The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen (18 page)

“You could be right,” Bill said and meant it. “Now where were you that day?”

Michael put a hand to his face and scrubbed it over his mouth before he spoke: “Quadrant seven. Just like every day for the last three years. Word came down that we needed to clear a few miles of old growth to connect something to something else. I don’t know what and I didn’t ask. I went out on my ATV to do a terrain check. It got pretty thick so I went on foot. Half a mile in, I see something up ahead in front of this ridge. I think it’s maybe an elk so I go all quiet, hoping to see it up close. Maybe even get a picture to show the guys. I come around from the north using the trees as cover expecting to see a nice six-point.” He went quiet for a beat. “But there were people there.”

“You mean the bodies?”

“No,” Michael said, his eyes dropping to his lap, unblinking. “I mean
people
. They were on the ground. Crawling. Moving all funny. Jumping around. Like monkeys or… I don’t know. And then they saw me. They were looking right at me. And saying something to each other. Talking. They all stood up. And that’s when I saw the bodies. What was left of them anyway. And the people… they um… they weren’t
normal
. There was blood. On their faces. Their hands.” Michael’s face was losing color. “I think they um… I think they were
eating
those people. And their teeth… there was something… something
wrong
with them. They started coming at me. And then I heard someone say ‘AshCorp’, and they were gone.”

“They ran away?”

Michael shook his head and glanced warily at Bill. “Just gone. I ran back to the ATV and got help.”

“What do you mean
gone
?”

“I don’t know. Just gone.” Michael waited a while for Bill to respond, and when he didn’t, added bitterly: “You think I’m crazy.” He looked sullen again.

“Not at all,” Bill said solemnly, his expression warm and understanding. “How many were there? How many did you see?”

“A lot. Eight. Ten. More.” Michael’s face tightened. “It’s not like I stopped to count.”

“Just one more question: How would you describe them? Tall? Short? What color was their hair?”

“About as tall as me maybe.” Michael put a palm to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t remember anything about… the hair or…” He fell silent.

“Thank you. You did great.”

Michael seemed stunned by the compliment. “I did?” he sputtered.

“I know exactly what happened and it’s going to put your mind at ease. I’ve actually reviewed the police report and the file from the medical examiner’s office so I can tell you what killed those people—and what you saw that day.”

“You can?”

“Wolves,” Bill told him.

“Wolves?
Those weren’t—”

Bill broke in: “They were wolves, Michael. No one’s making any official announcement about it because the re-introduction of wolves into the wild is a very sensitive subject in these parts. But that’s what killed them. And that’s what you saw.”

“But those weren’t wolves!” Michael shouted, gesturing angrily with his hands. “I’m telling you, they weren’t wolves!”

“You saw wolves,” Bill persisted. “What you think you saw was actually your mind playing a trick on you. You see, when you stumbled upon a pack of wolves feeding—
feeding on people
—you went into shock. The sight was too terrible for your mind to process, so it erased those images and created new ones; images less threatening to your psyche. It sounds counter intuitive, but because of the thousands of hours of video images your brain has been exposed to, you’ve been desensitized to fantastical creatures with big sharp teeth. Your brain actually processes monster-related stimuli in the same way it processes an encounter with a bunny rabbit. And why is that? Because we know monsters don’t really exist. They’re fake. So like bunnies, they’re harmless. Wolves on the other hand…”

“So those were… wolves?” Michael said uncertainly, doubt creeping into his eyes. “Not…”

“You were in shock, Michael. Is it so hard to believe that your mind was playing tricks on you? Trying to protect you?” Bill smiled knowingly. “Or do you honestly believe—
deep down in your gut
—that you saw blood-covered monsters?” With an incredulous quirk of his eyebrow, Bill added wryly, “Monsters that turn… invisible.”

“Wolves,” Michael said and snorted. “Who would have thought that?” He gave Bill an embarrassed smile and murmured softly, “I saw wolves.”

“You saw wolves,” Bill repeated, smiling back reassuringly. “Now go home and start taking care of yourself. Get some rest. Get something to eat. You’ll feel much better. Trust me. But let’s talk next week. Same time. The next time I see you, you’ll feel like a new man. I promise.”

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, Bill was steering his Range Rover through a security gate and onto a six lane road—Ashfield Way, the only access point to the AshCorp campus. The woods edged in from the north and south and the tall trees cast long shadows across the asphalt. “Call dad,” he said. It took just two rings.

“William?” his dad’s harsh voice rasped through the speakers. “Is that you? William?”

“Why do you ask if it’s me when you can see my name on your cell? Why can’t you just say ‘hello’ like everyone else?”

“Good afternoon to you too,” his dad replied gruffly in a Boston accent that seemed to be thickening with age. “It’s been a while. Anything to report?”

“I got confirmation that there’s something going on in the seventh quadrant. And that he’s protecting it with something very nasty.”

“Details?” his dad asked.

“Not much to go on.” Bill flew past a Lexus sedan, accelerating to eighty-five. “An appetite for people. Teeth sharp enough to slice through flesh and strong enough to crush bone. Smart. Capacity to communicate. Either very fast or able to go invisible. Nasty.”

“Oh my,” his dad gasped. “Numbers?”

“No idea.”

“Anything else?” his dad prompted.

“No.”

A brief silence.

“Are you sure?”

“What are you fishing for?” Bill glanced down skeptically at the monitor.

“Can we discuss the boy?”

“What would you like to discuss?” Bill said, reluctantly, already annoyed with his dad. He turned onto Hermann Boulevard, heading north, the strong afternoon sunlight filtering through the driver’s window falling over his arm.

“Can I assume then that you haven’t shown him the journal?”

“Correct,” Bill answered quickly.

“And you’re waiting for what exactly?” His dad’s voice was rising. “Time isn’t our ally here. Do you intend to let the boy in on our little secret or are you hoping—”

“I’ll tell him when he’s ready,” Bill interrupted.

“When
he’s
ready or when
you’re
ready?” his dad demanded.

“That’s a nice little sound-bite, but it makes no sense. The time isn’t right for this. Not yet.”

A long silence passed.

“Dad?” Bill checked the monitor, wondering if the signal was lost. “Still there?”

“Do you think it’s smart to wait?”

“If I spring it on him now,” Bill explained patiently, keeping his voice level, “he won’t react well. I know what I’m doing. I know how to control him.”

His dad grunted.

“Don’t worry,” Bill said. “I’ll tell him everything soon enough.”

“Everything?”
his dad bellowed, sounding panicked. “You can’t show—”

“Sorry. I misspoke.” Bill jetted past a Suburban and swerved into the left lane, then flashed his lights at a white Ford Focus until it moved over. “As you and I have discussed on a thousand different occasions over the past seventeen years, he will not be told everything. In fact, I made sure he’ll never see Eve’s final entry or The Warning.”

“You destroyed them?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t the first time he’d lied to his dad.

“That was wise. If he finds out what this is really all about, he could get a crisis of conscience and do something insipid. We can’t have him questioning things or thinking for himself. Teenagers are so predictably and unbearably dramatic.”

“Well, fortunately for you,” Bill said, holding in a sigh of frustration, “you don’t have to handle him. We own the information, remember? He’ll think what we want him to think. I’ll keep him focused.”

Another grunt.

“I’ve got to get back to PC,” Bill muttered, weary of the conversation. “I’m sure there’s some shrubberies that need tending to.” He hit the END button on the monitor.

The Caffeine Hut engulfed Felix in a narcotic, aromatic cloud of brewing coffee. He ordered a mug from a student barista and headed toward a stone-manteled fireplace in back.

“I swear!” Allison was saying. She was sitting with her back to the fireplace in a high-backed purple chair with a floral print. Harper’s chair, placed right next to Allison’s at a cozy angle, was a canary-yellow version of the same design. If the company that made Skittles ever went into the furniture business this would be their showroom.

“You’ve lost it,” Lucas teased. He and Caitlin were sharing an orange sofa across from them.

“What’d Allison lose?” Felix squeezed between Lucas and the armrest. Three on the snubby sofa was tight, but there weren’t any empty chairs for him to drag over. The Caffeine Hut was always packed to capacity during the after-dinner hours.

“Hey Felix,” Harper said, smiling at him.

“Hey.” Harper looked beautiful (as always). Felix let his eyes roam for a moment, then he dragged them away. Over the past three weeks he’d gotten much better at not staring at her. “So what’s going on?” he asked, setting his enormous porcelain mug down on a little end table stained with a million cup rings.

“Felix will believe me,” Allison said. “I could use a little hometown support here.”

“I believe anything she says.” Felix sipped his coffee. He yawned mightily (he hadn’t been sleeping well lately) and took another sip.

“What about pizza and beers?” Caitlin said, grinning slyly.

“Except for that,” Felix replied with a wry smile as Lucas and Harper started laughing. Felix was used to the jokes about Martha and the dark-haired man trying to kill him—not to mention all the grief they were still giving him for running around the dorm in just his briefs. It didn’t bother him. It actually made the whole thing seem more ridiculous. More dreamlike.

“So get this,” Allison said to Felix. “This morning, my alarm’s going off, and I’m in a dead sleep. But it keeps on beeping. And you know it’s like the worst noise in the world, right? So I’m thinking—or dreaming—about how much I hate the goddamn clock. And then it stops. So then I finally wake up, and I go to look at the clock and it’s off. No bright red numbers. Just blank. So I sit up and look at it, and get this—
it was cracked in half.
Like someone hit it with a hammer. And I was just telling these guys the same thing happened last April. I know the exact date because it was my eighteenth birthday.”

“And I was just telling her I went through five alarm clocks last year.” Lucas drank from his mug and rested it on his lap. “Anything that beeps at me before ten has a good chance of dying a painful death.”

Allison laughed. “Yeah, but still…”

“I can tell you that her clock was in fact broken,” Caitlin said. “But I can’t tell you how it happened since I had an early class. But I have a theory.” She smiled. “Allison can’t remember breaking clocks, and Felix can’t remember eating pizza, drinking beers, or carrying skis for miles.”

“So you think it’s like a weird disease that only afflicts Oregonians?” Harper asked Caitlin, her expression playfully severe.

“Watch your step,” Lucas warned them. “You Californians are vastly outnumbered here.”

“And exactly how many Minnesotans do you think go here?” Caitlin asked. “Just one. Maybe two if I count your ego.”

Lucas ran his hand over a flexed bicep. “It’s not the quantity, Little C, it’s the quality.”

“You’re completely mental,” Caitlin said dully. “What is it with you celebrities, anyway? You and Dirk Rathman should go to couples therapy.”

“Dirk?”
Lucas snorted. “Whatever. I don’t even think what he did at that restaurant even really happened. I mean, it happened, I just don’t think it
really
happened.”

“You think it was staged?” Allison asked.

“Absolutely,” Lucas replied. “I bet his agent choreographed the whole thing. It was a publicity stunt. His last movie sucked ass so he pretended to freak out to get some pub. Trust me. I know how these things work.”

“Of course you do.” Caitlin rolled her eyes dramatically. “Because you and Dirk are totally on the same level. Didn’t he beg you to co-star in his next movie? I can just picture the conversation.” She held an imaginary phone to her ear. “Hi. Is this Lucas Mayer?
The
Lucas Mayer from the critically acclaimed series
Summer Slumming
? It is? Oh my God! I can’t believe I’m actually talking to Lucas Mayer! This is like a dream come true. Do you mind if I conference in Spielberg? Will you please, please, please be in my next movie? I’ll give you anything you want. My private jet? Of course! My house in Hawaii? Of course! Whatever you want! Just please say yes. Please!”

“I never knew uptight vegetarian liberals could be so funny,” Lucas quipped. “But you’re the one who brought up Dirk. Not me. The only thing I have in common with him is our agent.”

“Really?” Felix asked. “You and Dirk have the same agent?” The coffee was working its magic. He loved coming here after dinner (tonight’s
dinner
was three protein bars and a jug of Gatorade which he consumed on his way here after a late running practice). The furniture was so ugly Felix thought people with serious drug problems must have designed it. But it was comfortable, and everything about the Caffeine Hut, even the deliberate air of bohemian chicness, was warm and inviting. The only thing he wasn’t crazy about was the vintage black-and-white photos plastered on the walls. The monochromes of the campus were cool, but most of the photos were of students (long dead students), and there was something about them that gave him the chills. He tried not to look at them.