4 - Small Mercies

The first step to being human is to look like one— and I'm already at a disadvantage. If the silver eyes and the evidence of successful hunts marring my skin aren't bad enough, the knife strapped to my waist is damning. The silver shurikens and the throwing blades are even worse.

So I take the weapons off. I tuck my knife into my shoe, pressed reassuringly against my ankle and hidden under my trousers. I hide the rest in my pockets. There aren't many left, after the fight, but what I have will be useful in an emergency. Out in the wilderness, I never know if wolves are lurking. Sniffing me out and hunting me to exact their revenge.

At least now I don't look so prepared for a fight with werewolves. They'll think twice, and that hesitation will buy me time.

Stretching and shivering, I meander my way through the woods and back up towards the road and lay-by, thinking of making up all the hours I spent helpless and defenceless in the back of a car.

Right as I emerge from the shrubs, I hear the rumble of an approaching car. Fiery panic latches onto my swirling thoughts and sets off a blaze. I dart back into the safety of the shadows and conceal myself behind a trunk, praying for the car to pass right on by.

It's my family. They've found me. They're going to kill me— They're going to— I'm never going to be free—

I watch, paralysed with fear, as the car slows and pulls onto the lay-by right behind my own. Well, behind the one I stole.

The first thing I notice is that it's an entirely different model to the one Liliana drove yesterday. The second— it's not a police car, either. The third and possibly most confusing— the door clicks open and a short elderly woman steps out, looking vaguely lost as she glances around.

That makes two of us.

Beneath the weak moonlight, she makes her careful way over to the abandoned car. My unease melts into obscurity.

She appears alone, so I step forwards, taking care to rustle leaves and snap twigs as I do so. Of us both, I'm fairly certain I have the advantage, and I don't want to scare her off.

She startles badly anyway, pressing her hand to her chest as I emerge from the woods.

"Goodness, you gave me a heart attack, young man!" she exclaims, her voice high and warm and comforting. She laughs breathlessly and forges on, "I thought it was strange to see a car by itself all the way out here! Have you broken down? That's a damn shame. I'd call a tow for you, but it's impossible to get a signal out here."

It takes an effort to rid any trace of grief from my features, to pull up a mask over my expression.

But I manage it. I offer her a timid smile and I say, "Yeah, I already tried. Nothing." My voice is strained after hours and hours of silence, my throat raw and shredded after all the screaming the night before.

An unpleasant shiver scuttles down my spine.

She hesitates, sliding her gaze down my form and back up again. "Are you cold?"

I sniff, blinking back unwelcome tears, and give a little nod. The words come flowing, and I don't have to summon an exhausted, helpless tone— it's right there ready and waiting. "I tried finding a town but there's a lake and I fell in it and lost my phone and I don't know what to do."

"Oh, you poor, sweet thing!" the woman says, shuffling her way over to me. "Come on, where are you trying to get to? I'll give you a ride."

A refusal rises on my lips, but the woman shakes her head, takes my arm gently, and leads me towards her car.

"I won't hear of it! Wherever you're going, I'll take you there. You can borrow my phone and call whoever you want, alright?"

Obediently, my resolve crumbling beneath her kind smile and her gentle tone, I get into the passenger seat. I'm too tired to fight.

Vaguely, I realise I would've had to abandon the stolen car at some point. Might as well accept a free ride. Besides, she's got laughter lines pinching her eyes and her lips and she's got photos of her grandkids hanging from her rear-view mirror and the whole car smells of lavender and incense and pleasant things. The radio crackles an old song from the seventies. She doesn't seem the type to lure people into her car and kill them.

I hope, anyway.

Besides, if my family find out about the stolen car, they'll find it here and not, most importantly, anywhere near me.

She shuffles around the car and settles herself behind the wheel before turning to me and asking, "Where are you trying to get, then, sweetheart?"

I don't know what to say, but after a pause, I settle for, "Far away from here."

She frowns, bleak understanding flickering a candle's flame behind her eyes, but she nods and says, "Alright, then."

And she starts to drive.

– ➶ –

I startle awake to the sensation of a hand on my arm.

For one bleary moment, I fall back on instinct and find myself reaching for the silver knives at my waist. Thoughts ablaze; terror hissing through my veins; heartbeat roaring in my ears.

They're gone. I can't fight werewolves without silver, they're going to bite me, they're going to shoot me—

Hysteria succumbs to clarity as a soft voice says, "Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to scare you."

It's the woman that stopped to help me. Not a werewolf, not a Ferreus hunter, not a threat.

As I come awake properly and realise a little belatedly that I'm in no danger — just merely sitting huddled against the window where I must've fallen asleep —she offers me a paper bag and a timid smile.

We're parked at a gas station, and sunlight blazes against the tarmac. There's an old, scratchy blanket draped over me, and as I sit up, it falls onto my lap.

"Thank you," I murmur, tentatively taking the bag from her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Nonsense, I don't mind one bit. It's just a few sandwiches. I thought you could do with eating something."

The promise of food makes my stomach clench with agonised glee, and as I tear into the sandwiches like a man starved, the woman watches me with a glint of sadness in her eyes.

Beneath her close attention, I shrink a little.

"I'm Ada," she tells me once I've finished.

"River," I mumble, folding up the empty bag to give myself something else to focus on.

"That's a beautiful name," she gushes. "I don't mean to pry, River, but... are you alright? Do I need to call someone? Do you need help?"

"No," I insist, watching her with wide, stricken eyes. I'm not sure which question I'm answering— perhaps all of them at once.

But her gaze is kind, gently imploring, and she genuinely seems to want to help me.

"You've not had it easy, have you?" Ada says, her eyes flickering down to my arm and the swirled markings hidden in the tangled roots of lightning strikes there.

I wonder what she thinks they are. I wonder if she looks at me and sees a murderer or a lost boy, a threat or a helpless person.

"Tell you what," she begins, starting the engine and pulling onto the road. "I'm on my way to visit family. It's quite the trek, and you're welcome to stay as long as you need."

She must know I'm running. She must know the car back on that lay-by isn't mine, but she seems adamant about helping me regardless. I'm in no position to refuse her aid. I'm not sure how long her kindness will last, or how thin her patience can get before she snaps and kicks me out.

As she drives, she keeps up a steady one-sided conversation about surprising her grandkids and how she hardly ever sees them anymore and how thrilled they'll be when they find she's knitted them some new teddy bears for their tea parties.

I listen vaguely, but my attention is fixed on the world rushing by outside. Trees shoot past in a blur. Towns crowd forwards eagerly but Ada drives straight through them without a backwards glance, chattering away.

I need a plan. I need a car and I need a place to lie low until my family gives up searching for me. That could be months or years or decades from now, I realise bleakly. We tracked that werewolf pack for a whole year before closing in. And if there's one thing the Ferreus Clan does well, it's hold grudges.

In other words, I'm fucked. Well and truly.

Ada keeps trying to coax clues out of me, attempting to figure me out. I stay quiet, not daring to speak in case I share too much. In case she decides I'm too dangerous, too broken, and leaves me on the side of the road.

All the while, I find myself checking the rear-view mirror for any familiar cars. I'm expecting to see my family around every corner. I'm on edge and jittery with nerves and flashes of the hunt flit through my head like strikes of lightning. There and gone and leaving carnage in their wake.

The wolf pinning me down. Esme helping me up. The bite mark on her shoulder. Her voice, shaky but hopeful, asking did we get them? The bullet in her head. Her warm blood on my hands. Myles carrying her towards the fire. His throat beneath my fists.

"Stop," I manage, already pulling at the door handle as horror chokes the breath from my lungs and nausea rolls in my gut.

Ada slams on the brakes, assuring words at the ready, but I'm already darting out of the car and collapsing to my knees. I throw up, retching and coughing and trying desperately to get the images to stop.

When at last I can breathe again, surfacing from hysteria a shuddering mess, I see a copse of trees before me and, beyond that, buildings and cars and people chattering and disappearing into shops with twinkling bells. A town. An escape route.

Ada lays her hand on my back.

"Don't touch me," I gasp out, flinching away from her.

"Oh, you poor thing. Hold on, sweetheart, I've got some water in here somewhere." Her voice grows faint as she searches her car. She returns soon enough, offering me a bottle of water. "You're okay, you're alright."

They're going to find me. They're going to kill Ada for helping me escape. I shouldn't have given her my name. They're going to make me suffer for what I did to Myles. They're going to leave me, broken and bloodied, to the wolves waiting to tear me to pieces.

I'm a gasping, shuddering mess. As clarity gives way beneath me, I tumble into the dark, rolling waters of instinct. So when Ada lays her frail hand on my back once more, I bolt. I lurch to my feet and disappear into the trees, heading for civilisation.

I leave Ada shouting after me, and I vow to myself, not another soul. I'm not going to get anyone else hurt or killed.

If I'm going to disappear, if I'm going to let the waters pull me under, I'm not taking anyone else down with me.

Orion killed Esme, so I killed Myles. A trade. No one else is going to die because of me. I'll do this on my own.

I sprint through the streets, down alleys, across parks, searching for a quiet area to catch my breath and find a car. Instinct strengthens to resolve.

It's not long before I find a car nestled on the end of a quiet street, rusting and old and the sort no one has missed for years. I check fervently for witnesses as I try the door and — mercifully — it opens for me. A shred of luck.

I throw the water bottle onto the passenger seat and begin looking for a set of keys.

There's money in the glove-box; a startling but welcome sight. Only a few notes — some twenties, some tens — and coins, but it's a start. And, hidden amongst them, the keys.

The car groans and splutters its way to life, whispering vague promises about how far it can go on a tank left to go cold. But it crawls obediently forwards when I ask it to.

Small mercies.

– ➶ –

I'm quickly growing tired of the whole driving thing. Asphalt stretches endlessly before me. Woods give way to towns and towns give way to woods in an endless cycle. Green melts to grey and back to green.

As I sip absently from the water bottle, thinking of Ada and her kindness and how I didn't even thank her properly for taking me with her, it's not long before I find myself realising exactly how messed up everything is.

I'm homeless. Jobless. No passport, no phone, no clothes except the vaguely damp uniform on my back. No friends, no family, no sister. No clue where the hell I'm even going or what I'm going to do about it all.

The sun sinks ever closer to the horizon as the road slopes upwards and curves in on itself, back and forth, back and forth.

Until at last, as the woods fall away and I start to reach my limit, I emerge onto a beautiful sight.

The road hugs a cliff on one side and drops down into a valley on the other; worlds colliding. Distant mountains stretch lazily for the sky; jagged slate peaks disrupt a hazy amber dusk. In their shadow, on the floor of the valley, lies a town. Street lights shimmer like stars and ant-sized cars meander along miniature roads. Pine woods cover the valley in a sea of emerald and a river weaves a silver ribbon through the trees.

It's enough to give me pause, and I lose myself for a few blissful moments of admiration. I pull onto a crumbling lay-by overlooking the valley and gaze out at the picturesque view.

There's a sign posted at the end of the lay-by. It reads, Welcome to Crescent Valley.

Something spinning uncontrollably within me comes to rest, and for the first time in days, the sight before me brings forth some semblance of peace. I breathe out a heavy sigh.

By this point, I'm tired and hungry and my eyes burn and I'm in desperate need of a break from being cooped up in a car for hours on end.

There's no way they'll find me here. Not for a long while, at the very least.

Thus decided, I pull back onto the road and drive down into the valley, looking for a place to stay for the night.

It's not long before I find one. A motel on the edge of town with glaring neon signs announcing vacancies. It's old and worn but it vows anonymity and, to me, that makes it heaven.

I pull into a free space and shut off the engine, existing for a few peaceful moments in the wake of the constant churning rumble that has accompanied me for the duration of the drive.

With a heaving sigh, I count out a few notes, stuff them into my pocket, and get out of the car. A cool breeze stirs as I stretch, smelling of pine and moss and rain-soaked grass, as well as the smoky hue of burnt cigarettes.

A short while later, I'm unlocking the door of my room for the night, nestled on the end of the complex. It houses a double bed and an en suite bathroom and a small dresser for clothes I do not own. The door locks behind me and the curtains are a welcome barrier to the outside world, and that is all I need.

Exhausted, and with fatigue settling like lead in my veins, I fall back onto the creaky bed, stare up at the ceiling, and let myself fade.

Tomorrow, I'll think of a plan. But for now, the warm embrace of sleep lulls me into the dark.