by Keri Hudson
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bazz led Phoebe down the hall. The big place was quiet, virtually empty, and that made sense. Malone wouldn’t have wanted a lot of witnesses to what was going on in those rooms, people who might leak the secret of Bazz’s powers and his presence.
Bazz spotted one door marked stairs, and he pointed it out to Phoebe. They couldn’t afford to speak, not even a word. But she nodded, and that told Bazz that, once again, she was right on target. Once they set a fire, if they could, that would be their escape route. They’d both have to mark its location carefully, in case they were separated, or one was killed.
The two shared a nod and moved on. A small room with a coffee pot, a mini-fridge, and a microwave oven, a little staff lounge, provided some possibilities. But without a gas stove or something to really catch a spark, the microwave was useless.
Phoebe whispered to Bazz, “What are we looking for?”
“Have to set up some kind of delayed reaction, give us time to get out before the place goes up.”
“You can do that?”
Bazz nodded. “You learn a lot teaching environmental sciences. It won’t be easy, but there’s enough combustible material around here to bring the place down, if we can rig it without getting caught.”
Phoebe glanced around, eyes wide with fear. “What if we do get caught?”
“We’ll have to improvise. But if that does happen, just back out of the way and let me handle it.” Seeing her offended expression, he added, “I didn’t mean you’re not more than capable, of course you are. It’s one of the things I love about you. But… just don’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“They’re all necessary.”
Bazz couldn’t argue that point, and he wasn’t interested in doing so. There was too much to do, too much to think about, too much at stake.
They walked a bit further, finding a small, closet-like door. Bazz turned the knob and pushed the door open, reaching over to flip on the light switch in the little windowless room.
The shelves were lined with bottles of cleaning fluids, a mop and bucket in the corner, boxes of rubber gloves and other cleaning implements.
“Bingo,” Bazz said. “You don’t have a light?”
“I don’t smoke.”
And Bazz didn’t expect to find one in a supply closet. But one glance at the light switch gave Bazz an idea. He surveyed the lighting, the shelves. “Find me a rag or something, as big as you can find.”
Phoebe search the little room for a rag while Bazz touched the plasterboard wall to test its strength. He drew his bent arm back, elbow forward, before smashing it into the wall. The plaster broke beneath his elbow, cracking a big hole in the wall. He pulled the broken chunks out of the hole to expose the metal conduit protecting the electrical wiring leading from the light switch to the light. He opened the closet door to allow more light to leak in from the hallway, then reached in and wrapped his fist around that metal tube. A good hard pull wrenched it from the wall, and a second pull dislodged it from the casing around the light switch. Bare wires dangled from the metal conduit tube, and Bazz knew they were live.
He carefully reached around the exposed metal core of the wiring and grabbed the wires, pulling them out of the conduit, a long stream of two wires, one red and one black.
“Rag?”
Phoebe handed him a large rag. “From the mop bucket.”
They stank of chemicals, the material stiff and rotting. “Perfect, this’ll work just like a sponge,” Bazz said, tying one end of the rag to the exposed wires and letting the rag dangle to the floor.
Bazz crossed to the shelves with the bottles, opening one and taking a whiff. He put it back and pushed around the other bottles.
“What are you looking for?”
Bazz opened another cabinet and rummaged through the bottles, finding what he was looking for and turning to present it to Phoebe. He whispered, “Almost all laundry products are extremely flammable. We let the stuff drop out and soak into the rag, which carries the fluid up to the live wires. Ignition hits the source and this whole closet goes up in flames. And speaking of that…”
Bazz grabbed the gun he’d taken from the mafia grunt and smashed the butt into the sprinkler protruding from the closet’s drop-down ceiling.
Bazz found another bottle of laundry liquid and handed it to Phoebe. He opened the other bottle and set it on its side, the green fluid glopping out, a pool spreading quickly beneath it. Bazz led Phoebe to the door and stopped to see the widening pool of liquid already reaching the rag.
Bazz eased Phoebe out and closed the door behind them.
Walking back down the hall toward the stairwell, Phoebe asked, “About how long have we got to get out of here, do you think?”
Bazz shook his head. “Five minutes before the blast, maybe more. Depends how long the fuel takes to soak its way up that rag and reach the wire. Ten minutes tops.” Bazz tried another door and it opened. He took Phoebe’s second bottle and poured it into the room before closing the door. They passed the faculty lounge again, and Bazz let the rest of the liquid detergent spill over the floor. To Phoebe’s curious expression, Bazz explained, “Helps the fire spread. The heat alone’ll help ignite at a certain point.” Bazz reached up and bashed the sprinkler head to the side as he had the other, bending it slightly. Another swat bent it further to choke off the water it might release.
“Okay,” Bazz said, “let’s get the hell outta here.”
***
Bazz and Phoebe walked briskly toward the stairwell door. It was coming up on the right, just past the drinking fountain, and Bazz felt they’d be there in just a few seconds if all went well.
“‘Ey, yo!” Bazz turned, already knowing what he’d see and how he’d have to handle it.
Bazz shoved Phoebe back and shifted, his ursine shape expanding in an instant, his human form leaving no trace. He was suddenly standing between them and Phoebe, growling and panting, to their minds huge and hideous and monstrous. To Phoebe, Bazz knew he was gorgeous and heroic. To himself, he was what he had always been and would always be.
Death.
The two men stood in mortal terror, eyes wide and mouths open. One started shooting and the other turned and ran down the hall. Bazz turned his head down and to the side, taking the shots in the shoulder and neck. They hurt, and they dug in deep. But that was thick hide and muscle and he’d soon be able to extrude them.
The gunman wouldn’t have such luck with his own injuries.
Bazz charged the man, his left front paw falling down onto the man. He was forced back and Bazz’s paw sank into his chest as Bazz charged over him. His chest sank, bones breaking beneath his crushing weight. Bazz gave his exposed belly a quick slash to rip open his gut and expose the man’s bowels, wet on his claws as he ran down the hall to catch the fleeing gunman before he brought back reserves.
The man ran down the hall screaming and crying like the panicked coward that he was. He pointed his gun behind him and shot twice, the shots reverberating through the halls along with his own horrified screams.
Bazz caught up to him quickly, the man screaming louder as Bazz trampled him. Bazz jumped and landed, forcing the man facedown onto the floor.
“No! No no no no no no no…” Bazz bit down hard on the back of the man’s neck. “No, Mommy, Mommeeeeeee—”
Crunch!
Bazz savored the feeling of the man’s spine crackling and disintegrating in his crushing jaws, blood spurting up from the neck as the man’s flailing arms fell to his side and his body spasmed as he breathed out his last.
Phoebe screamed, “Bazz!”
Another male Jersey accent said, “Stand down, you ugly motherfucker!”
Bazz turned to see one of the mafia guards standing with Phoebe in front of him, his arm around her neck, a gun to her head. “You can understand me, can’t cha?” Bazz growled and held his ground. “Now you just keep away from us, you ugly sonofabitch, or the—oof!”
Phoebe had slammed an
elbow into the goombah’s gut. Clearly taken by surprise, he lurched forward, eyes wide. Phoebe grabbed the hand holding the gun and smashed it against the wall twice until it fell out of his hand.
She really does learn fast, was Bazz’s fleeting human thought as he watched in his ursine form.
In another swift move, Phoebe flipped the man over her shoulder. He hit the floor hard, faceup. Without giving him time to react or herself time to think, she pulled one foot up and brought it slamming down again onto the man’s neck. His body jutted, the man grabbing his throat and twisting on the floor, writhing as he choked and gagged.
Phoebe looked down at him, her eyes wide and wild. She looked at Bazz, then back down at her felled attacker. She’d changed, evolved, and she was now every bit as lethal as anyone in that facility besides Bazz himself.
“Okay,” Phoebe said, “now let’s get outta here.”
Bazz led Phoebe to the stairwell door and they pushed it open. They both couldn’t fit side by side, so Phoebe climbed up onto Bazz’s back and he pushed them both up the stairwell. They spilled out onto what was the first floor of what looked like any average office building. There were few people there, but there was no time to linger. The fire alarms started blaring from the stairwell, leaking in from downstairs. The fire had hit and was only going to get worse with those damaged sprinklers.
Bazz started running, conscious of Phoebe’s hands pulling at his fur, her strong legs flexing around his broad back. He knew she had a good grip, and she’d need it. He ran faster toward the big front entrance, paws slipping a bit on the polished floor. The faint smell of smoke wafted up from behind him, telling Bazz how things were downstairs, and how they were going to be in the rest of the building soon enough.
Two more gunmen stepped out from around a corner and looked at Bazz and Phoebe in shock.
One said, “Holy shit!” He reached for his gun, his partner doing the same. Bazz drew up on his hind legs. He took the shots in his well-protected belly and chest to protect Phoebe. The shots went in but did little damage. What would have torn his human form to shreds only drew a trickle of blood, wounds that would soon heal.
Bazz fell on the men as he charged over them, no time to spend butchering them. Their bones cracked, his claws dug in, the men’s limbs snapped as he ran toward the exit and to safety.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Bazz charged out of the lobby and out into the compound. He looked around to discover himself and Phoebe surrounded by an expanse of desert. It could have been Nevada, perhaps Arizona; Bazz couldn’t be sure and it didn’t much matter.
What grabbed his attention were the three other structures next to the one they’d just run out of. One was a three-story building, square and nondescript, and another a covered carport with a variety of town cars, Jeeps, and an SUV parked sheltered from the desert heat.
The third structure looked like a small oil refinery, with massive steel vats, tubes, ladders. Signs reading Danger—flammable, no smoking allowed and other toxic material signs were posted everywhere.
“That must be where they process their fracking chemicals,” Phoebe said, still perched on Bazz’s back. “Or experiment with their recipes, at least. They could have your blood in there too, I guess.”
Bazz roared and jumped toward the refinery. He crossed around to the back of the big structure, fifty feet tall and covering about a hundred square feet or so of land. Bazz leaned over and Phoebe correctly read his body language. She climbed off and stepped back.
Bazz knew he could charge the plant, rampage through it and likely bring it down. But he also knew the move would likely cost him his life, and Phoebe’s life would be forfeit too. There was a pile of large rocks not far off, a massive boulder at its center. Bazz shifted his weight to his hind legs.
Bazz’s unique shape, more bear than man but more man than any normal bear, allowed him to do things no human or bear could ever imagine doing, much less attempt. He used his longer arms to grab one big rock, able to lift the hundred-pound thing over his head. He heaved it and the rock flew into the refinery. Metal tore, pipes bent and burst. The big rock went on bouncing and rolling through the refinery, doing even more damage before it finally came to a stop.
Bazz picked up a second boulder and heaved it into another section of the refinery, ladders splitting in its wake, the massive rock tumbling and bouncing up into the bottom of one of the big metal tanks. A yellow liquid started to spill out, pooling on the refinery’s concrete floor.
Bazz picked up another huge boulder, about to toss it into the refinery. Two guards came running around the corner of the refinery, armed and nearly ready to shoot. They screamed and aimed, but Bazz changed his own aim and hurled the boulder at the two men. One ducked out of the way but the other stood shocked as the boulder smashed straight into him. The huge rock pushed him back and crushed him before bouncing off, a wide, red splatter shooting out beneath him.
The other man turned and ran, which drew Bazz’s attention to other men running from the compound and into the desert.
Two more guards ran up to them, guns ready like the previous two. But Bazz was no longer armed with a large rock, conveniently in his paws and ready to throw. He had nothing but his natural skill and strength, and he was much too far away to launch an effective strike. The only thing Bazz could do in that moment was rise up and protect Phoebe, hoping she had enough of his massive physique to hide behind. He’d taken a lot of shots, and they were distracting him, threatening to slow him down in the crucial instant.
Bang! Bang-bang! Bang!
Bazz turned to see Phoebe standing beside him, holding the gun she’d taken off Vinnie Gasso. A perfect stance, two hands on the gun, one eye closed; for someone who’d only just learned to shoot under his tutelage, she’d shown incredible instinct and amazing inherent skill, not to mention more courage than any man he’d ever met.
One man spun back, blood flying out of new holes in his gut and back before he fell. The other man was struck too, but he had more chance to return fire.
Bang-bang-bang!
The gunman staggered, finger still squeezing the trigger out of what seemed like pure nervous reaction as he twisted and fell.
Bazz couldn’t help but notice the sparks rising from the crippled refinery, flames soon leaping up from the chemical-soaked concrete floor. The entire one-hundred-square-foot refinery was soon carpeted in flames, and Bazz knew it wouldn’t be long before the whole thing went up in a terrible explosion.
“Well, well,” a familiar voice said, Bazz and Phoebe turning to see Brandon Malone standing only a few yards away from them and the refinery. “The ursine shifter and his mate, together at last. How joyously poetic that is.”
Bazz growled, ready to pounce and tear the man apart. But he knew he could do it at will, and his instincts told him to wait, the uncertainty sinking into his very bones.
Brandon said, “We really shouldn’t be fighting, Sebastian. We have much in common.” Bazz’s blood ran cold as a new insight leaked into the back of his mind’s eye, almost knowing what that miserable monster he was facing was about to say and do. “After all,” Brandon went on, “it was my father… that killed your father.”
Bazz’s blood froze, equal measures human and ursine, humanity and horror flowing through each portion.
Brandon Malone shifted, his human form instantly replaced by a big lupine physique; his arms were long and hairy, face dominated by a snout and drooling, clacking jaws. Eyes yellow, fur brown and remarkably light and feathered for his species, Brandon was also the biggest lupe Bazz had ever seen.
***
Bazz stared Brandon down, the two shifters facing each other down. Bazz knew his adversary would strike, and that he’d strike at Phoebe if he could. Bazz only hoped to kill Brandon quickly enough to get Phoebe out of there safely. But Brandon didn’t leap into an attack, and Bazz stared deep into his enemy’s eyes.
Bazz silently asked, “Why?”
He was certain that Brandon c
ould hear and understand his thoughts when projected in such a way.
“Why the torture? Because I could, because I wanted to know what your woman knew about you, about us and our kind, and because it amused me to see you in pain.”
Bazz growled, staring his enemy down. “All that about my DNA…”
“And I’ll still have it! We’ll use you to destroy your entire race… if we have to.”
The two slowly circled one another.
“But there’s still another way, Sebastian.” Bazz shook his great head, huffing and growling.
Brandon silently continued. “We’re the true rulers of this planet. Having to live in the shadows, struggling to stay alive as a species? With our power? Compared to those scrawny, puny nothings? No hide, no claws, their only survival skill is to build. And the things they build will destroy us all! I can’t allow that... we can’t allow that. Neither can you.”
“Whatever happens to the human race must be their own doing and their own responsibility. And to think of you lupes running this planet… that’s what I cannot allow.”
Phoebe looked on in confused fear, eyes moving from the two shifters to the burning processing plant near her, the heat growing as the flames overtook the volatile and explosive metal plant.
“You poor deluded fool! I’m going to kill you, then I will breed with your woman. She’ll suffer horribly… to my delight.” Bazz shook his head, eyes fixed on Brandon’s. “Or you can still save her, Sebastian. Join us! You know we’re going to prevail eventually. We’re greater in number, and that advantage will undo your greater size and strength. Just as we overwhelmed your father, we shall overtake you too.”