Chapter 64 - The North Side of the Mountain [https://cdn.midjourney.com/7306eca9-04c6-43ee-9160-b25556cd02c8/0_3.png]

Blood. Kennedy woke to the taste coating her mouth. The stink of it burned her nose. Pain screamed through her body as the floor she was lying on jerked and shuddered. She cracked open one eye and spread her hands open on the cold metal underneath her. They were moving fast. Beyond the bars, through the gaps in the strapped down tarps, pine trees raced past. The stinging wind whipped her hair across her face. They had them contained in cages. Behind her, Terry groaned, and she turned toward his scent. Hissing as the truck bounced over a rut in what had to be a dirt road, she fought a wave of bright pain. Black dots speckled her vision.

Laying on his side, unconscious, blood covered Terry’s furred haunch. Grateful that most of what was on his brutalized body was sticky and drying, instead of fresh, she focused on his shallow breathing. What had they done to him? Fighting the pain, she gripped the bars between them and dragged her body closer, inch by inch, trying not to pass out. Hands trembling, she reached through and stretched to touch his furry side. Her fingers sank into his pelt. The rise and fall of his breath became a sacred prayer, his beating heart a metronome. She hadn’t killed him. The copper scent of blood wrapped around them, cloying and thick. Dizzy from the effort, on the wind, she tasted a thin thread of Jeremiah’s scent. Another truck? In the cab? Just before she lost consciousness, she whispered, “Please be alive.”

*

Red…

Red leaned into the winding curve headed up the back of the mountain, pushing the limits of how fast his bike could go. Hell bent on protecting his family, he had to be in place before they caught them. In his bones, he knew they would. Always expect the worst. Years ago, he’d learned that lesson the hard way and wore the scars as a reminder.

If they made it out of Georgia, and he was almost certain they would, the Shepherds would bring them up the north side of the mountain. The city roads were simply faster. The people limited traffic coming up this side because too much movement, of people or product, drew the attention of the sheep. Not every cop was in their pocket.

A narrow tunnel cut through the edge of the mountain. Ba kept a camera feed going on both entrances, focused on the movement of product and traffic. Their leader wasn’t stupid and had managed to keep the bulk of her enterprise hidden.

Just because he was a town boy didn’t mean he’d never been up their way. What teen didn’t make the track up for weed or Ursa berries to dry and sell in town at a profit? Since their Mother had lost her vision, he and Jeremiah had been taking care of themselves and her. They’d had to find a way, and legal options had been scarce.

As kids, there had been no money for suppression medication, so on their own, they’d had to learn how to change. The only miracle he had ever experienced before Kennedy was the fact that the two of them hadn’t accidentally killed each other at eleven and thirteen. He’d made sure Jeremiah finished school. He didn’t like to think of the things he’d done to keep them fed and sheltered. Nor the things he had learned about humanity. Human or Kind, there was often cruelty under the mask of compassion.

Half a day since he had heard from them, his bike screamed up the steep incline as he took the next curve, blurring into the oncoming lane. Except when he was in his bear shape, he felt most free tearing up the road on his bike. If they hurt her, or his cousin, he would take his price in flesh.

The rumor of a leaked video had spread across town as quick as a summer rainstorm. One glimpse and he’d known. They’d left before he’d scored the herbs they needed to suppress her. That was fine. Better that they weren’t all clustered together as a single target.

Jeremiah had wanted him to cut across and catch up with them, but then the shadowing trucks had appeared. Even before they’d gone radio silent, Red had planned to approach the mountain from the north. Trouble. Big Trouble was already in motion.

The odds involved in being an ambush of one, in bear country, wasn’t something he could think about or focus on. Less than one percent was still better than zero. Keep your eye on the line, on the asphalt. He’d never been a coward. And their woman had never had any common sense. Fucking video.

*

Crouched in the brush, he waited in the dark, joints going stiff. No different from a deer stand, except a little warmer. He’d covered the bike in brush, and tracked his way through the woods to avoid the tunnel and cameras. There had been Shepherds visible at the loading dock, but no product. No one was ever on this side of the property unless they were doing business or on border patrol.

He’d brought guns, but if he shot them, and killed someone, they’d hunt him until he was in the ground. There was no greater taboo than killing your own. Kind did not kill kind, unless the counsel marked you as being a danger to the whole. Even the mad, lost in bear, wandered in the woods, untouchable. The worse you could do was run them away from town. Spook them.

When he’d been a little kid, he’d found the idea of changing thrilling, but that was before he knew he was gutter trash who would steal to live, unable to buy Red Ursa. He’d snatched people’s chickens like a wild dog. Over the years, he’d tried to pay people back for what he’d taken. He’d helped those who couldn’t pay at the shop, when he could, as best he could. Jeremiah and he had plans for a place of their own after they got their mom a new roof. A shop with their name on it.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

He flexed his right hand, feeling the long scar across his palm pulling where he’d been cut deeply by razor wire. Some folks were serious about keeping poachers off their property. Silently, he eased his phone from his pocket. No more texts. He grimaced, wanting to be wrong, willing them to have gotten free. If there was a god, he didn’t know their name. Red didn’t know if they heard prayers or answered them. “Please… please… let them slip free. Don’t let them come here. Let me be some dumb overprotective asshole, boiling his nuts off for no good reason. Please. Have mercy on my family. On my blood. On my cousin. Keep Little Bear safe and off this damn mountain.”

Blood. Kennedy woke to the taste coating her mouth. The stink of it burned her nose. Pain screamed through her body as the floor she was lying on jerked and shuddered. She cracked open one eye and spread her hands open on the cold metal underneath her. They were moving fast. Beyond the bars, through the gaps in the strapped down tarps, pine trees raced past. The stinging wind whipped her hair across her face. They had them contained in cages. Behind her, Terry groaned, and she turned toward his scent. Hissing as the truck bounced over a rut in what had to be a dirt road, she fought a wave of bright pain. Black dots speckled her vision.

Laying on his side, unconscious, blood covered Terry’s furred haunch. Grateful that most of what was on his brutalized body was sticky and drying, instead of fresh, she focused on his shallow breathing. What had they done to him? Fighting the pain, she gripped the bars between them and dragged her body closer, inch by inch, trying not to pass out. Hands trembling, she reached through and stretched to touch his furry side. Her fingers sank into his pelt. The rise and fall of his breath became a sacred prayer, his beating heart a metronome. She hadn’t killed him. The copper scent of blood wrapped around them, cloying and thick. Dizzy from the effort, on the wind, she tasted a thin thread of Jeremiah’s scent. Another truck? In the cab? Just before she lost consciousness, she whispered, “Please be alive.”

*

Red…

Red leaned into the winding curve headed up the back of the mountain, pushing the limits of how fast his bike could go. Hell bent on protecting his family, he had to be in place before they caught them. In his bones, he knew they would. Always expect the worst. Years ago, he’d learned that lesson the hard way and wore the scars as a reminder.

If they made it out of Georgia, and he was almost certain they would, the Shepherds would bring them up the north side of the mountain. The city roads were simply faster. The people limited traffic coming up this side because too much movement, of people or product, drew the attention of the sheep. Not every cop was in their pocket.

A narrow tunnel cut through the edge of the mountain. Ba kept a camera feed going on both entrances, focused on the movement of product and traffic. Their leader wasn’t stupid and had managed to keep the bulk of her enterprise hidden.

Just because he was a town boy didn’t mean he’d never been up their way. What teen didn’t make the track up for weed or Ursa berries to dry and sell in town at a profit? Since their Mother had lost her vision, he and Jeremiah had been taking care of themselves and her. They’d had to find a way, and legal options had been scarce.

As kids, there had been no money for suppression medication, so on their own, they’d had to learn how to change. The only miracle he had ever experienced before Kennedy was the fact that the two of them hadn’t accidentally killed each other at eleven and thirteen. He’d made sure Jeremiah finished school. He didn’t like to think of the things he’d done to keep them fed and sheltered. Nor the things he had learned about humanity. Human or Kind, there was often cruelty under the mask of compassion.

Half a day since he had heard from them, his bike screamed up the steep incline as he took the next curve, blurring into the oncoming lane. Except when he was in his bear shape, he felt most free tearing up the road on his bike. If they hurt her, or his cousin, he would take his price in flesh.

The rumor of a leaked video had spread across town as quick as a summer rainstorm. One glimpse and he’d known. They’d left before he’d scored the herbs they needed to suppress her. That was fine. Better that they weren’t all clustered together as a single target.

Jeremiah had wanted him to cut across and catch up with them, but then the shadowing trucks had appeared. Even before they’d gone radio silent, Red had planned to approach the mountain from the north. Trouble. Big Trouble was already in motion.

The odds involved in being an ambush of one, in bear country, wasn’t something he could think about or focus on. Less than one percent was still better than zero. Keep your eye on the line, on the asphalt. He’d never been a coward. And their woman had never had any common sense. Fucking video.

*

Crouched in the brush, he waited in the dark, joints going stiff. No different from a deer stand, except a little warmer. He’d covered the bike in brush, and tracked his way through the woods to avoid the tunnel and cameras. There had been Shepherds visible at the loading dock, but no product. No one was ever on this side of the property unless they were doing business or on border patrol.

He’d brought guns, but if he shot them, and killed someone, they’d hunt him until he was in the ground. There was no greater taboo than killing your own. Kind did not kill kind, unless the counsel marked you as being a danger to the whole. Even the mad, lost in bear, wandered in the woods, untouchable. The worse you could do was run them away from town. Spook them.

When he’d been a little kid, he’d found the idea of changing thrilling, but that was before he knew he was gutter trash who would steal to live, unable to buy Red Ursa. He’d snatched people’s chickens like a wild dog. Over the years, he’d tried to pay people back for what he’d taken. He’d helped those who couldn’t pay at the shop, when he could, as best he could. Jeremiah and he had plans for a place of their own after they got their mom a new roof. A shop with their name on it.

He flexed his right hand, feeling the long scar across his palm pulling where he’d been cut deeply by razor wire. Some folks were serious about keeping poachers off their property. Silently, he eased his phone from his pocket. No more texts. He grimaced, wanting to be wrong, willing them to have gotten free. If there was a god, he didn’t know their name. Red didn’t know if they heard prayers or answered them. “Please… please… let them slip free. Don’t let them come here. Let me be some dumb overprotective asshole, boiling his nuts off for no good reason. Please. Have mercy on my family. On my blood. On my cousin. Keep Little Bear safe and off this damn mountain.”