“Who are you people?”
The man, T.J., said, “We’re the pack.”
A convulsion wrenched me, and I blacked out.
I fell in and out of consciousness for the next three days. I remembered a little—the smell of the park that morning, pine trees and dew. Someone carried me. Someone else—her, the woman—kept a hand on my shoulder. Voices, which I couldn’t keep straight.
“She smells like sex.”
“Sex and fear.”
“There’s blood. Not from the bites and cuts. Meg, look.”
I shook my head and tried to struggle, but I was like a baby, arms flailing without gaining purchase, too weak to pull away. “No, stop, don’t touch, don’t touch . . .” I gasped.
“She was raped,” the woman said.
“You don’t suppose Zan—”
“It doesn’t smell like Zan.”
“Someone else, then. Might explain how she ended up out here.”
“Wish she’d talk.”
“She will later. She’s got a couple of days of this yet.” I groaned. I had homework, I couldn’t—
I opened my eyes.
I lay on a bed. A sheet was tangled around me, like I’d been thrashing in my sleep. I wore a T-shirt—nothing else—and I was clean. I was cold, and sweat matted my hair. I took a deep breath—I didn’t know how long I’d been sleeping, but I felt exhausted, like I’d been running. I didn’t want to move.
The bronzed idol from the park was sitting in a chair by the bed, watching me. The woman moved from another chair to sit at the foot of the bed. I looked back at them, waiting to feel panic. I’d been kidnapped. Some cult thing. Did Bill put them up to this? None of that seemed right, and I didn’t feel afraid at all. Somehow, I felt safe. Like I knew they were here to watch over me, to take care of me. I was sick. Very sick.
“How do you feel?” he said.
“Not good. Tired. Wrung out.”
He nodded like he understood. “Your metabolism’s all fucked up. It’ll work itself out in a few days. Are you hungry?”
I hadn’t thought so, but as soon as he said it, my belly felt hollow and I was starving.
“Yeah, I guess I am.” I sat up.
He left through a door in what appeared to be a well-lit bedroom. Meg studied me. I looked away, feeling suddenly shy. T.J. returned carrying a platter with a steak, like he’d had it waiting. I looked skeptically at it. I wasn’t much of a steak eater.
He set it on the bedstand and handed me a knife. Reluctant, I sliced into it. It bled. Profusely.
I dropped the knife. “I don’t like them rare.”
“You do now.”
I thought I was going to cry. Glaring at him, my voice barely a whisper, I said, “What’s happening to me? Why aren’t I afraid of you?”
He knelt beside the bed. I looked down on him now, which was comforting. Meg came around to the other side and sat next to me, so close I could feel her body heat. I was trapped, and my heart started racing.
She took my hand, then raised both our hands to my face. “What do you smell?”
Was she nuts? But with our hands right in front of my nose, I couldn’t help but smell as I breathed. I expected to smell skin. Maybe soap. Normal people smells. But—there was more. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. Something rich and vibrant, like earth and mountain air. It wasn’t soap or new-age deodorant or anything like that. It was her. I calmed down.