The morning after the full moon, Quinn woke in the middle of the desert, stark-naked, with his teeth buried in the arm of what had been five-year-old boy.
His mind refused to comprehend what had happened. There was no way he could be clenching a severed limb. No way he could be baking under the sun, skin already red. No way, no way, no goddamned way . . .
But that smell! The copper and iron smell! He struggled into a sitting position, muscles groaning in protest. And the limb fell into his lap. Blood smeared his legs.
And his stomach rumbled.
He jolted to a stand, heart racing. An arm! Oh my god, it was really there! And . . .god . . . half a dozen feet away . . .
A head. The face would have been cherubic in life. But with the eyes widened in death, the mouth opened in an endless scream . . .
Quinn screamed and scrabbled back. His hand ran over something soft. He couldn't wrench his eyes away from what appeared to be a severed foot.
Tears poured down his cheeks. He curled into the fetal position. A minefield of body parts surrounded him. Too many to be just one child. But all rotting under the sun.
Hell, hell, what the hell happened here?
Why am I out here? What killed these kids? What happened last night?
And why can I . . .
He took a startled breath. He scents flooded his nose. God, he could smell everything. All the blood, the dirt, the sand, cacti, the gore, everything . . .
The whistle of wind. His heartbeat pounded through the desert, as loud as a drum beat. It was like his sense had been multiplied by a hundred. He clenched his fists. Even though fear spiked his body, he could feel the strength. Impossible.
Did he finally get a power? But what kind of power was this?
And what happened last night?
For a second, he instinctively flinched from the memories. But he had to know. He was in the middle of god-knows where, for christ's sake.
The moon is yellow. One of the prees points it out, her eyes bright. Quinn doesn't care, but he forces himself to smile. He's been feeling awful and angry all day, and with the sunset, the fury that has been hidden below his skin starts to mutate his emotions.
He forces himself to calm down. Jeez, was he a girl on her period?
Somehow, Mary drafted him into watching the Prees play soccer. He knows they should be heading back soon, but he doesn't feel like talking to anyone. So the kids scamper over the beach, kicking the ragged ball at each other.
And there's Lana! Loping down the beach.. The sight of her cheers him up considerably. She grins when she sees him, greets the kids that run up to her, and then walks to his side.
"You okay? You look kind of sick." She says, eyebrows raised in concern.
He shakes his head. "No. Just . . . tired." Or something.
She shoots him a look, but says nothing.
He'd like to be out on those waves, maybe just bringing in the day's catch. Lana with him, definitely. Or with Sam, surfing. Anywhere but watching the prees. The sand almost burns his feet, still soaked with the day's heat.
One of the prees kicks the soccer ball into the water. Even though he's pissed off for no particular reason, he still can't let them drown. He holds the little kid back and wades up to his knees.
The icy water sends violent shivers up his spine, and his legs go numb almost instantly. He lets out a groan, pushes his way through the waves after the ball, two dozen feet away. Salty water sloshes his hips.
His legs feel . . . weird. Like not his legs. Like they're way too big for his skinny waist. He grabs the ball, chucks it back at Lana. She doesn't catch it, just stares at him. Jeez, what's wrong with her-?
And then everything explodes into agony.
Quinn bent over, heaved his guts. It came back to him. All of it. Every single goddamned thing. The roar that had torn from his throat. The way his limbs had stretched, popped. His flesh had ripped and re-grown. He had chased the prey, the screaming children, and lunged and caught and killed and . . .
Most of all was the taste. It had been amazing. Better than the best steak or hamburger or rib or any meat of choice. It had been sweet and perfect raw . . .
He threw up again and again until there was nothing left in his stomach and he couldn't do anything except heave mucus and cry. No. No. No. No. There's no way, no goddamned way I did that. No. No. No.
But the evidence was all around him. Everywhere. Evidence that he'd killed six, maybe seven kids, and eaten them.
Whatever power he had – it wasn't a power. It was a goddamned curse.
Lana. Adrenaline spiked through him, and he leaped to his feat. Lana. No. Please tell me I didn't . . . He remembered her screams. He searched his memory, bile in his throat. But he hadn't tasted her sweet flesh . . .
Quinn slumped to the ground. It didn't matter, anyway. Because he was well and truly a monster. He'd always been afraid of the kids with powers. Even his friends when they'd gotten the weird abilities. But none of them were murderers like him. He had turned into an animal. He was a goddamned were- coyote. A filthy thing that didn't know anything but how to kill.
And hell, he'd killed . . .
It wasn't possible. But it was possible. It wasn't possible. But it had happened. He'd killed and he'd loved the taste of human child and now those prees were dead.
Two years ago, and the day of the huge battle with the Coates kids, just a few days after the FAYZ; when he'd been scared stiff and the coyotes had killed the prees?
That was nothing compared to what he'd done. He hadn't let them die. He'd killed themselves.
I'm a monster.
Somehow, he staggered to his feet. Shuffled under the burning sun. Towards where, he didn't know. He followed his scent. Scent of the blood. Scent of the monster.
A mile. Sand clogged his throat.
Two miles. Tears stained his eyes, and dust sealed them halfway close.
Three miles. His world was enveloped in feverish heat.
And on and on and on. Being a monster must have given him endurance. Because although exhaustion made his head spin, he kept going. Somehow.
He found the beach. Half a mile from town. Near the water's edge were the torn remnants of his clothes. His jeans were in decent shape. Fingers shaking, he slipped them on, winced as denim grazed sun burnt skin.
The knowledge of what he'd done ate at him. But he kept walking. Somehow.
Into Perdido Beach. No one. Somehow, he knew where everyone was. His footsteps echoed among the hollow city streets. His feet traced the path they knew so goddamned well. And he made his way towards City Hall.
He heard the hundreds of heartbeats before he even turned the corner. All voices quiet. For once. Except for Sam's. Sam was talking.
". . . Olivia Smith and Miguel Hernandez-"
A girl cried out. "Not Miguel! Oh, god, not Miguel!"
Sam's voice was thick. "Henrietta Williams, Ian Chan-"
The names sounded familiar. Quinn realized who they were without a jolt. Oh, no. Oh, no. It was the names of the kids Quinn had been watching last night.
No. No. No.
"Lana, you got anything to say?"
Quinn's heart gave a jolt. But his feet kept moving, carrying him forward. It was the only thing he knew how to do. Go back and hope for the best. Even though in this case, the best-case-scenario would be a quick death.
"No," Lana whispered.
Quinn turned the corner. City hall, two dozen feet away. The door closed. He heard the voices, clear as day.
And still he kept moving forward.
"I guess we have to figure out what to do," Sam said.
Shouts. Yells. Screams of rage. "Kill him!" "Get Caine to do it!" "No, Sam!" "Have Dekka slam him to the ground!" "Have Hunter fry him!"
This was what they wanted to do with him. They wanted to kill him for what he'd done. Frankly, he wanted to die for what he'd done.
You don't have to keep going forward, you know.
You can just turn back.
Run away.
But Quinn didn't know how to do anything except go back. And he opened the door, fists clenched. It took a few seconds, but the kids by the door saw him. Scrambled back, screaming. And there was more than one cry of "Monster!"
They made a sort of alley as they pulled away from him. Pulled away from the monster. The alley led up to the stage-like part of City Hall. To Sam. Caine. Mary. Astrid. Lana.
Lana.
He saw the horror and revulsion in her eyes. And it was almost enough to convince him to turn back. But something kept him going forward. What?
Maybe it was the fact that he didn't have anything else to do. He didn't expect Sam to spare him. He just . . . didn't know what to do.
Maybe he sort of wanted to die, yeah.
He stopped half a dozen feet before Sam. His friend looked down on him, something unfathomable in his eyes.
"What happened, man?" Sam said softly.
And then Quinn couldn't hold it in any longer. For the second time that day, he started to cry. Sobs in front of all of Perdido beach. "I don't know, Brah, I don't know. I just –"
"Turned into a monster coyote," Sam said. He had his leader voice on. The harsh voice. The voice that made kids flinch.
"I don't know," Quinn whispered. "I don't know why. Is it a power or what-?"
Sam's face contorted. For a moment, Quinn saw a flash of his confusion and anger and fear and horror. "Whatever it is, you killed a lot of kids."
"I couldn't control myself," Quinn said. He couldn't meet Lana's eyes. "I just . . . lost it. I don't know what happened."
"I don't know what to do," Sam said, closed his eyes.
"I know what to do," Caine said, his voice harsh and cold. He stepped up next to Sam, hands raised. And then Quinn was flying through the air, and unseen force propelling him. He slammed into the wall, broke wood. The breath flew from him. Ribs crunched cracked. Pain radiated through him and he hit the floor, skull cracking.
I'm going to die.
But he shouldn't even be conscious. Should be dead. His body was on fire with agony.
The piece of skull that had wedged in his brain flew from his scalp and buried itself in the wall half a dozen feet away. His ribs started to rip back together. Quinn let out a groan and shivered as the bones healed underneath his skin. And twenty seconds later, he stood up, no worse for wear.
Caine glared. "What the hell-" He gritted his teeth, raised his hands again.
"Caine, cool it!" Sam said.
"He's a monster!" Caine yelled. "We've gotta get rid of him, somehow!"
"I'm not a-" Quinn whispered. But he was. He was a monster, a murderer.
"Yes you are," A female voice whispered. Lana. No. "You're a monster. Monster. You killed all those children. Bastard!" Her dark eyes were huge. "Bastard! You goddamn monster! You goddamn fucking coyote!"
She hated him so damn much. He could see it in her eyes.
Quinn turned and ran.