The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Chapter 7: Bad as Me (Part 3 of 7)

Each bump in the road brought Amy's head down with a jolt, breaking her fragile sleep. If only they had a car. The old truck was unforgiving. It jittered and shook even along the smooth highway. It also didn't have a back seat for her to curl up on.

Amy had barely slept in two days. The only shut eye she had gotten either day was the hour or so after dawn once her transformation was complete.

A period of total oblivion always followed the change back. It washed away nearly everything of the wolf. Or it used to.

It used to be that only fleeting glimpses of her nocturnal rampages were left in her memory. They were jumbled and unreal, like fragments of a dream half-remembered. But this morning she remembered the journey. Not all of it. Things did not find purchase on the beast's mind. The trivial slid off like rain on the oils of her fur. So Amy could not say she remembered the whole night but she didn't feel like there were any gaps either.

Determination had driven her feet and although there were many opportunities to hunt, she refused to be distracted. Once out of town, she kept to the empty areas and away from people. Part of her wanted to shed blood—how easy it would have been to kill and kill and kill until there was no one left still breathing and the sun was hovering below the horizon. But she held her goal in her mind like a talisman and used it to ward of the rage. Despite the circuitous route, she knew her way. Whether it was by smell, or memory, or the stars, which she could sense even when not looking, Amy inexplicably knew the way back to the dead mesquite tree and to R.J.

The freedom of being the wolf meant she could have gone almost anywhere. So why go back?

The truth was: where else did she have to go? In the whole world, there was her childhood home and there was The Music Box, everything else was the great unknown. 

 And R.J. would take her far away, across the water. She secretly wished that they were heading further than Mexico. If only she could sail across the ocean and be so far away that not even the wolf could find her way back here.

Amy brushed her sweaty hair from out of her face and tried to get comfortable as they bounced down the interstate. She cradled her head against the top of the seat at an angle that mimicked a pillow in bed and folded her arms against her chest. With her eyes shut, she fell into a warm darkness and the world around her shrank away.

Not only had the wolf stayed with her in her memories but it was lingering on her features too. A glance at the side-view mirror as she climbed into the pickup had shown her that more of her hair had gone white. The light blonde streaks now looked dark bronze in comparison. And he had no doubt about her eyes anymore. They were changing.

She had run her tongue along her teeth to see if she still had fangs but so far they seemed normal.

Would the day come when there was no longer a girl, only the beast?

"You'll always be my little girl," her mother used to say. Her voice seemed clear and present. The sweet-tartness of lemonade lingered on Amy's lips. The sun blazed across the recently watered lawn. Some game was being played—running and laughing—peek-a-boo!

The truck seemed to leap into the air and Amy's chin came down sharply against her collarbone.

"Sorry," R.J. said.

Amy grunted and shifted back into her sleeping position. She longed to roll over and sprawl across a bed.

This time sleep wasn't so quick to find her. Instead, Moore's image floated in front of her clenched eyes. His sweet face hung there and her hand stirred with the desire to caress his cheek. But too quickly those last few horrible moments they had together were replaying themselves.