City of Wolves: Alphas on Motorcycles

2 | Dumpster

Matthew

My perfect girlfriend begins to stutter.

"Well—well, Matthew, I—I don't know," her eyes are desperate, hands waving erratically in the air as she reaches for the light switch for the foyer. "I'm scared. You—you know I usually stay out of these things."

"This is a turning point, Celeste. This is how our new future is starting. Don't you want to get ahead of it?" I grab my jacket, grab her jacket and throw it at her, hoping she will follow my lead and put it on. Instead she stares at me, clutching the jacket to her chest. "I love you, Celeste, but I want to stay on the right side of history. I want you to be there with me too."

"And I am," she breathes. "I'm trying. B-but—"

"But what?" I ask disinterestedly, putting on my shoes.

"You know that I find myself on the right side of history...in some cases."

"Don't you want to do more? Be on the right side in more cases?"

Celeste purses her mouth, narrowing her eyes to slits, and makes a sound halfway between a groan and a grunt as she puts on her jacket, grabbing a pair of sneakers from the closet. Her hair froths around her in champagne-colored curls and, as she stands, she quickly tames them in a low ponytail. Her eyes are resentful but only because she knows, in some way, that I am right.

"I do," she nods. "But truth be told I am scared. I'm not brave, Matthew, you know that."

"We are all scared, Celeste. Remember that."

I kiss her and take her hand, grabbing the apartment keys and not bothering to lock the door behind us as I run us down the hallway. The walls are sand-colored and the carpet is ornate red. Werewolves have enjoyed and preserved antiquated human fashion, aesthetics, and decor, commemorating styles from the beginnings of ancient civilization all the way to the year 2050 when humans nearly exterminated themselves from the face of the earth.

Celeste, thanks to her long legs and endurance, is able to keep up with me as I run, turning the corner and running down another length of hallway before we get to the stairwell. One stairwell per floor really kicks rocks right now, but I guess three elevators makes up for it. I'm just too impatient to wait for a lift. I'm too impatient for the structure of this building.

Ten flights of stairs later and we reach the floor level, running through the side door onto a patch of grass. I don't have the gift of endurance so it is up to my adrenaline to keep me fueled. The streets are loud and alight, absolutely alive and unabashedly so. There is the smell of smoke, the sound of violence, the feeling of uncertainty. We run without a plan. Not even I thought this far ahead. I just need to be outside where all of it is happening, to be near the culmination of discontent somehow.

"I have an idea," Celeste stops abruptly, digging in her heels, my shoulder nearly dislocating from the sudden halt. I turn back to her, brows furrowed. "What set of keys did you grab?"

Digging in my jacket pocket, I pull out her lanyard of keys. Celeste rips them from my hand.

"We will unlock my shop. It's right along the main drag so I imagine protestors will be fleeing past it. We can offer a hiding spot, at least until the pandemonium ends. They can hide in the storage room in the basement. Does this sound like a good plan?" she asks, hoping to impress me with her thinking.

"There's that one security camera that will capture everything happening in front of your shop."

"But there are no cameras in the alleyway. There are all sorts of heavy objects in the dumpster there that can be repurposed as weapons. We just have to have good aim."

"I love you," I take her face in my hands, kiss her, and reclaim her hand, telling her to lead the way since she knows the journey by heart and I do not. I have only been to her shop a couple of times and I never notice it when I happen to pass by. As a categorized full-blooded human, I have no reason to be in a space occupied by canines and demi-canines seeking their mates.

Celeste takes the lead, running ahead of me, getting closer to the lights and cacophony, her pace slowing as we turn the corner and are confronted by a terrified mob of people (I use this term to refer to both humans and werewolves; it's easier colloquially) trying to escape the authorities bent on shattering their protest into a million pieces. Now it is my turn to stop abruptly, yanking Celeste back, keeping her pressed to me as the crowd rushes past. The wind from their momentum blows wisps of Celeste's blonde hair in my face. I know the crowd has passed when she frees herself from me, officially turning the corner. We move against the grain, running in the direction people are rupturing from.

Her hearing allows us to avoid another panicking crowd as we turn the final corner and finally reach her shop. We approach from behind the security camera, sneaking up on it before taking a detour into the alleyway. The dumpster is full and Celeste, my perfect girlfriend, dives into it without any hesitation. My eyes are wide as she rips open garbage bags and boxes before finding what looks to be a glass paperweight—a red glass wolf circling a pale blue individual that looks scared. I imagine it's a propaganda piece that shows what happens to enemies against the regime. She tosses the paperweight to me. I nearly drop it.

"Go! I'll stay here just in case we need a few more shots; I also found a rolling pin!" Celeste yells as the noises from the dismantled protest begins to close in.

I leave the alleyway, homed in on the camera, feeling the pressure as Celeste watches me from the dumpster. Pursing my lips, I elevate my arm, grip onto the object, and throw it at the back of the camera. I have delivered a lucky kill shot, disemboweling the camera as the metal falls to the ground and the wires remain in place. Cheering to myself, I turn to Celeste who is smiling nervously as she crawls out of the dumpster and runs to catch up with me. She congratulates me on my shot, slipping past me to unlock the shop door. The noises grow louder, blaring, an ambulance siren getting closer and closer.

Door unlocked, we slither inside, closing the door behind us to give us a moment to regroup. Her breathing is heavy, less from exhaustion and more from anxiety, and she rubs her face in her hands before turning on the lights, alerting the world that her shop is open and ready for whatever company may find itself on her doorstep. Figuring we could catch unwanted attention from authorities, I shut the light off and wrap my arms around Celeste from behind. I don't even bother looking around her place of work. What Celeste does for work is the antithesis of my life goals. We compromise on many fronts. We both take risks, often at the expense of the other.

Standing in front of the window, the sounds of screaming and shouting and sirens and growling continuing to grow louder, Celeste and I take the street in. We watched this overwhelmed street from our balcony no more than ten minutes ago and now it is empty, no longer the scene of action. Part of the swarm will more than likely come by soon; not everyone will choose to evacuate via the same path, unless everyone wishes to be imprisoned and killed in the same detention center. This street has not reached its threshold for action tonight.

"Let's hope when people come by that me smelling like a dumpster doesn't scare them away," Celeste comments, half-joking half-serious. "There's a phone on the back wall by the desk if you want to make some calls, in case some of your friends have their devices on them."

Without a second's hesitation I walk towards the back wall, the numbers I need remembered by heart. There's no time to thank Celeste for her bravery. It's not something she's thankful for in this moment either, I suspect.