The Runaway: A Werewolf Story

Chapter 10

An hour and a half later, they were bumbling along in Buck's truck, showered and dressed for fall. She'd brought so few clothes that she'd been forced to borrow a large wool sweater and flannel shirt from Buck. She also had on one of his hunters' hats in bright orange, her long blonde hair braided into pigtails on either side.

She caught her reflection in the side mirror and snorted, "I've gone full redneck now, it seems."

"I think you look cute in that outfit." He replied, and she rolled her eyes, reminding him he was biased based on the fact he picked out and bought all these clothes. A little voice warned her to tone down the back-and-forth flirting, to not fall into something with someone out of convenience and safety. But it was small enough to ignore.

The small country road looked totally different in daylight. The woods were still dense and dark on either side, but not as ominous. Though considering she slept naked in them the night before it was to be assumed she would be a little more comfortable in them.

She did spy an occasional little farmhouse or trailer tucked in the brush, barely noticeable, most with narrow dirt driveways and lines of smoke out the chimneys.

Eventually, they made their way onto the blacktop, and while old and crumbling, it was so much smoother that it was almost luxurious. The town didn't look much better than it had in the rain, though where she thought all the businesses were shuttered, she could see a few weren't. There was a convenience store, a hardware store, thrift store.

It was a Friday morning, and there were occasional cars and trucks on the road. A few that passed Buck raised a hand in a wave. They parked and walked along the cracked cement sidewalk to an old-school diner, the kind that apparently could be found in every small town in America. Olive idly wondered if there was a law that said every town must have a gazebo in their town square and a 1950's style diner someplace on its main street. As they walked along the crumbling sidewalk, she couldn't help but narrow her eyes and look over the plain-dressed people she saw moving from cars to buildings, trying to figure out if they were werewolves. Like her.

In the diner, the overhead bell jangled and the smell of bacon grease and burnt coffee hit her in the face. She noticed as they crossed the threshold that all conversation stopped and everyone in the place swiveled their heads and stared. Olive zigzagged face to face, noting the intensity of their eyes and the widening of their nostrils. Werewolves, taking in my scent. Unconsciously and much to her surprise, she realized she was doing the same.

She could tell who in the room was a wolf and who wasn't with eerie precision, and it shocked her that she could clock everyone so quickly in a room filled to the brim with cooking smells. Buck gently took her arm, and the contact both calmed and distracted her as she looked down at his hand.

"Let's take this booth right here." He said gently, nodding and smiling to a few folks they passed as he eased her into the cracked vinyl and slid in opposite her. Two plastic menus and a cup of cream in a metal container were already on the table.

"Everyone is looking at me," Olive whispered, leaning on the speckled laminate tabletop, her hands clasped tight together. She was on edge, Buck reached across the table and squeezed her forearm.

"I told you, you are the hot new thing in this town. And if it makes you feel better, I am just as under the spotlight as you. It's not common for one of us to infect someone, by accident or on purpose. I'm in the doghouse, so to speak, as well." He glanced around and nodded at a few suspicious customers.

"And besides, there isn't much new that happens here. It's quiet, and people keep to themselves. Get ready to make new friends." As he said that a large older man with a bushy salt and pepper beard and long gray hair in a ponytail came up to the table. His eyes were a coppery brown that nearly glowed in his pale pinkish face.