Hunters, Hunted (Wolfblood Fanfiction)

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Maddy

It seems that Cumbria is one of the few areas of British countryside devoid of heather, and the lack of it unnerves me. This landscape stretches on almost endlessly, vast in a way I’m unused to, full of high craggy hilltops and torch-red bracken and fields and fields of sheep. A fine silver mist hangs over the lake, just stretching its fingers through the gathering dawn that is yet to pull the colour from beneath the indigo of the water. It must be at least a mile across to the other side, where the road is, and I estimate that that means we are at least a mile from another person. Considering our situation, that’s probably no bad thing.

            Bryn and I stay close to the water, but just hidden in the trees. It’s not that I really believe Dr Whitewood will be standing with her binoculars on the road on the other side of this particular lake on this particular day, especially when she’s got herself a whole lab full of Wolfbloods to experiment on, but however hard I try I can’t shake the feeling that we’re fugitives, Bryn and I. We haven’t stolen anything, yet, but with no money and the state we’re in, I’m beginning to think we’ll have to at some point. The last time we ate anything that wasn’t some measly plant was half a rabbit each two days ago, and if I’m being honest we caught that completely by chance. I’m useless at hunting and Bryn can’t transform, which isn’t making the journey any easier either, whilst we don’t have a penny between us; so far we’ve made our way out of Wales and a little up the coast – from the landscape we must have made it into the Lake District – but we’re still right across the country from Northumberland and Stoneybridge. We can’t survive without food forever.

            Deciding I need to broach this topic with Bryn I say,

            “We need to find food. Now.” I don’t look over my shoulder as I say it because I’ve learnt that Bryn is more likely to give a useful response if you aren’t looking at him and are completely direct with what you say. It unsettles me a little because I’m aware that the habit is making me sound more and more like the wild Wolfbloods. Still, we have to communicate efficiently somehow.

            Bryn doesn’t reply at once, thinking as we walk, so that the sun has stained the sky a mixture of yellow and turquoise by the time he says,

            “We’re near the sea, aren’t we?” I shrug.

            “It can’t be that far away.” If it would get us some food then I’m sure we could find our way there without too much trouble. If he’s about to suggest fishing, though, then it looks like we’re heading towards being real fugitives after all.

            “When we were coming to find Rhydian the first time, Mum took me out on to the sand flats up this coast to pick…” he trails off, trying to find the name, “cockles?” The idea rings a bell in my brain: cockle picking on Cumbrian sand flats. Yes, I think I’ve heard of it before. I may not be a fan of shellfish, but it’s free food.

            “Don’t they have to be cooked?” I ask him, trying to work out whether I really have the guts to make a fire and go through the process of cooking on it. Let’s just say that Wolfbloods aren’t exactly fire worshippers.

            “We ate them raw,” he replies, gruffly, and that’s that decided: we’ve got to find a beach.

            It takes us the best part of the day to cross even the small section of countryside and make it to the coast, and my non-existent sense of direction means going into a village to ask for directions. I hate the way people stare at us, two kids in filthy clothes with mud smeared across their faces who haven’t eaten enough in several days. It doesn’t matter how similar I am or am not to them on the inside: all they’re going to see is a runaway, or a gypsy child, and they look down their noses at me. If they knew what I’ve been going through…but the anger doesn’t get so far as making me wolf out.

            By late afternoon we’re stepping onto the sand in a vast cove. The whitish yellow stretches on forever before the water even wets it, and it’s a good half an hour’s walk before we’re checking the ground for shells. Most of the day has gone by without more than the minimum conversation, when all of a sudden Bryn’s voice comes from beside me.

            “Why do you love Rhydian so much?”

            It’s such a shock to hear that I quite literally stop dead.

            All I manage is, “How did you…?” Bryn snorts.

            “I’m not stupid. You might try and take Jana for a ride but it’s written all over you. You’re pining for your mate and he’s not even dead.” It’s harsh, even for Bryn, and when I’m cold and hungry and tired it’s just a bit more than I want to hear.

            “Because you know everything about love, do you? You have such great experience in a pack where there is no one else your age? He’s the first person I ever met outside my family who was a Wolfblood, and he’s my friend. Of course I love him!” Before I can continue Bryn interrupts.

            “Why would you when it was obviously him who ratted on us?” That’s another shock.

            “You what?” I never thought about how Dr Whitewood knew where to find us, if I’m honest, but it would never have been Rhydian, surely.

            Would it?

            NO!

            “Who else knows where we made camp? That scientist wouldn’t even know we existed if someone didn’t tell her and there was no one else there to do it. So I say it was Rhydian who ratted on us. And when I get my hands on him I’m going to - ”

            “Stop it, Bryn. Just stop it.” Don’t even think about it, Maddy. He wouldn’t.

            “But - ”

            “Can you just shut up!” I storm away from him, fuming, the paw prints in my blood twisting round and round. I’m slamming my feet into the wet sand, unaware of how it clings onto them a little like suction pads.

            “Maddy…” I don’t notice his change of tone.

            “I said, shut - ”

            And then half my leg disappears through the sand.