I moved my parents last, leaving them alone on a couch in the living room. My father’s throat had been ripped open, and my mother had been shot in the chest. I cried as I sat with them, stroking their frozen fur. It was all so stupid, so unfair. Our Pack was peaceful, my father helped everyone, and this was his fate.
When I was cried out, I knew I had to deal with all the remains in the house. I couldn’t let the police find them or do DNA testing on them. I grabbed the vehicle keys that were left and formed a roadblock along the driveway. I made sure no emergency vehicles would be able to get in, breaking off the keys in the ignitions when I had them in place. I then went to the garage and the storage buildings, gathering all the gas and kerosene I could find. I soaked the insides of the individual homes first, making sure they would catch easily. I waited until ten minutes before five before returning to the Pack House. I soaked down the basement good, before pouring the rest over the pile of bodies and my parents. Lighting a flare, I tossed it through an open basement window before tossing another through the door.
The flames caught immediately, driving me back. I turned my back on the flames, then went to the other homes and tossed a flare in each. When all the homes and outbuildings were in flames, I turned and ran.
I made it through the parked cars and locked the gate behind me, again breaking off the key before dropping the key ring. Snake was waiting, his gaze on the flames shooting into the air behind me. I jumped into the car, the smell of gasoline heavy on my clothes. “Jesus, DeWalt, you all right?”
“Just drive,” I said. I unloaded the rifle and put it back in the case, then pulled off my coat and gloves, placing them in a shopping bag that had been left in the back seat. We made it into town before any emergency vehicles could respond; I took the bag of clothes and tossed it in the bin behind the gas station. We headed north again, making the freeway as more fire trucks responded to the huge blaze we left behind. I finally collapsed into my seat, closing my eyes as tears started to fall.
“You want to talk about what happened back there?”
“No. It never happened.”
“Are you still in danger, Doc?”
“More than ever,” I said. I never asked him to take me to call my parents again, and he never asked about them. He knew they were gone. He just didn’t know the whole story.
Over the next two weeks I fell into a nice routine at the club. I had gotten to know them all now, and they were warm and accepting towards me. I was volunteering at the day care for an hour a day, and I helped Snake in the mornings with breakfast. He was rapidly becoming my best friend, with his wicked sense of humor and his penchant for finding ways to have fun while working.
We had a warm spell, which left the roads dry enough to get out and ride if you dressed warm enough. I had moved up from the piece of junk bike I had learned to ride on, buying a 1982 Harley-Davidson FXSB 1340 Low Rider. One of the lighter models, it was a lot more fun to ride. I got a deal on it, it was Teri’s first ride before she moved up to a more powerful one last year. They assured me that if I decided to move up, I could sell it for almost what I paid for it.
Now that I could ride, the Club voted me in as a member and presented me with my own cut, which had “Doc DeWalt” and a DeWalt power tool badge sewn on the left side. I was crying as they put in on me after the Friday night dinner; I loved the howling wolf logo, and they got in one more dig that I caught shortly after. Where the rank patch was, it didn’t say “Member” or “Prospect;” my official Club position was “Blacktop Surgeon.”
I love these people.
That Saturday afternoon it was going to hit sixty degrees, and you would have thought it was a Harley convention on the roads. We hit Highway 61, heading south along the Mississippi River, stopping in Red Wing for lunch and Wabasha for dinner. It felt great to be out with them, and riding in the back of the group was a real experience. No matter what else happened in my life, I knew that riding would be a part of it.
I also had a few items going I wanted to finish before Christmas. I had visited the Medical License Bureau, but unless I got married they weren’t going to change the name on my license. I did get my Permit to Carry and hit the range a few times with Moose to make sure I was proficient with it. I called back home and found out that Alpha Clark had returned but was still unstable. Beta Charles was not ready for me to return yet. Our incredibly expensive IV medication had also come in, and since they wouldn’t allow returns, Jessica had picked it up and it was in the fridge with the blood bags now.
Jessica was doing better, she had healed a few days later and the Alpha had apologized to her for losing his control. Charles gave me her private number and I called her up. I convinced her I was all right and caught up on the news with the Pack. It now numbered roughly half of what it was when I first arrived. All of the unmated females were being ‘snapped up’ by the remaining males, since their prospects for finding their mate were going away. She said the Alpha had even asked her if she would be interested in being his choice mate once the mourning period for Connie was over.
I prayed to Luna it wouldn’t happen. I knew she liked Connor, her guard, and told her she should think about taking him as a choice mate before her choices were taken away. Our options as shewolves were rapidly shrinking, and nothing could change that.