Never Cry Werewolf (5 page)

Winters.

I struggled to my hands and knees and crawled off the boulders, onto the beach. My shorts were loaded with dirt and pebbles from my slide. Ick. I winced doing a little de-dirting shake. Double ick. The amount of soil that fell could have potted a rosebush.

Nothing on my body seemed broken, but I was incredibly sore. Scratches and raised welts streaked the backs of my thighs. And I still had to use the forest’s ladies’ room.

I stumbled over to the nearest tree, about twenty feet away, and dropped those dirty shorts. No sooner was I zipping up after the best pee of my life than I heard footsteps crunching on the beach.

Human footsteps. Maybe Winters had found a way down the hill. Good. One out of three rescues was complete.

I peered out around the branches of the evergreen, expecting to see the old guy but found Austin in front of my tree, a half smile on his face. He looked perfectly at home against the backdrop of the river. His dark hair waved in the light breeze, and his eyes shined golden in the sunlight. For a city boy, he looked almost at one with nature.

I stepped out. “Hey! Do you know how much trouble you guys have got me into? You had no business running off into the woods.”

“Shelby, wasn’t it? Lovely to see you, too,” he replied, the smile morphing into a smirk.

“Yeah, so lovely I’ll probably be shipped off to the lower level of hell the minute we get back to camp. You could have been killed—there’s a freaking wild animal up on that bluff above us! If I hadn’t slid down here I would have been dinner!”

Austin’s gaze traveled down my body. “So that’s why you look like a garden trowel.”

“A what?”

“You’re filthy.”

So much for British charm. I glared at him. “Mr. Winters is probably some cougar’s snack right now. The last thing I’m worried about is looking good. Let’s find those other idiots and get back to the bus, okay?”

“Right.” Austin scratched at the back of his neck. “I tracked Charles to a ravine, but then I lost him.”

“Tracked him?”

Austin’s cheeks pinked up for some reason. “You know, broken twigs, footprints, that sort of thing.”

“So you do know something about the woods,” I said.

“A bit.” Austin held a hand up to his eyes, shielding them from the sun sinking in the distance. “We

’ve about two hours of light remaining. We need to keep searching.” He turned and started up the beach again.

I marched after him. “We need to hike back to the road. Things are only going to get worse if we stay out here.”

Austin shook his head. “I’m not leaving until I find Charles. And what he took.”

“So it
was
your backpack—great reason to get lost in the woods.” I fought the urge to punch him on the arm. “Dude, what’s in your stupid bag, gold or something?”

“You’d be surprised,” he said with a grim smile.

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We hiked the shoreline of the river, searching for Charles with no luck, and we couldn’t scale the cliff to find Mr. Winters, but at least we didn’t hear any screaming. Then again, the human voice can only carry so far.

Finally, when the sun was sinking behind the hills on the other side of the river, leaving streaks of red and orange in the sky, we gave up. It had to be about nine o’clock, judging by the growls coming from my stomach and the cheerful flock of mosquitoes beginning to circle my head. In the distance rose the pale face of the nearly full moon.

Geez, what if we were here all night? We didn’t have a tent, we didn’t have food, and I didn’t have any toothpaste. Ick. I mean, I was all for survival, but you were supposed to have basic stuff. We had nada. Well, except for the matches in Austin’s pocket, which somehow he must have thought were okay to bring to brat camp. I was pretty sure that had to be on the list of no-no’s along with my beloved PDA.

As Austin piled little sticks into a makeshift fire pit, I stared out at the dying sunset and thought of my friends partying in Cabo at this very moment, probably dancing with some hunky guys. And here I was, on a rock in the middle of nowhere with a guy who’d only said three words in the past hour. My gaze drifted up to the darkening sky.

“I think I see the first star tonight,” I said. “Maybe I can wish myself away from here.”

“Not bloody likely,” Austin said, stuffing his contraband matches into his pocket. “Wishing is a waste of time. Or so I’ve found.” He blew on the smoldering twigs, trying to get the fire going.

I gazed down at the dark swirls in the water below my rock, watching the current rush between the stones. I hadn’t been near a river in ages, and the sound of it reminded me of just how different my life was from the quiet times Dad and Mom and I had spent in the suburbs of Milwaukee. I missed camping with them in the north woods and even riding my bike in the cul-de-sacs near my house when I was little. It hadn’t been flashy, but it’d been peaceful. And it had all disappeared so easily when Mom got sick. I wrapped my arms around my legs, feeling the chill of the evening and the coldness of the rock beneath me.

“You look far away,” Austin said. “What are you thinking about?”

I put on a smile. “Um, just thinking about home.”

“You miss it, even though your parents sent you here?” Austin asked.

“Yeah, my parents…” I let the sentence trail away, not wanting to finish the thought.

“They aren’t always what we hope they’d be,” Austin said, and his expression softened.

I nodded. “And apparently neither are we,” I said.

Austin laughed. “That’s true. But you can’t choose your family.”

“Right. Because I’m sure my dad would have picked differently,” I said, only half kidding.

“Now I very much doubt that,” Austin said. “My father, on the other hand, would have picked a son with a thirst for the hunt.”

“What?”

Austin colored slightly. “I mean, he’s on safari with my uncle right now, but that’s not my cup of tea. I’d rather sketch animals than kill them for sport.”

“Oh, so you’re an artist?”

“I draw a little.”

“Uh…that’s art.”

“Not to my father. He’d rather I play the guitar.” Austin sighed and added a few more sticks to the fire. I kind of got what he was saying. I’m sure my own dad wished I was a chemistry prodigy who could follow in his footsteps.

“It must be weird having such a famous dad,” I said.

Austin gave me a half smile. “Try
infamous
. But he’s all I have.”

“You don’t have other family?”

“Just my uncle…and there’s the entourage, if you can call them family. I spend more time with them than I do my father,” he said with a little laugh. “It’s hardly normal.”

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“Normal’s overrated,” I said with a shrug. “Or so I’ve heard.”

Austin smiled broadly. With the dying sunset highlighting his strong profile, I couldn’t deny it—he was cuter than I had first thought. Oh. I was totally staring at him. And he was staring back at me.

There was this weird, awkward pause, and then he cleared his throat. “You’re undoubtedly cold.

Perhaps I’ll just…” he mumbled, turning back to the smoky little blaze.

I moved closer and sat on a log near the fire, watching him work. Maybe it was just the accent, or maybe he was seeming cuter because this was the closest I’d been to a boy since the night in the garden with Josh. My love life had been completely boy-free since the moment Priscilla rolled out the camp brochures. That was it. Boy deprivation.

“Shelby? Oi! Would you mind finding some twigs?” said Austin, waving his hand in front of my face to get my attention. “This fire needs fuel.”

I stood up, glad for a task to take my wandering mind off Austin. “Okay. I’ll look around,” I said.

“It’s a little dark so it might take a while.”

“You could use my flashlight!” came a call from down the beach.

Startled, Austin and I looked up. Mr. Winters was leading Charles toward us. Charles dragged a backpack in the sand behind him.

“Hello, lovebirds! What were you doing out here all alone in the dark?” Charles said.

“We’re
not
lovebirds!” Austin and I both yelled at the same time. Then we gave each other a sorry look, realizing we’d jinxed.

“What were you two thinking?” said Mr. Winters, limping toward us. “What in heaven’s name got into you kids?”

Austin said, “I was after Charles.”

“And I chased after Austin, because…well, it’s a long story,” I added.

“Well, good intentions or not, you’re both in hot water,” said Mr. Winters, huffing up to the log and sitting down with an audible sigh.

Charles smiled broadly at me. A big gloating ha-ha smile.

That did it. “What about
him
? Charles is a thief!” I snapped. “He took Austin’s stuff.”

“And how does that involve you?” asked Mr. Winters.

“Oh.” I chewed my lip for a half sec. “Well, honestly, I was just trying to help find them because that crazy Guitar Lady wasn’t doing jack.”

Mr. Winters gave me a thoughtful look, and then said, “We’ll sort it out back at camp. Put out the fire. We’ll use my GPS to find our way back to the road and then I can radio for the camp van.” He rose shakily to his feet and took a few steps, wincing. “Let’s go. The cook’s making the best blueberry cobbler you ever tasted and we’re missing it.”

“Blueberry cobbler?” said Charles. “Yumm-o. I can’t wait to get to camp.” He was suddenly all calm, and that completely irked me.

“First things first.
You
can give Austin his stuff back now,” I said, yanking the black backpack from Charles’s hands.

“Not so fast. How do you know it’s his?” said Charles, jerking the bag back by the zipper pull.

“Hand it here.” Austin reached for it just as Charles let go.

In the struggle something tumbled out of the backpack, clinking like glass on glass. Mr. Winters’s flashlight beam zoomed to a bunch of clear vials rolling into a loose pile in the sand.

People probably try to smuggle booze into camps like this, but the vials held less than a swallow.

They were even smaller than bottles from a hotel mini-bar. Maybe they weren’t alcohol at all. Oh, man, I

’d found out the reason he was here—British bad boy had a drug problem. I didn’t know what to say. I just stood staring at the glittering pile.

Austin tried to scoop his vials up discreetly, but Mr. Winters hobbled over and stood over him with his hand out. Ignoring the old man, Austin went on collecting the vials and placing them in a plastic bag.

“Austin, give me your backpack,” Mr. Winters said. “We would have confiscated your stash at camp anyway.”

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“It’s not what you think. This is a prescription,” Austin replied, hugging the pack to his chest.

“A prescription?” Charles chuckled. “I don’t know about that. I drank one of those an hour ago and I feel pretty buzzed.”

“You drank one of my doses? Are you daft?” Austin stepped closer to Charles, looking ready to knock him out.

Charles smiled defiantly. “If the old man hadn’t shown up, I would have had more.”

“Charles! Start throwing dirt on the fire,” Mr. Winters snapped, and then turned to Austin. “Son, when we get back to camp, we’ll phone your father and sort this problem out.”

Austin kicked a rock into the smoldering fire. “You can’t ring him up,” he said.

Mr. Winters shook his head as if he’d heard it all before. “I’m sure there’s a way.”

Austin bit his lower lip. “He’s on holiday in remote Africa. No phones. No television. No contact.”

“Of course.” Mr. Winters sounded unconvinced. “Well, if it is prescribed, it’ll be on your medical form in the camp records.”

“What about his manager?” I said, trying to be helpful. “I mean, he has one, right?”

“Graham doesn’t know anything about this,” Austin hissed. “He’s only just started working for the band. He’ll be sacked when my father learns I was sent here instead of on holiday like I’d planned. I’m not supposed to be here at all.”

There was pain in his voice. A lonely pain that made my heart squinch up a little. The guy was obviously using drugs to cover up that pain. I felt for him.

Mr. Winters seemed unfazed by Austin’s story. “I’ll guard this contraband, whatever it is, until we can get in touch with him,” he said, taking Austin’s pack and swinging it over his arms the wrong way so it rested on his belly like he was pregnant.

Austin’s eyes blazed with so much anger, I thought he was going to take a swing at the old guy.

Through gritted teeth he said, “I need it. You don’t understand.”

“It’s all going to be fine,” Mr. Winters said, putting an arm around Austin’s shoulders. “You don’t need those chemicals to feel good about yourself. We’ll work on it at camp. We’ll take care of you, son.

Let’s go, campers.”

I sighed as I fell into step behind Mr. Winters and the boys. So, Austin was just another celebrity’

s kid hooked on drugs. I felt kinda sorry for him. I mean, I’d seen all the
Behind the Music
s about the sad lives of bands and their families. It was lonely out there on the road. But wait—normal people got lonely, too. That didn’t mean you had to cover that pain with drugs.

I trudged ahead, trying to put his problem out of my mind. I had enough troubles of my own at the moment. But as we hiked through the woods by the glow of the wimpy flashlight, my thoughts kept going back to Austin. He didn’t seem like a druggie. He was more together than the kids at school I knew used. He even seemed kinda smart. So how did he get into that crap? There had to be something I could do to help him. I mean, after the lame guys I’d helped with their small problems, here was a guy who obviously needed help in the worst way.

Wait! Get a grip
, my brain scolded,
you’re in deep doo-doo yourself!
Right. The point was to help myself. I had to remember that.
Follow the rules, do my time, stay far away from Red Canyon
.