Never Cry Werewolf (4 page)

Somewhere off in the distance, the droning pattern of Winters’s megaphone started up again.

“Cha-arles! Cha-arles!” It was a lonesome sound that made the air seem heavier, the shady meadow a little darker. Beyond the clearing, the forest loomed vast and ominous, the dense trees a canopy that blocked out all the sunlight.

I shuddered.

“I told you guys, it’s probably just a prank. That guy probably has a martyr complex or he’s just trying to get attention. It’s so juvenile,” said Jenna, shaking her head.

“Cha-arles! Cha-arles!”

We all looked at each other. No one was smiling. I thought of Ariel’s forbidden forest stuff and almost felt sorry for Charles.

Austin, meanwhile, had turned toward the woods, his dark hair rustling in the slight breeze. “My bag,” he muttered.

“What?” I asked.

He took a step toward the forest, and I reached for his arm.

“Whatever it is, just stay here, okay?” I said.

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“Shelby,” he said, shrugging away from me, “don’t say a word.”

And before I could stop him, he raced into the trees.

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C
ome back!” Guitar Lady shrieked, running after Austin. “You come back here this instant!”

Gazing into the endless green and brown landscape, I couldn’t even pick Austin out anymore. The forest seemed to swallow him up.

“Dude moves quick,” said Vince with appreciation.

After banging her guitar on, like, forty trees, Guitar Lady returned, scowling. “No one else leaves!” she barked, the happy counselor routine totally over.

“What’s up with Austin?” Ariel said in a low whisper.

“I think Charles took his backpack. Austin’s just after his stuff,” I said, shrugging. It wasn’t like Austin was risking his hide to go save someone. Guys like him didn’t do that kind of thing. Not even the British ones.

Minutes dragged by as we hung out on the grass near the bus, talking in between listening for news. Some of the kids were bored or annoyed, because they apparently couldn’t wait to get to camp. I started to worry about Austin and Charles, and even the old guy. I hoped Ariel’s wild animal stories were made up.

“I’ve searched all along the road,” Mr. Winters’s voice hissed over Guitar Lady’s walkie-talkie.

“Any sign of the replacement bus? Over.”

“Not yet. Over.”

“Heading toward the river. I think he might—” Mr. Winters’s voice faded out into a crackle of static.

“Mr. Winters? Come in. Hello? Over?” Guitar Lady said in a shrill tone.

I shivered. Mr. Winters must have been deep in the woods now, out of range.

Feigning calmness, Guitar Lady slipped her radio back into her pocket and reached for her guitar.

“Alrighty. Let’s have a song.”

I groaned and opened my paperback. Ariel let out a deep sigh and stared into the woods, legends of the lost camper probably tumbling through her mind.

Meanwhile, Vince was starting to freak. “What idiots! Charles is from Palo Alto, what does he know about the woods? I mean, camp sucks, but it’s not worth risking your life. And what’s up with the British dude? They’re gonna get eaten by a bear or something.”

“It could totally happen. There are all kinds of animals out there,” Ariel said.

“Maybe,” I murmured, setting down my book. “But they could also get hurt or get lost or suffer exposure to the elements if the temperature dips. Do you think they have any survival skills?”

Vince stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans. “Like what?”

“Like starting a fire? Or building a shelter?” I asked.

“We did that at Outdoor Adventure Team two summers ago, with the counselors,” offered Ariel.

“I was there once,” Jenna said, turning to me. “Trust me—it’s no adventure. They teach you how to climb smelly ropes and make you eat dehydrated lentil stew.”

That didn’t sound like camping to me. Back before Priscilla, my family used to go camping a lot. It was way more involved than climbing ropes, especially in the dense woods of northern Wisconsin. And when your dad is a former Eagle Scout, everything gets done by the book whether you like it or not. “I never had to eat dehydrated lentils,” I said.

“Lucky you,” said Jenna with a shudder. “Freshly cooked lentils are so much better.”

“Children, I can’t hear you singing,” called Guitar Lady, glancing over at our group.

“
Children?
Really,” I muttered.

Time crawled by as everybody sat mumbling the words to another inane song. My gaze never left the trees. A cool breeze tickled the back of my neck and I pulled my sweatshirt’s hood up. The dense forest was definitely not as warm as California, and the nights would be even colder. It wasn’t bad for me

—I’d camped in way worse conditions up in northern Wisconsin—but a Brit, an out-of-shape old guy,
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and a wuss really would be bear bait.

“Children!” Out of breath, Guitar Lady clapped her hands and pointed. A bus rolled down the dirt road toward us. Some of the kids cheered.

Not me. I’d been looking forward to the dumb bus’s arrival, but for some reason, since Austin disappeared, I didn’t want to go anywhere. I placed a hand over my queasy stomach. All I had to do was get to camp. Do my time. Stick to the rules. Stay far, far away from that Red Canyon place. So why did I feel like I should be doing something to help?

Clapping her hands again, Guitar Lady summoned us over as the new bus rattled to a halt. “Grab your bags, campers.”

“What about those kids in the forest?” I said. “We can’t leave them.”

Guitar Lady smiled with practiced patience. “Mr. Winters will find the boys and telephone us at the camp. We’ll send the bus back for them.”

“How do you know he’ll find them?” I demanded. “There should be a search-and-rescue team here. An ambulance or something. I mean, aren’t you worried? That’s dense forest out there.”

Guitar Lady’s smile disappeared. “That’s for the adults to worry about,” she said. “Your job is to worry about
you
. And right now,
you
need to get on the bus.” Her beady eyes burned down on me with precision.

This lady, with her totally power-hungry attitude, was starting to remind me of Priscilla. I had the sudden urge to smash her guitar so she’d never be able to torture us again with songs about lunch meat, but that’d probably be a bad way to start the camping experience.

“Young lady, get—on—the—bus!”

Ooh. The dreaded slow hiss of instructions. This was war. My blood was almost boiling in my veins. I stared her down a few seconds more, and then I said, “Not that I doubt your leadership skills or anything, but your priority should be the lost people. Why are we not searching for them?”

Guitar Lady’s face flushed red. “
We
are handling it.”

“Shelby!” Jenna tugged on my sleeve. “
Get
on the bus,” she said out of the corner of her mouth while smiling at Guitar Lady. She pulled me toward the luggage, but I could feel the evil musician’s glare burning the back of my head.

“Arguing with the adults is not the way to make a good first impression,” said Jenna, struggling to get her cases out from under some other bags. “You really want to be labeled a troublemaker?”

“No, but what about—”

“Trust me. You don’t want that label,” said Jenna, pulling her bag onto its wheels and rolling away.

“Not at brat camp.”

Ariel, who’d been standing alongside me the entire time, seemed to be the only other person truly concerned about Charles and Austin. “Do you think they’ll be all right?” she asked as we finally grabbed our bags from the broken-down bus’s luggage compartment. “You know, forbidden forest and all that?

People don’t come back from dark places like that.” Little tears welled in the corners of her eyes, surprising me. I had her pegged for more of a cynic.

“Don’t worry. Mr. Winters seems like…” Ugh. I trailed off, not believing what I was saying. Mr.

Winters didn’t look like he could find his way out of a 7-Eleven. I probably had a better sense of direction than that old coot. “I’m sure he’ll find them,” I said lamely.

Ariel dabbed at her wet eyes like she was embarrassed I’d noticed. “I hope he does.”

My stomach got that queasy feeling again. What if Winters didn’t find those stupid boys? I glanced over at Guitar Lady—she was smiling insanely again, helping kids onto the brat camp bus like she was taking them to Disneyland.

“This is so dumb.” I set down my suitcase and zipped up my sweatshirt. “Stay here.” And with that, I plunged into the dark forest.

I didn’t have a compass. That thought struck me the moment Guitar Lady’s voice yelling for me to come back faded in the distance. I didn’t have a plan, a map, water, or food. Nothing. But if Guitar Lady hadn’

t been such a twit, and if I hadn’t been so confident about my being good in the woods, maybe I wouldn’

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t have dashed in there in the first place. I totally wouldn’t have run…off.

Uh-oh.

The full impact of what I’d done hit me like a splot of bird crap. Yes, Guitar Lady had pissed me off, but I was standing in the woods at that very moment because I was trying to help some idiot boys.

And I was now going to be labeled a troublemaker. Great. I was probably only hours away from deportation to Red Canyon boot camp.

Why did those guys have to run off in the first place? I’d totally messed up because of their stupidity. Not to mention Guitar Lady, who if she knew anything about the forest at all would have called in some stinking choppers or something.

I rounded a stand of pine trees and looked back in the direction of the bus.
I should go back.
But I’d been walking for a while. Even if the bus was still there…I was so in trouble. But maybe if I found the boys it would redeem my running off. And if I saved chubby Mr. Winters from sure starvation and lost-in-the-forest panic, maybe I’d come away with a warning. I decided to go on.

Remembering some of the tracking stuff my dad had taught me when we’d been camping, I followed sticks broken at about knee height and quickened my pace on the brushy trail. It looked like someone had definitely gone this way. But after a while, the trail petered out. I couldn’t see where the person had gone off, and there were no more broken twigs to follow. Frustrated, I paused against the trunk of a giant cedar, catching my breath.

Wait. The sound of running water. A stream? A river? I was willing to bet one of the guys would have headed toward the sound. You had to have a water source to survive in the wilderness. Oh, man.

The sound was going to make me pee! I tried not to think about it and pushed my way through bushes and snaggy tree branches, glad for the protection of my sweatshirt.

Ahead of me, the path continued through a thicket of blackberries. There didn’t seem to be a way around. I’d need a big stick to swack the vines. Turning around to search the sides of the trail, I saw a likely branch. I took three steps forward.

Snap!

I froze, looking down. No branch under my foot. Someone or something was close by.

“Hello?” I yelled.

A few crows flew off branches overhead.

I let out a little sigh of thankfulness. Birds. I went back to looking for a stick, laughing at myself for being so jumpy. Then I heard a growling sound.

Ariel’s stories about the forbidden forest flashed through my mind as I scanned the ferns, evergreens, and bushes ahead. Holy crap. What if she was right? What if something was lurking in the brush ready to pounce? My gaze traced over the dense foliage, but nothing moved. I let out the breath I’

d been holding.

The growling started again, sounding closer.

Crap. Something
was
following me. Something that thought I looked delicious and didn’t know about my bladder issues. I was so dead. I was going to literally pee my pants and die. Or be eaten—

which is totally worse.

The thing growled again, meaner this time.

Forcing myself to look, I swiveled my head to the right. The bushes were swaying. That I could almost handle, but then something brown darted between two huge tree trunks. An animal. A coyote? A cougar?

Suddenly, my search for a stick seemed like a really good idea. A big stick to whack that wild animal on the head before it shredded me. Without taking my eyes off the tree trunks, I lowered myself, my hands feeling around for any kind of sticklike materials. My right hand hit a loose-barked branch about the thickness of a rolling pin. Perfect. I rose up from the ground.

“
Psst!
Don’t make any sudden moves!” a voice said.

I spun around and saw Mr. Winters. One front pocket of his khaki shorts was ripped open, and two scratches leaked blood down one of his pudgy calves. His face, already pasty white, now looked positively drained of color.

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He raised a finger to his lips to quiet me and pointed into the blackberry thicket. “Easy, fella. We’

re leaving now.”

Whatever was growling didn’t move, but the sound intensified, raising pricklies on the back of my neck. I took a few steps backward. And then a few more.

That’s when I fell down the bank.

The sliding wasn’t so bad. It was the landing on the rocks that really hurt.

When I stopped moving, I was spread-eagled on two boulders overlooking a whitewater river that you probably needed a helmet to go wading in. I glanced up to the top of the cliff where I’d fallen. It was so densely covered with bushes, trees, and brambles, I couldn’t see where I’d stepped off or Mr.