Book Five, Chapter 73: The Stacks

~Antoine~

As I looked over the group of mercenaries, all eyes trained on me, I was hit with memories from my basketball days. That era was so long ago. Damn. I guess it really just hit me again—I was a retired basketball player. I’d been itching to quit for years, but when the time finally came, it wasn’t on my terms, and somehow, I hardly even noticed. Anyway, these mercenaries—they were like my old teammates back then.

There’s nothing like having a team, the common goal, the camaraderie, the clarity of purpose. That’s what sports had been for me. My teammates were a kind of family… back when my actual family was not.

And somehow, I’d found something close in this group of men, all of us in way over our heads. I could sense their camaraderie, feel their hands reaching out to me, inviting me into their strange, reckless chapter. They wanted me to be one of them, a fighter.

Hell, that’s what everyone seemed to want me to be.

“When are we gonna go out there and skin some pups?” one of the men called out, sparking a round of cheers from the others.

He had long blond hair tied up in a bun, deep blue eyes that almost pierced through you, and even a scar over his eyebrow. But I knew he wasn’t anyone important—he didn’t even have a name on the red wallpaper. He was a mercenary, and that was all there was to him—a mercenary who hoots and hollers and gets everyone riled up.

But wasn’t that what I was, too?

I surveyed the group. A lot of them were buzzing with rage, itching to kill something, but that didn’t sit right with me. Rage wasn’t what they needed; it didn’t make sense here. They didn’t have anything to be angry at. Maybe they just wanted blood, or, more likely, they were scared.

But why didn’t they run? They didn’t have to be here.

I knew what Riley would say—that they were “scripted” to be here. But I was thinking about them as people, as men. Why would they stay when everything we’d told them had been nothing but bad news? They weren’t going to massacre the werewolves; it wasn’t going to be some killing spree, and they sure as hell weren’t going to skin any pups.

All I could figure was that they were afraid. And with practice, you can turn fear into anger, and anger can make you feel so damn powerful. But anger fueled by fear… that’s a dangerous thing—something you can’t control.

Because when the killers come, the anger fades, and the fear comes back twice as strong. I knew that. I’d been in Carousel long enough. I’d looked for power within myself so many times—the power to keep going, to just survive a little longer—and anger didn’t cut it. Not for long.

Sometimes, you run out of power, and you don’t die. That’s the worst thing that can happen. I knew that better than anyone.

Even as I stood there, my brain tried to remind me it was broken.

Calm. I had to stay calm, project strength, and be a leader.

I took a deep breath. I looked at the men again.

There are no mercenaries in the forest, I thought to myself.

I further surveyed the courtyard.

There are no stone walls in the forest.

There are no campfires in the forest.

I must not be in the forest, then.

Surely.

It’s true what they say: you can take a man out of the Straggler Forest, but you can’t take a man out of the Straggler Forest.

“Our first line of business,” I said, “is to find out where their hideout is. We have to make a full frontal attack during daylight hours when only the mature wolves will be able to shift.”

They looked at me, waiting for me to say the right thing. They didn’t want a plan—they wanted reassurance, wanted me to fan the flames inside them, make them feel invincible.

“Then we’re gonna go skin some pups!” I yelled.

The applause was thunderous, the cheering, the screaming.

When I’d first met these mercenaries, they were skeptical of me. I hadn’t had enough Moxie to keep them under control effortlessly; I had to win them over with actual words. I had to play the scene right because, whether Riley knew it or not, we weren’t in a horror movie anymore—we were in a sports movie. And an inspirational speech had power in those.

I’d watched enough of them in the locker room before games.

Our team had to win. The other team had to lose. And maybe, if I played this right, I’d get the big kiss from the leading lady.

I looked across the courtyard to where Kimberly was talking to the blacksmith, an older woman whom I could now see was probably a much more important character than most of these mercenaries.

Kimberly sure knew how to pick a lead. She took a bit to get the hang of this game, but when she set her heart to it, she thrived.

Kimberly was not in the forest.

So neither was I.

“Now, it’s my understanding that you’ve been doing Recon here for the last week or so. I need you to get me up to speed; it’s been a while since I’ve hunted in these parts,” I said.

Most of the mercenaries dispersed as I was led to a large table with a map of Carousel’s parks spread across it.

Michael was already there. He didn’t need a map, and it almost seemed like he didn’t like us looking at one like that, which might make him obsolete. He really wanted to help save his friends. I understood. I had friends—and a brother—to save too.

The map didn’t make much sense from what I knew of Carousel’s terrain and layout, but that was why we were here on a sound stage, wasn’t it?

Captain Neil Tiber seemed different from the others. He didn’t need me to play cheerleader or convince him we were bound for success. He seemed to understand the odds weren’t in our favor, yet he never suggested we back down.

That part… that might have been because of the script, though. He was too smart to go along with this.

“We spent the last week checking most of the cave systems to the south,” the captain said. “Didn’t find any evidence of squatting. It’s my understanding that werewolves don’t like to live in the wilderness—they tend to have hideaways that are more comfortable for their human forms.”

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He looked up at me, expecting a response.

“That’s right,” I said. “You’re looking for abandoned buildings, places really out of the way.”

“That’s a tough one,” the captain said. “We’ve scoured the area. There were some factories near the quarry, but no signs of life there, beast or otherwise. The only area we haven’t checked is this section, but that’s because there are so many campers there. And since we’ve gotten here, the numbers have nearly doubled,” he said, frowning.

As we spoke, Kimberly walked over, close enough to see where the captain’s finger was pointing.

“The summer camp,” she said. “Is it still standing?”

“That’s an awful good question, miss. In fact, it’s the next place we need to check,” the captain said.

“I’m going,” Kimberly said. “I’ll go with you.”

Her character had survived a massacre at that summer camp, so it made sense she’d feel drawn to that place. Storyline exploration was almost intuitive; you just followed hunches, looked for clues, and kept looking until something fit. And, usually, you found something.

Kimberly had to go, and so did I, but I knew I couldn’t just let her jump in without a second thought.

I gently took her hand and moved her a few steps from the map. I leaned in close and asked, “Are you sure? We can check it out ourselves, you know. You don’t have to go back. I’m confident you can handle it; it’s just… you might have some bad memories there you don’t need to stir up?”

“I do,” she said, “but I didn’t come here to run from my past. For so many years, I was confused about what happened—my memories all mixed up in a blur. I need to remember.”

“Is it about your friend, the one you saw in town?” I asked.

“That’s part of it,” she said, “but it’s not just that. I need answers. Why did I survive, Antoine? Do you remember that night? I remember I barricaded myself in one of the cabins, but I don’t know why they didn’t break in. They had plenty of time before you got there. I just don’t understand.”

I had no answers for her.