X-Team Three

Part Sixteen-(Lawson) The Pup

Oh my God...

All we can do is stand on the edge of the damage area and stare, stunned and horrified. I've been alive for centuries, and in all that time, I've never seen anything like this. I don't think my worst nightmares could encompass anything of this magnitude.

The werewolf carcasses are perfectly preserved in the exact spots that they perished in. Each carcass is surrounded by a large circle of scorched earth, the grass and plants charred and blackened yet still standing. The carcasses themselves aren't burned at all, however.

Was it...lightning? Tanga asks as she takes a couple steps forward into the clearing.

I want to answer her but find that I'm too shocked to speak. An entire pack-murdered where they stood. There were at least twenty, now down to one-a seven year old pup who's still out there somewhere. A pup who somehow managed to escape.

This doesn't look natural at all. Trace states. He enters the clearing and begins lumbering between the bodies, sniffing each one as he passes. How did the feds even find out about this?

If I were in human form right now, I'd be in tears. But as a wolf, all I can do is howl. So I do. I raise my head and howl loud enough that I know it would sound unnatural to human ears, but I don't care. There aren't many werewolves in the world as it is. This was enough to put a dent in the population. I just hope their deaths were quick and painless.

Tanga turns around and rubs up against me like a cat, the only way she can physically comfort while in tiger form. Trace reaches the middle of the clearing, sits down, and bows his head. They aren't wolves and don't understand the pack mentality, but they can sense through our mental connection how it is.

God, Lawson, I'm so sorry. Tanga says, rubbing her head against my shoulder.

Why? I ask quietly, my eyes sweeping across the area. Why would anyone do something like this?

So you're thinking it wasn't Mother Nature? Trace asks, looking back up at me.

I get up and walk toward the center of the area, trying to find some sort of pattern or clue or anything to lead me in the direction of Mother Nature, but it all points to something else entirely. I don't know what, but I've got to find out. Whatever this is can't happen again.

I head toward the edge of the clearing and step behind a tree, shifting back into human form. I get dressed and head back out. Seeing it all through human eyes dumbs it all down. Now it just looks like some strange forest fire. No wonder the feds thought it was a natural disaster. Like Trace said, lightning. One large strike right in the middle of the pack. If I didn't know better, I'd think it struck and branched out, hitting each member and killing them where they stood.

I kneel down next to the closest carcass, an adult female, and run my hand through her fur. It's as soft and plush as if she were still alive. I check out her paws, all intact. Her head, fine. If this were lightning, each werewolf would have a burn or two somewhere. Their fur would be fried. Something would be off. But they look like they died of natural causes. No injuries, no signs of illness. It just makes no sense.

In human form, I can't speak to Trace and Tanga through the mental connection, but by the way they're looking at each other, I can tell they're discussing something. And it's getting heated. Tanga's beginning to circle Trace, her ears flattening against her head. I sigh despondently and stand up.

"Knock it off, you two. Now's not the time for this," I say.

Tanga looks at me, narrows her eyes, and growls. Then she prances off into the forest, undoubtedly to shift. When she returns, she gives Trace an irritated scowl and approaches me.