The old Honda CR-V rumbled along the sandy road. The sun burned the land and softened the asphalt. Marisol, her eyes fixed on the passing desert, sighed, and then spoke, her voice carrying the weight of her concerns. “Supatra, no puedo dejar de preocuparme por mi familia. La decisión de Antonio de separarnos, es como destrozar una manada. Mis cachorros, mis hijos, nacidos de mi carne, arrebatados. (Supatra, I can’t shake the worry for my family. Antonio’s decision to separate us, it’s like tearing apart a pack. My pups, my kids, born of my flesh, taken away.)" Marisol’s fingers clenched on the door rest, her eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and determination.
Supatra, moved a hand from the steering wheel and placed it on Marisol’s arm in comfort. “Lo entiendo, Marisol. La Llamada no es fácil para ninguno de nosotros. Antonio, la Camada de Fenris, tuvo que tomar una decisión difícil para la supervivencia de todos los licántropos. La guerra no es sólo para los humanos; es para nosotros también. Vivir. (I understand, Marisol. The Call is not easy for any of us. Antonio, the Get of Fenris, had to make a hard choice for the survival of all Lycans. War isn’t just for humans; it’s for us, too. To live.)"
Marisol’s eyes flashed with a mix of outrage and sorrow. “¡Se llevó a mi familia! ¡Mis hijos! ¡Mis cachorros! ¿Qué le dio el derecho? (He took away my family! My children! My pups! What gave him the right?)"
Supatra spoke calmly in English, “Sometimes leaders have to make sacrifices for the greater good. Our duty now is to answer the Call, to stand together. Your tribe is waiting, Marisol. We face challenges, but the strength of unity will guide us.”
Marisol eased her grip, contemplating Supatra’s words. “La última vez que nos separó como skwinkles. (Last time he pulled us apart like Skwinkles.)" Marisol’s voice resonated with an undercurrent of pain.
Supatra nodded, “This time is different. We’re not just responding as separate packs; we’re answering as one, a united force against the challenges we’ll face.” Supatra’s calm explanation weathered the storm of Marisol’s outrage.
As they continued driving, Supatra explained, “The Get of Fenris waits for us. All werewolves are responding to the Call, and we’re part of that response.” Her voice was filled with determination. “We’re not alone in this, Marisol. We stand together, and we’ll face whatever comes our way.”
The desert landscape stretched around them as the bond between Marisol and Supatra strengthened with each passing mile.
As the immigration detention center shrunk away as their car vanished into the distance, with the low hanging moon, Teresa, a 28-year-old Latina-mixed woman, stood with her hands in her worn jean shorts pocket.
[https://storage.googleapis.com/rocky-production/story_images/big_f9b7c60eb0f5fa0ec614366b6a2df15c.png]
(Image credit: [Teresa] Gencraft AI prompt generated]
She clenched her teeth together, and her petite ponytail danced around as the wind blew. A light brown lipstick shade covered her bruised lip. “I called you because you were his goddamn drinking buddy.” Her arms crossed in defiance across her chest. “Figured you’d want to know before the bugs and animals got here.” She stared hard at Oscar, a 29-year-old Caucasian man in faded, tattered clothes, has short-matted hair, a beard shadow, and piercing gray eyes.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
[https://storage.googleapis.com/rocky-production/story_images/big_729ee2bfa835f211ecf9898d7843413d.jpg](Image credit: [Oscar] Gencraft AI prompt generated]
His eyes tracked to the weathered mobile home trailer during their conversation.
They looked at the torn front door, took a deep breath, entered – Oscar went first with Teresa a step behind. Wall-to-wall blood and gore speak of unbridled savagery. Deep scratches and congealed fluids ruin the furniture. A disembodied hand grips a cup on the table. The forearm skin and muscle ripped away, jagged edges through the flesh. Splintered bone as if something pushed the body sideways through a car shredder. Veins and tendons pool to the floor from a partial arm. Oscar grunted in disgust and turned his head. Teresa looked up at the ceiling like the struggles she’s been through do not compare to what they see.
“Well, god damn, Teresa. What the hell happened here?”
“He got chopped up.”
“What? Where’s his body?”
“How the fuck should I know?”
“He’s the father of your goddamn kids, Teresa.”
“Look, Oscar. You can damn well cry for your fucking asshole friend. I’m just the bitch he kicked around, forcing me to my knees for his unwashed ass.”
She slowly lit a cigarette and took a deep drag, the smoke burning her lungs. As she exhaled, her eyes fell on Oscar, who had just stepped inside. “Do you know how it smells when someone doesn’t wash after fucking a cunt who has a STD?” Her tone left little to imagine.
He moved from side to side, his face hidden by his arm as he ran his fingers through his matted hair. She knew he was searching for answers, but she couldn’t bring herself to move from her spot. The tension in the air is thick, and all she can do is wait.
He saw something -
- then backed away from Teresa.
They exited down the metal stairs. She leaned her back against the trailer. Oscar was freaking out. “What the fuck?”
Teresa stayed cool. “I don’t know what he tells you, but he didn’t pay a goddamn penny to me or the kids. Hell, he only comes around to make me spread my legs. Sometimes after you get him drunk off his ass, he comes here to fuck me and beat the shit outta me. Not always in that order. Be grateful I called you at all.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Fuck you, Oscar.”
She gives him the middle finger. Her contempt was obvious. “If you find him or anything that’s left of him, the trash can is over there.”
“Teresa, if you need to—”
She flicked her cigarette at him.
Oscar yipped, “Shit.” He jogged up to her. “Theresa! Wait a sec.”
She paused. “Do I look like I chopped him up? I’d be covered in blood. I would have done it with rat poison and gasoline his fucking ass.”
“Where were you then?”
She yelled at him. “Goddammit, I got bills to pay. He don’t give me nothing but an STD. The kids need shit. Didn’t matter if he was here or not. I enlisted in the oldest profession for a woman.”
“Fuck, Theresa. You could’ve—”
She jabbed her finger into his chest.
“Don’t fucking finish that. Get hurt? Don’t forget he wasn’t my husband. I’m fucking hoping a dead cockroach is raping his asshole with fangs.” She continues to her beaten car in the distance. “And the more dead and gone he is, the better. My face and pussy can take a break from his abusive ass.”
Oscar considered her. She felt him staring at her ass. Teresa flipped him the bird. Oscar returned to the trailer. His hand over his nose and mouth.
Outside the trailer, dry blood dripped off uncut grass tips. Flies buzzed the air.
The car rumbled, and Theresa sat back in her seat. She rummaged through her pocket until she found a crumpled cigarette pack in her pocket and pulled one out. A moment later, an orange flame lit up her face. She took a deep drag of smoke from the cigarette and closed her eyes as she exhaled. Teresa watched the trailer disappear in her rear-view mirror, the weight of her grim discovery settling into the pit of her stomach. She gripped the steering wheel, the rhythmic hum of the engine offering strange comfort. As she drove, her phone buzzed with a message from Nia. She hesitated, then opened it, revealing words that turned the corners of her lips into a subtle grin.
On the screen was a message:
Nia: Again, sorry. I didn’t NO he had a 👪 and did that shit to U. 😡 Dinner w/ him was good. Made sure his 🍆won’t bother U anymore. ✌️, Nia.