Carolina Moon

Medical Audit: Tess

We didn’t go back to the shipyard. Instead, Leon drove us to a “dead zone” on the outskirts of the territory. It was an old veterinary surgical center on the edge of the beach that had been converted into a Steelclaw infirmary years ago. It was sterile and cold, and when we walked in, my nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of rubbing alcohol and old blood.

The wolves present dropped their heads as we entered. I could feel the weight of their gaze on K.C. It was just as heavy as he was — leaning against me, trying to hide the severity of his injuries. I could feel the heat of his skin through the my soot-stained dress though. The wolves didn’t just see him as their Alpha, they looked at him like he was their miracle.

I helped K.C. sit down on a stainless steel exam table. Across the room, the enforcers dropped Darian onto a gurney, trying not to show the strain from their own injuries. Darian was in much worse shape. I knew the silver nitrate poisoning was a slow, agonizing pain for a werewolf.

I didn’t wait for a doctor. I didn’t even know if there was one available. Instead, I grabbed a basin of water, sterile gauze, and the herbal salves I recognized from the books in Darian’s study. I started on K.C. first.

As I washed the soot and blood from K.C.’s back, I took an inventory of his injuries. I worked quietly, a thick silence filling the room, only broken by the pained sighs and grunts of the injured. I watched the way his skin knelt back together, the pack bond healing him, but the exhaustion in his eyes was deep.

I was changing out the water in the basin when Darian started to seize. Leon looked panicked, but he tried to maintain calm as he rushed to the dying man’s side. I walked over to the gurney, ignoring the instinctual, low growl that came from K.C.

My eyes narrowed as I met Darian’s gaze. “You knew, didn’t you? About the substation? You knew I’d see the code for the smelting plant, but you didn’t bother to warn us it was a trap.”

Darian’s voice was a wet whistle, struggling to make sound as he answered, “He wouldn’t have… let you go there… you’re the only one… that sees… the whole board…” He coughed and more blood stained his lips. “The Grid-Keepers weren’t… the ones who funded… the new S-Grate. Look at the… source code… again.”

Leon retrieved a laptop, and we pulled up the cached data I pulled from the substation before it blew. I looked past the encryption, past the Grid-Keepers’ sloppy headers.

The funding for the hardware didn’t come from some government oversight committee. It came from a series of shell companies based out of Charleston, South Carolina. The war had followed us home before it had even really started. Someone in our “peaceful backyard” had been bankrolling the destruction of Kingsport.

K.C. forced himself to his feet. His back was still raw, but his eyes were burning with a new, protective fury. “We aren’t staying in this city a second longer than we have to,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous vibration.

I looked at the screen, then at the two broken Alphas in the room. “We can’t go back to Cypress Hollow, yet, K.C. If the account holders are in Charleston, then everything in Cypress Hollow is at risk. It’s not a sanctuary, it’s another cage they’re waiting to close.”

“Then we change the locks,” K.C. growled. His steps towards me were stiff, his skin pulling painfully against the fresh scars on his back. “If they’re in Charleston, they’re still three hours away from our front door. We aren’t hiding in a vet clinic while they decide when to strike.”

“Wait,” I said, my fingers flying across the keyboard. “Look at the transaction timestamps. The final payment for the sonic emitters was cleared three days ago. That wasn’t just a purchase order, it was a deployment fee.”

Leon leaned over, his eyes scanning the column of numbers. “Deployment? To where? The Grid-Keepers were already here.”

“Not for Kingsport,” I whispered, feeling a sudden chill run through my body. I traced the routing numbers. “These funds were redirected. Half for the Grid-Keepers in Kingsport, but the other half…is being spent on logistics.”

I looked up at K.C., my heart hammering frantically. “They aren’t just funding a war here. They’re using the chaos in Kingsport as a diversion. While we were focused here, they were moving into the marsh.” I thought about Sylvie and the new velvet hats. The timber yard. My cozy bungalow and the cabin K.C. was slowly turning into his home. “They aren’t just focused on one territory, on one pack.”

K.C.’s brows furrowed, “Explain.”

“The S-Grate was Darian’s design. It was based on the frequency of the Silvercrest pack,” I explained, “and was meant to keep any other pack from moving freely within his territory. The new pulses are different. They’re broader. They’re designed to map all wolf activity. They aren’t trying to kill the wolves, they’re trying to… to catalog them. They’re building a census of every supernatural entity in the south.”

Darian let out a wheezing, wet laugh from the gurney. “They want… the census… so they can… begin the harvest.”

K.C. ignored him as he looked at Leon. “How many men can move right now?”

“Most of the pack is still scattered, or recovering from the static,” Leon answered, his voice grim. “I can give you five enforcers and an armored transport, but… if you leave now, the city won’t survive without an Alpha.”

K.C. looked at the door, then back at me. I could see the war behind his eyes. The man who wanted to protect his new home versus the king who was being told he couldn’t leave.

“I’m not the King of Kingsport,” K.C. said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly quiet register. “I’m the man who lives in Cypress Hollow. Leon, get the car ready. Tess, get your things. We’re going home.”

I shut the laptop with a definitive click. I looked at Darian, then at the rows of sterile surgical tools. “We’re going to need a bigger ground wire,” I muttered as I grabbed my bag.