"Did Mr. Fuzzy get wet?" I gave him a smile.
"Mr. Fuzzy has been dry for a while." Winkler was still grumbling. Okay, he and I weren't talking about the same thing.
We were driving westward on the Wilson River Highway, and when we caught glimpses of the river, it was easy to see that it was overflowing its banks. Not a good sign by my way of thinking and the werewolves would be running in the wet during full moon the following evening. I'd never seen them go on a hunt in the rain. This was going to be interesting and possibly not in a good way. We arrived in Tillamook without incident (other than the pouring rain), and then headed north on the Oregon Coast Highway, where we ran into trouble. Not only was the road flooded at one point—we couldn't go any farther north—but there were two cars nearly covered in water ahead of us. Three other cars were there; two of the drivers had already called the police but the water was rising too rapidly. The driver of one flooded car was already on top of his vehicle; the other driver was climbing out, a baby in her arms.
"Holy f**k," I muttered. "We have to do something."
Weldon was nodding and taking his shirt off when I grabbed his arm. "No, let me take care of this," I said. "You and Winkler be ready on the sidelines." My change to mist that night broke all records. Less than two minutes it took, even as the water was rising faster. The other spectators were screaming; they didn't have ropes or anything else to facilitate a rescue. Winkler was trying to keep them calmed down and prevent them from jumping into the water. Weldon was the one blocking me from their view so I could change.
I have no idea what those people were going through, other than feeling the stark terror of impending drowning when they all turned to mist after I touched them. I learned that I could carry multiple people that way, picking up the woman and her baby first and then heading toward the man who was just about to be swept off the roof of his car. They became solid again the moment they were dropped on the very edge of the water, where it was lapping the tires of Winkler's SUV. Now I had to turn back to myself and lay compulsion.
"The man saved the woman and her baby," I told the three watchers who nodded obediently. Then I went to the man and the woman both and told them the same thing—that the man had leapt into the water and let the current carry him to the woman's car where he managed to rescue her and her baby. He'd gotten them to the edge of the water where Winkler and Weldon managed to pull them to safety. That was good enough.
The police had arrived by then and wrapped all three of them tightly in blankets before handing them over to a waiting ambulance. The hospital would check them over and make sure everything was all right. They also took witness statements. The compulsion worked without a hitch, with input from Winkler and Weldon, of course. I was more than thankful that none of the witnesses had a recording of the event on their cell phones or anything, or pictures even. That would have required even more compulsion, along with Winkler's skills. My phone had a camera but I'd never learned to use it. Winkler was the gadget-oriented one.
We were forced to find another hotel since the highway leading to ours was flooded. It might not have been as nice as the one we'd originally booked but it was dry inside and away from the river, which was fine. My fear, the entire time I'd been going after those people, was that the woman and her child would be swept away before I could get to them. The water was nearly up to the woman's waist when I arrived and I had no idea what would happen to my mist if I actually dived into water myself.
Winkler was waving a newspaper in my face when I woke the following evening; it held an account of the incident—modified of course—and everyone was calling the rescued man a hero. He was also interviewed by several nationwide television crews. Fuck. I hoped the compulsion held since he was going to be recounting that story for a while, it seemed. Winkler and Weldon were mentioned as two travelers who'd happened by and helped pull victims the final feet to safety. Good. We didn't need Winkler's name in the news one week for getting arrested on a bogus murder charge and then called a hero the next for saving flood victims.
The rain was lighter at least when we headed toward the forested area where the local Pack was meeting to run. Both Winkler and Weldon were itching to get started; I could see that while we drove. I thought Winkler was going to start yipping and howling before we could park the SUV in a muddy field where several other vehicles were already sitting.
Most of the werewolves were already turned; they were only waiting for the Grand Master and his temporary Second. Clothes were flung aside and Weldon and Winkler both changed on the run, almost. I gathered up the clothing, placed it on the hood of the truck and turned to mist as fast as I could, satisfied with the knowledge that the more I turned, the faster I was getting. It might become something of a weapon after all.
I misted over the Pack as they ran. The wolves scared up two deer and gave chase. Nothing on four legs gets away from werewolves, I discovered. They ran those deer into exhaustion before they felled them and all twenty-six werewolves fed. I held back from that, watching from a distance in case Weldon or Winkler needed me. They did a little more hunting, bringing down one more deer before the wee hours. Weldon, Winkler and the others wandered back to their vehicles afterward and I waited while they dressed. What surprised me, however, was the female that followed along behind Winkler.
"Here, drive her car back," Winkler plucked the woman's car keys from her hand and tossed them to me. Okay, at least this wasn't a bar. That didn’t keep her from being a floozie in my eyes. Yeah, I shouldn't be judgmental, I know. Maybe this was the One. How was I to know? Also, I should know better than to feel jealous. That didn't keep me from feeling a slight twinge, anyway. Winkler wasn't for me. Wasn't ever meant to be. I knew that. That didn't keep me from feeling like crap as I drove her little import to the hotel, trailing behind Winkler and the Grand Master.
The connecting door was closed between the rooms afterward, but Weldon and I were chased out of his room because we could hear every bit of what was going on. And she wasn't quiet, let me tell you. Weldon got an early cup of coffee and we talked for about forty minutes before I had to go back upstairs to sleep—in Weldon's room this time.
"So, what happened to Daryl's mother?" I asked.
"She moved on after Daryl was born," he said. "Female werewolves back then weren't obligated to give their mates two children. She married somebody from one of the Chicago area Packs. Daryl has two step-brothers."