Feral Pride (4 page)

“Well, it’s been fun.” Oliver noisily sucks out the last of his milk shake. “I’ve got to check in before my dispatcher gets suspicious. And by the way, we never met.”

From a distance, my Chihuahua lets loose with a mournful howl.

“Jess,” I begin. “I want you to take Peso and go with Oliver.”

Jess swallows the last McNugget. “I can’t just give y’all my dad’s car and —”

“You’re too tired to keep driving,” Yoshi points out. “Once we hit town, I’ll leave it in the Austin Antiques parking lot. He can pick it up there.”

“Talk to our folks,” I add. “Find out what you can. Report back.”

When my parents adopted me from Ethiopia, they had no idea that I was a werecat. But they’ve always stood firm by my side, and Dad is in deep when it comes to Texas politics. Between him and Sheriff Bigheart, they’ll put together the behind-the-scenes scoop.

“I guess I could say you were a runaway,” the weredevil muses out loud.

“Pen,” Aimee demands, and the cop hands one over. She scribbles a 78704 address on a napkin. “You should be able to find us here,” she tells Jess, handing it over. “Or at least whoever’s home should be able to point you in our direction.”

Aimee has decided where we’re going. Never mind that she’s a petite human or that with her turquoise-striped blond hair, tats, and piercings, she looks like a cute Goth elf. The boys defer to her, and, under the circumstances, I’m glad they’ve got someone in common.

In the parking lot, I give Jess a hug. “A thousand times, thank you.”

She whispers in my ear. “Sweetie, how well do you know these people?”

How well is debatable. How long? It’s early Monday morning. I first met Yoshi on Friday night and Aimee, then Clyde, after that. I appreciate Jess looking out for me. She doesn’t seem worried about leaving with Oliver, but he’s a cop and she’s been raised around law enforcement. “They were there for me in Pine Ridge,” I say. “They’re here for me now.”

Everyone’s waiting. I gather Peso in my arms and kiss his forehead, whispering, “Hey, little guy. Be good for Jess.” He’ll be safer, but I hate letting him go. My parents treasure me. But to Peso, I’m his whole world. Well, me, food, and squeaky toys.

A moment later I can still hear him whimpering in the other car. Fortunately, Yoshi doesn’t hesitate to pull out of the McDonald’s lot. As we pass the sign pointing to I-35 South, I ask, “What now? Besides Austin, I mean. What happens when we get there?”

I’m not good at lying low. I don’t like it, and I really have to pee.

“It’s not obvious?” Clyde asks, taking Aimee’s hand. “We’re going to rescue the governor from the weresnake. We’re going to prove that all shifters aren’t black hats, and we’re going to get the feds to back the hell off our collective ass. We’ll strategize from there.”

“And we’re going to find out who killed Teghan,” Yoshi puts in.

WE’RE AT A REST AREA
a couple of miles south of Salado. It’s about an hour north of Austin, with traffic. Yoshi and Kayla are in the restrooms. She’s too much of a lady to squat by the road.

The sun’s up. I’m primed to get home and get on with it. We’ve taken our hits, but we’re full-fledged heroes now. We’ve defeated dark forces and arctic asshats and even put Kayla’s ex-boyfriend’s preppy soul to rest. The feds took us by surprise in Pine Ridge. But we’re not losing to a bunch of trigger-happy humans or a fugly werereptile with attitude.

Besides, for the first time in days, I’ve got Aimee all to myself.

It took us a while to get here, relationship-wise. She almost clicked with my buddy Travis and then crushed on Yoshi. I was shocked when we got home from Daemon Island and she picked me over the Cat man. But it’s working. Us, that is. She’s my paintball buddy, the other half of our dynamic dishwashing duo. She can debate the differences between Bruce Wayne, Tony Stark, and Oliver Queen for hours.

Staring through the barred back window, Aimee yawns. “You know, I bet there are security cameras here.”

Probably. On the other hand, we’ve pulled over twice for fuel, and gas stations have surveillance systems, too. I loop my arms around her waist. There’s a limit to how paranoid we can be and still manage to function.

“It’s a state rest stop,” I say, trying to reassure her. “Oliver says that we’re not technically wanted for anything.” Granted, that didn’t stop the feds from shooting at us — or at least at the Cats — earlier. “Besides, it’s too late now.”

Aimee fumbles for the pointless door latch. “What if something happens? We’ll be helpless, trapped in here. What’s taking them so long?”

I can’t resist. “Yoshi’s taking a dump.”

Aimee gently elbows me. I can hear the smile in her voice. “He is not.”

The pristine facility is designed to resemble a grist mill. We’re the only vehicle in the lot. The American flag flutters in the light wind. There’s no sign of the Cats coming out of the front entrance. Not yet. I pull Aimee closer and press a kiss against the crosses tattooed around her neck. “Sure he is. He let loose a couple of silent farts, getting out of the car.”

“You’re horrible!” she replies, laughing. “You’re crude and gross and unromantic —”

“And you love me,” I whisper.

Aimee goes silent. I didn’t mean to get so serious. Or at least I didn’t mean for her to take it that way. Not in the backseat of this ungodly uncomfortable cop car that stinks like vomit (not that her human nose can tell) in a parking lot off I-35. We goof off all the time, but she knows it’s real for me. I know it’s real for her, too. But we’ve never said the L-word like that.

She slips her small hands over mine. “I do,” Aimee assures me. “I love you. Even when you’re . . . crude and gross and unromantic and snacking on crickets . . .”

“I hardly ever do that anymore.” It’s a habit from my Possum-only days.

She laughs. “You try kissing someone with bug breath.”

“Hey,” Kayla begins, opening the front passenger-side door. “I brought you both waters.”

“Thanks.” Aimee accepts the chilled plastic bottles through the window in the cage. The Cats may not recognize the disappointment in Aimee’s voice, but I do.

I can’t leave Aimee hanging. I have to tell her that I love her, too.

“YO!”
I lead Kayla and Yoshi through my front door. Aimee’s apartment isn’t far from here. We dropped her off a few minutes ago. “Mom? Dad? Babies?”

No answer. The pacifier on the floor isn’t unusual. Neither is the stuffed toy possum that’s been tossed on the couch or the rattle dangling off the coffee table.

Dad’s schoolwork is missing from the kitchen (he’s studying to get certified as a science teacher). The coffeemaker is cool to the touch. Dad’s an early riser, usually up by 6
A.M.
It’s going on 9
A.M.
now. Morning rush hour slowed us up getting into town.

The refrigerator art catches my eye. A mishmash of baby handprints in four different colors. I remember Mom sitting the plump kits (Clara, Cleatus, Claudette, and Clint) on an old bedsheet around the butcher paper. “Messy,” she admitted, “but look how happy they are.”

“That scent,” Kayla begins. “It’s —”

“Werebear,” Yoshi finishes. “It’s fresh. I detect
Homo sapiens
, too.”

Nobody I recognize. Werebears are the strongest shifters on land. They can scent out fellow werepeople faster than Wolves. The males look like NFL linebackers. Ditto for most of the females. Cutting across the family room, I check the bathroom off the hall, my parents’ room. Their bed isn’t made. Mom’s purse is gone. No diaper bag in the nursery. My leopard gecko isn’t in my room either. His tank is missing. Where’s my family?

I think of Lula, Teghan. I wander back down the hall. “What if they’re dead?”

“Don’t be paranoid.” Kayla meets me halfway. “Where do y’all store the luggage?”

At least Yoshi had the sense to wait in the family room. I fling open the master bedroom closet. The luggage is gone. “Why would they take Jara Hamee?”

Trailing after me, Kayla asks,
“
Who?”

“My gecko.” Along with the stink of diapers and my mom’s spicy perfume, I detect anxiety. My parents packed up the kits and took Jara Hamee with them because they weren’t sure when any of us would be coming back.

I reach for my phone. I scroll to the text from my mom: Don’t come home. FHPU is looking for you. We’re in Amarillo. Stay away from AB.

Amarillo. They must’ve gone to Aunt Jenny and Uncle Victor’s. There’s nothing about my meeting them there. If the FHPU came here, I don’t blame them for taking off. Especially with the quads to think about. On average, shifter parents aren’t less protective than humans. But they don’t go full barrel as long. By the time we’re in high school, it’s expected that we start to look after ourselves. But stay away from AB? Aimee Barnard? Why?

“I’m going to grab a few things,” I mutter. “Then we should move out.”

I duck into my bedroom to shove clothes into my old backpack.

“Don’t forget your razor,” Kayla says.

When I rejoin the Cats in the family room, they’re watching the TV news. There’s a sketch of an arctic asshat — yeti, snowman, Sasquatch — whatever you want to call them. They call themselves
Homo deific.
It means “God people.” As if.

They walk upright. They’ve got heavy jaws, ape-long arms, and bulky torsos. They’re not shifters. They’re not humans either, but they are mono forms. They can’t shape-shift. They’re more closely related to
Homo sapiens
than werepeople.

It was their kind that kidnapped us (minus Kayla) to Daemon Island. Where I was caged like an animal. Where Aimee became a house slave. One of them reported us to the FHPU. He video recorded Kayla shifting and sent the footage to the media. After pretending to be our friend.