Next, we head over to the silos, where we find yet more evidence that rogues were living here, though not anymore. Behind one an orange pop-up tent still stands, flapping in the breeze. I glance inside and there’s nothing in there except a pair of children’s shoes, left behind.
“There’s no one here,” I say.
Omar lifts his head suddenly, nodding to the building where Aisha and Jasper and I fought off the rogues and escaped. “In there.”
I sniff at the breeze and realize what he’s talking about. The scent of a rogue is wafting toward us, subtle but still there. “He must be blocking me from sensing him,” I say.
Slowly now, we make our way inside, through the gaping roller door where Walter once parked his shining black town car.
It looks startlingly the same: a metal balcony running around the second floor, the hard concrete floor, even the desk and chair. Omar moves to the middle of the room looking as uncomfortable as I feel. Even though they left almost two years ago now, there is still a weird energy left over from the rebel rogues.
“There,” Omar says, pointing to a corner where a metal grill sits at an odd angle. It should be flush to the wall, some sort of ventilation shaft perhaps.
Stepping quietly, we wander over. I lean down to peer through the gaps in the grill. Sunlight shines brightly from theother end of a shaft, but it’s obscured by what appears to be a pile of old rags.
Then suddenly the rags move, and I realize what they are.
A rogue wolf.
Crazed and incensed, he comes at us. His fur is matted to his body, patches of mange are slick and glisten in the low light. His eyes glow yellow. Before we can back away, he snaps at the grill, exploding from it, coming right for us.
AN OLD FRIEND
The wild rogue bursts from the ventilation tunnel, the grill clattering to the floor. Omar and I jump back.
“Watch out!” he calls, but it’s no use.
I’m right in the path of the rogue. His heavy paws land with a thud on my shoulders, the claws managing to dig in enough for me to cry out in pain. He barrels forward, knocking me over. Luckily, inertia is my friend, and the momentum carries him forward, flipping him over me and sending him rolling onto the concrete floor behind.
I struggle to my feet as Omar steps in front of me, placing an arm across my chest to hold me back, or maybe as a barrier between the rogue and me. Snarling, the mangy wolf gets to his feet. But he’s struggling.
Who’s to say how long he’s been cooped up in that tunnel? Maybe his limbs need a second to wake up. Or maybe, he’s weak. He’s clearly malnourished. His ribs are visible through the gaps in his patchy fur. His stomach and waist are dramatically thinner than his chest. His cheeks are hollow. Perhaps it’s his hunger that’s making saliva drip in long, viscous strands from his pulled-back lips.
He growls at us, snapping his lips.
“Stay back,” Omar commands, and I notice the fur sprouting on the back of his neck, the claws growing from the beds of his fingernails. He’s about to shift to fight this creature.
The rogue lunges but we dodge him. He’s not so fast now that he doesn’t have the benefit of surprise. One of his back legsseems to dangle at a weird angle and he struggles to put weight on it.
“He’s injured,” I say, eliciting a bark and a yelp from the creature. If he wasn’t threatening to pull our flesh off the bone with his still-sharp fangs I’d almost feel sorry for him. “He’s in pain.”
Omar steps forward with a hand out flat, trying to calm the beast.
“Hey,” he says. “It’s okay—” His back straightens, and he leans forward, sniffing, scenting something about this wolf. “Malachi?”
The rogue snarls and shakes his head like he has water in his ears.
“I think that’s Malachi,” Omar says to me, then he turns back to the rogue. “Hey man, you remember me? It’s Omar. Remember?”
He growls again, snapping but also backing up a few steps. Even though he clearly wants to hurt us, part of him is also reticent, or maybe scared.
Omar takes another step forward. “We’re here to help. Just calm down, okay pal?”
Malachi backs up further, growling and barking.
“Can you do something?” Omar asks, looking at me with desperate eyes. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t freak and do something stupid.”
I nod and Omar takes another step forward, putting his full body between me and Malachi. With a quick breath, I pull my shoulders back and close my eyes. I open my mind and look for Malachi’s consciousness, his thread. Once located I pull it toward myself and enter his mind.
