Wolfen

by Alianne Donnelly

Shit. Now what? Okay, buddy. Think it through. “Bryce is across the valley.”

  “Yeah, we know,” Morgan said. “He went south instead of north. We ain’t a search party, man. We’ve got us some converts to kill.”

  “No, he’s just across the valley. Maybe seven miles south right now. I saw him.”

  Another wave of verbal noise.

  Aiden held up his hands. “Shut up. This isn’t a good thing. I saw him, but he didn’t see me. And he’s got two females with him. One of them I know for a fact can’t make it across on her own, the other’s human. So whatever you think he can do down there, he won’t.”

  “What, are you kidding me?” Spencer piped in. “This is the B-man we’re talking about. You know what he can do.”

  “I’m starting to think you don’t,” Aiden countered. “None of you.” They had no idea what Bryce’s rampage had done to him back then. He’d stopped talking after it happened—you’d think that would give them a clue. “Shit hits the fan down there, he won’t be fighting to kill, he’ll be fighting to protect. He’ll use himself as a shield, and if that means getting himself torn to shreds so the females have five more seconds’ head start to escape, that’s what he’s going to do.” It’s what any of them would do. “He’s going to get himself killed if we don’t do something. And without him, the females won’t last a second.”

  “We need to send up a signal,” Tessa said. “Let him know we’re here.”

  “Love to,” Morgan replied, eyebrow raised. “Can’t. Converts might see it. Bring the whole lot of them our way. We need the element of surprise.”

  “But—”

  “He’s right,” Aiden agreed. “We have to strike while they’re not expecting it, otherwise we’re all fucked. Our attack’s gonna have to be enough.” Shitty way to say howdy. “We can use the mules. Two ought to do it.” Yeah, now he was thinking! “I’ll need a volunteer behind the wheel, and we’ll have two on the top guns, one more on the truck for leverage. The rest of you on foot, behind us.”

  Tessa stepped up. “I’m in.”

  “The hell you are,” Spencer said. “I’ll take the rig.”

  “Let’s not argue here,” Morgan crowed. “We all know I’m the best driver of all you lot. I’ll be the second.”

  “Choose your engine, Morgan,” Aiden said. “We’ll hit ‘em full speed, and I don’t want you in that cabin when we do. Set the pedal, and get the hell out of there. Top guns will cover us. It’ll be close quarters, so once you hit the ground, save your bullets. Take their heads if you can. If not, the more damage you can do, the better. And don’t count on them turning on each other. These things are beyond anything we’ve come across so far.”

  While he talked, the dogs sorted out their weapons. Half of them carried katana swords like Bryce; light and sharp as hell, easy to wield and capable of doing a lot of damage. A couple preferred machetes and other assorted blades, but a good number carried only short throwing knives, preferring to use claws and fangs.

  Morgan broke out the windows on his mule, then talked things through with his team. Aiden did the same with his own. Spencer and Trey were on the top guns, Kiera on the truck. She winked at him, twirling a stiletto between her fingers. Big, the female was not, but she made up for it with speed and a vicious streak that made people who crossed her break out in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. She also had wicked-sharp little blades attached to the ends of her many braids like a cat-o’-nine-tails, spurs on her heels, and armguards with shark scale hooks. There wasn’t a part of that girl that wasn’t a weapon.

  “You all know what to do?”

  Kiera grinned, flashing a sharp white fang. “Yeah, boy, we bring da thundah! Haroo! Haroo!”

  Spencer rolled his eyes. “How many times I gotta tell you? You’re not a Spartan.”

  “Damn right I’m not. I would’ve whooped all their asses.”

  “Big talk for such a little girl,” Trey taunted. He caught several braids and tugged. “You need a haircut. It’d be a shame if all these doodads got caught somewhere.”

  Kiera snarled and pulled her hair free, slicing his palm open with the blades. “You were sayin’?”

  “Damn,” Trey said with a sharp grin. “I do love me a dangerous woman.”

  Aiden laughed. “This one might be too dangerous for you.”

  A shriek rent the air in the valley.

  Aiden swore. “Ride! Ride! Ride!”

  The mules burst from the tree line with an ungodly ruckus as they sped across the clearing, a small army of Wolfen in their wake. Aiden glanced sideways. Morgan was several yards to his right. He floored it. At least fifty converts spilled south toward the hill, but the rest stayed where they were. Until they saw the Wolfen coming and let out high-pitched squeals so loud, windows would have shattered, had there been any left. Aiden roared in pain, but didn’t dare take his hands from the wheel.

  In the back, Spencer screamed his reply and opened fire, mowing down the front line as it rushed them. A dozen down. Two. Three. Still, more kept coming, leaping over their fallen to get at the enemy.

  “Get ready!” Aiden shouted. No telling if anyone heard him. He jammed the pedal down until it stuck to the floor and shouldered the door open at eighty miles an hour over rough terrain, with bullets flying and cannibals rushing at him like a tidal wave.

  Too many.

  The plan would have to change.

  Aiden looked back at his crew. Kiera held on for dear life, crouched at the very end of the truck bed. Spencer and Trey were on the guns, covering for each other; the spray of bullets never stopped while the other reloaded. They left a trail of shells in their wake. The barrels would be overheating soon.

  Breathe. Not yet.

  The guns didn’t overheat. They ran out of ammo. Spencer swore and pulled a handgun. Trey didn’t have one.

  Closing…

  Closing…

  Not yet.

  Somewhere in the middle of the drove, a convert roared, and the entire lot of them started to leap into the air like grasshoppers; moving targets Spencer couldn’t get at, not as fast as they were going.

  Hold steady. “Off!” he shouted. “Get off!”

  They didn’t hear him.

  A convert landed on the mule’s roof, gunning for Spencer.

  Trey took it down, tossing the headless corpse aside.

  “Get off the truck!”

  Nothing.

  A second convert jumped onto the hood, but slid off before he could get to Aiden.

  One more right on its heels, aimed higher and propelled off the dash, knocking Spencer down onto the truck bed.

  Kiera screamed the full force of her wrath, sounding an alarm.

  Aiden fishtailed to dislodge them all. “Come on, guys,” he muttered, having given up on verbal signals. “Get off the fucking truck.”

  Almost… Almost…

  Trey figured it out first. He met eyes with Aiden in the rearview mirror, and gave a nod. “Luck, brother.” Then he grabbed Kiera and tossed her from the truck. Spencer fought him, but Trey tripped them both off of the platform, and the mule raised a few inches.

  Now!

  Aiden yanked on the wheel, hard left, slamming into the convert ranks, broad-side, with a half-ton metal truck going ninety miles an hour. The mule flattened them, then bounced and rolled over more. Hard fall on the roof. Bounce off and spin. Back on wheels. Upside down again, converts crunching on the ground. Aiden’s brains rattled around in his skull as the force of impact tossed him around the cabin. Metal groaned, warping over weak points and crushing down over the empty windshield, squeezing the side window to almost nothing. Not a chance in hell of getting out through that door. Or window. Or anyfuckingwhere else. One more roll, and the mule righted itself, slamming down onto exposed metal rims.

  Aiden couldn’t catch his breath. Ears ringing, head pounding. Smell of burning metal searing his nostrils. He was disoriented while his body set itself to rights, wasting precious seconds; a window of opportun
ity already closing, one heartbeat at a time.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump…

  A wave of trampling feet swept over the mule’s wrecked shell, and then all hell broke loose.

  57: Sinna

  The ground shudders with their approach. It’s like the roar of a coming avalanche, and it’s going to bury us. They’re fast; they’ll be on us in no time, trample us into dust, and then lap our blood up from the sand.

  We’re going to die.

  Bryce moves fast, driving the mule up to the crest, the highest vantage point, the better to see the horde. Only a small group is coming for us. The rest are busy on the other side. I can’t make out what’s happening; some sort of fight. I almost imagine a flash of white paint, but it’s gone in an instant, the throng of gray bodies writhing together, condensing on one side.

  They’re not my problem. The five dozen screeching toward us are. Bryce jumps out and starts strapping on his weapons while I stand frozen. “…your bow…”

  I blink. The rumble beneath my feet makes my knees watery. I don’t know what to do.

  God, there are so many of them…

  ~

  “Sinna!” Bryce snapped.

  “What?” She dragged her gaze from the converts to look at him. “What did you say?”

  “Get your bow—now!”

  Sinna’s vision tunneled to block out everything but the ground as she ran back to the truck bed. Her bow was stuck underneath a side compartment, the quiver pinned against the cabin. Helena shoved everything around to help her get them. “Think fast, Barbie doll.” The quiver flew at her, and she caught it in time, but the arrow shafts smacked her in the face. It was exactly what she needed to wake the hell up.

  Training’s over. This is the real deal.

  “Get up there,” Bryce said, “and remember what I told you. Fifty yards. Anything comes closer, you drop the bow and run, got it?”

  Sinna nodded and climbed on top of their supplies, because he expected her to. Everything shifted beneath her feet, and she wavered until she found solid footing on one of the side compartments. Helena grabbed her other foot and moved it over to better steady her, then slapped Sinna on the ass. “Look sharp,” she said, and pointed down the hill.

  One convert, smaller and faster than the others, had gotten ahead of the rest. Sinna nocked an arrow, aimed high, and loosed. It struck the creature in the shoulder. Not a kill shot, but enough to jerk the convert around, make it stumble and trip another.

  Helena upended a bag, and a dozen grenades tumbled out. “Hand grenades.” She grinned maniacally. “It’s what’s for dinner.” She took two, yanked the rings with her teeth, and hurled them down the mountain, smack into the middle of the horde. They exploded in fire and debris. Smoke filled the air, and for a moment, Sinna was deaf.

  But the converts weren’t stopping.

  “Feed, my lovelies—feed!” More grenades, more dead converts, but the survivors quickly adapted to avoid them, spreading out to make room between them. With each throw, Helena took out fewer and fewer, while the rest closed in fast. In a flash, she was out of ammo, and with a blood-curdling war cry worthy of a banshee, Helena pulled her sword and rushed forward, polished shoulder guard winking the sun into Sinna’s face.

  Bryce cursed and ran after her. He turned back to shout something at Sinna, but she was too busy laying down cover fire to bother making out what he said. Nock, draw, loose. Repeat. No time to aim. Just guess the distance and let the arrows fly. She watched Bryce’s back, took out converts farthest from him, not trusting her aim enough to risk injuring him. Wooden shafts, small metal points…the flying projectiles had little effect except to annoy. But a stray shot could incapacitate Bryce.

  Nock, draw, loose. Three seconds.

  They shifted closer together on their approach.

  Nock, draw, loose.

  The skin of her fingers was raw from the string. With the next shot, it gave, and her grip became slippery with blood. Sinna winced, bit back the pain, and nocked another arrow.

  Several converts to the side split off, running far left and right. Can’t think about them; too many straight in front of me. So close, she could see them drooling all over themselves. The dry, loose sand made the hill slippery and slowed them down, but not enough. Off in the distance, Helena cut a wide swath toward Haven, but Bryce held back, thinning the herd closest to Sinna. He couldn’t stay there. They would overwhelm him, and he knew it.

  Three latched onto Bryce, bore him down, out of sight. Sinna screamed and fired a volley at them, letting the front runners get closer. I don’t care. I don’t care! “Bryce!”

  Nock, draw, loose.

  Faster!

  Nock, draw, loose.

  Then he roared, an ungodly sound that used to terrify her. She welcomed it now, breathed a short sigh of relief. The pile of writhing bodies throbbed, shifted, then exploded outward. Converts flew back, bowling over those closest to them, and in the middle of that crater, Bryce stood tall, raised his face to the sky, and bellowed his victory. He was bigger, his face reformed into the visage of a merciless killer. Sinna’s hand slowed reaching for the next arrow as she stared at him. He was magnificent. Converts rushed at him, but Bryce fought them back one after another. He was superior. Stronger, bigger, faster, in every way above and beyond anything they had to give—and they gave him their all.

  Bryce would not go down a second time.

  Sinna kept firing, picking off those at the front. They’d be on her soon. She needed to get out of there, but she couldn’t leave Bryce behind. They were in this together. That’s how they were going to get out of it, too.

  With a snarl, Bryce turned to her, picking her out on top of the mule. He waited for something—Sinna getting out of sight—and when she didn’t move, his expression darkened, and he started back toward her. But then his head tilted and he looked the other way, toward Haven and beyond. He made some sort of howling call that stopped the advancing converts in their tracks.

  Sinna shivered. She knew that call; she’d used it herself not that long ago.

  Somewhere in the distance, a different voice answered him, and she froze. That wasn’t Helena.

  Converts who’d rushed past Bryce to get to Sinna, wheeled back around to charge him. He fought them off, but his attention was elsewhere, and when he turned to her, Sinna read the indecision in his eyes. A moment’s hesitation that would get him killed.

  “Go!” she shouted. “Move!”

  A dozen converts bore down on Bryce, and he just stood there, staring at her.

  “Bryce, run!”

  Another call from across Haven. This time, Sinna answered it, feeling the compulsion deep in the marrow of her bones. Their kindred called and Bryce refused to answer, so she did it for him, making her displeasure with him clear through a howl of her own.

  Bryce didn’t hear it, or maybe he didn’t want to. His feet were rooted, and he would not budge.

  Sinna gritted her teeth, nocked an arrow, and loosed. It struck the ground at his feet and surprised him out of his daze. While she had his attention, Sinna raised her bow and pointed its tip past him. Go, she thought, desperate for him to understand. They were gunning for him, not her. He could lead them away. Go, get out of here!

  With a snarl that promised all kinds of retribution, Bryce pivoted and charged toward Haven, monsters hot on his heels.

  Sinna kept an eye out to make sure nothing doubled back toward her. She fired a couple of more shots, but the battle was shifting, concentrating in the middle of the valley around Haven’s walls as if the converts were protecting it. From so far off, Sinna could only make out shapes in varying shades of gray, but something was agitating the horde. Something foreign to them. A flash of metal caught her eye, and she squinted, recognizing Helena’s crazy blonde head in the throng, spinning with her sword neck-level to sever convert heads in its wake. She was good—light on her feet, quick to change tactics, always keeping the enemy at arm’s length.

&n
bsp; But at the same time, the spectacle she made of herself drew more of them to her. She wasn’t going anywhere; she stayed right in the thick of it, like the damned Grim Reaper come to collect wayward souls.

  When the lone call came again, several voices answered.

  Sinna’s heart thundered. There were others; many of them. She dared to kindle the hope of surviving this, nurtured it inside her chest until it became a roaring inferno, fueling her resolve. She hopped off the truck and ducked inside the mule’s cabin. A quick sequence to start the engine, and then she jammed a water canteen down onto the gas pedal. The electric engine whirred to life, humming with pent-up power. Sinna took her quiver, strapped the handgun holster to her belt, released the brake, and stood back.

  The mule flew down the hill, straight into the battle. Bull’s eye. She grinned, pumping her fist in the air. “Take that, you sons of bitches! Wooo!”

  Claws on her ankle. A sharp yank. She slammed face-first into the ground. Dazed, she rolled over, fumbling with the holster to free the gun. It wasn’t there.

  Three converts stood over her, clicking and groaning to each other as they leaned down to block out the sun, their faces stuck in a grimace of perpetual snarls. Sinna screamed and scrambled backwards, but her ankle was still trapped. A foot slammed down onto her shoulder from behind, pinning her in place, and she cried out in pain, clawing at the convert.

  She was stuck, surrounded. Nowhere to run. Sinna thrashed, gaining no ground while they watched her struggle like a bug under a magnifying glass. They sniffed at her, jaws opening wide and closing not quite all the way. One whoomp-whoomped. Another snarled in response. The third bashed her over the head with a rock, and the bright-hot day turned to pitch-black night.

  58: Aiden

  The roof is caved in over the front, side windows pinched down to a few inches. Arms reach through any and all openings, blocking out the light. They can’t get more than elbow-deep, but it’s still enough to rake at me. I break an arm here, twist another there. I’m pinned behind the wheel, and the mule lurches and rocks. It’s like being stuck in a tumbler, heading off the edge of a waterfall. I have no frame of reference, no sense of direction. Claws scrape over metal, footsteps thunder over the hull of my broken shell. I have to break the steering wheel off to free my legs. I squeeze between the seats to get to the back. No opening there, either. I’m stuck until one of the gray bastards figures out how to pry the sides open wider.