Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

     Wednesday Addams was extremely annoyed. After nine days riding in the sidecar of a motorcycle piloted by her Uncle Fester, bouncing along Vermont’s deeply potholed roads and Québecs’s equally bad routes, she had a very sore posterior, a headache, a backache, two sore knees and crick in her neck. She was covered in mud, and was cold, even by her own very hardy standards. Enough was enough.

They had stopped on the sloped side of a badly paved road that ran west in the general direction of Montréal. Fester was tinkering with the motorcycle’s front wheel and talking to himself as night was falling fast.

In a very loud and clear voice that she meant to allow no argument, Wednesday said, “We need another vehicle.” On her shoulder, Thing made an emphatic gesture of agreement.

Fester turned towards her, his maniacal grin slightly more disturbing than usual, and nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right. The front fork is completely shot. And one of the sidecar clamps is cracked right through. Really, we should have been killed hours ago!”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda,” Wednesday said acidly, rolling her neck to reduce the pain. “It would have been a mercy.”

“Well, I could have driven into a tree at any point but I thought you wanted to catch up with Enid as soon as possible.”

“We do. As long as she stays south of the river we can stay on her trail. But sooner or later she’ll cross over and we won’t know where. We need to get to her before that.”

“Easier said than done. Now that’s she’s a werewolf, your friend can really move!”

“I know. But she’s heading west,” Wednesday shone her flashlight on the map she had spread across the top of the motorcycle seat. “And she will probably avoid Montréal. The U.S. border is pretty heavily patrolled along this section, so let’s assume she won’t go that way. The river and the border will funnel her here.” She pointed to a narrow neck of land between the border and the St. Lawrence river. “We need to get there fast and try to track her.”

“How exactly are you tracking her, my little bloodhound? Is it some sort of psychic thing?”

“I think it must be.” Wednesday closed her eyes for a few seconds. She was very tired. “Sometimes I see a glow on the ground. Then, when we get close, I can see her tracks glowing very faintly.”

“Neat!” Fester said enthusiastically. “I can barely see her prints when I’m standing right over them. No glow at all.”

“It’s …. not like my normal psychic visions. I don’t know why it is happening.”

“Don’t look a gift basket in the mouth.”

“I never do.” Wednesday pointed again at the map. “How are we going to get there? First, you should completely exclude from your mind the idea of using this motorcycle. Or any other.”

“Motorcycles are fun! But if you insist then I guess we should trudge over to that farm and see if ye olde farmer is willing to sell that white truck.”

“I will remain here.” Wednesday had no intention of slogging through yet another muddy field. In the week the three of them had been chasing Enid it had rained four times. She was already more than wet enough. If no cars came, she might even use Fester’s absence to change into something dry, if she had anything left.

Fester objected. “Wednesday! I need you for negotiation purposes. You know I can’t figure out this crazy money of theirs!” He held up a stack of brightly colored bills and looked at it dubiously.”

“Except for the colors, it is really no different from our own currency.”

“Yeah, but I can’t figure out this crazy money of ours either!” he said, holding up a stack of drab greenbacks and eyeing it suspiciously.”

“Money is not a problem. I will make sure father repays you.”

“Yeah, but it’s the principle of the thing. You have to haggle, Wednesday. I’ve been studying economics and if you just pay somebody whatever they want then all sorts of bad things will happen, economics-wise.”

“Like what?”

“Bad things! Earthquakes. Volcanoes!”

“I think you may have been studying geology instead of economics. And if overpaying makes bad things happen, then let them. I don’t care. We need a car, now. A car with a roof. And a windshield. And padded seats. And shock absorbers.”

“Oh, aren’t we Miss Kelley Blue Book all of a sudden, with your windshields and your shock absorbers. If you insist on all that gadgetry, the seller is going to take you to the cleaners.”

“I would like to be taken to the cleaners. Maybe they could get some of this mud off me.”

Fester shook his head sadly. “You used to be hard, Wednesday.”

“I have been softened up. By potholes. Thousands and thousands of potholes.”

Fester threw up his hands. “All right. All right. I’ll go see what I can do.” He started mucking his way across the corn field towards the lights of the house, a quarter of a mile away in the rising mist of the cool Canadian evening. As he was walking away, he turned his head back and said, “That sidecar does have a shock absorber, you know.”

“Does it?” she replied. “I would never have guessed. It must be a type specially designed not to absorb any shocks.”

Fester passed out of speaking range and Wednesday took a calming breath of relief. Her uncle was a drug best taken in small doses and they had been traveling together for over a week now. She had recently begun to suspect that he was actually aiming for the largest potholes, in order to “get air” as he called it.

She pulled her small duffle bag out of the sidecar and as she did so she looked off to the west. Enid, Enid, where are you going? Was she planning to go all the way to California, where her family lived? Even at werewolf speed that would be a long trip. Why had she run away? Was she even thinking at all? Or was she nothing but werewolf brained now? With a serious pang, Wednesday realized that Enid might now be nothing more than a wild animal howling in the night.

Or perhaps not. Wednesday had many questions and no answers. It was starting to wear on her. That and the endless bumps. And the futility of being no closer now than they had been five days ago. And everything else about this thrice be-damned chase.

Twenty minutes later, she had changed into her last dry outfit, the dark jumpsuit she wore when prowling around the grounds of Nevermore at night. She ate five pilot crackers, drank a bottle of water and felt a little better. When she was done and putting the empty water bottle into the bag of trash, there was a squealing sound from her right and when she looked up a rattletrap white pickup truck was slowly creaking it’s way down the road towards her.

The truck was a complete rust bucket. But it ran. And it had a roof, a windshield, padded seats and shock absorb- …. well, three out of four ain’t bad. It did have leaf springs at least— those never break. Together she and Fester transferred everything from the motorcycle to the truck and then pushed the motorcycle and sidecar off the verge into the high grass. Wednesday took off her mosquito encrusted goggles, threw them in the general direction of the sidecar and walked back up the slope to the road.

The cab of the truck had a working overhead light, which would save the batteries of Wednesday’s flashlight for another day. The single bench seat was dirty and torn but it was still ten times better than the sidecar had been. And the heater worked.

True, all the mechanical components squeaked and squealed and moaned. Wednesday doubted that the truck would last long. But they did not need it to. They just needed it to carry them a hundred miles to the west. She opened the glove compartment for Thing and he gratefully jumped inside and closed it for a nap.

“I had to give that farmer-slash-conman two grand for this heap. That’s about fifteen hundred too much. And I had to jump start it myself,” Fester said, rubbing two fingers together to generate a tiny arc of electricity. “That old thief will be drinking rye for months.”

“At least we are moving. Let’s follow this highway for another thirty miles and I’ll tell you if I see Enid’s trail.”

“Okie-dokey. Point of interest: that farmer complained about losing a couple of sheep two nights ago.”

“Enid.”

“Probably. But she doesn’t have to follow the road. She can go any direction she wants.”

“So far she has been heading west. Let’s assume she still is. The highway goes west until it hits the river, so we might as well follow it until then.”

They drove thirty miles and Wednesday saw nothing. They drove on, into the summer evening. After eighty miles, Fester began to look at her frequently. Finally he pulled over in the flat area where an old road joined the highway. “You got anything, my little track star?”

Wednesday did not want to admit that she had seen nothing. She lied. “Let’s go up this dirt road for a mile. “I thought I might have seen a bit of glow a mile back and Enid may be staying away from the highway.”

“There’s not much space between the river and the border now. If your theory is right, we will almost have to cross her track someplace. If we don’t cross it ….”

“I know, I know. If we don’t cross her track now, we’ve missed her. We’ll have to go back and try a different direction.”

“Back a long ways,” Fester said gently. “It will be tough to catch up with her from there. Impossible even.”

“Take the road.”

“You got it!” He backed up and turned onto the old dirt road. He drove very slowly along it into the darkness. It was only a half moon out now at ten o’clock and the headlights of their ancient truck only lit the muddy road fifty feet ahead. With trees on every side and growing over the road it was a little like driving through a tunnel with only the dim headlights for illumination.

They went a mile. Two miles in and the trees started to thin. And then the road ended in a wide spot and beyond it through the trees they saw the broad shining water of the St. Lawrence River.

They stopped and got out. Wednesday’s heart was racing, thumping away at nearly eighty beats a minute by her estimation. If there was nothing here, it was over.

She saw it immediately, an almost golden glow coming from the ground a few feet from the riverbank. She ran to it and saw the large five-toed paw prints of a werewolf. Each print glowed with a faint golden shine and, now that she was closer, Wednesday saw Enid’s tracks leading along the river’s edge, westward.

“She was here. And recently, I think. The glow is much stronger than before.”

Fester played his headlamp on the prints. “Yup. Werewolf alright. Twenty toes. Which way do they go?”

Wednesday pointed. “Along the river.”

“Let’s look at the map.”

They did so, Fester spreading it out on the tailgate of the still running truck. Wednesday had Enid’s phone but the battery was too low for anything but emergency use. In the light of Fester’s headlamp they saw the road they were on, a tiny dotted line on the map, which continued to the west. “This road goes along the river. We can follow it back to highway further down,” said Wednesday.

“Mm. I don’t know. It’s pretty overgrown. “You know, I can think of a vehicle that would work really well here ….”

Wednesday tapped the handle of her three-foot long Italian-style dueling saber, which she had slung across her back as soon as she had exited the truck. “If you are about to say the word ‘motorcycle’, please remember that I armed. Let’s try to go on.”

The climbed back in the truck. Wednesday opened the glove compartment and Thing jumped up onto the dashboard, stretching and doing a few yoga poses to wake up. Fester put the truck in gear and they began to creep along the narrow dirt track, which took a sharp left and descended a few feet into a slightly flooded section.

Gingerly they drove the truck forward into wet ruts and puddles. Fester changed to four wheel drive and managed to keep them moving as branches scrapped along the sides and mud shot from the tires back into blackness. They went a half a mile with the water slowly getting deeper. Leaning out the window with her flashlight, Wednesday saw the water reach the middle of the wheels. Then it began to lower. They were climbing out of the flooding. They went up a rise of a few feet and as they topped it the engine made a loud ringing noise and the truck came to an abrupt halt.

“What was that?”

“Threw a rod. Water in one of the cylinders.”

“Is that bad?”

“Terminal,” Fester said and the engine died with a loud squeal and a backfire.

“We walk?”

“We walk.”

They got all their belongings from the cab and bed and started walking along the lightless, muddy trail. It could hardly be considered a road here. After five hundred feet, when the illumination of the truck’s headlamps faded into blackness, they literally had to feel their way forward or find the path by quick uses of headlamp or flashlight.

Then Wednesday found the glowing paw-prints again and she surged forward. Behind her, Fester, who could not see them, stumbled and told her to slow down. But she didn’t and got far ahead of him. She stopped for a moment to let him catch up and started peering into the almost black forest, trying to see where Enid’s trail lead.

At first Wednesday thought it was more of the glowing footprints. But then she realized there was a campfire some distance ahead and slightly to the right of the road.

As Fester reached her side she pointed at the fire ahead. He nodded silently and the two of them moved briskly down the road. It was much easier to orient themselves to the road with the light of the fire and they made quick progress.

“Werewolves don’t build fires,” Wednesday whispered to Fester.

“Course not. So it’s not Enid.”

“No. But Enid is close. I’m sure of it.” She pointed to another footprint on the road, glowing brightly in the darkness.

“If you say so.”

“I do. Whoever has that campfire is in danger from her.”

Fester stopped for a second. “You really think Enid would attack them?”

“I don’t know. She may not be thinking like a human any more.”

“Will she attack us? How close is she exactly?”

“I don’t know. Even if she is very close, we still can’t keep up with her on foot. We need to switch vehicles. Again.”

Fester nodded. “Yup. And look, there’s one!” He was pointing at a newish looking sport utility vehicle parked by the side of the road a hundred yards ahead, visible from the moonlight reflected in its headlights and windshield. “If somebody is just going to leave a perfectly good car by the side of the road, I say it is fair game!”

“The owner might think differently. As might law enforcement.”

“Pshaw,” Fester scoffed. They reached the car and Fester looked in through the windows of the white and red Jeep using his headlamp. “Leather seats. Nice sound system. All the gadgets. Yeah, this is definitely the one we want. I mean, since we aren’t paying for it or anything.”

“I’m glad you like it. Especially since it’s the only car for miles. The owner is probably the one camping over there.” Wednesday pointed at the campfire now clearly visible in the woods a few hundred feet off.

“Well, if so, he’s likely to have the keys. Which is a real convenience with these modern cars. Saves a lot of trouble. You distract him and I’ll give him the ol’ taser. K?” He generated an small arc of electricity between his two hands, preparing himself.

Wednesday sighed. She had no particular objection to car theft. But getting arrested would not help them catch up with Enid. There was no choice however. The truck was dead and they were in the middle of the woods. If they wished to stay close on Enid’s trail they needed transportation – now. She nodded. “Let’s see how many of them there are.”

They dropped their duffle bags near the Jeep and crept through the dense eastern underbrush in the direction of the campfire. There was a good sized clearing and in it the fire was burning fast. There was a tall roasting spit set up across the flames and a whole haunch of beef was on it, roasting away. A small camp chair and table were set up near a rock and a backpack was propped up under the table. A brown MRE meal was open on the table but the contents were still inside.

A man appeared from beyond the fire and turned the spit halfway. Fester immediately disappeared into the bushes, heading right to get around behind him, absolutely silent even in the dense undergrowth.

The smell of roasting beef was strong, even from fifty feet away as fat dripped into the fire, sending embers and aroma up into the air while popping and crackling pleasantly. The man in the clearing took a deep, satisfied sniff and smiled. He glanced at his watch.

He did not look like a normal camper. He was tall, lithe and had the bounding step of youth. He appeared to be dressed in body armor over a red and white shirt. He had a pistol in a holster on his hip and a hunting knife strapped to his chest. And most strangely, he had a five-foot long sword strapped to his back.

He drew the sword in a long, fluid motion and examined it, making sure it was sharp. The metal looked unusually bright and an uneasy feeling made Wednesday’s already pounding headache worse. The blade alone was nearly four feet long and it reflected the firelight almost like a mirror.

And then she knew. It was silver. The massive sword this man carried was coated in silver.

Armed men are not uncommon in the woods of North America. But Wednesday could think of only one reason for this man to be carrying around a great-sword coated in silver. The roasting haunch of beef was bait. This was a werewolf trap.

Enid would smell this meat from miles away. And after a full day of running she would be very hungry. Even Wednesday felt her stomach growl a bit at the aroma.

A rising anger began to overtake Wednesday’s reason. She was not going to let Enid get killed by some werewolf hunter out for a bounty or a head. If necessary she would kill this overly large moron to prevent it. She loosened the clip on her saber and shook the scabbard loose, ready for action. Then she moved from the undergrowth out into the clearing.

The young man saw her instantly— he raised his sword to high guard. But then he saw that she was human and he stopped himself. He twirled the five foot blade in an unconscious flourish. Then he smiled and made a welcoming gesture. “Bonjour,” he said cheerily. “Venez vous réchauffer!”