Page 54 of Red

Chapter 18

Aknock comes from the door and Gretch leaps out from the bottom bunk. I hear her pick up her gun before opening the door. I stay in bed. Again, my sleep was twisted between Stark’s home and Pratt scolding me for taking this risk. To be serious, though, I’m perfect for this. I look like a human. It’s why everyone at home hates me too. Well, maybe not everyone anymore.

Lirea winked at me while bandaging a handsome werewolf. “Think it’d be bad if I asked him to sleep in my bed while he heals?” she asked me after he left.

I just laughed.

This is for them. For the ones who joke with me and treat me like everyone else. I couldn’t tell them what I was planning to do. Someone would have told Stark, and he doesn’t trust me to take of myself. The Elders see me as weak too. They’d laugh or dismiss me.

“Aly?” Gretch yells.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been summoned.”

“Oh?”

She comes to the bedroom door, her eyebrows up. She climbs up over the top bunk rail, wobbling off one leg. “Tripp is here for you; I have no idea why. He just said you were expecting him. Were you?”

I slide the sheets down and sit up. “Not exactly.”

“Well, get moving. That man is . . . well, you know.” She fans her face, and I try not to laugh. Tripp is no dream. He’s a monster.

It takes me no time to climb out of bed once Gretch leaves. I slip on my clothes and head for the door. She passes me in the narrow hallway with a thumbs up.

“Good morning, Aly.” Tripp has his hand pressed into the doorframe, his dirty-blond hair sticking out in a slight flare from under his hood at the sides of his neck. His face is shaved, leaving only a moustache. I’ll agree with Gretch on a temporary basis. That jawline isn’t awful.

“Morning,” I say, slipping a hat over my head. I’m skipping the jacket today. Who knows what this will entail, and it’s easier to stay cool without it suffocating me.

I trail him out of Gretch’s, and he slows until we’re side-by-side, leading me through the camp. We reach a building on the edge of the cluster similar to the one Gretch took me to a few nights ago where Hudson was. When he opens the door, my jaw drops for just a second before I compose myself. Pulse racing, I dig my nails into my sleeved wrist.

Inside the building are guns—rows and rows of them. Lining the far walls are stacks of unopened crates . I can assume what they’re filled with.

A petite man, shorter than me and wearing wire-framed glasses, greets us at a folding table—his smile stretched too wide, nowhere close to his eyes.

“The beast killer, what can I do for you today?”

I eye Tripp and keep my feet locked in place, the door touching my shoulder blades.

“I’ve got our newest member here. Let’s start her with something light and uncomplicated. No scopes. A bolt action should be fine.”

“Why hello there.” He eyes me and turns to lift a rifle from the rack behind him. “Here’s a bolt action twenty-two. Can’t kill much with it.” He lowers it onto the table.

Tripp leans to look at it. “A good gun to learn with.”

I take a few steps forward so I don’t look afraid. “Wow, it’s beautiful.” Beautifully awful, I think. I can do this. I’m a powerful myth of a werewolf. I’m not what anyone says. No one knows me. I can continue to fake who I am.

“It is.” The small man’s smile hasn’t left his face once and is borderline creepy. He grabs a box from the side of the table. “A young girl like you will need a man wrapped around her to shoot it. Maybe I’ll join you.” Never mind—he’s plain creepy. His eyes are huge behind the rims of his glasses as he licks his lips.

I shudder.

“I’ll be teaching her.” Tripp’s irritation is evident as he directs me to pick up the gun.

I pause, staring.

“It’s not loaded. Don’t worry,” he says.

I nod, and my fingertips graze the smooth wood. The weighted wooden middle fills my hand. I wrap the sling over my shoulder like I’ve watched Gretch do and step to the door, holding the bullet box.