“I like seeing you in my clothes,” Micah said with a wicked grin.

Zeke shot him a light glower from across the kitchen, which only made Micah’s grin widen.

“Make yourself useful and grab me the garlic,” Zeke said, rolling his shoulders in Micah’s slightly-too-small shirt. He wore it with the top three buttons undone, as his chest was broader than Micah’s by a few inches, and it made him feel like a sex symbol from the ‘80s. Which wouldn’t have been an entirely bad thing, except that he had spent the day babysitting his dad, and was now playing cook and host in his shabby childhood home. It was utterly incongruent, and had him on edge.

Micah left his chair, passing a comforting hand over Jimmy’s shoulders as he circled the table, and did as Zeke asked. Jimmy was silent for a change, staring out of the wide sliding glass door at the deepening orange glow of late afternoon. Zeke and Micah weren’t out of the woods yet; the moon would be full enough to trigger the shift when it rose, and again the following night. For the fifth time, Zeke wondered whether having dinner together tonight was a good idea. If they got caught up in conversation or argument, they might miss the threshold and end up feral and furry out in public. Zeke turned the heat up a little bit more.

“How was work?” He asked Micah to get his mind off of his anxiety.

“It was...strange,” Micah said carefully. He glanced at Jimmy, considered for a moment, then apparently decided that the old man probably wasn’t a risk. Which made sense to Zeke; even if Jimmy remembered what was said, he wouldn’t be believed if he repeated it. Small blessings in big tragedies, he supposed.

“What was strange about it?”

Micah sighed and pushed a hand through his sandy hair. “It was the kids. Half of them...maybe more...looked like they’d been through the ringer last night. Our kind of ringer.”

Zeke shrugged. “There was probably a kegger or something last night. You have the juniors and seniors, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Practicing for college,” Zeke said with the ghost of a nostalgic grin. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I really don’t think a hundred kids or however many there are could keep that secret.”

“Maybe,” Micah said doubtfully, leaning against the counter. “But here’s the kicker. I had them write a short story recently and asked them to describe a human shifting into...you know. The late, sluggish, and absent kids from today all shared similar themes in their work. One kid described it perfectly, but I already suspected him. A lot of them changed up one detail or another, in a way that seemed almost...furtive. Even my gentler students, the ones who avoid writing horror and violence, included the shedding skin. Some of them described it metaphorically, with lots of vague words, but the theme was still there.”

“Maybe they all watch the same shows?” Zeke suggested, beginning to doubt his own conviction.

“That would make sense, except for the fact that every kid who wasn’t messed up today wrote utterly speculative scenes with no bearing on reality. I’m telling you, Zeke, if they aren’t...you know...themselves, they have to have watched it happen.”

“So ask them,” Zeke said. “Play it off like an exercise or something. Use some code words or metaphors or something. Or...and this would be my first choice...just ignore it. It’s not your problem.” He gave Micah a pointed look, then began scooping taco meat out of the pan and into a bowl.

“They’re my kids for the year,” Micah protested. “Their lives are my problem, especially when their issues impact their school work. Another first period like today’s and my class will be up for review. They won’t keep an elective around if the kids don’t show up.”

“Tell them that,” Zeke suggested with a shrug as he set the meat on the table between a bowl of shredded cheese and a platter of various shredded and diced veggies. “If they like your class, they’ll make the effort. You could even insinuate that you had a rough night too...put it like that, it makes people think ‘ruff’ which makes them think of dogs, you see where I’m going with this...but that you managed to show up. Invite them to see you after class if they need help managing their mornings, figure out how to slip a hint in there too, I guess. You’re smart enough, Micah, you’ll figure it out.”

“I guess,” Micah said with a worried frown.

The conversation derailed for a bit while they built their food. Zeke helped Jimmy with his, making four different tacos as Jimmy changed his mind about what he wanted on them, and put all four on Jimmy’s plate. Zeke noticed that Micah kept almost saying something, but Jimmy’s needs continuously interrupted him. In the end, Jimmy ate all four tacos; but complained about each one before, during, and after. To Zeke’s relief, Jimmy’s eyelids began to grow heavy after he downed the last of them.

“Come on dad, it’s bed time,” Zeke said, scooting his chair out.

“Do you need help?” Micah asked.

“No, I’ve got this. Thanks, though.” Zeke helped his dad out of his chair, and Jimmy didn’t fight him. A twinge of worry had Zeke peering a little closer at his dad’s face, checking to see if his eyes were focusing. They were, intermittently, but...He didn’t have time to finish that thought. A tingle shot down his spine as the sun kissed the peaks goodnight. He hurried through Jimmy’s bedtime routine as quickly as he could and tucked the old man into bed just as Zack stepped through the front door.

“We have to go,” Zeke said, making eye contact with Micah and Zack in turn. “Keep an eye on him. He’s acting weird.”

“He always acts weird,” Zack said tiredly.

“Weird for him,” Zeke clarified. “He was downright docile when I put him to bed. It’s not even dark out yet, and he didn’t mention it.”

Zack frowned, acknowledging the weirdness. “I’ll give the doctor a call,” he decided. “Maybe I can talk him into making a house call.”

“Let Benjamin know,” Zeke said as he pulled his sweatshirt on. “And leave me a voicemail if something happens. I won’t have my phone on until morning.”

Zack shot him a puzzled look, but Zeke didn’t have time to explain. Tugging on Micah’s wrist, he ran to his car and jumped in. The intensity of the tingle down his spine was increasing, pressing on his nerves until he felt like he was going to throw up and pass out. Micah looked pale, probably feeling the same, and he shook like a leaf as Zeke sped through the valley.

“Won’t cut it so close tomorrow,” Micah said through gritted teeth. “There has to be a way to make this easier.”

“I don’t think they make painkillers for this,” Zeke said, surprised at how much his own voice was shaking.

They screeched to a stop in front of Micah’s parents’ house and bolted inside, shedding their clothes as they raced down the stairs. Brandy had just finished locking George in his cell and frantically ushered them into their own, locking the door behind them without so much as a greeting. There wasn’t time. As soon as the last shimmer of sun fell below the horizon, the transformation began in earnest.

It wasn’t any easier the second time around. In fact the knowledge of what was coming made Zeke panic, which heightened every sensation, worsening the pain and terror by factors of ten. In the moments when his eyes functioned, he could see that Micah was having the same difficulty. Eventually the convulsions rippled to a stop, and he was a wolf once more, staring down at the shell of his former body. It wasn’t as shocking or disgusting the second time around, but he still didn’t want to look at it. He kicked it into a corner. Micah stood and shook himself, then met Zeke’s eyes. The beasts were calm tonight, as the hierarchy was already established, so they settled down together in the center of the cell to wait out the night.

A crash and a scream shattered the quiet, and they were instantly on their feet, barking in the direction of the disturbance. Hazily, around the canine alarms ringing through his mind, Zeke concluded that the noise had come from the direction of George’s cell. His human panic at the implications of that only spurred the canine frenzy, and he soon found himself pummeling the wall with his shoulders in a desperate attempt to break free. A woman was screaming again as another wolf snarled and snapped just on the other side of the door. Using his massive claws, Zeke began to dig through the thick particle board between the iron bars.

His claws sank into the wood as if it were sand. Splinters and chunks flew through the air as he ripped into the wall. After a moment, he realized that Micah was beside him, widening the hole, and he was whimpering. The high-pitched whine increased in volume and intensity as the woman screamed again, pushing Zeke to dig even faster. Red smears glistened on the wood, but Zeke ignored them. The wall cracked and fell to pieces, his side first and then Micah’s, to reveal...darkness.

Zeke shoved his head through the bars. George’s cell was open, the door broken off at the hinges. Broken glass glinted in the low light; the remnants of the solitary basement light, he assumed. Dark red streaks marred the walls, as if someone had been dragged along, trailing their bloody fingers behind them. Panic and rage bubbled in his chest. They needed to get out. The bars were too close together to allow his shoulders to pass through, and Micah wouldn’t have been able to manage it either. With a growl of frustration, Zeke yanked his head back into the cell and slammed his body into the weak spot where the door hinged to the wall. Nothing. It was welded tight.

Disgusted and frustrated, Zeke turned to pace the room, which seemed smaller with every pass. Micah was still whimpering, really crying, racing back and forth across the torn-up wall. Zeke sat, contemplating the various possibilities as his beast turned his heightened senses up to the floor above. He could hear something moving up there, crashing around. Was Brandy still alive? Was George? A screeching, worse than nails on a chalkboard, interrupted him. Whirling, he found Micah running one claw slowly over the hinges, one after the other. Thin strips of metal curled away from his paws like hard butter under a sharp knife.

Wait, he thought. We can’t leave. If somebody sees us, we’re dead. But, to his surprise, his body moved to help Micah. Top to bottom, they carved at the hinges, shearing a deep dent into the welded metal. Stop! Zeke demanded. We can’t go out there, we’ll die! But his beast had only one goal. To get out. To follow the blood. Micah’s desperate breathless whimpers drove Zeke’s beast to cut a little deeper, to work a little faster. Zeke tried everything. Wordless will, fury, fear, calm...nothing worked. He was riding a feral beast, and the beast was calling the shots now.

Well if I can’t stop you, I can at least keep you from killing anybody, Zeke resigned himself. He sat back and watched, conserving his energy. His claws sank deeply into the metal now, and the hinges began to creak and groan under the weight of the door. One final pass, then he and Micah stepped back. It sagged slightly, but didn’t fall; the two beasts retreated to the very back of their cell. They met each other’s eyes. On some unseen signal, they both burst into a flat run, gobbling up the space in two bounds before colliding hard with the weakened door.