even me. You can try if you like, but you’ll only get a couple of drops of blood out of me before Smith comes barging through that door, and then…” He shook his head. “Max, your sister is dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to die too.”

            Bondurant talked of Shar as if she was never a person, just a figment or a ghost. His voice glossed over her sixteen years of life, and her violent death. She was the last of my family, and Bondurant didn’t seem to understand how that kind of loss cut into me–it was a persistent pain, like a burn that would never heal.

            But, maybe huntsmen didn’t feel anguish or pain or fear or remorse. Perhaps they functioned like robots, operating on simple commands ensuring human dominance, and perhaps the death of a creature meant nothing to them, except for one less body on their to-kill list.

            “You’re not like me,” I said. “You’re not a wolf. You didn’t watch your mother get eaten up by cancer or find your little sister’s body naked, battered, and cut into as if she was nothing. You haven’t been on the run for a year. You haven’t felt the shadow of death hunting you down. You’re human, a huntsman. You decide which creatures die, not me. Why hate us, is it just because of our differences or because it makes it easier to kill?”

            “We’re not that different,” said Bondurant. “You killed Otis. I would have done the same. There will be no reprisal from any of us for what you did to him. I consider it justice. But, to reiterate, the Society was not involved in your sister’s death. We owe you nothing.”

            My lips parted into a crooked smile. “I may be young, but I’m not stupid. Someone told Otis to come after us, and if not the Society, who?”

            Bondurant puckered his lips. “Otis’s mind wasn’t right.”

            I shook my head. “You know more. I can almost smell the lies on your tongue. Was it that shadow that put Otis up to it?”

            Bondurant’s bottom lip twitched. “A shadow? What shadow?”

            “Now look who’s no good at lying,” I said. “There was something else in the woods that day. Otis talked to it. At first, I thought he was crazy, but after, when Otis was dead, I saw him–a man covered in black. A shadow. He told me the same thing Otis did, that the huntsmen would come for me.”

            Bondurant grimaced, and then cleared his throat. “Tell me about your sister.”

            “Shar? Why?”

            “Because I asked, and because I’ve learned over the years that labeling every creature as a threat isn’t right. I want to know what your sister was, and what she would have been.”

            I waited for Bondurant to pull a knife or a gun, or for a group of men in camouflage to descend from the ceiling or come crashing in through the glass. Bondurant had to be a bad guy, but he didn’t smell bad. He smelled thoughtful, like an old, worn box of books kept in a basement.

            I exhaled, letting tiny bubbles of nerves escape, so my voice wouldn’t wobble. “Shar was smart and pretty. She liked people. Shar knew how to fit in with them, but she was still proud of her heritage. My mom once told me Shar was a special breed, a born leader. My mom was right. I would have followed Shar anywhere.”

            Bondurant nodded. “Some like to pull the root before it sprouts out of the dirt.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Everyone has a special hate. For some, it’s witches or trolls or vampires or some thing whose name has long been forgotten. Otis’s particular hate was for wolves. He must have seen your sister and knew what she might become–a smart, pretty, strong female wolf can strengthen more than a Pack–so he killed her.” Bondurant shook his head. “Max, you came looking for a fight, but you wouldn’t have been able to take down one huntsman, let alone a compound full of them.”

            “I can manage,” I said. “I killed Otis.”

            Bondurant scowled. “Otis wasn’t even third-rate. He was a backwoods hack, not a huntsman. Max, you need to learn the ways of your kind. You need a Pack. They’ll help you improve your senses, fighting skills, and decision making. Otherwise, you won’t last long.”

            I laughed. “You’re giving me advice on how to be a wolf?”

            “I’m trying to save your life. No creature has ever breached our walls, and if it wasn’t for me, Regent Smith would have put a bullet in your head, instead of that dart.” Bondurant sighed. “Max, just because I’m a huntsman doesn’t mean I want to kill every creature I put eyes on. You can’t understand.” Bondurant exhaled, and he suddenly looked uncomfortable in his skin. “The Society was born out of a need to eliminate the tainted, but the way I see it we’re all tainted.

            “Max, your sister is dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to be too. What you need to do is become the wolf your sister would have been.” Bondurant pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to me. “There’s a man in the city named Rue. He takes in pups and young wolves, and teaches them.”

            I glanced at the paper and then stuffed it in my pocket. “You’re giving me a referral?”

            Bondurant stood. “Don’t come around here again. If you do, Regent Smith will take pleasure in ending you.” He paused at the door, but didn’t look at me. “Max, forget about Otis and the shadow. No good will come from it. Live your life, instead of reliving your past.”

            “And Shar?” I said. “Should I forget she existed, that she was brutalized and killed?”

            “Otis is dead,” said Bondurant. “Justice has been served, and with it your first lesson in this world. Justice doesn’t make a wrong right. It doesn’t make you feel better or fill up the hole inside of you. Justice is just a small fairness in an otherwise unfair world. ”

            The wolf in me wanted to kill; it howled for blood and begged for flesh. The pup wanted to run and hide, to burrow into a den and sleep until the pain dulled and the fear subsided.

            “Max,” said Bondurant as he opened the door, “become the wolf Shar would have been.” Then he left, disappearing into the brightness of the afternoon.

            I waited a full minute and then followed, expecting to be jumped, beaten and then tossed into a ditch. It was the easiest way to end my misery, but it wasn’t the way of a wolf. Outside, I was greeted by the afternoon heat, and the scent of dry earth, yellow pollen, and sun. Then, I felt the sting in my neck–a dart, not a bullet, was the Society’s goodbye gift–and then the numbness, which felt good.

            A few hours later I woke in my Nova Coupe. It was parked on the shoulder of the highway, pointing eastward toward Laurel City. If the Huntsmen Society wasn’t after me, I could have returned home, but there was nothing there, except for a couple of graves and a ramshackle house.

            I had nothing.

            No family.

            No home.

            I laughed and then cried, then wiped away the tears and drove, deciding I’d become a worthy wolf.