Hemlock 03: Willowgrove (34 page)

Stephen turned and stared at us, horror-struck. A scream pulled his attention back to the screen. Larger than life, a teenage girl—a girl who looked like the kind of wholesome teen you’d want babysitting your kids on a Saturday night—filled the screen. The camera panned out as she was forced onto a metal table with steel wrist and ankle restraints. She cried and begged as she was strapped down.

A man in a white coat walked forward with a heavy metal bar. As the girl sobbed and pleaded, he brought the bar down on her legs. Once. Twice. Three times until her legs were broken, misshapen things.

The clip was eerily similar to one we had seen of Serena at Thornhill.

A woman walked forward to inspect the damage as the
girl whimpered and writhed. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the girl transformed into a large, brown wolf.

Natalie Goodwin—the woman who had singled Serena out at Thornhill, the woman who had once worked with Ryan Walsh—turned to the camera. “Time to shift: two minutes, twelve seconds.”

The clip ended.

It wasn’t all the information; it didn’t need to be. It just had to be enough to get people talking, to get the reporters covering the rally to dig into CutterBrown and Zenith. It had to be enough to let Donovan and Zenith know that their secret was out. They could come after us, they could try to make another grab for Serena, but people would be watching. It was the story of a lifetime and every reporter in the square—every network in the country—would be chasing it.

Stephen stared at the now-blank screen. It was almost like he had forgotten about us.

I stood as Kyle edged toward me. We both froze as Stephen turned.

“What did you do?” Fear and desperation made his voice shake.

“We told the truth.” There was no satisfaction behind the words. Jason had been right: the Walsh family really had always been good to me and this would destroy them. It was almost a betrayal. “I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. “It’s over. Sinclair, the cure—it’s over, Stephen. People are going to throw a microscope over CutterBrown and Zenith. They’ll be asking questions. A lot of questions.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He glanced
over his shoulder at the screen and then back at us. “Don’t you understand? This was my only chance. The only way I could fix my father’s mistakes. The only way I could fix myself.” The gun shook in his hand. “It’s over now. Everything is over.”

Kyle took a step forward as Amy’s brother raised the gun.

“Don’t.” Stephen’s voice was sharp and brittle, the sound of ice cracking. Kyle was fast, but he wasn’t faster than a bullet.

“Please, Stephen. I know you. This isn’t you.” The words came out in a breathless rush as my heart and stomach leaped in different directions.

It was like he hadn’t heard me. “You were always a good friend to Amy. She needed that.” The weight in his voice was crushing and final as the world in front of me narrowed down to his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Everyone always says your life flashes before your eyes right before you die, but all I saw was Amy as Kyle tackled me to the ground and a gunshot rang in my ears.

It took me a moment to realize that I wasn’t dead, that I wasn’t even hurt.

Kyle’s body covered mine, pressing me to the pavement. I struggled to raise my head as he rolled off me.

Kyle said something, but I couldn’t hear him over the roaring sound in my ears.

Stephen Walsh lay sprawled on his back five feet away, the side of his skull a ruined mess. It was a wound not even
a werewolf could heal. Blood spread out around him in a growing pool, running along cracks in the pavement.

I couldn’t stand; I couldn’t seem to make my legs work.

On hands and knees, I crawled to his side.

He stared unseeingly up at the night sky.

Where else was I going to go? I’m a monster, aren’t I?

A weight settled on my chest as I stared down at Amy’s brother. Stopping Sinclair and exposing CutterBrown and Zenith had been the right choice—the only choice—but Amy never could have guessed this would have been the outcome when she addressed those DVDs.

She never would have wanted this.

I had never wanted this.

I heard Kyle approach, but I couldn’t look up. I couldn’t look up and I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t stand.

All I could do was stare down at Stephen’s sightless blue eyes.

“M
AC
. . .”
GENTLY, CAREFULLY, KYLE PULLED ME TO MY
feet. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly. “I thought . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t have to. He had thought he was going to lose me. I wanted to return the hug but I couldn’t. I was too numb, too shell-shocked. I was frozen.

After a moment, Kyle pulled back. “We can’t stay here.”

He was right. Even as he led me away, I heard nearby shouts. No matter how crowded and chaotic the park was, a gunshot was too loud to be missed. People were already headed this way.

I wanted to look back; I didn’t let myself. Kyle asked if I was all right, but I couldn’t answer him. It was as though Stephen had taken my voice along with his life.

Regret filled me. And doubt. But I had made my choices and the only thing I could do now was keep moving forward.

Figuratively, if not literally.

Actually moving forward turned out to be easier said than done as confusion and anger swept through the
square. The video had been broadcast on all three screens in the park, and while I had expected some sort of reaction, I wasn’t prepared for the magnitude of the backlash that rose around us.

“Fake RfW propaganda!” shouted someone, a sentiment that echoed from person to person until the charge was deafening.

People didn’t want the video to be real.

Believing it was fake was easier than accepting the idea that the young girl with the shattered legs could really exist. Supporting the camps was easier when you didn’t have to face what happened inside.

“Where are Jason and Serena?” I asked, finally finding my voice as the crowd surged around us.

“Jason was going to try and get Serena to the east entrance.”

“
Try?
You didn’t get them to the RfW?” I stared at Kyle in disbelief. “You left them in the square?”

He tensed and stopped. Turning to face me, he gripped my shoulders, forcing the crowd to part around us. “If you’re expecting me to apologize for coming after you, you can forget it. I got Serena and Jason away from the west arch and made sure we weren’t followed. Do you think any of us—me, Jason, Serena—want to make it out of here without you? Do you think any of us could live with ourselves?” He looked like he wanted to shake me; instead he folded me into a fierce hug. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

The ice inside of me cracked as the horrible numbness
blazed away. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears springing to my eyes as I clung to him.

After a long moment, Kyle pulled away. “You’d risk everything to save one of us. You have to start realizing that it goes both ways.” He reached out and traced the line of my cheek, brushing away tears. “Now let’s go find them.”

I nodded and threaded my fingers through his. Together, we pushed our way through the crowd as I filled Kyle in on what had happened to Sinclair.

“Good” was all he said. A single word, but the tone in his voice spoke volumes.

News of the gunshot was spreading rapidly. Stephen’s death would be evident as suicide to anyone who saw the body, but people quickly accused the RfW of infiltrating the rally with violence and lies.

Once that happened, it didn’t take long for them to begin moving toward the eastern side of the square.

Toward Main Street and the RfW protest.

Last night’s riot had involved only a few hundred members from each group. If the Trackers left the square now, thousands would be swept up in the clash.

And Serena and Jason would be swept up with them.

It hadn’t occurred to me that our actions could actually make things worse, but that was exactly what the video seemed to have done.

Someone took to the stage to plead for calm. No one listened.

The crowd kept moving, carrying Kyle and me with it.

There was a bench a few feet ahead. I pushed my way to it and climbed up to get a view of the eastern arch. The lights in the park were bright enough to illuminate patches of the surrounding streets.

In the distance, a living wall of National Guards turned onto Main Street. Their riot gear made them look like strange, alien creatures. Creatures with hard plastic shells and stingers.

They would try to keep the two groups separate—even if that meant trapping the Trackers in the park.

We had to find Serena and Jason. We had to find out whether or not they had gotten out of the square.

“The National Guard are flooding Main Street,” I said, hopping down. “How long ago did you leave Serena and Jason?”

“Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”

A spike of fear slid through my chest. Fifteen minutes was more than enough time for a whole life to change. Fifteen minutes was more than enough time to lose everything.

I grabbed Kyle’s hand as I followed him back into the throng.

In a last-ditch attempt to keep the Trackers in the park—probably more for fear of a PR nightmare than of any concern for the RfW or the town—the rally organizers shoved the anti-werewolf band back onstage.

It worked. At least temporarily.

As the band began their set, the flow of people streaming toward the eastern arch slowed.

“That won’t keep their attention for long,” said Kyle as we neared the center of the square.

The band hit the end of their first song. In the lull before the next, I heard the sound of breaking glass and instinctively turned toward the noise.

My stomach dropped.

The cage.

How could we have forgotten about the wolves in the cage?

“Kyle—” I grabbed his arm.

He turned and followed the direction of my gaze. His muscles tensed under my touch: I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t remembered the wolves trapped in the center of the square. “Shit.”

A bottle sailed through the air and shattered against the pen. Another quickly followed. Trackers were throwing anything—rocks, bottles, sticks—in an effort to get a reaction from the wolves behind the wire. A handful of guards dressed head to toe in black looked on with bright eyes and amused expressions.

“We can’t just leave them.” I thought of Trey and Eve. They had died trying to help the wolves in the cage; leaving them behind wasn’t an option.

Only two people in the pen were in human shape.

One was Sinclair. She lay sprawled on her stomach, unmoving as blood pooled beneath her. I couldn’t tell if she was dead. The wolves around her were going crazy, snarling and sniffing at the blood. Blood could make control
harder—just one of the lessons we had learned in Thornhill.

I waited to feel something—guilt or remorse for turning her over to the Trackers—but all I felt was a horrible sense of relief.

The other person in human form stood with his back to the crowd. His shoulders were rigid and his hands were clenched at his sides. Someone threw a bottle over the top of the wire. It shattered at his feet, but he didn’t react.

My heart stopped as we drew closer.

I knew the line of those shoulders and the shape of those hands. If the man in the cage turned his head, I would catch a glimpse of a dagger tattoo and brilliant green eyes.

My hand fell from Kyle’s arm. “Jason.”

One of the guards strode around the cage. In a flash, he shoved a baton through the wire links, stabbing Jason in the middle of his lower back. The impact was hard enough for Jason to twist and flinch.

The instant he moved, I glimpsed a second, smaller figure in front of him. Serena. She was still in human form, but even at a distance I could see the way her body shook with the effort of holding on to control.

Jason moved slightly, trying to shield her from the attention of the crowd just as she tried to keep herself between him and the wolves in the pen. Jason glanced back, just for a moment, and I made a low, hissing sound at the sight of his battered and bloody face.

Kyle sprang forward. A guard moved to stop him and was sent flying.

Another guard reached for his holster. I ran forward and threw myself at his back, clinging to him like a demented wildcat.

The man was more than twice my size. I managed to hang on for all of twenty seconds before he shook me off.

For a moment, I was airborne, and then I came slamming back down to earth.

My body scraped the pavement and my shoulders collided with the cage a split second before my head hit the ground with a crack. I thought I heard Kyle shout my name, but it seemed like everyone in the square was shouting.

Fingers skimmed my shoulder and I flinched.

“It’s me!” Jason’s voice was ragged. He was pressed up against the cage, reaching through the links to touch me.

I struggled to my knees. I needed to get to Kyle. I had to help him. Everyone in the crowd had probably figured out what he was the second he had thrown that guard.

“Don’t move.” The cage rattled as Jason tried—ineffectively—to push me back down with his fingertips. “You probably have a concussion.”

“Doesn’t matter.” My mouth felt like it was full of cotton and blood.

“Of course it fucking matters!”

I forced myself to my feet, clinging to the cage for support as the world around me spun sickeningly. Inside the cage, the wolves were going crazy.

Kyle stood ten yards away, a growing circle of guards and rallygoers forming around him. The muscles in his arms
twitched and jumped. If he shifted, they would tear him apart. As long as he could hold on, they would draw things out. They would taunt him.

The confrontation with Kyle had attracted everyone’s attention. Even the guard I had attacked seemed to have temporarily forgotten about me. After the hit I had taken, he probably didn’t expect me to get back up.

Slowly—partly to avoid drawing attention but mostly because slow was the only way I could move—I edged toward the cage door. “Serena, are you okay? How did you guys get in there, anyway?” The words came out thick and a little sluggish, and it seemed to take more effort than it should have to string them together.