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Chapter 7: Long Nights

"Get off me!" Kevin squirmed.

Warren paid no attention until his cousin's protests turned to laughs. Only then did he loosen his embrace. "I really think I should be the one doing this.

Kevin huffed. "You'd get lost before getting down the driveway."

Warren knew Kev was the best wolf for the job. They had around thirty hours before Warren would call Talbot and tell him where to leave the money. Kevin was going to prep the area. This wasn't even the dangerous part. But not for the first time Warren began to question if he could go through with this.

His doubt must have shown on his face. Kevin put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me." He smiled. "I have the easy job. You're the one who has to babysit the coyote all night."

Warren forced a smile. "You have everything?"

Kevin's eyes darted up as he mentally went through his inventory. He gave a firm nod.

Warren released his hold and his cousin was out the door.

Warren looked around the empty kitchen for something to take his mind off things. Eventually he settled on either beer or an energy drink.

Choices.

Fun-Warren reached for a beer, but Responsible-Warren took the energy drink. Someone had to be responsible.

***

Warren opened the hostage room door. Lester was lecturing Jack on the finer points of cardsharping.

"Isn't this a pretty scene," he remarked.

The goat and coyote noticed Warren at the same time.

This was what Warren was worried about. Lester, despite being an asshole, was endearing himself to Warren and his crew. While Jack reluctantly left and promised to find time tomorrow to let Lester finish showing him how to stack a deck, Warren chastised himself for the utter lack of professionalism he let flourish.

He sat on the uncomfortable wooden chair and tossed a can of spam to Lester.

"Yum. More of this delicious stuff," Lester said sarcastically.

Warren drank his energy drink. The cough-syrup flavor coated his mouth. He hated the taste but needed to be alert. It had been two days since his last good sleep and now was not the time to be weary.

Lester cleared his throat. "Is everything alright, Warren?"

Warren took another gulp of his horrid drink. "Yeah. Just a lot going on."

Lester nodded. "Same here."

"Not quite the same." He rocked his chair back.

Lester frowned. "If it makes any difference, I'm not going to tell dad who you are."

Warren didn't trust Lester half as far as he could throw him, but it would be nice if that was true. Talbot would still come after them, but even a few extra hours of anonymity would make disappearing that much easier.

Lester must have picked up on the disbelief. "I mean it, Warren. What do I have to gain if you get caught? My life pretty much ended when I missed that payment this morning."

"Hm. I would have guessed that would make you bitter."

"Normally, I think I would be," Lester laughed just a notch under hysterical. "You know what my dad is like. He would have found out if succeeded in stealing some of his money... it might have been better that you guys stopped me."

Warren gave a gesture indicating he was probably right.

Warren fiddled with his empty can. Time seemed to crawl. His thoughts went to the map he'd looked at on his phone when he and Kevin worked out where to pick up the ransom. He wasn't near as good at judging time and distance as Kevin but he guessed his cousin must be at the drop point by now.

Lester was persistent in attacking the silence. "I could... Take your mind off things for a while."

Warren stopped crinkling the can. "You do know you're a hostage, don't you?"

Lester nodded and smiled.

"You remember I held a gun to your head yesterday?"

Lester laughed. "Some of the furs I've dated would call that foreplay."

Warren set the can down. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He watched the coyote list to the side and lay staring at him. The springs creaked.

"I wish I knew, Warren."

***

Warren watched the coyote succumb to sleep. His rhythmic breathing began to lull Warren into the drowsy gray between conscious and unconscious. The energy drink worked like crap.

In a half dream he kicked over the dented can. A purplish-red sludge leaked over the floor. Warren couldn't move. The viscous puddle grew into a blob.

It filled the room like a rising tide. He knew it was a dream. But the tide wouldn't stop. It soaked through his shoes and pants cuffs. The bitter taste sunk into Warren's skin. His whole body was a tastebud. Choking or drowning in a sticky, bitter morass.

His head jerked forward giving the sensation of falling into a bottomless pit. He jerked his head back, a sickening pop from vertebrae in his stiff neck startled him out of his dream.

Warren was still in the room. His pulse raced while his mind sorted dream from reality. He couldn't stop the tide, was his first reaction.

"Shit," Warren swore to himself.

The dream was fading even before he could rub the blurriness from his eyes. He checked his phone. It was a little after one. He swore again. He rocked back in the chair. His pulse slowed.

"I'm ok," he told himself.

His head tilted over the back of the chair. Just ten minutes of rest, with his eyes closed. He'd be good to go then. Just a little rest.

The white noise that soothed him before was... different. He didn't purposefully notice this. His sleepy brain just drifted towards the stimuli.

The breathing had changed. And there was a quiet high pitched squeak. More of a creak. And there was a low hum.

The hum grew in volume.

Mmmn-no! a hushed but urgent whisper.

Warren asked himself, am I dreami-

A yell, like a cat in extremis, sent a jolt of adrenaline through the wolf. His legs kicked out, tipping the chair over. He flailed his arms but couldn't fly.

His head smacked the floor. The screaming was still drilling his ears. A quick roll and he was on his feet.

Warren sifted through the onslaught of information his senses took in. Lester was thrashing on the bed frame, his fingers had a death grip on the exposed springs. Tears streamed down his muzzle.

Warren's heart thudded in his ears. "Gawddammit!" He leaned over the coyote and started shaking him.

"They're gonna kill me!" Lester shrieked.

"It's a dream, Lester. Wake up!"

Lester rolled on his back, his eyes shot open. To Warren's surprise, rather than recoil in terror, Lester wrapped his arms around Warren.

Warren managed to keep his balance and landed sitting on the edge of the bed instead of falling over him. Lester still had his arms around Warren's midsection. "It's alright," Warren soothed, "shhh."

Lester squirmed his way to having his top half draped over Warren's lap. "Oh God, Warren," Lester sobbed. "They're really gonna kill me!"

Warren stroked the coyote's back, running his fingers through the thick fur. He tried to whisper calming platitudes but Lester showed no signs of stopping. Warren was stunned that Lester reached his breaking point. And that he even had a breaking point. Hours ago he was taking things in stride.

Warren let Lester cry for a while. His head told him not to care, not to empathize, this was business. But the raw emotion tugged at his heart like a lost pup tugging on a strangers coat sleeve.

Lester sniffled. "Warren?"

"Yeah?"

"I... I can't go back. When you get your money," he choked back another sob, "I want you to kill me."

Warren put his hand under Lester's chin and forced the coyote to look him in the eye. A string of snot tethered Lester to his shirt. "You don't mean that."

"I do," Lester shot back.

Warren looked to the ceiling and muttered a few choice profanities. He shouldn't have looked him in the eyes. They sent a chill down his spine. "Ok, ok, ok. Just let me think. There has to be a way out of this."

He wished Lester would stop looking at him with those wet, expressive eyes. "One way or another, I promise you, you won't have to deal with Talbot, your loan sharks, or any other of those fuckers. I just need to think this through. Alright?"

Lester squeezed him in response and buried his face in Warren's chest.

Warren stared wide eyed at the blank wall. He prayed this was another dream but as the dampness sank through his shirt he knew this was all too real. He'd just fucked up his plan-B.

After getting more comfortable Warren let Lester fall asleep in his arms.

Warren wondered how a coyote that could keep up such a bluff as Lester maintained could possibly lose a fair game of poker.

***

Chapter 8: Night Terrors

Kevin trotted at an easy pace through the fallow fields. Three miles of scrubland then another two of woodland. There was no moon so moved slower than he could have, to avoid tripping. The night air was crisp and sounds carried well out in the open.

He could pick out most of the noises he heard. The scratching and rustling of rodents, the fall of dead branches and occasional call of night birds, the snapping of sticks a fair distance away of what he guessed was a deer. Large. Probably a buck, spooked by his passing.

Kevin had wandered and trespassed his way over most of the county at one time or another. He never thought his knowledge would come in handy. It felt nice that he could be of use to his cousin.

Kevin jumped a small creek that was once a drainage ditch, back when this land was farmed.

Warren had been like brother to him ever since most of their kin moved to the coast in search of greener pastures. He wondered if that's where he would go now. Warren made it clear that staying would be too dangerous now.

Kevin came to a sudden stop near a stunted pine. His black pants and dark grey made him almost invisible in moonless night. His ears pricked forward. A moment of silent waiting was rewarded when the scratching he thought he heard resumed. It was a feral raccoon.

Kevin smiled and watched the graceless beast haltingly slide from the tree. Raccoons could be embarrassingly easy to catch with just a little patience and a rock. Unfortunately, Kevin had work to do.

Before he took off, a splash spooked him and the raccoon. It came from the creek he jumped maybe half a mile back. Almost too distant to pick up, but the air was dry and the wind blew the right way.

The raccoon was gone. He guessed turtle, maybe even a beaver, splashed. He quickened his stride as he reached the woods. It was darker, but there was less underbrush to navigate. He ran, listening for a specific sound.

A faint hissing noise. It was the river. A shallow but fast moving one. It never got louder than a heated conversation, but in the quiet of the great outdoors it was annoyingly loud until you adjusted to it and it became background noise.

He stood on the bank. To his right, upstream, was a bridge. Kevin remembered when the county built it. He was just a pup then. He'd spent a summer pestering the construction workers and making a general nuisance of himself.

Kevin squatted and dipped his hand in the cool rushing water. He cupped his fingers and brought up a handful of water. After drinking his fill he stashed the fishing net under a bush. He looked around, just to make sure he was alone.

The forest looked quiet.

Kevin kicked off his shoes and retrieved the can of waterproofing. He strolled down river. The feel of mud between his toes, the music of rushing water and the lower willow branches brushing his fur was so relaxing he almost missed what he was looking for. A rusted, flat bottom row boat.

Kevin grinned as he pulled it from a low gully with a series of quick tugs, to dislodge any spiders hiding under it. He had fond memories of taking it up and down rivers and across secluded ponds. He wasn't sure where the boat came from originally, he just stumbled upon it abandoned in his youth.

It didn't need much patching, but by the time the sealant was drying Kevin guessed it was well after midnight. Time for phase two. He decided he'd make his way to the bridge, stopping for some jerky, and then make his way back up the other shore to retrieve the boat, leaving discouragements for any would be pursuers along the way.

Warren's plan was for him to wait near the bridge tomorrow night and snag a backpack stuffed with cash that was to be tossed into the river. Ride the boat a ways down stream, head west through the woods for a few miles and meet Jack on an unpaved back road to drive back to the farmhouse.

Kevin drew his hunting knife a began hacking down a few saplings. Once he had a good supply he started zigzagging from the shallow water to a few yards into the trees. He looked for any clear spots that might provide a natural path.

He left the shores studded with concealed punji stakes. The ground was perfectly soft to scoop out gopher sized holes, and peat moss was abundant for use as camouflage.

Kevin couldn't help but laugh at the thought of an innocent hiker wandering through and stepping into a spike filled hole. He was still snickering as he sharpened another shard of wood.

He caught sight of his shoes and knew he was back where he started. Kevin strained his eyes into the dark. The bridge couldn't be much farther. Time for a snack break.

He washed the mud from his hands and knife then sat on a rock and prepared to tear into his bag of jerky. That is when the screaming started.