Marked in Flesh
Page 97
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“What about other regions?”
“News bulletins on the radio this morning talked about human triumphs over the terra indigene.”
“What does that mean?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
• • •
Vlad stared at the images on the TV screen.
There hadn’t been enough time to warn all the Wolfgard, and not all the Wolfgard keeping watch over human places had human allies.
When had the clever monkeys stopped being clever? Did they think only humans were seeing these pictures of them dancing around piles of dead Wolves? Did they think only humans noticed the bodies of the puppies that had been killed along with the adults? Of course, humans thought nothing of killing their own young, so why should they hesitate to kill other species?
So many places. So much slaughter. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of Wolves had been killed throughout the Northwest and Midwest regions. How many Wolfgard were left in those parts of Thaisia?
Then he saw it, the picture that was different from the rest.
Joe’s face looks like that.
“Meg.” Vlad shut off the TV, rushed out of his apartment, and raced up the stairs to Meg’s place, just two doors away from his home in the Green Complex. Knocking softly, he tried her front door, hoping it was open, hoping . . .
He pushed the door open just enough to lean in. “Meg?”
“Vlad?”
He opened the door all the way and went in. “Where is Simon?”
“Peeing on trees.” She bent her head and sniffed herself. “I don’t know how many times Sam and I were washed yesterday, but I think I still smell like puke.” She held out her arm.
He considered it an act of unrivaled gallantry when he walked up to her and sniffed her arm.
“Still?” she asked.
She sounded dismayed, so he said, “Not really.” He didn’t point out that Simon might have a different opinion.
Taking both her hands, Vlad stepped closer. “Meg? Don’t watch the news today. Don’t read the newspaper. Please. As a favor to me, to Simon, to all of us, just don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you saw Joe’s face.” And if you saw his face, you saw the rest.
“It really happened?”
“Yes.”
“Does Simon know?”
“He knows Joe is dead, but he didn’t see . . .” Couldn’t finish.
“All right. I’m going to the office. There will be mail, maybe some deliveries. But I won’t look at the Lakeside News or turn on the radio.”
“Okay.” The female pack was bound to see something. He couldn’t stop all of them from seeing what had been done, but Meg didn’t need to see it again. “I’m not sure if e-mail is getting through. The phone lines have been jammed since yesterday. But I’ll try to get through to Jackson and find out how Hope is doing.” And he’d check with Steve Ferryman and find out how the five young cassandra sangue were doing—and Jean.
• • •
Simon hadn’t intended to go to Howling Good Reads today. He hadn’t wanted to do anything human except spend time with Meg. Outside.
But he ended up at the back door of the bookstore before he realized he didn’t have his keys. Or clothes. He found the back door of A Little Bite open and crept inside, wary of running into Tess if she was in a deadly mood.
Instead of Tess, he found Nadine in the back room where Tess sometimes baked cookies.
“Couldn’t sleep, so I’ve been here a while,” Nadine said. She tapped a container that sat on the edge of her worktable. “Special delivery from Eamer’s Bakery. Wolf cookies. I guess they were up early too, working. A lot of us are going to be up early. I heard you lost a friend yesterday. I’m sorry for that.”
He whined to let her know he’d heard her. Then he went to the lattice door, let himself in to Howling Good Reads, and went up to the office. Not to deal with paperwork or read e-mail. He had added a simple wooden trunk—simple if you didn’t count the carving Henry had done on the lid—to the office furniture as a place to store a set of clean clothes and a pair of shoes. He dressed and went back downstairs. He’d check the stock, shelve a few books. Wouldn’t stay long since he hadn’t told Meg he was coming to the store and she’d be expecting him at the apartment.
As he turned toward the stock room, he heard the familiar slap of paper on pavement. Copies of the Lakeside News.
Fetching the spare keys from the office desk, he opened the front door, grabbed the newspapers, and dumped them on the checkout counter. The headline said, “Humans Triumph!” Beneath the words was a photo that filled half the front page.
Simon stared at the photo. Stared and stared. Then he whispered, “Joe.”
• • •
Pouring himself a large mug of coffee, Monty half listened to the television news report and ignored the looks from some of the other police officers packed into the station’s break room to hear the news and see the “graphic proof” of the Humans First and Last movement’s triumph.
“Humans have taken possession of thousands of acres of prime land through the HFL’s audacious strike against the terra indigene, creatures who have held a chokehold on Thaisia for decades. But not everyone is applauding the HFL’s actions toward land reclamation. One rancher near the Midwest town of Bennett had this to say.
“‘They’re damn fools, the whole lot of them. My family has been raising horses and cattle here for four generations, and we have never had trouble with the terra indigene.’
“News bulletins on the radio this morning talked about human triumphs over the terra indigene.”
“What does that mean?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
• • •
Vlad stared at the images on the TV screen.
There hadn’t been enough time to warn all the Wolfgard, and not all the Wolfgard keeping watch over human places had human allies.
When had the clever monkeys stopped being clever? Did they think only humans were seeing these pictures of them dancing around piles of dead Wolves? Did they think only humans noticed the bodies of the puppies that had been killed along with the adults? Of course, humans thought nothing of killing their own young, so why should they hesitate to kill other species?
So many places. So much slaughter. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of Wolves had been killed throughout the Northwest and Midwest regions. How many Wolfgard were left in those parts of Thaisia?
Then he saw it, the picture that was different from the rest.
Joe’s face looks like that.
“Meg.” Vlad shut off the TV, rushed out of his apartment, and raced up the stairs to Meg’s place, just two doors away from his home in the Green Complex. Knocking softly, he tried her front door, hoping it was open, hoping . . .
He pushed the door open just enough to lean in. “Meg?”
“Vlad?”
He opened the door all the way and went in. “Where is Simon?”
“Peeing on trees.” She bent her head and sniffed herself. “I don’t know how many times Sam and I were washed yesterday, but I think I still smell like puke.” She held out her arm.
He considered it an act of unrivaled gallantry when he walked up to her and sniffed her arm.
“Still?” she asked.
She sounded dismayed, so he said, “Not really.” He didn’t point out that Simon might have a different opinion.
Taking both her hands, Vlad stepped closer. “Meg? Don’t watch the news today. Don’t read the newspaper. Please. As a favor to me, to Simon, to all of us, just don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you saw Joe’s face.” And if you saw his face, you saw the rest.
“It really happened?”
“Yes.”
“Does Simon know?”
“He knows Joe is dead, but he didn’t see . . .” Couldn’t finish.
“All right. I’m going to the office. There will be mail, maybe some deliveries. But I won’t look at the Lakeside News or turn on the radio.”
“Okay.” The female pack was bound to see something. He couldn’t stop all of them from seeing what had been done, but Meg didn’t need to see it again. “I’m not sure if e-mail is getting through. The phone lines have been jammed since yesterday. But I’ll try to get through to Jackson and find out how Hope is doing.” And he’d check with Steve Ferryman and find out how the five young cassandra sangue were doing—and Jean.
• • •
Simon hadn’t intended to go to Howling Good Reads today. He hadn’t wanted to do anything human except spend time with Meg. Outside.
But he ended up at the back door of the bookstore before he realized he didn’t have his keys. Or clothes. He found the back door of A Little Bite open and crept inside, wary of running into Tess if she was in a deadly mood.
Instead of Tess, he found Nadine in the back room where Tess sometimes baked cookies.
“Couldn’t sleep, so I’ve been here a while,” Nadine said. She tapped a container that sat on the edge of her worktable. “Special delivery from Eamer’s Bakery. Wolf cookies. I guess they were up early too, working. A lot of us are going to be up early. I heard you lost a friend yesterday. I’m sorry for that.”
He whined to let her know he’d heard her. Then he went to the lattice door, let himself in to Howling Good Reads, and went up to the office. Not to deal with paperwork or read e-mail. He had added a simple wooden trunk—simple if you didn’t count the carving Henry had done on the lid—to the office furniture as a place to store a set of clean clothes and a pair of shoes. He dressed and went back downstairs. He’d check the stock, shelve a few books. Wouldn’t stay long since he hadn’t told Meg he was coming to the store and she’d be expecting him at the apartment.
As he turned toward the stock room, he heard the familiar slap of paper on pavement. Copies of the Lakeside News.
Fetching the spare keys from the office desk, he opened the front door, grabbed the newspapers, and dumped them on the checkout counter. The headline said, “Humans Triumph!” Beneath the words was a photo that filled half the front page.
Simon stared at the photo. Stared and stared. Then he whispered, “Joe.”
• • •
Pouring himself a large mug of coffee, Monty half listened to the television news report and ignored the looks from some of the other police officers packed into the station’s break room to hear the news and see the “graphic proof” of the Humans First and Last movement’s triumph.
“Humans have taken possession of thousands of acres of prime land through the HFL’s audacious strike against the terra indigene, creatures who have held a chokehold on Thaisia for decades. But not everyone is applauding the HFL’s actions toward land reclamation. One rancher near the Midwest town of Bennett had this to say.
“‘They’re damn fools, the whole lot of them. My family has been raising horses and cattle here for four generations, and we have never had trouble with the terra indigene.’
