Hey, it's a new chapter! Danny interacts with the Militia.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o –

Chapter three: Like A Bullet From A Gun

Danny lay in the bed of the wagon, curled up on his side. He could barely recall last night, although there had definitely been running involved. A lot of running. That was what stuck in his mind the most—it was even more exhilarating than Charlie had described to him when they were younger. (That had been when they'd actually listened to their parents, in an attempt to keep Danny from dying of an asthma attack.) If he could ever recapture that feeling, Danny would have gone through with it in a heartbeat.

As it was, his lungs were killing him. He could remember bits and pieces around dawn that morning. Danny decided they were a result of oxygen deprivation. After all, there was no way Captain Neville would have had anything approaching real human concern for him. The man was more interested in getting him back to General Monroe's base than how he was feeling.

Although, he added with a bitter mental laugh, he did make sure you got medicine for the asthma attack. Albeit with the inhaler he stole from you back at Grace's place… What the hell was an inhaler, anyways?

The only thing Danny knew for sure about inhalers, though, was that it tasted about a million times better than the Jimson Weed extract…thing Maggie made him drink. He'd been using it since he was ten, and it was still nastier than cough syrup. (At least Maggie's cough syrup knocked him right out so he didn't have to deal with the taste.)

The teenager sighed, curling up into a ball. Maybe if he fell asleep, he could remember the dream he'd had about being a wolf…

- o – o -

Captain Neville was not a patient man at the best of times. He'd been short tempered for years, or so he'd been told. The only two people in the world it didn't phase were his wife, Julia, and his commanding officer, General Monroe. He had his suspicions that Monroe only tolerated his outbursts because of their first meeting and the fact that he, Neville, was more loyal to Monroe than anyone else.

The Militia captain sighed and shot a look back at the teenager lying in the wagon, seemingly asleep. If anyone had told him yesterday that he'd be worried about the boy's health, he'd have laughed himself sick. Unfortunately, there were a few pressing matters on his mind.

The primary one: He had one hell of a soft spot for injured werewolves.

Neville grimaced at the thought. Shortly after he'd met Monroe, he'd learned just what the horrible black burns were. After that, he'd had his wedding ring recast with gold plating. It had taken a good chunk out of his first pay stub, but he was damned if he was going to be the one who accidentally killed the boss. It turned out to be a decent move. Julia had forgiven him, eventually. (The dress and shoes had helped, although the shoes had come too late for their son.)

But that was in the past, he reminded himself. The captain pulled his horse around and trotted back so he could ride next to the wagon for a few minutes. His sergeant merely rolled his eyes and filled in the gap at the head of the column. Neville appreciated the man's tact.

Danny Matheson was curled in the wagon bed, one arm over his face to block out the light. Considering that he'd spent most of the night running around like a maniac, though, Neville couldn't blame him for sleeping. (Although in eight hours, the boy should have been able to clear ten miles, even with the asthma. The shock had probably gotten to him before he'd thought about running away.)

"How's your head, son?" Neville asked. Danny made a muffled noise that was probably something obscene. Neville had to bite his lip to keep a smile from appearing. Julia was like that most mornings. Their son, who'd taken after her, was almost exactly the same way.

"Go 'way," Danny grumbled finally, blinking owlishly up at Neville. "There was a wonderful dream you just ruined. There were rocks involved. You got crushed." Neville sighed, drawing on years of patience to keep his temper in check. At least the boy was honest.

"Have fun last night?" Neville asked instead, tone mild. How much did Danny actually remember, he wondered, about being a wolf? And, more importantly, was this his first shift? The captain prayed it was, because he didn't want to deal with a werewolf with seventeen years of experience. Not one of the Matheson brood, who'd had Rachel Matheson as a mother, anyways.

"You mean aside from the asthma attack and being able to run?" Danny replied. "Not much. My head hurts." With that, he rolled onto his other side and proceeded to ignore Neville.

Captain Neville sighed and rode back to the head of the column. He didn't notice Richards conversing with some of the more astute—and violent—members of the company.

- o – o -

Richards looked at the teenager in the wagon, mind working furiously. He and several of his other friends in the company had been playing cards last night. It hadn't been regulation, or even allowed, so they hadn't had lamps on and had played by the light of the moon. Richards knew he wasn't the only one who'd seen the bastard shape-shift. (His sister, if she'd still been alive, would have gone nuts over Matheson. Some strange love affair with a stupid book she read, or something…)

The only question was, how were they going to deal with a werewolf? Templeton had been everyone's best friend. Most of the company liked gambling with him, because he never cheated and always had a good sense of humor, whether he won or lost a hand. Templeton had also been their big-brother and mentor, and had the best food to share when they were at base. Big Carol, his wife, had made sure their diets were well-balanced, hot or cold depending on the weather, and—best of all—varied from whatever they would have eaten at the mess hall.

So, it was an understatement to say that they were unhappy about Templeton's death.

"All I'm saying," Richards said in an undertone as soon as Captain Neville had returned to the head of the column, "is that we've got some serious problems. You know what you saw," he added. "That kid's a werewolf. What the fuck are we supposed to do about that? …Carol's going to kill us for this."

"Jake, just shut up," Rickard muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "If the captain finds out that we know about this…situation, we're going to get in trouble. You know his opinion on gambling."

"Well, we can always pray that he'll be more lenient when he finds out that we're going to make sure the werewolf can't run away…" Richards replied. He really didn't want to admit, especially not to his friends, that he was terrified of the teen they were holding prisoner. His throat still hurt, for one thing. For another, silver was pretty hard to come by, if the kid decided to take revenge one full moon. (Hopefully that story was true, because it meant they'd have a month to prepare defenses.)

"I hope so," Rickard replied. The rest of the men in hearing range nodded in agreement. Rickard's mate, Greene, though, was looking thoughtful. Richards shot him a look of loathing as the man quickened his pace until he was walking just behind the wagon. Greene was soon talking quietly with Matheson, too low for anyone to hear.

Traitor, Richards thought darkly.

- o – o -

Danny looked up as a shadow fell over his face. One of the Militia soldiers was walking behind the wagon, studying him like he was a particularly interesting insect or a side of meat. He felt his stomach clench nervously. He knew he wasn't at as much risk as Charlie would have been, but he'd heard stories about what the Militia did to prisoners…. (Alright, maybe those were just scare tactics to prevent kids from wandering out of the village, but still…)

"How's your head?" the man asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice. Danny shrugged, feeling a little perplexed. "Gave everyone a bit of a scare, last night," the man continued, voice low. "Richards nearly shit himself when you snapped those chains open." He laughed, a low bark-like noise. "Captain Neville's going to have my head for this…"

"Let's hope," Danny mumbled into his arm. The soldier shot him an amused, if somewhat exasperated look.

"You are so much like your uncle, it's not even funny," the man replied. "Werewolves have always gotten on my nerves, but him… Miles Matheson was the worst. Real A-type personality, you know? Got along well with that bitch, Rachel, though."

Danny stared at the soldier. This was the most anyone had spoken to him in the past few weeks… Well, not without a beating as a follow-up, anyways. His ribs still hurt from that; not as much, but… Well, it hurt.

"Let's hope you don't fall into that trap around our wolf," the man added, falling back. "He'll eat you alive."

Danny had to wonder what that meant. He sat up and shot a look at the head of the column. Over the sound of the wheels, he could just barely make out what Neville was saying. The teenager hid a smirk at what he heard. Hopefully the man was developing an ulcer.

With that thought, he stared off into the distance, wondering what it would be like to run over the plains as a wolf.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Wondering if Danny's going to remember being a wolf? Drop a line and let me know!

Edit, 10/26/2012: Some dialogue has been changed to reflect information from episode five, in regards to Captain Neville's son.