A Bear Comes to Town

1

BEN

He was driving in the dark along a stretch of west Texas highway when things went bad. The road was empty, just Ben and his powder-blue Ford pickup sliding through the darkness. He had the windows rolled down, a warm breeze tickling the thick hair on his forearm as it rested on the edge of the window. Hotel California was playing on some classic rock station out of Dallas. He’d been in California just two weeks ago. Now it was Texas, but the lyrics haunted him just the same.

As far as he could tell, the song was about some poor guy who stops at a creepy, demonic hotel and gets trapped there for all eternity. Ben actually had the opposite problem. He felt like he was doomed to roam the earth for the rest of his life, however long that might be. He’d left his home, been driven from it, actually. He could never go back. And he couldn’t ever stop running, either. Otherwise they’d find him. And eventually they’d do to him what they’d done to his father.

And in the master's chambers

They gathered for the feast

They stab it with their steely knives

But they just can't kill the beast 

That part sent a shiver down his spine, so Ben reached over and turned the knob to click off the radio. That’s when he felt the steering wheel pull to the right as the corner of the truck dipped. 

He’d been going about eighty, just watching the yellow hash marks tick by in the headlights to the beat of the music. But now he eased down on the brakes. He knew what was going on. Not a blowout, but his right front tire was going flat.

Ben slowed all the way down to a stop and pulled onto the red dirt on the side of the road, his tires crunching under the small rocks. He killed the engine. As he got out of the truck, it sagged a little under his weight, then buoyed back up after he stepped out. He looked in the bed of his truck by the light of a half-moon. There was his giant red metal toolbox. The spare lay up near the cab, where it was supposed to be. 

Ben opened up the box and fished in the lower tray for the flashlight. Then he clicked it on and walked around the front of the truck to inspect the tire. It was going flat all right, the rubber already puddling in the red dirt. 

Not a big deal, he thought. He’d had his share of flats. That was just part of being a nomad, spending all your time on the road. 

He clicked the flashlight off and looked up at the sky. The stars out here were so bright. There were no man-made lights to dampen their effect. He took a deep breath. It really was beautiful. He rarely got the chance to stop and relax, even for a little while. 

Ben thought about home. He thought about his father, so big and strong, his hair thick and black. He thought of his brothers and wondered where they might be if they were still alive. And then he thought of his mother, so beautiful and kind, and a hitch caught in his throat.

This was why stopping for too long was bad. He’d start thinking about what had happened, and it would either make his heart break all over again or send him into a rage. Sometimes both would happen. 

He took another deep breath and shook his head to clear the thoughts, then opened the passenger's side. He pushed it forward and rummaged around for a few moments before finding both the jack and tire iron. 

He had to lie down on the ground to jack up the truck. The red dust was probably going to coat his jeans and flannel shirt. But that was fine. He’d stop at a laundromat in the next town and toss all his clothes in for a good wash. He’d seen a sign about twenty miles back. It read: Lockdale 36.

Before long he’d gotten the old tire off and the new tire on. The whole process had taken less than fifteen minutes. In that time, he hadn’t seen a single car come from either direction. He liked to stay on the smaller highways. The interstate was too busy. Besides, they’d be more likely to pick up his scent.

He hefted the flat tire up on the edge of the bed, ready to toss it in the back, when the moonlight caught a weird white glint off something in the treads.

Ben squinted and touched it. The cool smoothness felt like bone at first. But when he worked his fingers between the treads and plucked it out, he held it up to the moonlight and saw it for what it really was: a tooth.

Not just any tooth, either. A bear tooth. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. He threw the tooth away from the road into the dark and wiped his hand on his shirt, suddenly repulsed by ever having touched it.   

I’ve got to get the hell out of here, he thought. 

Ben threw the tire into the bed and headed back for the front of the truck to retrieve the jack. That’s when he saw the headlights. 

The land out here was as flat as a tabletop. He should have seen the lights long before they reached him. But whoever was driving the car had kept them off until they’d gotten close, maybe a few hundred yards. Instead of having minutes, he had seconds.

Fuck the jack, he thought, leaving it in the dust as he ran around the front of his truck. For a big man, he moved quickly. But this time, not quite quickly enough.

The headlights belonged to a jeep, which screeched to a halt, sliding to a stop and kicking up a cloud of dust. Ben had his hand on his driver’s side door and glanced back to see three figures jumping out. His mind took a snapshot, registering a woman and two men.

His big heart pounded as he yanked the door back, hearing the squeal of its hinges. Just as quickly, he felt the handle slip from his hand as the door slammed shut again. Someone behind him had kicked it closed.

Fight or flight, that’s what they called the hot rush of adrenaline that made your muscles taut, your heart hammer, and your awareness flare. Now that the flight option had been taken from him, there was only one other option left.

Ben tensed, feeling the tips of his fingers tingle, ready to grow sharp black claws.

Too slow, dude, he heard a high-pitched male voice say behind him, followed by a jagged little laugh. 

He turned and got a good look at them for the first time. They were Carven’s people. Hunters. He’d known that as soon as he’d seen the headlights. But he didn’t recognize any of them. They were all young. Carven had probably purged most of the old guard, surrounding himself with a newer generation that he could more easily sell his lies to and mold into whatever he wanted.

The young woman stood in front. She was the one who had kicked his door shut. She wore loose camo pants and tight black sleeveless T-shirt that showed off the lean ropes of muscles in her arms. Her black hair was tied back in a short ponytail, revealing her high cheekbones and dark eyes, made darker with all the eye-liner she wore. Her lips were painted black as well. Her eyes were burning into him with a hatred he wouldn’t have expected from someone he’d never met. 

Wonder what stories he’s filled their heads with, Ben thought. He could smell her, too. Even though he hadn’t shifted yet, his senses were on high alert. She was a wolf. That was plain enough. And glancing over her shoulder he saw a skinny guy with piercings along his ears and nose and tats covering nearly every inch of skin but his face. His scent was harder to place. The other one was big, nearly as big as Ben himself. He had a blond crewcut and glared at Ben with an empty expression from under a thick brow. He was a bear.

Traitor, Ben thought. Hunting your own kind. It wasn’t that surprising, but it made the rage flare even higher in him all the same. He just hoped the kid was as stupid as he looked. He was standing there just looking like he was waiting to be told what to do. If he was that dumb, Ben thought he just might stand a chance, even if there were three of them. 

You find our little present? the skinny kid said, grinning wildly. I left it for you when you got gas at that truck stop back on Highway 89. Thought you might want a little piece of your dad to remember him by.

Ben felt hot blood surge in his neck. His mind was a blur of repulsion and rage. They had defiled his father’s body? And he had touched the tooth with his own hands? Ben tried to tamp down his anger. The kid was laughing again, that high-pitched, girly titter. But he could be lying, just trying to goad him into doing something stupid.

The girl opened her mouth for the first time, her voice low, almost a growl. Boss Redclaw said he wanted you back in The Clave. Said he didn’t care if you were breathing or not.

Boss Redclaw. Just hearing the name spoken out loud made Ben’s blood boil. Carven Redclaw was a coward and betrayer. He deserved to be at the bottom of a gulch, his throat torn out, not the leader of the people of The Clave.

Did your boss ever tell you how he got that title? Ben could see just by looking at these three that he wasn’t going to convince them of anything or talk his way out of this. But if he could keep them from attacking and maybe throw them off just a little, that might give him the edge he needed to survive.

The girl looked over her shoulder at the skinny one, then back at Ben. She had a tinge of doubt in her eyes now, and that was good. 

He claimed it, she said. Her voice didn’t seem very sure at first, but then she sneered at him, growing more confident. He challenged your father in open combat, defeated him like a true alpha, and banished the traitorous Blackpelts from—

Ben had heard enough. Like most good lies, her words were half-true. He didn’t want to have to fight these three. They’d been spoon-fed falsehoods from Redclaw. But his field of vision nearly blurred with rage, and he knew he would need to draw on that anger if he was going to live through this.

Ben hurled himself at the girl, shifting in mid-air. He felt his muscles ripple and surge under his skin, now sprouting thick fur across his entire body. His flannel shirt and jeans ripped to shreds and fell in the dust. Dark claws thrust out as his hands thickened into meaty paws. His feet swelled, popping the leather of his boots. His mouth filled with sharp fangs as his jaw stretched out into a snout. 

He saw the look of surprise on her face as she took a step back. But he hit her with full force, hurling her backwards at the big guy. She slammed into him and they rolled to the ground together. 

Ben landed on all fours, now feeling the power of his transformed body, a huge black bear. He felt the red dirt under his claws as he whirled on the skinny one with the piercings and tats. 

The kid wasn’t laughing anymore. His eyes were wide with terror, his hands outstretched towards Ben as he took a slow step backwards. Ben lunged at him, letting out a snarling roar that filled the empty night air. 

The kid’s eyes were wider than ever, but one of his hands was moving behind him. It came back out holding a gun, a gaudy, nickel-plated .357 revolver. The thing almost looked comical in the kid’s hand, like a cheap, oversized prop. 

But as the kid swung the barrel around to try to aim, a fresh wave of fury lit up Ben’s mind. A gun? Since when did his people use guns? But he knew the answer to that. Since Redclaw had taken over, that’s when. Still, it was an outrage. They were three against one. They had punctured his tire with a slow leak to strand him out here while they came for him. And as if that weren’t enough of an advantage, this sleazy little coward had tucked a pistol into the back of his pants.

Before the kid could pivot all the way around, Ben was on him, knocking the gun out of his hand with a lightning-quick swipe. The moonlight glinted off its surface as the hunk of metal spun away into the night. Ben heard it clatter somewhere along the asphalt of the highway as he landed on the skinny little bastard and drove him hard into the dirt. 

The kid landed on his back with a satisfying thump, his eyes closing shut and his face flushing red as the air was knocked out of him. The two others on the ground behind Ben were probably getting up and regrouping, but he had time to tear this one’s throat out if he wanted. 

But he wasn’t going to do that. Even though any one of these three were willing to kill him, he wasn’t going to stoop to their level. Instead, he moved backwards, taking his massive paws off of the kid’s chest. But as his snout passed over the kid’s legs, Ben opened his jaws wide and sank his teeth deep into the right thigh.

The kid unleashed a high scream as Ben’s mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood. He kept biting down, feeling the thick bone splinter as he crushed it with his teeth.

Tearing the kid’s throat out would have killed him. The wound Ben was inflicting now was savage, and it would incapacitate him. But shifters healed fast. The kid might have a limp for the rest of his life, but he probably wasn’t going to die.

In fact, the kid was shifting underneath Ben just as his jaws loosened on the leg. At first Ben thought he might be a wolf as well as the limbs shrank and his face elongated