My Calamity Jane Page 4

  “Jane, stop!” Charlie hissed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Looking for a place to water my daisies.” She could see a smaller building in the background. Perhaps, with luck, an outhouse.

  “Jane, I mean it!” Charlie whisper-yelled. “Get back here!”

  She kept walking.

  “Jane,” came the calm voice of Wild Bill. “Jane, please wait for the rest of us.”

  She slowed. Stopped. Swore. “But I really have to go.”

  Then she noticed something in the dirt at her feet.

  A footprint.

  Or, we should say, a paw print. A set of paw prints, in fact. Jane dropped into a squat to get a better look.

  “Oh come on, Jane,” she heard from Frank. “No one wants to see that.”

  She waved him over. “No, silly. Look here. A clue.”

  The rest of the group hurried over and circled around.

  “They’re wolf prints,” Jane said. “Big ones. Much bigger than your average wolf.” She stood and pushed Frank out of her way to follow the tracks for a few paces. “And they come from a beast that walks upright, on two feet, not four.”

  “So it’s a garou,” Frank said flatly.

  Jane, being the group’s official tracker, continued to follow the tracks, which led directly to the small building she’d spotted earlier behind the factory. Sadly, it was not an outhouse. It was some kind of guard shack or foreman’s hut, a boxy room with a table, a stool, and a window looking toward the main facility. But inside were some other interesting clues, like: a half-eaten leg of raw lamb. “Clearly torn at with sharp, pointed teeth,” observed Jane.

  “So, a garou,” said Frank.

  Charlie shushed him. “Let her work.”

  Jane moved on to the next clue: A copy of Ned Buntline’s latest book, Fearsome Garou and Where to Find Them. “Look, a picture of a wolf on the cover,” observed Jane.

  “So, an introspective garou,” said Frank.

  Jane swept a hand over the little table and came away with— “Aha! Fur!” Jane rubbed her fingers together, sending the fur floating back onto the table.

  Someone in the group sneezed lightly.

  “Bless you,” said Jane.

  “I don’t want to jump the gun, here, but I think we may be tracking a garou,” said Frank.

  “I think you may be right,” agreed Bill.

  “It’s a woof, sure enough,” said Jack McCall.

  Frank sighed. “Where did this particular—I think we can all agree—garou go?”

  Jane went back outside and picked up the tracks (which were quite clearly pressed into the dirt) leading straight from the shack to a back door to the factory. “It went this way,” she said, and everyone shuffled after her.

  The second door was miraculously unlocked. The group slipped into the building. It was still light outside, the sun sinking behind the row of buildings, but inside it was dark. There wasn’t much to see anyway, except a bunch of wooden crates and boxes stacked up here and there, three enormous metal vats in the center of the room, and some complicated-looking machinery. At this point, Frank (seeing as he had the sharpest eyesight but mostly because he was in a hurry) took the lead. He navigated them smoothly through the maze of boxes and machines to two sets of stairs—one that went up, and one that descended into total darkness. Jane shivered. She’d never been too fond of the dark.

  “Anybody think to bring—I don’t know—a lantern?” Frank asked.

  In answer, Bill removed the lid from the nearest box and pulled out a candle.

  This was a candle factory, it turned out.

  “Well, that’s handy,” said Jane as Bill distributed a few candles among the group and lit them with the matches he kept for his pipe. Then they turned again to the stairs.

  “I vote we go up,” said Frank. “They’ll have the business offices upstairs, I’m betting, and if this Mr. Badd fellow is the manager, that’s where we’re likely to find him.”

  The stairs still looked spooky to Jane. “Yeah, let’s go up,” she agreed.

  Bill turned his face toward the stairwell and frowned. “No,” he said. “We’re going down.”

  FIVE

  Frank

  Downstairs they found a large metal cage in a back room, and in that cage were the missing factory workers. From the looks of it, they were all suffering from an infection. They each had a bandage somewhere that covered a nasty bite wound. Many of them were sweating and feverish, some even delirious, rambling on about the moon. Their eyes didn’t look right: the pupils were an odd shape. A few of the people were sprouting hair in places they shouldn’t.

  At the sight of the whole gang coming downstairs, they cowered toward the back of the cage.

  Frank swallowed hard. “Who would do this? I understand about accidental bites, but this . . .”

  Someone in the group sneezed again.

  “Bless you,” said Jane.

  “We need to get them out of here,” said Bill.

  Jane tugged at the door of the cage, but it didn’t open. “Where’s the key?”

  “Mr. Badd had it,” whispered a young man with eyebrows that had grown so furry they almost obscured his eyes. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen. “He’s probably gone home for the night, but he might keep the key in his office. Upstairs.”

  “Told you so,” said Frank. “Upstairs. Let’s go.”

  “Wait. We should gather more evidence,” said Charlie.

  “We could split up,” Jack McCall suggested.

  Bill smoothed down his mustache. “Yes. We would cover more ground that way.”

  “We don’t need to cover ground,” Frank said. “We need to find the key, which could be in Mr. Badd’s office right now. Where we might even find Mr. Badd himself.”

  “It’s not enough to simply find Mr. Badd,” argued Charlie. “We have to have grounds to arrest him. We can’t simply march up to him and say, ‘We heard you’re bad, so you’re under arrest.’”

  Frank turned to the young man with the eyebrows. “Who bit you?”

  “I’m not sure. It was a garou.”

  “Well, who locked you up in this cage?”

  “Mr. Badd.”

  “So now we’ve established that Mr. Badd is bad,” said Frank. “Let’s arrest him.”

  “But why did he do these things?” asked Charlie. “What’s his motive?”

  “Uh, because he’s bad?” ventured Jane.

  “Because he’s high up in the ranks of the Pack. Possibly even the Alpha.” Frank swiveled to look at Jack McCall. “Isn’t that what you told us?”

  Jack nodded vigorously. “Yep. That is what I said. Yep.”

  “So why does the Alpha want to bite a bunch of random factory workers? It’s not like these people volunteered to join,” said Charlie.

  “I don’t rightly know,” mumbled Jack McCall.

  “Charlie’s right. We need more information,” Bill decided.

  “Couldn’t we get that after we arrest Mr. Badd?” Frank checked his watch. “Like, tomorrow morning, perhaps?”

  “We could split up,” Jack McCall said again. “One group could go look for the key in the office. And the other could poke around down here.”

  “That’s a terrible idea,” exclaimed Frank. (As your narrators, we’re completely with Frank on this. In spooky places, never, ever split up. But our heroes had never seen a horror movie, so what happened was:)

  “Yes. We’ll split up,” Charlie decided.

  Jack McCall smiled toothily at Jane. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Nah, me and Frank will go upstairs,” Jane said quickly. “Seeing as how I’m the best tracker and Frank’s the best looker.”

  “You mean best-looking,” Frank said.

  Jane punched his arm. “We’ll search the office for the key. You three can stay here and talk to the workers. Look for more evidence.”

  “All right, you two go,” said Bill. “And if you happen upon Mr. Badd up there, don
’t engage with him. Just hurry back.”

  And that’s how Frank and Jane ended up on the second floor a few minutes later.

  “There’s got to be a place to go,” Jane muttered.

  “We’re going to look for the key,” Frank reminded her. “In the office.”

  “No, I mean, go.”

  “Oh.” Frank glanced around. He had a prickly feeling he was being watched. “Still?”

  “Of course, still!”

  “You can’t hold it?”

  “I’ve been holding it!”

  Right then, they heard voices from up ahead. They were coming from behind a cloudy glass door. An office, clearly. The name on the door was Mr. Thaddeus Badd, Manager, and by the sound of the voices, Mr. Badd was in there now.

  Frank’s heart was beating fast. What if this was it? The Alpha, at long last.

  They crept toward the door, listening. Which was easy, because the folks inside were shouting.

  “You’re a fool!” cried a low voice, a man’s voice.

  “I’m sorry,” pleaded an even deeper voice. “I was only doing what you said, and you said to bite as many as I could.”

  “Not all from one place, you idiot! And not from the factory! You were supposed to be discreet.” As he moved closer to the door, Frank could see that the man wore a tall top hat.

  “You didn’t tell me to be discreet,” said the second voice. “I was only trying to do what I was told! I’ll bite people away from here next time. I’ll go to the other side of town.”

  “You won’t bite anyone else,” directed the top hat man. “You’ll take the ones you’ve already infected to the train one or two at a time. There will be someone there to accompany them, and someone to pick them up on the other end and transport them the rest of the way.”

  “It’ll cost,” said the deeper voice. “I don’t have much money.”

  “You’ll be provided with the money for their fare, of course. But what’s more, if you don’t screw this up, maybe the Alpha will decide to let you live.”

  Frank and Jane exchanged glances. If they were talking about the Alpha, then neither of these men were the Pack’s leader. Jack McCall had been wrong. What a shock.

  Still, Mr. Badd sounded like he might be important, so they kept listening.

  “The Alpha knows?” came the second voice fearfully.

  “There was a newspaper story!” yelled the top hat man. “I’d be surprised if the Alpha hasn’t already sent someone to take care of the situation. And by that I mean, to take care of you! I would dispatch you myself, but that would draw even more attention.”

  “I’m sorry!” whimpered the second voice miserably. “Please tell the Alpha I’ll do better.”

  “How many do we have?” asked the top hat man.

  “Fourteen. Three or four should be turning any day now.”

  “Good. Send the first along on Tuesday.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the deep voice. “Thank you, sir.”

  Now, as the two men had been speaking, Jane and Frank had also been having a conversation, a silent one, communicated through looks and gestures. It had gone something like this:

  Jane: Should we bust in on them now?

  Frank: No. NO. I mean it. No.

  Jane: I think we should bust in on them now. Time’s a wastin’. Remember the show?

  Frank: I know, I know. But let’s keep listening.

  Jane: Fine.

  Frank and Jane: (listening)

  Voices: Something about the Alpha. Something about Tuesday. “Thank you, sir.”

  Jane (lifting her pistol): Their conversation appears to be over. Now can we bust in on them?

  Frank (also pulling out his pistol): Okay. You cover one, and I’ll take the other.

  Jane: OKAY! LET’S DO THIS!

  Frank (grabbing Jane’s shoulder): Wait. We have to take them alive. We’re going to arrest them, remember. Not shoot them.

  Jane: Okay, fine! LET’S DO THIS.

  Frank: Okay. On my count. One. Two—

  But before he could get to three there was a huge crash from somewhere below them, big enough to make the floor shudder.

  Something had obviously gone awry with Bill, Charlie, and Jack McCall.

  “What was that?” one of the voices from inside the office said.

  Before Jane and Frank could get out of the way, the door opened, and the biggest, burliest man Frank had ever seen came bursting out. He plowed right over our heroes, knocking them flat.

  “Who are you?” the big man demanded as they all scrambled to their feet.

  “Uh, we were passing through, and I was wondering if I could use your facilities,” said Jane. “I have to go. If you’ll point me in the right direction . . .”

  “What? You need a bathroom?” The man’s gaze fell on their guns. He scowled.

  “Don’t move,” said Frank. “You’re under arrest.”

  “Kill them,” came a cold voice from inside the office.

  Then everything happened fast. The big man loomed over them. The other man slipped out of the office, still wearing the top hat. That was Mr. Badd, Frank was sure of it, but he didn’t get a look at the man’s face. Their much-larger problem was the big guy, who was stooping to remove his shoes. Apparently he was preparing himself to (gulp) kill them.

  “I said, don’t move,” said Frank, but the man pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He seemed to grow impossibly bigger, taller, wider. Even his head was growing: his face elongated, his nose and mouth changed shape before their eyes. Hair appeared all over his face. His fingers became claws. His legs snapped backward with a cracking sound and became haunches, like a dog’s, and his pants tore away and dropped to the floor. His eyes glowed yellow in the dim light.

  “So, it’s a garou,” Jane concluded grimly.

  The beast sprang at them, all glinting teeth and claws. Jane raised her pistol and pulled the trigger, but her gun misfired. She threw herself to one side, out of the way.

  It was up to Frank now. He took a deep breath, his finger tightening on the trigger. The beast leapt again, this time at him. No time to think. A shot rang out, and the garou howled, then collapsed to the floor in a hairy pile.

  “Wow, Frank,” Jane panted, scrambling to her feet. “Good shot! I know we weren’t supposed to shoot them, but I think you were justified, seeing as how it was about to kill us.”

  Frank frowned and lowered his gun. “It wasn’t me who— I don’t think— Did I?”

  “You killed it,” Jane said softly.

  He stared at his gun. Frank had never killed a garou before. Usually it was his dad or Charlie who handled that kind of thing. He had never really killed anything before. He typically just provided the backup and witty banter.

  “He was bad,” Jane said. “You didn’t have a choice.”

  “Badd,” Frank murmured. Then he remembered. “Mr. Badd! He’s getting away!”

  SIX

  Annie

  At that moment, Annie was perched on a catwalk above Calamity Jane and Frank Butler, staring at her rifle in much the same way that Mr. Butler had been contemplating his pistol, because here’s what you’ve probably already figured out: it wasn’t Mr. Butler who shot the garou, but Annie.

  Unlike Mr. Butler, Annie had killed lots of things before . . . but never like this.

  Before, when Annie had taken the life of a rabbit or squirrel or even a deer, she’d stopped and knelt next to the body, and thanked it for supplying her family with another meal, or a few dollars to help keep their farm running. She’d always been careful—so careful—to shoot to kill instantly, so that the creature felt no pain.

  But this was different. It felt different, and she couldn’t stop looking at her gun, at her hands, and the way everything trembled.

  If she hadn’t shot the beast, it would have eaten up Calamity Jane and Frank Butler. There was no question, not with the way it had lunged at them with its teeth snapping. Even Mr. Butler had seemed ready to shoot it,
despite claiming he wanted to arrest it. Annie just happened to be faster, and so she’d killed it.

  Her hands were still shaking.

  There’d been a garou. Right. There. (It was still there, but now it wasn’t moving.) Sweat trickled down Annie’s face and neck, even though all her limbs felt cold and numb with shock.

  Annie took several long, slow breaths as, below, Mr. Butler recovered himself as well.

  “He was bad,” Jane said softly. “You didn’t have a choice.”

  “Badd,” Mr. Butler repeated. Then: “Mr. Badd! He’s getting away!” He jumped up and ran after the top hat man, and Jane started to run in that direction too, but Mr. Butler called back, “Check on Charlie and Bill! Something happened down there!”

  On the floor below, Calamity Jane hesitated—she clearly wanted to go with Mr. Butler—but then she went back to the stairs.

  Annie slung her rifle strap over her chest and followed Jane.

  Jane descended to the first floor, where hazy sunlight from the ceiling-level windows barely penetrated. It was a gloomy place, dominated by three huge vats, large wooden crates, and other unidentifiable pieces of machinery. The second floor, where Annie stood now, was a platform against the outer wall—positioned so that supervisors could overlook the main floor—with catwalks crisscrossing the space. Control pedestals stood watch over each of the vats, and as far as Annie could see, there wasn’t much in the way of railing to keep people from falling over the sides.

  “How dangerous,” Annie muttered.

  Below, Jane was coming off the stairs and heading around to the basement steps—slower now. “Charlie?” Wariness filled her voice as she peered down into the dark. “Bill?”

  Annie crept toward the stairs Jane had taken, keeping an eye on the motionless garou body. It was still hard to believe she’d shot it. Plus, all those things she’d overheard—something about a train, about Tuesday, and a person called the Alpha that everyone was afraid of—crowded her mind. Wild Bill Hickok and his posse were definitely not finished hunting garou. No, they were just doing it in secret now.