Kelley Armstrong - The Rising

Daniel looked at me, his head tilted, eyes dark, like he wanted to do something or say something. “Okay,” he said finally. Then, voice lowered another notch, “It’ll all be over soon.”

You’ll see her soon is what he meant. I nodded and said I wouldn’t be long, then crawled through the long grass to a stand of forest. Only when I was deep enough in did I rise and begin to walk.

Being in the forest only reminded me of my forest, which reminded me of my parents and our lives there and made me wonder whether we’d ever be able to go back. Almost certainly we wouldn’t go back. Salmon Creek was lost to us. My forest was lost to me.

And it was only then that I truly understood what I’d had—a damned near perfect life. Days spent tramping through the wilderness with my dog, with Daniel, endless idyllic days when we had nothing more to worry about than planning the next school fund-raiser. Even that was hardly stressful—we’d put on an event and the town would open its wallets. The St. Clouds would make a huge donation, and everyone would tell us what an amazing job we’d done. Now I wondered if we could have slapped together a bake sale with tables full of stale Rice Krispies Treats and gotten the same results.

The scientists had wanted us to grow up healthy and confident. Most of all, though, they wanted us to be happy, so that when we discovered the truth, we’d be okay with it.

Would we have been okay with it? No. We’d never have forgiven them for the lie. But could we have reconciled ourselves to a life as research subjects and future Cabal employees? I should say no. Emphatically no. Yet I can see a future where that might have happened. If they’d raised us knowing what had been done to us and why. And if they’d given us a choice. Accept what we’re offering or you’re free to leave.

I grieved for the loss of my old life, and I worried about my parents and my friends, and I couldn’t even walk it off because the patch of forest was so narrow. So I had to circle, which started to feel like pacing, and only made me all the more anxious. When my palms began to itch, I rubbed them against my jeans, still pacing, until the faint rubbing sound turned into a harsh rasp. I looked down to see the skin on my palms thickening, roughening. Hair had sprouted on the back of my hands. My cheeks itched, too, and when I reached up, I knew what I’d feel—the planes of my face changing, more hair sprouting. I barely had time to think “I’m shifting” when my knees gave way, like someone kicked them from behind. I fell to all fours, heaving, the air suddenly too thin, my chest too tight.

Not now. Please not now.

I closed my eyes, fingers digging into the dry earth, willing the transformation to stop. Pain ripped through me and I gritted my teeth against a scream.

This hadn’t happened before. It never hurt before.

Because you didn’t fight it before.

But I had to stop it. I should be able to stop it.

Only I couldn’t, and the harder I tried the more it hurt, the pain so strong I nearly passed out. If I did, then I’d finish the transformation in my sleep, as I had before. Either I let it happen or I passed out and it happened in spite of me. Either way, it was happening.

I pulled off my clothing. I’d barely thrown it aside before I crashed to the ground and everything went dark. A moment later, I woke up. There was that usual split second of “where am I? what am I?” grogginess before I remembered and leaped to all fours.

I peered around. It was nearly dark now, but my night vision was excellent. I took a moment to adjust to the other changes—four legs, whiskers, a tail. It all makes movement a little odd at first, even the whiskers, pinging as they brushed the long grass.

Sliding through that grass was a lot easier when I didn’t need to crawl. And safer when I blended with the golden stalks. When I neared the neighboring cabin, I poked my head through the grass and let out a soft growl.

Corey peeked out first. He saw me and jumped back. Then Daniel appeared, hand on Corey’s shoulder, murmuring, “It’s Maya.”

“I knew that,” Corey whispered, looking abashed. “But why is she . . . ?”

“I’m guessing she didn’t have a choice.”

Daniel crawled over to me. As he did, I instinctively retreated. He’d never seen me in cat form—I’d only shifted twice so far. While I’d been around humans both times and hadn’t felt any monstrous desire to devour them, I still scrambled away when Daniel approached.

But his scent filled my nostrils and I didn’t smell a threat or—worse—dinner. I smelled Daniel, a scent I still didn’t quite comprehend when I was in human form, but now it felt like a warm wave washing over me, relaxing me, telling me everything was all right, Daniel was here.

Even when I backed away, he kept crawling forward, as if I wasn’t a hundred-and-twenty-pound big cat with two-inch claws and fangs.

“You okay?” he whispered.

I tried to say yes. It came out as a soft chrr-up , like my bobcat, Fitz, makes when he sees me.

Daniel smiled. “That sounds like yes, so I’m guessing you can understand me.”

Another chirp.

“You’ve got some good camouflage there,” he said. “A good nose. Good ears. And a good escape vehicle if you’re spotted.”

I realized what he was thinking. That I could scout the cabin before we sent Corey over. I chirped and tried motioning with my head that I’d circle the studio. I was sure there was no way he’d understand me, but he nodded.

“So you’re okay with that? You’ll take a look around before Corey goes in?”

I bobbed my head. He reached over to pat me, then stopped himself with a chagrined smile.

“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t do that. But it’s the only chance I’ll get to pet a cougar.”

I leaned against his hand and he buried his fingers in my fur, then he took a long look at me.

“It’s pretty damned amazing,” he murmured.

It was. Whatever else the St. Clouds had done to us, this was amazing. We sat there for a minute. Just sat together, me leaning against him, feeling the warmth of his hand, listening to his breathing, slowly calming me down until I was relaxed enough to pull back and jerk my muzzle toward the cabin, telling Daniel I was ready. He gave me one last pat and returned to Corey.

ISET OUT THROUGH the long grass. The wind was coming from the north, which was behind me. I couldn’t pick up any traces of human scent on the breeze. That meant there wasn’t anyone outdoors for at least a kilometer. No one directly upwind, that is. To the northeast or northwest? Possibly. So I covered a swath from the road to the water. A very faint scent came when I approached the beach—the smell of people mixed with that of burning wood. Someone with a bonfire up the beach. No one lurked nearby watching the studio—at least not in that direction.

I wanted to cross the road to check over there, but it was paved, meaning my tawny fur would shine like a beacon against the black. I paced along the edge, in the grass, thinking. Then I heard a car. I’d been too preoccupied to notice it until it zoomed around a curve, less than a hundred meters away. I dived deeper into the long brown grass.

The car slowed. I plastered myself against the ground, ears flat against my head, tail curled behind me. I could see the driver. Just a gray-haired guy scanning the roadside.

What if he’d spotted me? Were there cougars on Galiano? Even if there were, seeing one would be a big deal. Vancouver Island had more cougars than anyplace else in Canada, yet people lived their entire lives there and never spotted one of the elusive cats.

If this guy saw me and told someone, it could get back to the St. Clouds or the Nasts. They’d know I’d come to see my grandmother and even if I left now, they’d presume I’d made contact and they’d question her. At the very least , they’d question her. At worst? I started to shake.