by Terence West
"Do what?” I asked. I just wanted to get back to surveiling our targets. This wasn't a productive area of discussion.
The Werewolf sighed in frustration. “Go all badass Vamp at the drop of a hat?"
"Instinct, I guess. I've been a Vampire longer than I was a human,” I admitted and paused. The answer shocked even me. Had I forgotten how to be a human? Was I becoming more like the elder Vampires, more of a grotesque caricature of a human? I felt my heart sink. I leaned back on the roof, my interest in the job waning. I turned slowly to my Werewolf companion. “Why are you afraid of me?"
"You're a Vampire,” Toby answered without hesitation. “Your kind is responsible for killing more Werewolves than any other race on this planet. Even humans."
I felt a flush of anger. “Have I personally oppressed you?” I wouldn't wait for an answer. “What about other Werewolves? Isn't the average life expectancy for a wolf less than thirty days? Most don't survive to see their second full moon because local Alphas hunt down and kill freshies.” I was ranting angrily. My mind was working a thousand miles a minute. All the walls, all the filters between my brain and mouth seemed to suddenly vanish.
"Yes, I have killed Werewolves,” I admitted. “But I have also killed Vampires, Demons, and yes, even humans. They were all justified in one way or another.” I was lying, but he didn't need to know that. Shortly after I was turned, I killed humans and Inhumans for sport, just because I could. “I am a killer,” I added finally.
Toby's eyes grew sullen. “And that's why I'm afraid of you."
I was hurt. “Do you even like me?"
The Werewolf drew in a long, deep breath and considered the question. “Yes,” he said after a moment, but he didn't sound sure of his answer. “I think you're a damned good Seeker, but..."
"But?” I repeated, hoping to coax the rest of the thought from him.
"But I don't know if you would turn on me at any moment.” He rapped his knuckles lightly against the wooden shingles. “And I'm not sure I want to find out.” It was hurting him as much to say it as it was for me to hear it.
It cut me to the bone. I felt as if my abdomen had been sliced open and my guts were about to spill out. I would put my life in Toby's hands no questions asked, even though he could turn into a hulking monster that could easily reduce me to a red stain on the pavement. It had been a long time since I trusted someone so completely. Lifting my heart from the ground, I slid it back into my chest and fought the emotions bubbling in the back of my skull. Forcefully reminding myself to blink, I crawled back to my perch on the peak of the roof.
We fell into a terribly uncomfortable silence, but I didn't care. I wasn't going to talk to him if I didn't have to, and it looked like he felt the same way. I could barely hear the regular rise and fall of his chest. He was making every effort to be as silent as possible. Even the wind that whistled through the trees was making more noise than we were. For the first time since knowing Toby, I felt uneasy with my back turned to him.
"I think we can call in the Cleaners,” I said after a while. “There are only ten or eleven Vamps in this brood. They should have no problem.” I glanced over my shoulder, but he was already gone. Apparently he didn't even need to stick around to hear my assessment of the situation.
Falling back off my perch, I laid on my back and stared at the stars. The night was perfectly clear; a far cry from last night's drizzle. The nights were still cool but were staring to warm. This was more the weather I was accustomed to in Southern Nevada. It was hot and dry here forcing even the humans to adopt a more nocturnal lifestyle. It was just too damned hot to go out in the middle of the day. The stars were twinkling brightly overhead. In the hushed lights of the suburbs, it was easy to make out the constellations.
I didn't know what to do about Toby but it would have to wait.
Glancing into the eastern sky, I cringed as I saw the black sky transitioning to blue. It was nearly dawn. We were cutting it really close. Digging into my jacket pocket, I felt my small, clamshell design cell phone. Pulling it free, I flipped it open and jabbed two of the rubberized buttons. The preprogrammed number began to ring immediately. I listened to a gruff male voice answer on the other end. “Eleven targets maximum. Wait for my order to execute.” I snapped the phone shut and deposited it back in my pocket.
I hated military jargon, but it was all some seemed to understand. They had been gifted with free will, and chose to ignore it. It was easier to follow orders than think for one's self. They were cattle. Or maybe I was just in a really, really bad mood.
Standing tall, I stared into the street below. Much of the brood had returned home before dawn. The Cleaners would be able to handle them and I would have to pick up the stragglers tomorrow night. It was now or never. Stepping off the roof, I sailed to the ground and landed flatfooted. I waited, my blond hair whipping in the morning breeze. I wondered for a moment where Toby was. He would catch hell from Maynard for leaving a job, no matter what his personal feelings about his partner were.
I smelled them before I saw them. I didn't even need to turn. They weren't built for stealth, but pure destruction. I could hear the scraping of the Kevlar body armor, the clack of their weapons, and the crunch of the grass under their heavy, booted feet as they moved. Mainly Werewolves, there was a single Witch with them. It was his job to clean up the Cleaners’ mess.
"The Cleaners” was a nickname one of the groups had earned and it seemed to stick. It had become their code designation in the Syndicate. Designed to take out nests of nasties instead of sending in a mass of Seekers, the Cleaners were comprised of ex-military and law enforcement personnel. There were at least two squads assigned to every Brimstone branch.
The commander stepped forward, but kept an arm's length between us. “Rose."
"Captain,” I greeted back. I turned slightly to face him while making sure I didn't present my back to the brood across the street. I was sure they could smell us by now. We had to move quickly.
The squad's captain, Patrick, was built like a tank. He was huge, both in height and girth, his black body armor made him even more impressive looking. He wore a black helmet with a flaming skull painted on the front. A pair of goggles with yellow lenses hung around his neck waiting for use. Seven wooden stakes were slung across his chest bandolier style, while his compact P90 submachine gun was snapped to his chest armor. He was among a growing number of Werewolves who refused to allow themselves to transform. He had access to all the strength, speed, and regenerative powers in human form, but wasn't subject to the more base animal instincts of a Werewolf. They felt the wolf component of their being was too unstable.
I thought of Toby. Maybe they were right.
Patrick handed me a walkie-talkie and voice-activated headset. He watched me with his steel blue eyes as I slid the headset over my ear and slipped the base onto the waistband of my leather pants. We had worked together several times before. He was your no-nonsense military type. I think he told me he had served in Desert Storm, but I was having a hard time focusing tonight. I didn't need to be in a combat situation. My head wasn't in the game.
"Sit rep, Captain,” I commanded, trying to sound like I actually knew what I was talking about.
Patrick lowered his eyes and took a slow breath to fight off the anger or laughter. I couldn't tell which. “My men are ready,” he said, finally able to muster some composure. “You want a clean sweep of the nest?"
I nodded.
"And if we encounter civilians?"
I thought for a moment, but the conclusion was inevitable. There couldn't be any witnesses for our fake cover story to hold. “Destroy everything. Even civvies. I'll go in with you, but I'll hang back by the entrance. Maybe I can stop a couple of Vamps as they flee.” I reached over and snagged a stake from Patrick. “Tell your Witch I want this to be clean. No trace of anything in this house after we leave. Got it?"
"Understood,” Patrick replied.
"You have your orders,” I snapped. “Let's go."
As Patrick stepped into the street between the two houses, the five men of his squad materialized out of the darkness behind me. They charged quickly and quietly across the street and grouped at the front door. Patrick silently signaled his men. Two of the five broke off and charged around to the back door. Counting down with his fingers, one of his men kicked in the front door and charged inside. Patrick and the rest of his team quickly followed. The sound of gunfire shattered the night's calm.
I slipped off my leather jacket and tossed it behind several dying bushes. Don't believe everything you see in movies and television. Those long, black, leather jackets may look cool, but they tend to get in the way during a fight. That's when I spotted another pile of clothes. I recognized the shirt and jacket. The small golden cross lying on the shirt. They were Toby's.
"Shit,” I groaned under my breath. “Bad doggie."
He wolfed and went in without me. Drawing my Beretta, I charged across the street and was up the front stairs in a single step. The overpowering scent of blood hit me like a blast of air as I crossed the threshold. Gasping, I felt my eyes beginning to change. I had to fight it. Snapping off the safety on the .45, I tried to make sense of the smells, sounds, and sights assaulting me. The smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. I saw a burst of light to my left as a P90 was discharged. The accompanying scream assured me the Vampire had died quickly.
"Captain.” Tenderly pressing my fingertips to the headset, I gripped my weapon a little tighter. Walking slowly, I moved further into the nest. A dead tourist lay sprawled in his khaki shorts and Hawaiian shirt in front of an abused fireplace. I keyed the radio again, “Captain, we have another Seeker in the building. He is a gray Werewolf approximately—"
The smells of the nest overpowered me. I didn't even detect the Vampire who circled around the large living room and leapt on me from behind. We crumbled to the floor, the stake skittering from my hand.
Then it let go.
Jumping to my feet, I then swung my pistol around and caught the glint of the Vampire's eyes in the darkness. I could make out his shape in the nearly pitch-black conditions with my preternatural sight. He was maybe in his early twenties and extremely skinny. A shock of brown hair hung down and terminated just below his eyes. I hesitated.
"Brimstone.” The Vampire hissed the word as if it were a curse. He started digging into the pocket of his jeans.
"Hands where I can see them,” I threatened. I should've shot. It would have been over, but something compelled me to hold. I could hear the Cleaners working their way back through the house toward my position. Patrick's voice was barking in my ear over the headset. Pulling it off, I dangled the wire over my shoulder.
"I have ID,” he stammered, scared out of his wits. One hand was raised in the air while the other was still in his back pocket. “We are a legal brood.” He carefully pulled the identification card from his pocket and held it in his palm.
Snatching the card from him and returning to my position faster than he could follow, I kept the weapon aimed at his head. Scanning over the card, my eyes grew wide. I tossed the card back to the young Vampire and grabbed my walkie-talkie. I keyed the radio. “Abort! Abort!"
The crack of a P90 startled me. My gaze came up to see the young Vampire crumble to the ground in a pool of his own blood. Snapping around, I came face to face with Patrick. His blood was splattered with the ruby red life of his enemy.
"Call off your men,” I ordered. “This nest is legal."
"Stake that Vampire.” Patrick tossed a stake to one of his men.
The Cleaner dropped down and slammed the wooden stake cleanly into the heart of the Vampire and stepped back. Shooting straight up with a horrible shriek, the Vampire's hands wrapped instinctively around the stake as his eyes shifted from black to blood red. Gagging and gasping, the Vampire vomited blood and finally fell back to the floor dead.
Patrick snorted and started to walk past me.
This wasn't the Patrick I knew. Grabbing his arm, I yanked him back to face me. The snap-click of multiple P90s told me the remaining four members of his squad had their weapons drawn on me. I was overmatched. I slowly let go of Patrick. “They were legal,” I said again.
Patrick said as he motioned for his men to lower their weapons, “Job's done.” He turned and started out of the nest followed by his men. Spinning on his heels as he reached the sidewalk, a large grin grew across his face. “Oh, and, Rose?"
I snapped the safety on my Beretta and slid it back into its holster. “What?” I couldn't help but sound hostile.
He pointed past me into the house. “We found your puppy."
A knot welled up in my throat. Spinning on the balls of my feet I charged back into the nest. Skittering over a multitude of dead bodies I searched from room to room. Charging up the stairs in no more than three steps, I skidded to a stop on the second floor. Amidst a pile of dead Vampires I saw a bloody patch of gray fur.
I wanted to fall to my knees.
I involuntarily drew a breath, a reflex reaction. The pungent odor of death hit my senses like a slap, but there was something more, something akin to the deep woods. It was weak, but very distinctive. It struck me at once.
Stuffing my hand into my pockets, I searched for my phone. I started to panic then I realized where I left it. Vaulting over the railing, I hit the floor running. I was out the front door and across the street, my feet barely touching the ground. Snatching my coat from behind the bush, I ripped open the pocket and grabbed my cell.
Flipping open the device, I tapped a number from memory and held it to my ear. I barely heard the voice of the Brimstone Operator I was so panicked. “Seeker down! This is Rose! I have a Seeker down!"
Chapter 6
Toby nipped at me twice. He didn't mean to, but he was hurting and lashed out. His yellow eyes appeared glazed over as he lay curled up on the floor. He looked like a poor, abused house pet with thick bandages wrapped around his chest and front paws. His fur was matted with dark areas of blood that probably didn't belong to him while his thick tail was slung around his lower legs and partially obscuring his black nose. The healers had recommended he stay in wolf form while he healed. It meant he couldn't talk to me, but he would recover faster. I was just relieved he was alive.
Sitting against the wall, Toby lifted his head and rested his muzzle on my leg. He whimpered and closed his eyes. I stroked the hair on his neck and back gently trying to comfort him. It was odd to think that less than an hour ago we weren't on speaking terms; now he was curled up in my lap like a loving pet—albeit a nearly eight-foot tall, killer pet.
The wait for the rescue vehicle had felt like an eternity. I had cleared the dead Vampires off Toby and done what I could, which translated to simply waiting with him. I talked to him just hoping that hearing my voice would keep him with me. I had no medical knowledge so I couldn't treat him, and an injured Werewolf is a very dangerous creature. They say a hurt wolf will strike at anyone or anything—even its mate—that tries to come near it out of fear. A Werewolf behaves much the same way, except you're dealing with a massive animal that could eviscerate you without batting an eye.
Dawn had come and gone already. The sun was high in the sky. “Looks like we're both spending the night in the office,” I complained to Toby.
He growled, but it died into a pathetic whimper. I think he was telling me to shut up. Or scratch his ear. I couldn't tell.
I stared at the thick, iron bars that locked us in. I'm sure it made the healers feel safe, but it wasn't doing anything for my confidence. If Toby snapped, that was it. I was locked in. By the time they heard the screams and came with the tranqs, it would be way too late. They had, of course, given me the option of sleeping on a cot in one of the back offices, but I couldn't leave Toby. Even though he was a big jerk, he was still my best friend.
As I rubbed Toby's neck, my mind snapped back to the nest. As I checked that young Vampire's ID, I could smell the fear wafting off him in waves. It was thick on
the air, and not just for the reason there was an armed military unit in his home, but because he was innocent. At least as innocent as a Vampire can ever be.
The Brimstone Syndicate allowed a few nests in each city to be sanctioned. This was to keep the Vampires in check, much the same way certain counties in Nevada had legalized prostitution. It kept the whores off the street, and made sure they were clean. Brimstone viewed the sanctioned Vampire nests the same way. It kept them away from the population. It was easier to clean up a few dead bodies than a hundred. A Master Vampire usually controlled sanctioned nests. This served to keep the younger Vamps in check and made someone accountable to Brimstone.
There were two things wrong with the raid: This was a sanctioned nest, and there was no Master Vampire on the premises, nor did I see one leave during the night. If the Master had abandoned his brood, which sometimes happened, it meant there was a good possibility he was still alive. If he hadn't, then the younger Vampires had overpowered and killed him. I needed to find out one way or another. But the more pressing concern was how did this happen? Brimstone prides itself on one of the most up-to-date and accurate record systems in the human or Inhuman world. Snafus like this were simply unheard of anymore. There would have had to have been a whole chain of errors that placed it on Maynard's desk and eventually in my hands. The chances of this error slipping through that many hands without getting caught were almost astronomical.
I looked up through the iron bars. “Speak of the Devil."
Maynard stood a few steps away, his arms folded across his chest accusingly. “Care to explain to me how Toby came in with seven bullets in his chest?"
"I think you should ask Captain Dipshit with the Cleaners,” I spat out. “His team shot Toby."
Toby growled half-heartedly.
Maynard shook his head. “That's not what Captain Peterson says in his report."
Patrick Peterson? I had no idea what his last name was. Sounded like a comic book hero's poorly conceived moniker. “Is that so?"