After running afoul of some lupine characters at Daytona Bike Week, both my wife Deb and I had become infected with Lycanthropy; no, not the psychological disease but the real thing. Yep. Shapeshifting, long hair (everywhere), pointy ears and oh yes BIG TEETH. Actually, there are some advantages to being a werewolf like increased height, strength, speed and other obvious things, but the big thing is you don't age the same. We were both pushing fifty - now we look like twenty five year old swimsuit models and feel fantastic. It seems that the virus or whatever it is wants a perfect host and will modify the host to their full potential.

Some of the other myths just don't apply either, such as full moons. Well, sort of. Yes, we have to change on a full moon, but we don't have to kill. Sometimes just running through the trees is enough, unless, of course, there is a dumb deer or a stupid rabbit with a death-wish just hanging out. We are able to shift anytime, but the true form is that of a wolf - not the man-wolf amalgam which is a partial shift (which we can do also). Some of the myths that do apply though are, We are highly allergic to silver, and yes, silver bullets will kill us. Also burning (like we would hang around for that), and if your head comes off, you die (I know that for a fact - killed one of the bad ones that way).

As you can see, hiding the changes from friends and employers who wouldn't understand (or might want too much) was a worrying situation. We were able to solve it with the help of a lawyer (also a Lyken) and a little legal wrangling. Retired due to medical reasons, we sold the house bought a new truck, customized live-in toy hauler and two customized Valks, and hit the road. On our travels (with a monthly stop at a National Forrest or other secluded area), we found that there are worse things out here than werewolves.

John is waiting in the airport when we arrive. John's been a good friend and will probably remain so for the rest of his life. He is not Pack, but I trust him as if he were. I'll turn him anytime he asks. John can drive just about anything that has a steering wheel and is a cautious driver, especially with other people's vehicles. In my mind, John is perfect to pick up our rig and drive it and Melissa to Florida.

Richard lands in time for us to meet him at the airport and we only have a few minutes before we must depart. Introducing Melissa and John, and both to Richard, I give everyone a heads up. "Richard, John is not Pack, but I trust him completely. John, Richard is Pack. He will take care of Melissa and knows where to spot the rig." Giving the keys to the rig and a credit card to John, I warn Melissa, "John's not Pack and doesn't want to be. So keep your hands and other delightful appendages off."

Turning to head for the loading gate, I hear Melissa ask Deb, "What about Richard?"

"He's Pack, he's married, and he can fend for himself. He is also Animal's second, and is responsible for the Pack when Animal is not there." Wagging a finger at Melissa, she continues. "You listen to Richard and leave John be."

Deb and I head off to catch our plane, leaving Richard and Melissa to go home without us. Going through the security checkpoint presents no problem. We have already checked in and sent our luggage through while waiting for Richard to arrive. All we have to do now is take off our shoes and walk through the metal detector.

Flying first class really beats the bird I was in the first time I flew into St. Thomas. The seats in a C-130 are built by Acme Torture Equipment, the ride sounds like the inside of a dryer full of rocks, and the heaters have two settings: Africa-hot and off. Settling into my seat, I'm reminiscing about other trips to the islands, made before Deb and I knew each other.

Deb leans over and asks, "Who is Leah?"

"Someone I knew before we met." Sometimes this psychic thing is a real pain. "Let it go Hon. You knew I wasn't a monk before we got married."

"Neither was I. You should know by now I am not jealous of your past, just curious. How long has it been since you were in St. Thomas?"

"That's nun, not monk. It's been a while. I was in my mid twenties."

Deb nods and orders us drinks when a steward walks by. As Deb hands me my drink, she leans close and whispers, "Wanna join the mile high club?"

"We're on the clock." Seeing her pout, I continue. "But on the ride back we won't be."

"I'll hold you to it." Smiling, she sips her drink.

The flight down is smooth and we're able to catch a catnap on the way. Feeling the plane start to make a course correction, I ask the steward, "We're coming in from the east, aren't we?"

"Oh you've flown into St. Thomas before. Yes sir. We're coming in from the mountain side."

"Thanks."

Deb is giving me a questioning look when the Captain announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts and return your tray tables to their upright positions. We'll be landing momentarily."

Deb busies herself fastening her seat belt.

"Hon, we'll be coming in between two mountain peaks and dropping fast. Well, diving into a culdera would be more accurate, hitting the runway and stopping really fast."

Deb smiles. "Like Space Mountain in Disney except for the stopping part?"

Giving her my best evil grin I say, "Yep, just like Space Mountain."

Seeing my grin, Deb tightens her seat belt. Just as we turn on final approach, Deb notices I did not fasten my seat belt. "Animal, your seatbelt…"

"I know, it's a game we used to play," I say, smiling with anticipation.

I am disappointed. The landing is nothing like I remember. It was just like landing at any other airport: No negative G's or hair-raising stops ten feet from the end of the runway. It seems they have rebuilt the runway, doubling its size and pushing it out into the ocean. Where is the fun in that?!

Soon we are walking down the stairs leaving the plane. Taking a few steps to clear the gangway, I look around and take a beep breath. (Yep it still smells the same… Sea salt and jungle!) Deb nudges me. Looking at her, I see she is concerned about something.

"What's wrong? You've closed up. I can't feel you," she says in a worried tone.

"Memories, Hon. Bad ones. It's the jungle smell. I'll be okay." Making a conscious effort to relax, I try to shake the nagging feeling that something is gone and I'm destined to die in some damn jungle somewhere. I take her hand and we walk towards the old PBY hanger. We haven't gone far when one of the ground crew waves us towards a newer building. (Damn, it has been a long time since I was here.) We pick up our luggage and when we leave the terminal, we see a guy holding a sign: MR. & MRS. WOLF. Walking over to the man I say, "That's us."

"Good afternoon Sir and Madam, I'm from Tropical Tours. Your bikes are this way." He leads us out into the parking lot and over to a pair of BMW dual sport bikes. He gives us the rundown on the bikes, has us sign a few forms and he's off.

Deb looks over the bike then looks up. "It's not a Ridley!"

Laughing, "No it's not. Your Ridley wouldn't survive some of the goat paths they call roads here."

After we take a few laps around the parking lot to get the feel of the bikes, Deb pulls up to the exit and waits for me. I pull to a stop beside her. "Hon, there's something I forgot to tell you." Deb looks at me. 'What's that?"

"They drive on the left here."

Deb looks at traffic for a moment looks back at me "Nice time to tell me. Is it too late to get a jeep? I'll follow you."

Pulling out into traffic, I can feel Deb wondering if my parents really were married. Riding to the right toward Charlotte Amalie, I see something I remember and I pull into the parking lot of Octopus' Gardens. Deb pulls up beside me and asks, "What's up?"

Looking around I say, "I'm lost! It's been so long since I was here, I don't recognize much anymore." Remembering I saw a map book in the saddlebag, I kill the bike and drag out the map. Within a few minutes, I have oriented myself and we are off again.

Checking into Wyndham Sugar Bay Resort & Spa, Deb and I quickly realize that we will be living in the manner to which we would like to become accustomed. Standing on the private balcony looking at the Windward Passage, I can feel the past retreating. This is not the St. Thomas I used to know, and I'm glad of it. Deb walks up behind me and puts her arms around me "I can feel your back to the here and now!"

"Yes I'm back… But something's missing. Ah hell, it must be old ghosts; I told you what I use to do." Feeling Deb nod, I continue. "The last time I was here, well, it was a stop over before returning to the U. S. Anytime we went out, there was always an armed escort with us. He wasn't there to protect us. We were more than a little gone. But that was then and this is now. Shall we get to work?"

While Deb is calling the U. S. Marshall's office, I unpack a few things. (No, it's not my bowie or pistols; both are illegal in St. Thomas. Besides, we'd have never gotten them on the plane even in check through luggage. Instead I have a pair of CRKT. M16-04Z Tanto-bladed folding knives and a pair of eighteen inch Asp collapsible Batons.) Handing Deb her knife and Asp I ask, "Where do we meet the Marshall?"

"In the lobby in about twenty minutes. He's coming here and bringing a local expert." Deb hooks her knife in the waist band of her skirt. She looks at the baton and cocks her head at me. "And just where would you suggest I put this?"

I hesitate, smile and say, "I'll carry it." Slipping the batons into the back pockets of my shorts we decide to walk around and check out the resort.

We end our little tour in the lobby and only have to wait a few minutes for the Marshall to arrive, alone. The Marshall is dressed in his tropical uniform and is easy to spot. Walking over to him, I say, "Afternoon Marshall. I'm Connor Wolf and this is my wife Honey." Looking around I ask, "Where's the local expert you spoke about."

Smiling he replies, "Afternoon. I'm Captain Stevens. Papa's coming on his scooter. He didn't want to be seen riding with The Man, something about his stick."

"Ah would that be Papa Loa?"

Marshall Stevens nods. "You know Papa?

I shake my head. "No. Marshall how long have you been assigned to St. Thomas?"

"About four months. Why?"

"Marshall you've been had. Papa Loa is not a name it's more of a title. Roughly translated, it means doctor and father."

Marshall Stevens does not look happy "What? You mean it means something? I thought it was just a street name."

I'm smiling. "Unless I miss my guess, your local expert is a Boojam Voodoo Priest."

I hear a voice from behind us with a West Indies French accent. "Is very good guess, Monsieur."

Turning, we see an ageless black man with dread locks, about six foot tall, and carrying what appears to be a walking staff with beads, feathers and fetishes inlaid into the wood and tied on.

Seeing us face to face for the first time his eyes go wide as he takes a breath through his teeth causing a hissing sound. Taking a step back, he grabs his staff in both hands does something and begins to draw the sword concealed inside the staff. "Loup Garou!"

Palming an Asp in each hand, I step back and quietly say "We're not your enemy, but if you want, we can make that happen!"

Marshall Stevens is confused that we are ready to start a war right here and right now. "Papa, No! They're here to help! Connor! Honey! Stop!"

"Stop hell. If he pulls that blade, I'm going to help my husband," Deb says as she shoulders the Marshall clear of the coming fray.

Seeing how Deb got the Marshal clear, Papa stops. "Husband? You married?"

Deb nods yes to both questions.

"Is change things. oui?" Papa says as he sheaths the partially drawn blade back into the staff.

Pocketing the asps, I take a breath. "Papa, I think we need to talk in private. Marshall, we'll call you later once we have something to work on."

Marshall Stevens raises an eyebrow. "You expect me to leave? Ten seconds ago, the three of you were ready to kill each other."

Papa looks at the Marshall. "it… I make mistake. You not needed, ness-pa?"

Marshall Stevens looks at Papa. "Are you sure?"

"Oui"

Marshall Stevens looks at the three of us with a frown, and as he turns to leave says, "Keep me updated."

I turn to Deb and Papa after watching the Marshall leave. "Where to Papa?"

"Madam. Monsieur. We go your rooms. Ness-pa?"

Smiling I say, "Right this way, Papa."

On the way back to the suite, Deb leans close and whispers, "How does he know?"

"He has the magic, hon."

Sitting on the balcony sipping iced rum, Papa lays out the problem. (Sure we have the reports and the official version, but now we get the what's really going on.) It seems a new Priestess has recently shown up on the island, preaching that the islands are for islanders; throw off your yokes of slavery, rise up and take the islands back, yada, yada, yada. Pretty normal stuff. Except when any of her followers die or are killed, they come back from the dead.

"Papa, we're talking the walking dead here, right?"

"Oui"

Deb looks at me. "Okay, so how do you kill a zombie?"

Smiling at Deb I say, "With a rocket launcher?"

Laughing Papa says, "Oui, that will work, but little hard on the ears, mon. There be a few ways to stop a zombie. If it relative or good friend, fill mouth with salt and sew shut, then hang zombie in circle of blessed candles. When candles burn out, Ti Bon Ange be set free."

"Excuse me, Papa. Ti Bon Ange? My French is not that good."

"Ti Bon Ange, it mean, ah, soul. Other way is crush skull or take head, or free all when Bokor dies."

"Bokor?"

"Zombie Master."

Leaving us with a lot to think about, Papa takes off headed for his home having promised to take us to see something tomorrow afternoon. After dinner, we do some web research with the lap top computer and crash early. It's been a long day. I roll out of bed before dawn, well before the time Deb usually wakes up. Walking out on the balcony, I watch and listen as shift change takes place. I hear and feel the nighttime animals going to ground or roost. Then it's the magic moment when nothing's moving; it's like the whole world's holding it's breath... Then it's over and the daytime critters start waking and moving.

"That was incredible. I've never heard or felt that before." Deb is standing just behind me with wonder on her face and in her eyes.

"Usually it's not so defined, but when it is, it's magic." Looking towards the water and the path leading to the beach I ask, "Care for a swim?"

"Okay."

Deb and I go inside to put on swimsuits, grab the room keys and head off for the beach. Trotting down the path, we are soon swimming in the warm water, letting it soak the kinks out and the cobwebs clear. Returning to the beach we decide a little run might be just the thing to work up an appetite. Returning to our room, we order a big breakfast and grab a shower. We have just finished dressing when the room service staff arrives and serves our breakfast on the balcony.

Having a few hours to kill before we need to meet with Papa, Deb and I grab the map book and plan a route to see a few of the usual tourist sites: Megan's Bay, Coki Point, and Blackbeard's Castle are all we have time for today. While we're topping off the bikes with gas on the way back to the hotel, I spot a couple that Deb and I knew before the change walking among the waterfront venders. "Hon, it's Corky and Val!"

"Where?"

Nodding in their direction Deb spots them right off. Deb's face lights up and as she takes a breath to call to them, I quietly say, "Honey Wolf."

She looks at over her shoulder at me. "Damn it! Do you always have to be right?"

"No, I don't. But one of us does!"

Deb nods in understanding. "I'd really like to see them. It's been years!"

"Yeah, I know. I'd like to see them, too, but not here and now. Maybe when we get back."

"I'd like that." Deb's sad smile tells the story: Always having to be careful of old friends who wouldn't understand, or who might want too much. Hell, other than Melissa's parents, John is the only norm we know who knows what we are and has some idea of what it means to be a Werewolf.

I thought I wasn't any good at waiting. Compared Deb's pacing the floor like, like, ah hell, like a wolf in a cage, I'm positively a sphinx. All I'm doing is sharpening our folding knives (for the ninth time), when the phone rings. It's the front desk informing us that we have a visitor waiting in the lobby.

In short order, we are in the lobby greeting Papa and ready to go. Papa recommends we have some dinner first, as the ceremony doesn't start till later tonight.

"After you, Papa."

Leading us out the front doors, papa stops at his scooter. It's a nice little Honda, just a few years old and in perfect condition.

"Nice scooter, Papa". Papa smiles a thank you as he pats the seat.

"Some places we go tonight, you walk, have bike or jeep. I ride with you in car, then we walk." "Papa, we rented bikes so we can go anywhere we need to."

"You have scooters too?"

"Sort of. We'll be right back." Deb and I collect our rental BMW's and ride to where Papa is waiting.

"Big bikes." Papa is obviously impressed with German engineering. He looks over the BMW's and starts asking questions.

"Whoa, Papa! These are rentals. Now ask us about her Ridley, or my Venture. We can answer those questions."

Laughing Papa says, "We talk over dinner." Firing up his scooter, he leads off and we follow, heading back into Charlotte Amalie. Turning beside Octopus's Garden's, we pull up to a stop sign to one of the few roads I recognize.

"Hon, the road we're about to go up is called Bitch Hill. Lean into it and stay loose."

Deb nods her understanding and we pull out. As we're easing around a blind turn, I stand up on the pegs and lean forward. (Bitch Hill is about three hundred yards long with at least a thirty degree grade. it's only redeeming quality is that it has pavement.) Papa stops at the top to wait for us.

As we pull beside him he says, "Is more fun going down, oui?"

Laughing like a maniac, Papa pulls off and a pleasant ride ensues. The sunset on the ocean is something everyone should see and just as it's getting dark, Papa turns down a dirt road. (I use the term road loosely I've seen better goat paths!) He leads us to a little place hanging off the side of a cliff from which delightful smells are coming.

We park our bikes beside Papa's scooter. Papa places a Gris-Gris (Voodoo Charm) on both of our bikes, grins and says, "Now bike be here when we come back."

Deb looks at the charm and smiles. "Magic burglar alarm?"

"No, it tell thief friend of Papa Loa. Leave it alone." Chuckling, Papa leads us inside. "We call this place de Hang Out, cause it hang out over nothing. But got good food and cold beer."

Papa orders dinner and much to the surprise of the locals, we dig right in. Conch fritters, fish, Iguana, Jerk chicken and cold beer make for as good a meal as any I've had anywhere, and the view is pretty spectacular. Talking about bikes over our meal we learn that the drivers in St. Thomas are a little more conscious of bikes than most places, mainly because of the sheer number of riders and the strict traffic enforcement.

After dinner, Papa leads us further inland. Turning off the onto another path, we follow Papa through some woods. We end up at an old abandoned sugar cane processing building where a full blown Voodoo ceremony is in progress. Stopping beside Papa, I look at Deb and can see the bright-eyed curiosity as she hops off her bike and starts to wander over to the ceremony.

"Hon, stop."

Deb looks back at me frowning.

"Papa I don't think it would be good idea if a Loah (voodoo spirit) rode a werewolf."

"Oh Mon, you got that right! I no think about that." Papa waves Deb over and hangs a Gris-Gris around her neck and than does the same for me. This ceremony isn't your show put on for tourist, this is the real thing: poisonous snakes, animal sacrifice and spiritual possession, all to the low quiet beat of the voodoo drums.

While we watch, Papa explains to us what is going on and how this ceremony differs from the one Momma Loa would be performing. Deb finds the ceremony fascinating. Suddenly the drummers stop playing and someone yells "Zombie!" The three of us turn in the direction that people are looking and see not one, but four men, holding machetes; all with the typical movie-monster zombie look: bulging eyes, slack features, emancipated and wearing baggy clothing correct for their height, but not their build.

Raising their machetes, they begin to advance. Papa moves to block their path while mumbling something in broken French, Latin and some other language. Deb and I move to the side and wait to see what happens. A scream from the other side of the ceremony is cut short with a gurgle (how do you find the monster? listen for the screams). Deb and I make eye contact just as Papa says, "I stop these; go stop others."

Both of us bolt in the direction of the scream. I arrive first in time to see a zombie raise it's machete for another swing. Stepping inside it's reach, I block the downward stroke intended for a young man and palm strike the zombie directly under the chin. I feel and hear the neck snap as the zombie goes over backwards. Stepping back I watch for movement from the zombie, but it doesn't even twitch.

Hearing bones crunch I turn in time to see Deb drop the remains of a zombie she just pile-drove head first into a rock. Looking around, we see another pair moving in on Papa from the side. Pushing our way through the crowd, I realize we're not going to make it. There are too many panicked people in the way. We need a clear path! Partially shifting, I let give a snarling howl, which has the effect I was looking for. Everything stops for a second as people look for the source of the sound. Leaping over their heads I land on one of the creatures and just simply rip it's head off. Leaping onto the chest of the second zombie I crush it's head between my claws. my blood is up as I roll clear moving for the four that Papa has frozen. Deb and several men are already there dispatching the last four.

Standing to my full height, I take a deep breath and howl a challenge into the night. There is silence for a moment then half a hundred humans and one other wolf join in voicing a challenge to the darkness.

Shifting back, I walk towards Deb and Papa who are surrounded by a crowd. As I approach, a path opens for me. Walking along the path people reach out and gently touch me as I walk by. Stepping to Deb's side, a young boy tugs my pants leg and hands me my knife. Kneeling down I say, "Merci Monsieur."

Over the next few days, Papa's popularity increases to the point where he asks to go with us to St. Johns for the full moon. "Please monsieur. The people, they drive me crazy!"

Taking the island ferry to St. Johns, we spend the day finding a suitable place to run. Papa sets up a small camp on the beach where he will wait for us. The three of us have dinner on the beach as the sun drops into the ocean. We change before the moon rises and move off into the jungle, leaving Papa Loa safely behind to enjoy a peaceful evening.

Returning to St. Thomas the next day, Papa is greeted at the ferry by a fair sized group and takes his leave and we return to the hotel.

During the next few weeks, even with information provided by Papa's new converts, capturing Momma Loa proves a difficult task she is able to stay one jump ahead of us. However, her plans for assassinating the Governor, shutting down the power grid, and poisoning the water supply are all thwarted by our efforts. With every failure, Momma Loa's influence wanes and Papa's increases. Then one night Papa shows up at the hotel.

"My friends we can end this. Momma Loa leaves this night bound for Haiti. She boards the ferry as we speak."

Bending if not flat out breaking just about every traffic law on the island, Papa, Deb and I arrive just as the ferry is casting off from the pier.

Grabbing Papa between us, Deb and I easily make the leap to the ferry. Unfortunately we attract a lot of attention. One of the crewmen approaches and begins to read us the riot act. Before he can take a second breath, Deb and I show our Government Ids and I say, "Take us to the Captain right now. You have terrorists on board."

The crewman's sharp and a startled look in his only reaction as he says, "Follow me." We make our way to the bridge and the crewman enters the steering house. "These people are from the U. S. Government, Captain. They say we have terrorists on board."

The captain turns looks at our Ids and says, "Okay, what do we do?"

"Shut down. Drop anchor and abandon ship. Get all the passengers into lifeboats and headed back for shore. Tell them that there's a fire or you hit something; anything to get them clear." Nodding, the Captain is shutting down the engines as we head for the life boats in search of Momma Loa.

"Papa, will you recognize her?" Deb asks and papa nods.

"Ladies and gentlemen this is the Captain; we have a fire below decks and need to abandon ship." the PA speakers announce. "The fire is not critical at this time, however you must proceed to the life boats in a orderly manner. Crewmen are standing by to assist."

The Captain has a well-trained crew. They slow everything down, handling any panicky passengers in a professional manner. Without any undo fuss, they soon have all the passengers off the ferry and headed back for the pier.

"Papa, did you see her?"

Papa says, "No she must be still on board." Feeling the ferry shift, I look at the pilot house where there's blood on the window.

"Damn! She's in the pilot house running the boat!" Turning to head for the ladder, we find our way blocked by zombies, all armed with machetes. Looking at Deb and Papa, "I knew I should've stayed in bed"

"You never have a plan without a back up. So what's the back up plan?" Deb asks.

"This was the back up plan." Backing away from the slowly advancing zombies, I look around for a second. "Okay back up plan to the back up plan. Deb, Papa go set the fuel tanks to blow and get the hell off this tub!"

"What are you going to do fight them all alone? Not while I'm alive," Deb snarls.

"I'm not going to fight them all; I'm going to give that bitch something else to worry about. Crazy or not, no one wants to be hunted by a werewolf!" Deb nods and moves with Papa to a hatch leading to the engine room. As I partially shift and begin to hunt, swinging and leaping from deck to deck, I make my presence known with a hunting howl and zombie body parts thrown at the pilot house.

Soon every zombie on the ferry is trying to stop me from getting to Momma Loa. It's a merry chase indeed leading the creatures in one direction then the other reversing my direction and silently moving to the wheel house. Crashing through the window, I crush the skulls of two zombies by slamming their heads together. Then PAIN! Dropping to my knees, I see my left hand and forearm lying on the deck. Staggering to my feet, I see Momma Loa's ugly rotted tooth face laughing at me, and a bloody machete as she raises it for a final swing. Watching as the world turns red and everything slows down, I lunge grabbing the arm wielding the machete and taste Momma Loa's blood as I shake her body like a terrier shakes a rat.

Feeling an explosion from below decks through my feet, I dive for the broken window. Engulfed in flame I'm blown clear of the ferry. Landing in the water, I feel myself sinking into the depths when I'm grabbed hauled to the surface. Hearing Deb's voice telling me, "I've Got you," over and over, I let consciousness slip away.

Waking up on the beach, I reach to brush the sand out of my face, but the sand stays there. Opening my eyes, I see that it hasn't been a bad dream. My left hand and forearm really are gone. Deb is right there pressing something to my lips and saying, "Drink." The something turns out to be water. Emptying the bottle, I begin to feel better, and am soon able to sit up then move. Hearing music playing in the distance I finally recognize the song as the theme from an old movie Billy Jack, but it expresses how I feel right now: "…on the bloody morning after one tin soldier rides away."

Over the next two weeks, we are able to make our way back to Florida. Papa, having recognized the opportunity for us to cut loose from Uncle Sam, took a collection and got us some clothing and a little cash. With what we had on us, it was barely enough to get home. We hitched a ride with a sail boat headed north and paid for passage on an inter-island tramp. Our last ride is in a fast cigarette boat smuggling of all things Cuban cigars into Key West.

We catch a ride with a trucker headed north and he takes us as far as Destination Daytona in Ormond Beach where we part ways. "Hon we made it this far do we bum a ride or call Richard to pick us up?"

Deb looks around "It's a nice day. Lets start walking and see what happens, we can always call for a ride if we have to."

We must be living right, because not ten minutes later we have a ride in the back of a pick-up headed just about exactly where we need to go.

It's early evening when we hop out of the truck and take the short walk to the barn. It appears nothing's happening tonight. Walking into the Barn, I drop my pack and flop on a couch. It's been a long two weeks, but we finally made it home and full moon's only a week away.

Deb noses around in the kitchen and scrounges up a couple of ham sandwiches for us and a Dew for me. Taking my first sip I say "I know it's only been two weeks but it feels more like a year since I last tasted a Dew."

Having eaten our sandwiches, Deb and I fall asleep on the couch. I'm not sure how long we've slept, but I hear the door open and footsteps, then a bright light and a voice.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my barn."

Shielding my eyes with what's left of my arm, I say, "Holly cut off that spot light before you wake Deb."

"Too late, I'm awake," Deb growls.

"Animal? Deb? You're alive! Wh-what happened to your arm? What… RICHARD!

I wince from the noise. (Damn that girl's got a set of lungs on her!) "Holly, calm down. We're more or less okay."

Holly's on her knees looking at my arm. "Okay?! how can you say that. It's horrible! Your arm is gone!"

"Holly, knock it off. I'm alive, that's enough. Everything else is just a little inconvenience."

Richard picks this time to come charging into the barn, and seeing his wife on her knees, crying in front of a strange one-armed man growls, "What have you done to my wife?"

"I turned her into a werewolf, dumb ass!"

"Animal, is that you? Deb, you're here, too, but both of you are supposed to be dead!"

Smiling I say, "Well, as you can see, the reports of our deaths have been greatly exaggerated."

Turning some lights on Richard walks over and looks us over. "Damn the two of you look like the walking dead."

Stretching Deb looks at Richard. "Nope, the walking dead look better. We've seen them." Wincing Deb adds, "They smell better, too."

Richard starts laughing. "Well you know where the showers are! Holly and I will try to find come decent clothing for the two of you."

Hitting the shower, we get cleaned up, and with a little help from Deb, I even shave. Dressing in the sweats and tees Holly left in the dressing room, we feel loads better. Walking towards the door, Deb and I are practically tackled by Melissa, squealing with delight and trying to hug both of us and at the same time, asking questions, kissing us both and the crying with relief. Melissa's greeting is a happy reminder that we're home. "I told them you were not dead, but no one believed me."

"For the last week Lissa has been telling us that you would be home before the full moon!" Holly says from the barn door. "I was beginning to worry about her."

Untangling from Deb and Melissa I say, "I'll be outside" (I can only take so many hugs and tears at one time.) Walking out the door, I find Richard grilling steaks for all of us.

While he's cooking, Richard gives a quick summary of what's been happening with the pack and asks, "Why didn't you call? I'd go anywhere you needed me."

"We!" Holly says.

"Me too!" Melissa says as I feel Deb slide up under my good arm.

I smile at Deb. "Ya know, I think we're a bad influence on these people, dropping everything to run off and help someone… Seriously though, we still aren't sure we've gotten completely clear so keeping a low profile seems like the best idea for a little while longer."

"If the two of you kept any lower a profile, you'd have tunneled in!" Richard says, grinning.

"We were trying. Richard, how'd my parents take the news?"

"About like you'd expect: pretty hard. They haven't been around much lately."

Deb elbows me. "Call them, or I will."

Shaking my head no I say, "Voice prints, but Richard can call." I look at Richard. "Just tell them it's urgent pack business."

Richard nods. "That should get them here. If it's pack business, your mom shouldn't be in too much of a hurry and she'll keep it under the speed of sound."

"I see you've ridden with my mother."

"Damn woman's scary the way she can drive." Richard makes the call and with a little pushing, he has my parents on the way.

Eating in the barn we have time to finish dinner and are a sipping a drink when we hear car doors close. Deb and I step out of line of sight from the door and we hear my mom.

"Okay Richard. What's the urgent business that couldn't wait till full moon?!"

Deb and I step out where we can be seen. "Is that anyway to talk when your Alfa calls the pack?"

Both Mom and Dad stop dead in their tracks wide eyed, their mouths imitating Venus fly traps.

With my voice cracking and tears starting I say, "It's us. A little worse for wear, but we're home!"

After a tearful reunion, we all sit down and Deb and I tell the story of what happened to us, and why we didn't call for help."

"Always thinking of the pack when we could have gotten you home easier!" Mom is not happy about the choices Deb and I made to protect everyone, but she's glad we're home.

"I know, but a whole pack of werewolves descending on St. Thomas might have been a just little suspicious. You wouldn't have let a small team come in for a pick up. No, you'd have had to come along with Richard, and Dad and Holly and… Soon it would have been a parade, with seventy-six werewolves playing trombones, marching down the streets of St. Thomas and all waving pictures, saying have you seen Mr. and Mrs. Wolf? Face it Mom, your about as subtle as a brickbat in a sock!"

Richard and my father are laughing so hard my father falls off the couch wheezing something about "seventy six trombone-playing werewolves wearing fezzes."

The laughter is contagious, leaving us all gasping for air. After recovering, we talk about some long-term plans for Deb and I.

Later that evening, Richard and I have some time alone. "Richard, is there anyone new that can take over as Alfa? A three legged wolf can't keep up with the Pack."

"Animal, you are Alfa because of what you carry here and here." touching my chest and head. "Hearing of your's and Deb's deaths was a serious blow to the Pack. There hasn't been a single party since we heard the news. Like it or not, you and Deb are the heart and soul of this Pack, and as far as loosing an arm, I don't think anyone will give a damn."

Exhaustion has finally overcome the adrenaline of being home. Deb and I let ourselves be ushered upstairs to the loft where we crash for the night and most of the next day.

Waking the next afternoon, we find that our rig has been moved and parked beside the barn. Going inside we find everything just like we left it. Changing into our clothes, Deb looks at me. "Do you feel it?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Feel what?"

Turning, I see Richard standing at the door. I'm smiling when I say, "Something we lost in St. Thomas."

Richard raises an eyebrow. "What ever it was, it can be replaced."

Shaking my head I say, "Richard this is one of the few things in life which Can Not be replaced; it can only be given, earned, lost and found."

Richard frowns. "You're talking in riddles. What is it?"

"It's magic!"

Richard slowly nods and smiles. "I always knew you two had that something extra. Well your going to need it, I called an urgent Pack meeting this evening. I had to get a little nasty with a few folks," smiling Richard shrugs. "But under the circumstances, I think they'll forgive me."

That evening as the Pack straggles in, Deb and I are waiting in the loft, listening to the Pack talk. There's a lot of complaining about being called on short notice and it could have waited till full moon.

As the last members walk in, Richard waves for everyone's attention. "I have an announcement about Animal and Deb."

This has everyone's attention focused on Richard. Deb and I hop over the rail and quietly land behind everyone where we wait for my mother's reply of "So what's the announcement?"

Seeing nods from most of the Pack members, I clear my throat and I say, "Could someone tell us how to get to Miami?" (I have never seen so many people get whiplash at one time in my life). Bedlam ensues and the party begins.

During the evening we tell the Pack what happened in St. Thomas and that we need to remain 'dead', and because we don't know who, if anybody, is being watched, there are to be no telephone, e-mail or even regular mail, discussions or correspondence regarding us. Melissa's face clouds up when she hears this.

"Lissa, what is it?"

Melissa turns to Deb. "Mom was really torn up when she heard…"

"Tell me you haven't called her!"

"No, not yet. But I have to tell her!"

"No, you don't!" Deb says. "I don't like it either." A single tear rolls down her cheek. "Except for you, my family thinks we are dead, and it has to stay that way." Deb looks around at everyone and smiles. "You are my family now."

A few days later and it's the afternoon of the first full moon since St. Thomas and the party is in full swing as everyone is enjoying themselves, Deb and I are relaxing in the hammock as usual.

Just as night begins to fall, Richard walks over. "Animal when you got your arm chopped off, was it with a silver blade?"

Thinking for a moment, I reply, "No, I don't think so. Why?"

"You'll see," Richard says, and walks away smiling.

Moments later, I see the moon, and then I feel like something's stretching my left arm.

"Look, your arm!" Deb exclaims!

Looking at my arm I watch as it lengthens and changes. Smiling I realize that the moonlight has kicked the virus into overdrive, restoring my arm. My laughter of joy turns to a howl of joy, as the change takes hold and has me running on four good legs with my wife and my Pack.

The next morning over the usual catered breakfast and my now infamous Bloody Mary's (I make them by the pitcher now), Richard, Deb, my parents, Melissa and I are talking about some long term plans, all of them involving staying at home and assuming my duties as pack Alfa.

Richard has several other identities, which he has been creating over the years for when he has to die from old age, and gladly supplies Deb and I with one. Several members of our pack are wizards with money and in short order have set up trusts and other income for us using what ever monies we had in the bank and the life insurance that my parents received for their Son and Daughter-in-law's death as seed money we're pretty well set.

With the help of a few new friends we we are able to shake clear of the good old U. S. Government; all it took was a change in latitude.