Red Moon Rising

10. runners

"Wherever it is you're going."

"We'll see the Grand Canyon next."

"And then Albuquerque? I want to visit hot springs."

"What about Florida? We could go to the Everglades too—I've always thought alligators were pretty cool."

"Then we need to go to the coast, too. Key West?"

I'm glad that neither of us mentions the $800 we managed to scrounge between the two of us. Grand Marais is a stretch as it is, and I know before long we'll be living out of our car unless we can get very, very lucky. But it's nice to dream with Cam, and so I spout off every place, animal, and land formation I've ever though looked remotely interesting, and we make a plan to visit each one.

When we finally reach Grand Marais, I'm surprised at how small it actually is. In some ways, it doesn't look much different from Rust Cove—there are buildings crowded near each other, and wide grass spaces with benches. But there are cars everywhere, lining every street, and sidewalks along every road as well. The town is still quiet—it's a tourist town more than anything—but still there's a trickle of families walking to restaurants with flickering neon signs promising hot breakfast and coffee. I'm suddenly hit with the sickening realization that everything I've just observed, everything that I know about this place, has been told to me second-hand or learned through the internet. I've only ever traded money for goods on a few occasions as part of pack business, and my dad has always been with me. It just hasn't been my responsibility. I don't know how much anything costs, or how much to ask to be paid for work, or even where to find work that I can do. I don't have a skillset designed for capitalism—all I've ever known is farming, some pack management, and running.

"Just let me guide, it'll be okay." Cameron's voice grounds me, and I look up to find him watching the way I warily scan our surroundings.

"I know nothing about this place."

"I know. We'll figure it out, don't worry." How many times has Cam had to tell me not to worry in the past 24 hours? At least he's been off-territory plenty of times. He knows how to drive and how to trade with money. And most importantly, he knows how to talk to these people. "Are you hungry?"

I should be hungry, but my stomach feels full with nervousness. Cam pulls up alongside a 24-hour diner and he has this goofy grin on his face as he opens the door.

"Kind of like a first date, right?"

"Don't be stupid. Cam, I think this is a bad idea."

He leans across the hood of the car and his face softens. "No one knows what we are but us. And it's not like they're going to shoot us outright if they find out—we only deal with the people who hate us, but most folks couldn't care less as long as we don't interrupt their day."

"I don't know..."

"If we're going to do this, we're going to have to get comfortable being in public. This is a good place to start."

I let him lead me into the diner, and I watch his face to try to mimic some of his own easy calm. He's charming when he speaks to the waitress, but I find that my mouth is dry when she asks me how my morning has been.

"It's good," Cam answers for me. "We've been good."

I don't like feeling out of my element. Nothing here is predictable or controllable, and any moment now I expect someone in an NHA hat to turn around in the booth behind me and tell me I know what you are. But maybe Cam is right—maybe I've gotten so used to the darkest parts of humanity that I forgot there was anything else. Jackson, at least, seemed to expect a certain goodness from people that I can't begin to fathom. I shake the thought of him away and wrap my hands around my coffee mug until it burns.

We have our own farm in Rust Cove, most of which I oversee. There's an extensive vegetable garden, a couple fields of corn, wheat, and buckwheat, and even a drowned patch for rice and cranberries. We have enough cattle and chickens to supply meat, dairy, and eggs for the entire pack, and so for the most part we only have to trade off-territory for speciality foods like coffee and spices and in times when production can't keep up with our numbers. Because of this, we eat simply—when you know how much work it takes to make a cup of flour, you're damn careful with how you use that cup of flour. So when Cam orders for me and a steaming hot waffle piled with strawberries, whipped cream, and chocolate chips is set before me, all I can really do is stare at it in wonder.

"Do you eat like this every time you leave the territory?" I bite my lips at the realization that I mentioned Rust Cove out loud.

"Yes," he says without hesitation. "Careful though, your stomach will hurt if you eat all of it."

It's difficult to heed his words when I take a bite of the fluffy, powerfully sweet food that definitely shouldn't count as breakfast. I've never had to have self control with this kind of thing, and it's not easy to come by it now. How much will this food even cost? What if, because we've spent money on something extravagant like this, we'll have to go hungry on a different night?

"Don't worry, Layla," he says again, and I sit back in the padded booth and stare at the remnants of the waffle.

"One of us needs to worry."

"I know someone like us who lives a few towns over. I think he could get me a job where he works. This isn't a clean slate, I promise."

"What am I supposed to do? I'm...useless out here."

"You'll get used to it, I promise. You are better equipped to to handle this than you realize."

"You say that, but..."

"Layla, look at me." He takes my hands in his and smiles until I have no choice but to return the look. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then just lean in. It's going to be hard, and weird, but we have each other. Let's just have fun with the weirdness until it doesn't feel so strange anymore."

"Nothing about this is fun."

"No?" He grins and takes a bit out of the waffle. "Fine, I accept that challenge."

"Cam..."

"I'm going to get you to have fun, one way or another."

I watch him pay for our meal, quietly taking notes on the proper things to say and when to say them, and I wonder if the waitress notices me watching her as she moves around the room to different customers. There is something of a script that she follows with each table, a few different pleasantries exchanged about the weather or weekend plans or what her favorite food on the menu is.

"I could do this," I say quietly. "If I watched for awhile."

"They would train you on what to do. People start jobs all the time without having any experience."

"Yeah?"

"I think you'd be good at it, actually. As long as none of your customers wore the wrong hat."

I roll my eyes and elbow him as we leave the diner, and although I feel a certain relief at a potential job option, it's nothing in comparison to the feeling of being alone in the car again. Grand Marais is small, and it doesn't take long to tour through the rest of it. We drive past the tiny precinct where Tom is probably having morning coffee, having already forgotten the string of traps at Rust Cove. There are too many thoughts that surface all at once—who is going to run with Tyler during the next full moon? What if there are more traps? Who is going to manage next year's planting without me? But I lace my fingers with Cameron's and lean my head back against the headrest, and with a sickening feeling like being caught in a lie, I decide it isn't for me to worry about anymore. 

XX

When I was writing this chapter, the first song I thought of was Bad Moon Rising – the song at the beginning of the chapter. It's just kind of too perfect for their leave-taking.