Page 52 of Red

Each time we leave, she picks up the same gun, making my heart jump.

We head to a wide opening in the buildings and voices travel toward us. Specks of ash float high above the trailers, glowing against the night sky. There’s a group of ten people, all men, some sitting and others standing. Gretch and I take seats on stumps a few feet away from the fires coals.

“You must be Aly,” a short man to my left says, taking a seat. Good to know word travels fast. This place can’t be too big.

“That’s me. And you are . . . ?”

“Mike. Welcome to the Uprising.”

A few others give supportive hoots.

I force a smile at the excitement. “Yeah, thanks. Not sure how useful I’ll be.”

“We’ll get you there in no time.” The light of the fire reflects off the side of his clean-shaven face. He’s got a hat on over his ears and gloves like a lot of the others. “Who’s got a story tonight?” Mike asks the group.

A few step closer and take the remaining seats.

“That would be me.”

I turn to see a man step into the glow—the “boss” from last night. He gives me a look and winks.

I look back toward Gretch. “Who’s that?”

She leans toward me. “Tripp, Hudson’s second-in-command.”

“Not on patrol tonight, sir?” Mike asks.

“I’ll be going back after midnight.”

“Need our number-one shooter out there.” Another man claps Tripp on the back.

Tripp takes a seat right across from me and stares through the fire. I bite my bottom lip and look off to the side. When I look back, Tripp’s eyes bore into mine, and I raise my eyebrows to look intrigued. I can play this game.

“Let’s hear it,” Mike says.

“All right.” Tripp rubs his hands together. “This one is more of a myth than a story, but even more haunting. We know there are different colors of werewolves out there—various browns, blacks, some mixes. But there’s another that comes from the depths of hell and fire. It can kill humans from a distance with the powerful ability to penetrate your own thoughts and demand you take your own life. This werewolf could make you walk into this fire and stand there as it burns you into the ashes. It has no remorse for death, being immortal itself. And that’s why it’s a legend.”

They look terrified—except Tripp, whose cheeks rise as he smiles at the response.

“One day, a young man got lost in the woods and came across this wolf. He was starving and in need of a shower. The werewolf, with no value for human life, played a game with him, making him step closer and closer to the edge of a cliff, until his own mind made him step one more time. It wasn’t his mind making him act. He didn’t know his thoughts were no longer his own. The poor young man’s scream was drowned out by the werewolf’s howl.”

A few of them let out mimics of howls.

I shudder and close my eyes.

“Monsters,” Mike says, tossing something into the flame.

“What color was it?” asked Gretch.

The rest nod, agreeing, waiting for the response.

“Red,” Tripp answers voice lower than before.

I stand up, the fire’s heat adding to the one inside.

“You good, Aly?” she asks.

“Just need a minute.”