Page 73 of Shifting Years
He gestured to his gun and my rifle. "All the other Alpha shifters brought nothing. Only the sheriff thought differently."
"Foolish pride," I said. "We're tooth and claw, but still men. I imagined it didn't sit well with some shifters to think they needed more."
"Alphas," said Mike with a tone some women used toward men.
I quickly set up my rifle and adjusted my ear protection. One shot later, I didn't dent the metal but punched a hole through it and the sandbags behind. "NotallAlphas are foolish." Before he argued, I continued. "I'd love nothing more than to tear into that thing, so he knows what it feels like, but I can be practical."
Or a stone-cold killer.
We returned to the truck and off to Nightback Ridge, as it was now called, but this time I drove. We stayed in general silence. A little girl was out there, so casual conversation felt wrong. That didn't stop us from silently battling over the radio dial with me flipping it toConvoyon a country music station, only for Mike to switch it back toAfternoon Delight.
Mike slumped back. "You don't know my girl and she's not from you. Hell, you don't even really rememberus. Why help?"
"Guess there's something inside me that says 'Do it'."
I expected a laugh, or he'd tell me I was full of myself. Instead, he smiled softly. "I studied books and read from Kennedy, Malcolm Little, uh X, and Rod Serling's college speeches. That's it. Other men and women did things, but not me."
"You're a little girl's father when you had nobody else around. You raised her yourself. That's something." He nodded as if he appreciated my words but didn't believe them.
Late evening came as we approached the campground and memories of Vietnam after ambushes came. The scent of death was in the air and not just from the copper-smelling blood and rot. Rain wouldn't take it away. That sort of stink stayed for years. My head turned, hoping I'd pick up something.
"There's nothing to hear," said Mike. "The animals avoid the area now. It's like they know in their bones, it's not for them."
I tensed, rehearsing an apology.
"No!" he whisper-shouted. "I know what you're about to ask and I'mnotstaying behind. Angel's my blood."
He misunderstood me, but with reason. My Swiss-cheese memory said Alphas treated their Omegas well enough, but like a housekeeper you loved. There were expectations I'd keep him away, like something valuable, while I went off to fight again.
Close…
"That's not it," I explained. "Every part of me wants to stay next to you, but I can't." I gestured to the rifle, already knowing the answer. "Do you know how to use this?"
"No. Only handguns."
"Then it's on me. You have to take point."
He held out his hands. "What does that mean?"
Shame burned through me. "You have to walk out alone, while I hide."
He didn't say no but continued. "The sheriff wanted me to draw out Henry, and it didn't work. He eventually got out of the lake. I don't know if it'll work again."
"We have guns," I said.
He said nothing, but I got the unsaid sentence. 'You had them in Vietnam and look how that turned out.'
The Omega and man I'd protect with my life trudged toward rotted-wood log cabins, ready to unload a shot, and I did the same. Randomly I'd look around and then down the barrel.
Mike haunted my dreams, and what bits I remembered were precious, but he wasn't a monster hunter with a killer's eyes. My brain said it was a father-daughter connection, but did I make him hard by leaving?
Mike squared his shoulders and stepped into the shadows. I couldn't help but admire his courage. He wasn't a soldier, or trained for this, but he moved with the steady resolve of a father who'd risk everything for his child.
Including going around a cabin.
Idiot!
He had to know I couldn't see from my prone position. One second for him to realize his mistake turned into a few then several. There were no screams, but I still yelled. "Mike!"
