Pocket Apocalypse
Page 61
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Shelby whirled to face the crowd, and shouted, in her best “I am in charge of this tiger show, and all you visitors better shut up and sit down” zoo employee voice, “We have not been bitten by any werewolves! Look!” And then she pulled her shirt off over her head and spread her arms, putting every inch of her torso not covered by her polka dot lace bra on display.
The shouting stopped instantly. You could have heard a pin drop. Then Raina pushed her way past me, snorting laughter all the while, and stopped next to her sister. Jett followed, tail wagging, and stopped next to her new mistress. A nice wall was building between me and the hostile parts of the crowd, really.
My left arm gave another twinge. I resisted the urge to apply pressure to the wound. Reminding these people that I couldn’t pull the “take off your shirt to prove you haven’t been bitten” trick didn’t seem like a good idea at the moment.
Shelby continued, “We were set up, and someone wants you to think we all got torn to bits, but since we’re all here, and mostly not too covered in blood—”
“—except for Alex,” interjected Raina.
“—yes, all right, except for Alex, but that’s because he gutted a werewolf and got the insides all over his clothes, thanks Raina,” said Shelby, giving her sister a poisonous look. “He wasn’t bitten a second time. None of us were bitten, even though we were out in a meadow full of werewolves without any silver bullets, thanks to someone on this property. So can you all calm the fuck down and let us tell you what happened?”
The crowd still wasn’t shouting, although they weren’t quite as quiet anymore. A low murmur ran through the assemblage. It could have meant anything. It was unlikely to mean total acceptance of Shelby’s words, which was potentially a problem for us. I’d never been lynched before. I wasn’t looking forward to starting now.
“For the love of God, Shelly, put your shirt back on,” said Riley, pushing in between his daughter and the crowd. A few people were gauche enough to make disappointed noises, and in that moment, I think Riley and I finally found common ground in the desire to beat those people into pulp. He scowled at the assemblage, hands balled into fists, and shouted, “We were set up! Someone sent us out there to get eaten by werewolf sheep. One of our own people sent us out there. I knew that some of you didn’t like how I’ve been running things, but I always thought better of us. I never thought any of us would be cowards.”
“Werewolf sheep?” asked one of the Thirty-Sixers, looking confused. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“They were sheep that had been infected, so they turned into wolves,” said Raina. “How does that not make sense?”
“What kind of wolf bites sheep and doesn’t eat them?” demanded the Thirty-Sixer. “Wolves kill sheep. Everyone knows that. They don’t just have a nibble and trot away.”
I blinked.
“We don’t know what werewolves do,” snapped Raina. “Maybe the werewolf wasn’t hungry. Maybe it hated farmers. Maybe it just didn’t like the taste of mutton. You can’t look at wolf behavior and apply it wholesale to something that isn’t actually a wolf.” Jett made a small buffing sound, as if to support her new mistress’ point.
“One sheep maybe, but how many are you saying attacked you?” The Thirty-Sixer folded her arms, and I suddenly realized why I recognized her: she was the model from before, her face now scrubbed clean of makeup to reveal a spotty olive complexion, complete with bags under her eyes and freckles across the bridge of her nose. It was like Verity always said—the best disguise a woman had was makeup, well-applied, and removed when necessary. “I don’t think it makes sense.”
“It does, actually.” I pushed my way between Shelby and Raina. Shelby still hadn’t put her shirt back on. For once, I didn’t allow that to distract me as I focused on the woman with the folded arms. “What’s your name?”
She blinked at me, looking taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked your name. You were at the quarantine house earlier, telling me off for having been bitten, and now you’re here, stirring everyone up again. I like a little dissent, but you seem very focused on causing it. Now, what’s your name?”
The woman scowled. “Chloe,” she said. “Chloe Bryant. If you think I like dissent, you must love it. You’re causing it everywhere you go.”
“It’s a gift,” I said. “Look: we have established that whoever sent the Tanners—and me—to that meadow was trying to set a trap. They wanted us to be hurt, even killed. Werewolves are only bestial when transformed. Even if a wolf-form lycanthrope would be more inclined to shred sheep than infect them, that doesn’t mean our werewolf couldn’t have gone there while he or she was human, and injected the sheep with saliva, or bled into their open mouths, or something.” The more I thought about it, the more sense injections made. Lycanthropy is hard to catch. A syringe and a supply of infected blood or saliva would increase the odds of a successful infection—and even then, our plotting werewolf could easily have injected the entire flock, only to get the six that had attacked us.
Or maybe only to get one: the old ram that had been the first to change forms. He could easily have turned the other five members of his flock without even intending to, nipping at them during ordinary sheep things, or spraying them with saliva during his first partial transformations. Maybe our werewolf had only needed to infect a single animal in order to turn the herd . . . and maybe that had been the plan.
“The Covenant boy is right, but that’s not the whole of it,” said Riley. “The sheep had been turned before he or Shelby even got to Australia. Somebody’s been planning this for a while. Somebody wants to change the way things work around here. Is it you, Chloe?”
Chloe glared at him. “I want to change the way we do things,” she snapped. “I’ve never made any bones about that. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to use werewolves to do my dirty work, you bastard.” She spun on her heel and stalked away, elbowing and shoving her way through the crowd.
Her exit seemed to take the last of the steam out of our burgeoning mob. The muttering increased, but the tension and potential violence was gone, replaced by a group of confused and even frightened people who didn’t know quite what they were supposed to do.
The shouting stopped instantly. You could have heard a pin drop. Then Raina pushed her way past me, snorting laughter all the while, and stopped next to her sister. Jett followed, tail wagging, and stopped next to her new mistress. A nice wall was building between me and the hostile parts of the crowd, really.
My left arm gave another twinge. I resisted the urge to apply pressure to the wound. Reminding these people that I couldn’t pull the “take off your shirt to prove you haven’t been bitten” trick didn’t seem like a good idea at the moment.
Shelby continued, “We were set up, and someone wants you to think we all got torn to bits, but since we’re all here, and mostly not too covered in blood—”
“—except for Alex,” interjected Raina.
“—yes, all right, except for Alex, but that’s because he gutted a werewolf and got the insides all over his clothes, thanks Raina,” said Shelby, giving her sister a poisonous look. “He wasn’t bitten a second time. None of us were bitten, even though we were out in a meadow full of werewolves without any silver bullets, thanks to someone on this property. So can you all calm the fuck down and let us tell you what happened?”
The crowd still wasn’t shouting, although they weren’t quite as quiet anymore. A low murmur ran through the assemblage. It could have meant anything. It was unlikely to mean total acceptance of Shelby’s words, which was potentially a problem for us. I’d never been lynched before. I wasn’t looking forward to starting now.
“For the love of God, Shelly, put your shirt back on,” said Riley, pushing in between his daughter and the crowd. A few people were gauche enough to make disappointed noises, and in that moment, I think Riley and I finally found common ground in the desire to beat those people into pulp. He scowled at the assemblage, hands balled into fists, and shouted, “We were set up! Someone sent us out there to get eaten by werewolf sheep. One of our own people sent us out there. I knew that some of you didn’t like how I’ve been running things, but I always thought better of us. I never thought any of us would be cowards.”
“Werewolf sheep?” asked one of the Thirty-Sixers, looking confused. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“They were sheep that had been infected, so they turned into wolves,” said Raina. “How does that not make sense?”
“What kind of wolf bites sheep and doesn’t eat them?” demanded the Thirty-Sixer. “Wolves kill sheep. Everyone knows that. They don’t just have a nibble and trot away.”
I blinked.
“We don’t know what werewolves do,” snapped Raina. “Maybe the werewolf wasn’t hungry. Maybe it hated farmers. Maybe it just didn’t like the taste of mutton. You can’t look at wolf behavior and apply it wholesale to something that isn’t actually a wolf.” Jett made a small buffing sound, as if to support her new mistress’ point.
“One sheep maybe, but how many are you saying attacked you?” The Thirty-Sixer folded her arms, and I suddenly realized why I recognized her: she was the model from before, her face now scrubbed clean of makeup to reveal a spotty olive complexion, complete with bags under her eyes and freckles across the bridge of her nose. It was like Verity always said—the best disguise a woman had was makeup, well-applied, and removed when necessary. “I don’t think it makes sense.”
“It does, actually.” I pushed my way between Shelby and Raina. Shelby still hadn’t put her shirt back on. For once, I didn’t allow that to distract me as I focused on the woman with the folded arms. “What’s your name?”
She blinked at me, looking taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked your name. You were at the quarantine house earlier, telling me off for having been bitten, and now you’re here, stirring everyone up again. I like a little dissent, but you seem very focused on causing it. Now, what’s your name?”
The woman scowled. “Chloe,” she said. “Chloe Bryant. If you think I like dissent, you must love it. You’re causing it everywhere you go.”
“It’s a gift,” I said. “Look: we have established that whoever sent the Tanners—and me—to that meadow was trying to set a trap. They wanted us to be hurt, even killed. Werewolves are only bestial when transformed. Even if a wolf-form lycanthrope would be more inclined to shred sheep than infect them, that doesn’t mean our werewolf couldn’t have gone there while he or she was human, and injected the sheep with saliva, or bled into their open mouths, or something.” The more I thought about it, the more sense injections made. Lycanthropy is hard to catch. A syringe and a supply of infected blood or saliva would increase the odds of a successful infection—and even then, our plotting werewolf could easily have injected the entire flock, only to get the six that had attacked us.
Or maybe only to get one: the old ram that had been the first to change forms. He could easily have turned the other five members of his flock without even intending to, nipping at them during ordinary sheep things, or spraying them with saliva during his first partial transformations. Maybe our werewolf had only needed to infect a single animal in order to turn the herd . . . and maybe that had been the plan.
“The Covenant boy is right, but that’s not the whole of it,” said Riley. “The sheep had been turned before he or Shelby even got to Australia. Somebody’s been planning this for a while. Somebody wants to change the way things work around here. Is it you, Chloe?”
Chloe glared at him. “I want to change the way we do things,” she snapped. “I’ve never made any bones about that. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to use werewolves to do my dirty work, you bastard.” She spun on her heel and stalked away, elbowing and shoving her way through the crowd.
Her exit seemed to take the last of the steam out of our burgeoning mob. The muttering increased, but the tension and potential violence was gone, replaced by a group of confused and even frightened people who didn’t know quite what they were supposed to do.
