Disclaimer: Characters not mine. I just like them.
Chapter 3 - Wherefore and Why
A gunshot woke him next. It wasn't in his immediate vicinity, but it was too damn close to be dismissed. He came violently awake, confused and disoriented. He slammed his skull on the top of the wooden crate he was in. He tried to curse but growled instead. He shook his head, and sat on his haunches as he tried to get his bearings. He was outside, he could smell that... His memory of how he'd gotten there was hazy. He vaguely recalled the well, Hunter, and the spell that was cast. His entire body ached from the drugs in his system. He could feel that tranquillizer-induced cloud over his mind. It was similar to being on some of the major painkillers he'd had to take for injuries in the past, or the after effects of some of the spells he'd worked. Mercifully the tendons in his legs had healed, but they were stiff and sore.
He settled back on his belly. He recalled the conversations between the two strangers. The phrases 'trophy for someone else' and 'it's all about who pays more' returned to him. Mark knew enough about hunting to know about people who would pay large amounts of money to shoot big game for a guaranteed trophy. Fucking disgusting it was. Now apparently, his fate was to have his skin decorate someone's hunting lodge floor. They'd have a hell of a time killing him though. The only thing that could really damage him was silver shot. It didn't mean other bullets didn't hurt or wound him; it would just take a lot of them to kill him. He banked on them not knowing the particulars of what kind of wolf he was. Hunter would have made sure that information wasn't passed along in order to cover his tracks. If he had any sense at all that was.
He heard someone approach the crate. It didn't have windows, merely air holes. Mark could have easily burst from with enough force used, but he played possum for a time. From the sounds and smells of it, there were other animals in crates around him, and it was feeding time. "You should be able to open that one, Vicki." Said a male voice. "He should still be passed out from the travel tranq they gave him." Mark smelled a female outside the crate, and heard the sound of a key in a padlock. He kept his eyes half closed, his head down, feigning sleep.
The door opened and Mark saw a girl that couldn't have been a day over fifteen. She had dark hair in a ponytail. Not the kind of person Mark wanted to threaten physical violence upon. Still, it might be his only chance. In a single motion he was up, past the girl, and out of the crate. They hadn't taken a werewolf's metabolism into that tranq dosage. He was groggy, but still had plenty in him to make a fair attempt at escape.
"Dad!" The girl shouted. Mark snarled, but not at her, rather at the man with the shotgun in his hand. Evidently he was prepared for this sort of thing. Mark was in a chain link yard, complete with a roof that had a camouflaged cover over it as to not be visible from the air. The girl was backing away from him slowly, and that was fine with Mark.
He looked for the closest corner in the fence. He ran for it, using all fours on instinct. He hadn't really used this form before, not knowing what to do with it. Now though, he made it run, and then go careening into the fence. The metal ties that held fence to post gave and he was through. So too though, was the man with the shotgun, hot on his heels. Mark looked around wildly, and saw woods but they were acres away. He could see the body of a freshly killed cougar with men standing around it taking pictures. It was the shooting range.
The other option was the road, which he could see through sparse bush to the west of the property. He made the decision that his captor would be a lot less likely to fire a gun off on a roadway. The sudden activity had kicked up the noises of various exotic animals and the man's pack of hounds.
All manner of howls, barks and roars filled Mark's ears. Looking over, he saw Vicki had exited the complex and was headed to the pen that held the hounds. They were sleek well-bred foxhounds. They were also fast and tough as nails. Mark made it to road. It was paved, but Mark couldn't smell any recent traffic, so it had to be fairly isolated. The trees that separated the complex from the road weren't nearly thick enough to seek refuge in.
A quick look behind him showed the hounds spilling from their pen, nearly two dozen strong. The road ran south to north. Mark chose south seeing that the start of thick forest to be much closer. Mark bounded forward, his strides eating up ground. He then had to slow to skitter across the pavement to get to the other side. That was when he heard the shotgun blast.
The effect sent him tumbling down into the ditch. He splashed in the foul smelling water. He'd been hit in the side. It was deep, but he wasn't feeling any pain yet. He hiked up the side of the ditch and saw that the dogs were almost upon him. He knew he couldn't outrun them like this. They were bred to run all day and night, and on to their death if allowed. He made the choice and hoped that they were little used to fighting.
He stood his ground, his hackles raised, and growling as loudly as he could. The hounds were put off by their quarry stopping the chase so soon. Still, the brave ones bared their teeth and went for his throat. Mark bowled over the first wave of them. He made good and sure that any attack using his teeth was fatal. He'd read stories in old texts of dogs being turned werewolf. He had no idea if it was true, but he wasn't going to be responsible for it happening.
The wolf in him rose up and took over in order to spare him the detailed memory of tearing out throats and shaking necks so violently that they snapped. He didn't know how long he fought, merely noticed when the wall of hounds started to thin out. He wasn't bleeding nearly as bad as he anticipated. His thick fur had kept many teeth from penetrating his skin.
Many of the animals had chosen discretion as the better part of valour, and made a break for it. Still, Mark had no time to concentrate on the man, and wasn't aware of his approach until he heard the shotgun cocking. His sides were heaving with his breath, and he raised his eyes to the man with the gun. "It's too bad. I spent a lot of money on you." He said and Mark lunged for him at the same moment that he pulled the trigger. The firearm went off, causing great amounts of pain in Mark's all too sensitive ears.
However, his gambol paid off and it fired into the air and not hitting either of them. They tussled around on the ground. Mark eventually seized the hot barrel of the gun in his jaws and flung it away with a twist of his neck, severely burning his mouth in the process. It landed in the ditch water, and Mark figured that the spirits were smiling on him for the moment.
The man, now relieved of his weapon tried to scramble away and Mark, still not completely thinking like a human, stalked him. He bared his teeth and snapped his jaws, making the pain in his mouth worse and him angrier. He didn't care that this was a human being in front of him. He just wanted escape with no fear of being followed. He would have killed the man, had he not heard her cry out first. "Dad!" Vicki screamed. She was running headlong towards them, a rifle in her arms. Something about how this girl was being raised made Mark figure she knew how to use it. He backed off and just glared at the man, mouth closed, and hackles down. He forced him, in a way, to look at what he did for a living. Maybe an old psychic ability flared up, because the man's expression changed. His fear and anger turned to curiosity and awe. He seemed to realize that he was looking at no ordinary wolf. Boldly, brazenly, he reached out to Mark. Mark would give him no such satisfaction and turned.
The girl must have seen this as a threatening motion, and had the rifle raised and fired as soon as Mark was just clear from her father. The second bullet didn't put Mark on the ground, merely spurred him into a run. He wasn't even sure where he'd been hit, just that he had been. He put paws to pavement, and ran as fast as he could south. He jumped the ditch in a single bound, and made for the trees. Behind him he heard the gun being readied to fire again, when the man's voice interrupted. "No Vicki! Stop! Let him go."
That didn't slow Mark's pace any. The forest seemed to open and swallow him as he went through the tree line. Once under the canopy, he continued to run, just wanting as much space between that place and himself as possible. The trees parted like water before him. His instinct seemed to know where to carry him, and where to place his feet so he didn't stumble. The woods became a second skin in an instant. He ran until the sun started to go down. He wasn't sure how far he'd come, but he was fairly assured that he wasn't being followed. He slowed to a lope and then a trot. He was exhausted, hungry and thirsty. He was also starting to feel the pain of the bullets that were lodged in him.
The second shot was in his flank, and it was agony to move his right hind leg. The other bullet wound in his left side only hurt when he had to do pesky things like breathing. He realized his priority was water. He was dehydrated from his long time spent sedated and his marathon. He raised his nose and smelled for water. Mercifully, he did detect it. He stopped only momentarily to listen for it as well. He could hear it, water over rocks, not too far away, and to the west. He trotted in the direction of the sunset and tried to ignore the pain he was in.
As he got closer to the water, he also caught the smell of people. He slowed down and chose stealth. He needed clean water and that was all. He had to risk it. Mercifully it didn't smell like a city or town. He picked up the smell of animals, mostly of horses, but it didn't smell like a farm either. He could detect wood smoke and someone was cooking. A camp perhaps?
Yes, that's what it was. Trailers became visible across the river. Mark slunk through the underbrush, assessing the situation. The pain was causing him to have to pause every few steps now. There were also two low slung barns; one had a wooden fence made into a pasture behind it. The other had reinforced chain link runs on either side. Mark was nervous of that. There was a house that was close to a gravel road. It didn't look like it was used much. The windows needed paint and the porch was decaying. There was also a tall driving shed, which looked to be the most well kept of the structures. Somewhere a dog barked. He retreated into the woods and watched. He was down wind, and hoped that was enough to avoid detection. He then caught the scent of animals he'd never smelled before. He was just wondering what it was, when it was revealed to him. An Asian elephant made its way out of the driving shed, followed by two others.
Mark went wide-eyed, trying to get a handle on what he was seeing. Looking around at the trailers, he saw that many of them were decorated in what would have been bright colours, had be he been able to see colour. It was a fucking circus. Literally. He shook his head, his pain forgotten for a moment, and sat on his haunches. The elephants came down to the river, it was deep and fairly clear. The mud was only stirred up when the huge animals walked into it for a bath. How Mark longed to do what they were doing. His burnt mouth was parched and he wanted the cold water to run over his open wounds to clean and numb them. He made himself wait though. He forced himself to. He waited until dark and the camp had calmed for the night. He couldn't go any farther realistically. Even a few miles in either direction was out of the question. Besides, who knew what lay up or down stream from this place?
He picked his way down to bank to the water's edge, glad for his dark fur. His legs had had the time to stiffen up on him, and he stumbled more then once. His right hind leg was now dragging behind him, pretty much immobile. He didn't care. He was fevered and pretty much crazy from thirst. The first few mouthfuls were worth his lack of discretion to him. He drank, and then lay on the pebbled bank to let the water pass over him. It felt so good that he let himself doze and then fell asleep.