APEX

Ch. 5: Neutral Isle

Rhys

I had to hand it to Neil; he knew how to maneuver a car through a thick onslaught of pedestrians without killing anyone, or more importantly, without getting us killed.

Willingly entering Neutral Isle for a werewolf was akin to walking into a CIA black ops facility and asking to be waterboarded. Of course, that's not what its original intent had been. As implied by the name, the island was supposed to be a meeting ground for resolving disputes between packs, a place where pack members could leave behind their rivalries and find common ground.

For a long while, it functioned the way it was intended. In the time of our great grandparents, the island had been the bridge between packs, just as it was a bridge between the two sides of the city. It even catered to blended pack entertainment. Movie houses, dance halls, restaurants—on any day of the week, members from Sury's then five prominent packs could be seen sitting down to a peaceful dinner or dancing the night away.

Apex owed its existence to Neutral Isle. My great-grandparents had met at a multi-day dance competition where contestants had to remain upright and moving on the dance floor to avoid being eliminated. The humans all succumbed to fatigue by day two, and then, one by one the werewolves fell. When my great-grandmother's partner seemed like he was about to collapse, she let him, turning to my great-grandfather instead and offering him her hand.

Without their families' permission, they mated. Apex had formed from their union and the territorial landscape of Sury was forever changed, as was Neutral Isle. The packs my ancestors left behind, instead of embracing the other as kin, became embittered. Small squabbles escalated to assault and murder. Full moons became chaotic in a way the city hadn't seen in fifty years. The incident during our last full moon was like shoplifting bubble gum compared to the carnage that ensued.

From that carnage sprung a contingency of humans who had had enough of werewolf antics. I didn't blame them, but over time, they'd become militant, and just as prone to handling disputes with violence as my own ancestral packs had been. And where did they turn to when they decided there was safety in numbers? It wasn't going to be within any pack's territory.

And so, Neutral Isle, once a hubbub of inter-pack activity, became an anti-werewolf enclave—a place werewolves avoided rather than embraced.

Up until today, I'd counted myself fortunate enough not to have a reason to go there. Detective Kim never complained about coming to us when necessary. Sitting in the backseat of Simone's Lexus, I watched as a growing crowd of outraged humans surrounded the Office of Werewolf Affairs, carrying signs with slogans such as, "Werewolves Lie, People Die," and "Human Rights First." The whole situation was irksome. I already knew what these people thought of us. I didn't need to be made to come here and have it shoved in my face.

"It really is bad news for all of us," Calla said, her face staring out anxiously into the crowd as Neil wove through it, aiming for the parking garage below the office building that would grant us safe passage inside.

"What?" I asked her.

"The signs. Only a few call out Apex specifically. Most of them focus on hating all of us. Look at that one." She pointed at a sign being held by a college aged woman with a nose ring and thick lines of eyeliner circling her eyes like an old timey bandit. "'The only good Werewolf is a rug.' Yikes."

"Neutral territory people are radicalized morons on the fringes of society," I said, even though the masses accumulated here seemed to indicate otherwise. "Don't let it get to you."

"'Taxidermists for Werewolves,'" she read from another sign. "'Shoot 'em and Stuff 'em.'"

"Give it a few days. Things will calm down. People will find a new show to binge, and they'll lose interest in standing on the street holding up signs that look like their six-year-old made them."