“Where the hell are they?” asked one of the men, a dirty-looking, wiry man in a denim vest and ripped jeans.
“Keep your fuckin’ pants on,” said the second of the two men, a beady-eyed youth who looked to be no older than 20. “They’re taking down that whole pack, give ‘em at least an hour.”
The third man, a fat-bellied black man with patchy hair, kept his pistol trained on Atticus, who sat wordlessly on the couch.
“I need another hit,” he said. “This is all gettin’ to me.”
“You heard Lucas,” said the man in the denim vest. “No hits until the rest of ‘em get here.”
“How would Lucas even know?” asked the beady-eyed man as he paced frantically around the room. “You think he’s got cameras or some shit in here?”
“Who knows what he can do?” said Denim Vest. “He took over our whole operation in a month. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was keepin’ some kind of tabs on us.”
Silence fell over the men as they all considered their situation. Atticus was quiet, instead keeping in mind that Lucas said nothing about keeping these three lowlifes alive. Though he felt confident about his situation, he worried about the rest of the pack. Lucas mentioned that something happened to them, and they should’ve been back by now. Atticus cast an eye towards the tree line beyond the compound, hoping for some sign that the rest of the pack was near. But the trees were still aside from the evening breeze, darkness descending over the compound as the last traces of sun twinkled beneath the forest.
“Besides, I’m gonna start to lose my focus here if I don’t get a hit,” said Patchy Hair.
“What the hell are you two talking about?” demanded Denim Vest.
Atticus surmised that Denim Vest was the one in charge, but from the looks of things, he didn’t seem to be keeping a very good handle on the situation. He’d watched these meth heads from afar for long enough to know that they could only talk themselves out of using for so long before they gave in.
“Nah, nah,” said Beady Eyes. “I mean, things are fine now, but if I don’t get a hit, I’m gonna start thinking more about crystal than I am about watching the freak, you know?”
He pointed to Atticus with his pistol, who winced in response. He also been around these types long enough to know that accidental shootings among them were surprisingly common.
“Yeah, yeah, he’s right,” said Patchy Hair. “Plus, you know how the shit works- we’ll be way more focused once we do it, you know? And that’ll make our job even easier, and we’ll do it better.”
“I don’t know,” said Denim Vest, scratching the back of his head with his pistol. “We use and Lucas will have our asses. You saw what he did to that kid who took a hit on guard duty last week.”
“Yeah,” said Beady Eyes. “But that was ‘cuz that kid let some junkie slip past the perimeter. Lucas wouldn’t have given a shit if he would’ve done his fuckin’ job.”
Denim Vest scrunched his ugly, pock-marked face and Atticus could tell that he was marshalling his limited intellect to ponder the situation.
“Come on,” said Patchy Hair. “Just a hit to keep us steady and then we’ll finish the job. Besides, we’re here ‘till he gives up the money- that could be the whole 48 hours. You want to wait that long?”
Denim Vest considered this further. Atticus simply waited, knowing that an opportunity would soon arise.
“Yeah,” said Beady Eyes. “And when he said ‘don’t use until the job’s done,’ he was, uh, speaking, you know, metaphorically.”
“Right!” said Patchy Hair. “He was saying, like, don’t get fucked up until the job is done, like, don’t go overboard until the bear fucker gives up the goods.”
“There’s no way he would’ve expected us to not use,” said Beady Eyes. “I bet he’d probably even think it was weird that we didn’t!”
“He’d probably get mad at us, actually,” said Patchy Hair. “He’d think we fucked up by not keeping steady.”
Denim Vest’s eyes lit up with understanding, this seemed to be just the justification he needed to hear to give in to the temptation that had been dogging him.
“Fine!” he said. “But just enough to keep us on the level.”
“Yeah, yeah! Sure!” said Patchy Hair and Beady Eyes as they eagerly pulled out their paraphernalia.
A small smile crossed Atticus’s lips as he watched the junkies go to work. And that smile spread even further when he saw a long rustling along the tree line, the outside now completely black with evening dark. Yellow eyes emerged from the woods, and Atticus knew then that his pack was back. He smiled with pride, knowing that they managed to get through whatever trap Lucas’s men had set for them.
Looking down at the zip ties that kept him restrained, he shook his head at how careless the junkies had been. Atticus watched the bears emerge from the woods as he flexed his muscles, the zip ties snapping like rubber bands stretched too taut.
His eyes on the junkies as they huddled over their supply, Atticus rose from the couch, preparing to shift. He glanced at the pistols loaded with silver-tipped bullets- he was sure he’d be able to get to them before they could aim them, let alone crack off a shot, but he also knew that junkies could be unpredictable. A stray round in his leg would mean he’d be out of commission for a week while he recovered, and that was time he didn’t have.
“Guys,” said Atticus, standing mid-shift, his muscles large and fur-covered.
The junkies snapped around, their eye wild and fearful as they stared at Atticus.
“I hope you brought enough for the rest of the family,” he said, gesturing to the pack of bears that were currently crawling through the tree line, their faces painted with rage as they drew closer.
“Shit, shit!” cried Beady Eyes, fumbling for his gun.
But none of the three were quick enough. Atticus retained his mid-shift form, not wanting to become the larger target that fully shifting into his bear form would result in. With blinding speed, he rushed at the three, striking Denim Vest with his razor-sharp claws, cutting through his skin and sending him flying backward against the wall. Patchy Hair and Beady Eyes, both going for their weapons, were next. Atticus grabbed Patchy Hair and threw him against the wall on the other side of the room, his body connecting with a sickening thud-crack.
Then, Beady Eyes managed to raise his gun and fire a round, the pop from the shot cutting through the air, the bullet going wild and hitting wide. Atticus shook his head and drove his claws into Beady Eyes, plunging them deep into his stomach, the junkie grabbing Atticus’s wrist feebly before dropping to his knees.
Atticus backed off, sighing as he surveyed the mess made of his home. But before he could think for too long, Ian, Roland, and Clyde appeared in the door frame.
“Wow,” said Ian, looking over the wreckage. “What’d we miss?”