"Are you in trouble with the cops?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "If he's looking for one of us, it isn't me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He points to the TV. They're running that same old surveillance camera footage that they always do when anything involving Wildlings hits the news. I've seen it so many times that I have that stuff memorized by now—like everybody in town does.
The first confirmed case was last November. Caught on a video surveillance camera, the grainy footage seems to run endlessly on CNN. A teenage boy crossing a parking lot is about to be swarmed by a half-dozen other kids. Halfway across the lot, he changes into a hawk—snap! Just like that. The footage ends with him flying out of camera range. All that's left on the ground is a heap of clothes and a pair of running shoes.
It's been a little over six months now and still no one has any idea why some kids change, while most don't, or why it's only happening to kids in Santa Feliz. All anybody living here really knows is that every other week or so, some poor kid or another turns into a shape-changing freak. At least, that's what my buddy Dillon calls them.
Then I see my high school picture on the TV and I realize this story's about
me
. About what happened yesterday after Steve hit me. I have to face the facts.
I'm
one of those shape-changing freaks now.
I cast a quick glance in the cop's direction, then duck my head.
"I am so screwed."
It's not until Cory answers that I realize I spoke aloud.
"It doesn't have to be the end of the world," he says.
I look at him.
"Name one good thing."
"I can do better than that," he says and starts to count off on his fingers. "You're stronger and faster. You're going to live longer and you won't get sick as easily. All your senses are heightened—smell, hearing, vision. And that's just in your human form. You can also turn into a mountain lion—I mean, how cool is that?"
"Very cool—if you want to live your life like a freak."
He raises his eyebrows.
"Uh—no offence."
Humour tugs up a corner of his mouth. "None taken."
I think about what he's just told me. I've already noticed how everything smells stronger, which is both good and bad because not only does the food in here smell like it's to die for, I also get a powerful reek of B.O. from the guy three booths down that makes me want to gag. And now I realize that it's not unusually loud in the restaurant. It's just that I can hear better.
I glance over to the counter, where the cop's looking at a paper someone left behind. I can read not only the headlines of the page he has open, but also the tiny print that makes up the stories.
"Can I turn it down?" I ask.
"Turn what down?"
"The volume. All these intense smells and sounds."
"You'll adjust. Quicker than you think, actually."
I sigh.
"So, why me?" I say.
"Like I said, I don't know any more than anybody else. My guess is that kids like you—the ones that change—carry traces of the old animal blood. It's not something scientists can measure because it's not purely a physical thing. It's in your spirit. The real question is, how and why did someone or something jumpstart that old blood?"
My head is spinning. I don't want to be having this conversation. I want to go back to my old life. But that option seems to drift farther and farther out of reach with each passing moment.
Cory shrugs when I tell him I just want to go home.
"I get that you want to go back to your old life, but this is permanent. You can stop yourself from shifting into your animal form, but you can't change the fact that you can do it."
"A Wildling."
He shrugs. "If that's the name you want to give it."
"Well, what do you call yourselves?"
"Cousins."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"It does when you consider how we're all connected by our animal blood." He laughs. "We're just one big dysfunctional family."
We break off when the waitress approaches with our order. The food smells delicious and I'm so hungry I can actually feel myself salivating. It's all I can do not to just grab it off the plate and shove it in my mouth with my hands. I force myself to wait until she sets it down in front of me, and I use a fork and knife, but I'll tell you, I never tasted anything so good.
The cop gets up while we're still eating. He glances in our direction and I feel myself go tense. I know I've got guilt written all over my face. But his gaze slides right by me. He puts on his hat and heads out the door.
"Well, at least he didn't arrest me," I say.
"Why would he?" Cory asks.
"Because I killed Steve."
"Who's Steve?"
"My mom's latest loser boyfriend." I nod toward the TV. "That's why I'm on the TV, right? They're looking for me."
"Yeah, but not for the reason you think. I caught the story earlier this morning. The first thing you need to know is this Steve guy isn't dead."
"But there was all this blood ..."
Cory waves it off. "Head wounds always bleed like crazy. According to the news reports, he had to get a pile of stitches, a rabies test and a tetanus shot, but he doesn't even have a concussion."
"But he must have told them it was me?"
"I don't know," Cory says. "Maybe he didn't. Maybe he did, but they didn't believe him. You're only on the news because you're missing. They think maybe the mountain lion that attacked him dragged you off. Or you ran off because you were scared."
"I did run because I was scared."
"That's good. Hold on to that when you're talking to the cops. The best way to lie is to have your story be mostly true."
I feel a bit sick. I've never been that good a liar. Inside, I'm freaking out. But the part of me that's doing it feels like it's a long way away, deep inside me. Mostly, I'm feeling this weird über-confidence. I mean, I can turn into a mountain lion. Who's going to mess with a kid who can turn into a mountain lion?
"I've seen that look before," Cory says. "The one that comes after the shock wears off and you start to feel cocky."
"I'm not feeling cocky."
Except that's exactly how I feel.
"Fine," he says. "But just remember. A Taser's going to take you down, whether you're a mountain lion or a kid. A bullet in the head is still going to kill you. When you're in your animal shape, they don't have to rationalize whether or not to shoot you."
I swallow hard. Shoot me?
"Who would want to shoot me?" I ask.
"Cops don't exactly take kindly to mountain lions roaming the streets. And the government is getting real handy with the tranquilizer guns."
"I thought the government was trying to help the kids who've turned into Wildlings."
"Sure," Cory says, "They're running those public service announcements about how they should all come in for orientation and training in their new abilities. But not one Wildling that's gone to the government holding facility out on the old naval base has been seen again."
"You think they're
killing
them?"
He shakes his head. "More like studying them. And keeping them locked up so that they're under control. Word is, they're even snatching kids off the streets, or right out of their homes. I've even heard that some of the movers and shakers in big industry are looking to get themselves their own Wildlings."
"What would some big company want with ... us?"
The longer I sit here with him, the easier it is to accept that I'm one of them, a Wildling, but I stumble over owning the word. I keep thinking about how Dillon and I have been calling them freaks. And now I'm one of them. A freak.
"Think about it," Cory says. "People with our abilities would make excellent spies—political or industrial. If you were in charge of national security, or ran some big company, wouldn't you want us working for you?"
"I guess."
I pull at the ends of my dreads where they hang out from under the skullcap. This is getting weirder by the minute.
"Why would a kid want to get involved with stuff like that?" I say.
"Are you kidding me? For some kids, feeling important and powerful is a rush. And then there are the perks. Grow up in the projects or the barrio, you're going to turn up your nose at a nice apartment, a fancy car, all the money you can spend?"
"That's not really happening, is it?"
"Hard to say what's happened so far. This has gone down real fast. We don't know how many kids have changed. It's not like anybody ever got a head count. But it seems like quite a few and, like I said, everyone has an agenda. Take that bible-thumping congressman Clayton Householder. He keeps trying to push a bill through Congress that will put all of Santa Feliz under quarantine, to supposedly contain this so-called disease. Who knows what his real agenda is, but I'm betting it's way off the nut-bar chart."
"Yeah, some of the kids at school were talking about him like he's really out in la-la land." I give him a careful look before I add, "So what about you? Do you have an agenda, too?"
Cory laughs. "Of course I do. Mine's to make sure that virgins like you keep yourselves safe from whoever wants to use you."
"That's it?"
"I don't have time for anything else. The more kids I can convince to keep a low profile, the less fallout there's going to be about all of this. The cousins aren't exactly happy about having been outed the way we have."
"You've been around longer than six months," I say.
It's just beginning to dawn on me what he's been saying.
Cory grins. "We've been around forever, kid. Dig up the oldest fossil you can find and the bones of a cousin will be lying deep underneath it."
He falls silent, gazing at the TV, where they're still rehashing the whole Wildlings business. Now they're talking about the Federal holding facility out on the old naval base.
"I wonder what's really going on in that place," he says.
"Why should I trust you?" I ask.
"I don't care if you do or don't. I just want you to think before you start making alliances. And to watch out that you don't get grabbed off the street."
"This is a lot to process," I say.
He nods. "Yeah. I get that." He pulls some money from his pocket and tosses it onto the table, then stands up. "I need to jet. Think about what I've said. The best thing you can do right now is convince everybody you never changed."
"How am I supposed to do that?"
He shrugs. "Like I said, lie."
"Wait," I say as he turns to leave.
He stops and looks at me, but I realize I've got nothing to say. Or rather, I've got a million things to say, but he's obviously got more important things to do than baby-sit me.
"Thanks," I say. "You know, for everything."
He smiles. "Be careful," he says. "Keep your head way down. That's all the thanks I need."
And then he's walking away.
I watch until the door closes behind him, then I look around the diner, trying to figure out if anybody's paying attention to me. They're not. Or if they are, they're doing a really good job of hiding it.
Thanks, Cory
,
I think. Now you've got me completely paranoid
.
That's probably not a bad thing. Not if what he's been telling me is true.
Finally I leave as well and head for home to face the music.
Marina
The swells have been running high all week—not quite overhead, but still sweet—and I'm pumped when I get home from catching a few waves on the early tide. But my mood comes crashing down when I step into the kitchen. Mamá tells me that Josh is missing—she says it's been all over the news this morning. Yesterday evening, some wild animal dragged him right out of his mother's house. His mom's boyfriend was clawed bad and had to be stitched up at the hospital. The cops are still trying to find Josh.
My
Josh.
I'm so scared I want to throw up.
I jump in the shower and rinse off quick. Throwing on some clothes, I race out the door, my hair dripping. Mamá calls after me, but I just wave to her and drop my skateboard on the pavement. I head for Josh's house, going so fast I could almost be flying. If anything's happened to him, I swear I'll die. He's everything to me, even though I've never told him so. There's never been the right time and now it may be too late.
Josh's mom gives me a big hug as soon as I show up. She's trying to hold herself together, but I can see that she's as worried as I am, probably more, if that's even possible. Her usually flawless chocolate skin has a grey cast and there are dark circles under her big brown eyes.
"Detective Foley," she says to the man in the living room with her. "This is Marina Lopez. She's one of my son's best friends."
He's a big guy in a good suit who went a little heavy on the aftershave this morning. He probably does it every morning to cover up the fact that he doesn't use soap when he showers.
If
he even showers. I wrinkle my nose and turn back to Josh's mom.
"What happened, Naomi? Mamá told me that Josh is missing and that he might even be hurt."
"When was the last time you saw Joshua?" the cop breaks in, ignoring my question and not giving Josh's mom a chance to talk.
"Yesterday," I tell him. "We left school together, but he said he was going home. He had to work on an essay that's due Friday."
"And he hasn't contacted you since?"
I look from the cop to Josh's mom and shake my head.
"No," I say, answering him but looking at her. "Please, Naomi. Tell me what happened to him."
"We don't know yet, honey," she tells me. "Some kind of big cat like a mountain lion broke into the house. It attacked Steve and chased Josh out the door. No one's seen him since and I'm worried sick." She shoots the cop a look. "The police think it must have been one of those Wildlings, but really. What would one of those creatures want with us?"
It seems that people blame Wildlings for everything that goes wrong these days in Santa Feliz.
"Ma'am," the detective says, "We've got every spare officer in town looking for your son, but let's not jump to conclusions. You know how teenagers are. Could be he decided to do a little partying after school and never even came home in the first place. Your friend Steve's story wasn't exactly consistent when we interviewed him at the hospital. It's obvious that he's hiding something, so we don't consider him a reliable witness. But we'll find your boy. We'll get to the bottom of this. I promise you that."