He didn’t see her there. But he felt her, heard a whisper of melody that he’d started to identify as hers, and he knew she didn’t need to watch him from inside the house. Not when she could ride with him inside his heart instead.
“Go, Holly,” he said.
Holly gunned it, and then, they were outrunning the wind.
He’d ridden alongside Holly, he’d watched Holly ride, but he’d never ridden with Holly. It was one thing to see her handle the motorcycle, and another to experience it, feel the minute balance changes and precise control she commanded as she bulleted over the blacktop, through the neighborhood, onto the road, then onto the highway itself.
Once on the open road, she opened the throttle and gained speed, until the blighted landscape blurred by beside them in shadowy greens and browns. The bloody sunset had darkened, faded into the gloom the Ferals favored. He felt the shape of her change, take on mass, and he knew she’d chosen to let parts of her wolf out to play. Muscle to better handle the bike at speed. Reflexes for safety and control. Eyes for sight in the darkness and prey identification. All good, because we’re riding at a speed I wouldn’t call safe for humans. Not sure it’s safe for us, either.
But they’d left safe behind the moment they decided to stop a Feral convoy full of the Beast Plague. Now, all they could do was bolt across the desert and hope whatever gods watched them favored brave fools and foolish wolves.
No cars drove these highways after sundown. Not as they used to, when people sped through the featureless darkness to reach more interesting destinations at either end of the straight, boring interstates. Nighttime held dangers no humans wanted to face, and no drivers just out to pay their bills received high enough salaries to risk a high chance of death to deliver their truckloads of food. Everyone feared the hours after the twilight had fallen, before the sun drove the monsters back into their lairs.
Shane knew, though how he knew continued to amaze him, that the Ferals counted on this. What shadow-fearing security force would turn away a driver who’d ignored the dangers to bring supplies to towns in need? Or ones who’d taken longer than they anticipated to reach a destination and found themselves trapped by the sundown? They’d let trucks past the safety of the walls without hesitation. And then, they would die, or wish they had, just before the Beast Plague claimed them.
The only lights in the desert night were the stars, stretching bright over the ribbons of blacktop that adorned the hot, dry ground. Bands of the Milky Way washed over the sky above, a swathe of clustered stars that shone beyond the pockets of dust that swirled around the galactic center. They said, at the heart of the galaxy, a supermassive black hole lurked and consumed all that fell too close to its center. They also said some stars swirled near to that black hole, enough to dip close then speed free of the pull.
Like us. We’re those stars. We’re the ones who brave the night, dance with the danger and try to ride away again. That black hole hasn’t gotten them yet. Or us.
It was ironic, he decided, that the presence of lights piercing the darkness were what signaled they’d found the danger they sought. Two trucks rumbled down the highway, headlights on and moving fast towards Laughlin. The red and yellow lights along the edges of the trucks’ rear sides seemed more ominous to Shane, knowing what waited behind the doors those lights surrounded.
Shane gave a signal with one hand. The pack killed the headlights on their motorcycles and fell into a narrow column behind him to minimize their presence on the road. If they were lucky, the Ferals wouldn’t check their rear mirrors to see the wolfpack driving up on their bumpers. Do we need to be lucky? Or can we help that along?
He listened to the tiny melody at the back of his mind, the one he knew he shared with Erin. It reminded him of the thoughts he associated with his inner wolf, the howl it raised when that part of him reacted to the world around him. Now, he tried to send that howl into the bond they shared, to tell her what he needed the Ferals to do.
Don’t let them look back. Keep their eyes on the road.
Deep within, he heard the acknowledgement. Or he hoped he did. They’d find out all too soon. They approached the backs of the trucks fast. The time had come to take down their prey.
Another hand signal. Rigo’s motorcycle shot past him, the scout leaned low over the machine while Kerri poised herself to spring. Air currents churned in the wake of the trucks disrupting the flow, and Shane clenched his jaw as he watched both his packmates fighting the drafts.
Neither truck showed any awareness of the wolves’ presence. Rigo, half-shifted now and ears flattened to his lupine head, edged his bike alongside the rear truck until he found a sweet spot in the winds. Kerri patted his shoulder, and he cranked the accelerator hard. Attack run. He gets one shot at this before it isn’t a surprise anymore. And they’ll have worse than road rash if they crash at this speed.
But they didn’t. Rigo muscled his ride up to the truck’s passenger door. Kerri grabbed the handrail and half-jumped, half-pulled herself over to the truck’s running board. Rigo dropped back as he countered the balance disruption of Kerri’s leap, and Kerri couldn’t spare him a second glance. Fur exploded over her as she let the wolf out to play.
With a clawed hand, she yanked the passenger door open from the front hinges. It fell away and tumbled onto the road, where the pack split to avoid it. Kerri dove into the cab the moment she let the slab of metal go. Shane tensed, ready to signal Holly forward so he could help Kerri take the truck.
A Feral flew out the passenger side of the truck. Shane didn’t see where it landed, but by the creature’s trajectory, it probably flew ten feet sideways before it hit the ground. The truck swerved wildly and threated to roll before it stabilized. One clawed hand stuck out the driver’s window to wave them on.
But the attack hadn’t gone unnoticed. The lead truck picked up speed, barreling down the highway with a renewed desperation and jinking to either side with hard, unpredictable swerves. Holly torqued the accelerator to keep up. Shane patted her arm, then pointed to the back of the truck instead of the side. She didn’t question, just altered her trajectory to catch the end of the trailer instead.
He made a grab for one of the bars on the rear of the truck, but it swerved just out of his reach. Holly compensated for the lurch against her balance, but it took them too far from the truck for Shane to attempt a leap. She zigged close again. This time, the truck’s swerve fishtailed the end of the trailer towards the motorcycle and nearly knocked them over. Shane almost fell off as Holly dodged away but held for long enough to allow her to get the bike back under his center of gravity.
Erin. Please. Five seconds. Try to keep them still for five seconds. More of a prayer than a request, a plea to the goddess who howled with his wolf. He had no proof she could hear his silent appeal, no verification that the sense of confidence that filled him was anything more than coincidence. Like a petitioner to a distant god, he gathered his faith and signaled Holly to prepare for another approach.
The swerving stilled. Shane lunged for the grab bar. His fingers wrapped around it and he pulled himself onto the back of the truck.
Shane had no time to check the position of his pack. The swerving started again, and he fought to keep his hold. Clinging to the back of the truck, he could smell the Ferals waiting in the trailer, could smell the distinct scents of medical equipment and chemicals. Probably whatever stabilizing base shit they use to carry the virus into the air. Not on my watch.
He couldn’t get in the door like Kerri had. Not from here. Opening the trailer to crawl to the cab would never work with so many Ferals waiting to attack from within. Only one way to get there, then.
The wolf came when he called it. Metal screeched and buckled as he slammed his claws into the steel of the trailer door. Hand over hand, claws tearing through the truck’s outer layers, Shane climbed onto the top of the truck and crawled towards the cab.
A brief glimpse backwards told him the pack had drawn back to escort the second tr
uck, as if they didn’t dare approach the truck in the lead. It did the trick. The swerving stopped, but the truck picked up speed to distance itself from its pursuers. Shane thought his teeth might vibrate out of his skull as the truck shuddered its protest at how fast its driver demanded it travel.
Hot wind whistled through his flattened wolf ears and ruffled his fur. His fingertips ached from driving into the steel top of the truck’s trailer. Determination shunted all discomfort away as he focused on his climb. He had forgotten the gap between trailer and cab. The sight of the pavement speeding by beneath him reminded him why his aching fingertips needed to stop complaining and continue holding.
There was no silent way to do what he had to do. A bunch, a leap, and a hard landing on the roof of the cab. The truck jerked hard to the right. Paint peeled under his nails as he slid, leaving scratches in the metal before he drove his claws in. As the course righted, Shane scrambled into a crouch, tethered by his grip on the metal. Why isn’t the driver swerving more? What the fuck are they doing down there?
Another clawed hand impacted on the roof of the truck as it reached up from the passenger window. A second one followed it, then a spotted, leering Feral face. Now, Shane understood. The Feral riding shotgun had decided to come after him.
The alpha wolf kicked out. A thick leather boot connected with the creature’s jaw. It snarled, tried to pull itself onto the truck, but Shane kicked it hard enough to shake its grip. It scrambled for purchase, and Shane lunged. One hand sunk into the metal for a handhold while the other drove into the nearest of the Feral’s hands.
Blood sprayed. Tendons severed. The Feral lost half its grip. It screamed into the rushing wind, flailed its useless hand against the truck. Shane kicked viciously at the second hand until the fingers there shattered.
The Feral fell backwards. Only what parts of it remained in the truck’s window kept it from falling onto the highway. Shane slid farther across the scarred metal, legs dangling over to deliver a series of savage, two-footed kicks to drive the Feral’s spine against the edge of the open window.
Once. Twice. A sickening crack Shane could hear even over the rush of wind. The Feral hung limp from the side of the truck, then slithered over the side to bounce against the pavement.
Shane swung into the open window. A terrified human man, arms covered in red streaks that originated from a gaping wound in his left elbow, clutched the wheel. His hands trembled with such violence that Shane wondered how he could steer at all, and tears dripped down the numb expression. The man looked over slowly, lips quivering, as if he had to see what had climbed in but desperately feared the answer.
The wolf receded. Shane held up both hands. “Stop the truck. It’s all right. Stop the truck. This is over. Stop the truck. Stop the truck.”
He repeated it like a mantra until the man looked away. He pressed his foot down on the brake, as gentle and hesitant as a new driver afraid to break his car. The engine sputtered and died as the truck pulled to a halt.
Shane wondered if the man would, too. He sat, now staring at his white-knuckled hands as they gripped the wheel. “In the b-back.” Each word sounded forced.
“I know,” Shane said gently. “Thank you. You’re safe, now.”
A lie, but a kind one. The man stared at his hands a moment more, until the tension in his shoulders eased. Then he looked over again, eyes as full of unfocused wonder as they had been of fear minutes before.
“Do you hear the singing?” he asked Shane.
“Yes,” Shane answered, though he couldn’t keep the sadness out of his voice. Not the singing you hear, you poor, infected bastard. I’m so sorry. “Yes. I hear the singing.”
The answer seemed to comfort the driver. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat. “I’m going to— To sit here, and listen to it. While you deal with the ones in the back. Maybe longer. Maybe until I go to sleep. She’s singing a lullaby.”
Shane started. “She?”
“The Fixer. She’s singing, and I’m sleepy now.”
Maybe you do hear the same singing I do. “That’s a good idea. Keep listening to the singing. I have to end this for good.”
The driver said no more as Shane opened the passenger door to head into the bloody night.
15
That Time the Wolf and the Valkyrie Flipped Ragnarok the Bird
The same headlines had played over the television news for the last several hours, yet Erin found she couldn’t look away as they started up again. Large, white letters, stark against the crimson strip along the bottom of the broadcast, read, “LAS VEGAS FALLS TO BEAST PLAGUE”. Smaller words, almost an afterthought when compared to that headline, noted that similar attacks against Laughlin and Phoenix had failed. An exhausted news anchor sat at her desk, expression grave as she read from the teleprompter.
“Thousands of people are believed to be infected with the Beast Plague after trucks believed to contain food and supplies were allowed past the protective wall around the city. These trucks instead contained both Ferals and aerosol dispersal mechanisms for the virus. How the Ferals acquired these mechanisms, or knew how to utilize them, is currently unknown. Officials at the Centers for Disease Control have stated they are conducting an investigation into the matter and will release more information as soon as possible.”
“It was possible months ago. Maybe years ago,” Erin muttered at the television set, which didn’t care about her opinions. “You haven’t told anyone a damn thing about the Beast Plague, or what you did with it. And now, the only ones doing anything about it are the werewolves.”
Untrained, unpaid werewolves who risked their lives to save a population kept ignorant by the leadership who’d doomed them. The Phoenix pack had lost one of their wolves in the fight to stop and clear the trucks that had tried to infect the city. Las Vegas had paid a far higher price for their cockiness and belief that their walls would keep them safe.
“Drone footage shows the disturbing aftermath of the strike on the city, which many websites are calling the start of the apocalypse. Please be advised that this footage is graphic and shocking. Viewer discretion is advised.”
Dead people littered the streets, every corpse with bite marks, scratches, and other, more distressing wounds that implied the now-Feral population saw their former neighbors as a source of food. Worse, though, were those still falling to the virus, the ones who sat against walls or in decorative fountains and rocked back and forth while the illness claimed them. No humans had tried to enter the city after the first wave of law enforcement who dared to investigate found themselves infected. Only drones would approach now, their operators miles away and safe.
“An increase of Feral strikes has been reported around the world in the wake of today’s tragedy. The Great Beast Plague has become a global crisis, with only Greenland and Madagascar believed to remain untouched by the virus. Today, officials announced that travel is now restricted, both globally and within the United States itself. Many cities have chosen to close their borders and tighten their rules for entry. When asked about the protection of suburbs and smaller, outlying towns, many city councilmen indicated that residents there should evacuate to larger cities as soon as they are able. People in southwestern states are especially advised to seek safer living arrangements, as cellular and other communication services are increasingly unavailable after Feral sabotage.”
“So, that means people like us are on our own,” Erin said with disgust. It didn’t surprise her, and it hadn’t surprised Shane when Filipa mentioned the same sentiments in the phone call two nights ago. Small-town America was slowly being left to fend for itself. Everyone knew the cities could never, would never hold everyone who’d chosen to live beyond their borders. Everyone knew, and no one cared. They’d become the acceptable sacrifice for others to try to survive.
Smart ones took that seriously. Shane had talked about building a wall around Coyote Trail as well, to help prevent casual attacks on the fringes of the town. He and th
e sheriff had discussed how to handle the inevitable influx of evacuees. Levalle had been the first, but they wouldn’t be the last. Other packs had already gotten in touch about joining forces and combining territories.
The packs would take care of their own. No one else could do it like the wolves. Las Vegas had proved that.
“A government official who declined to speak on the record has informed national news agencies that discussions have begun regarding the bombing of Las Vegas. Strategic bombing of infected cities and viral hotbeds has already begun in parts of California. Our source tells us it is believed that prompt strikes on the Las Vegas area will prevent further spread of the virus, while others argue it is a premature surrender of an important American landmark.”
“Are you still watching that?” Shane asked.
Erin turned to see him standing in the entryway to the living room, a slender, wrapped package in his hands. The black jeans and black button-down shirt suited him, accentuated his handsome form despite its somber appearance.
She’d asked him if he should wear slacks to Tyler’s memorial service. He’d snorted and said Tyler would have laughed at them all for dressing up like that. Button shirts were pushing it. Then he’d promised he would wear slacks to their wedding, and feeling her heart explode in her chest had distracted her from any further sartorial suggestions.
“I can’t help it,” she admitted. “Every time they start the cycle again, I get sucked in. They play the footage, they say the words, and I spend so much time deciding if I’m angry, heartbroken, guilty for being glad it wasn’t us, that by the time I decide I can be all of them at once, they’ve started over.”
Brave the Night: A Bully Boys Novel Page 20