“You gonna be okay here, ladies?” the archer asked.
Paige and Nadya jumped down from the truck. Handing the medical kit to the Amriany, Paige replied, “We’ll be okay. What about you guys?”
“Made it this far. That don’t mean shit when it comes to the end of days, but we should be able to make it a little longer.”
Hearing that made Paige fairly certain the man wasn’t a Skinner. At least, he hadn’t been one for long. Most experienced werewolf hunters had already seen and killed enough to have grown comfortable with anything resembling the end of days. Just to be sure, she approached the green truck and extended a hand. “My name’s Paige and that’s Nadya. I’d ask you in, but that’s not such a good idea.”
Glancing to the door through which Nadya had already disappeared, he said, “John Waggoner. Ask anyone in town and they’ll tell you I ain’t about to hurt you. Whatever you’re protecting in there, it’s safe with us.”
“I’m sure it is, John. I appreciate the help. Is there a way I can get in touch with you?”
“We’ll swing by here in an hour or so. If that throw-down out there gets worse, it may take a little longer. There are other folks in town we need to check on. Any chance we could send some stragglers this way?”
Waggoner was no Skinner. His palms were rough and callused, but not scarred. Although she’d had her notions about the bow slung across his shoulder, that wasn’t a Skinner weapon either. It was too smooth to have ever changed shape, and the handle was made for comfort instead of drawing the blood of its owner.
“Yeah,” Paige said. “If anyone needs to come here, send them over. Just tell them not to be alarmed with what may greet them.”
“Are you sure about that?” Nadya asked quietly.
Patting her arm, Paige watched the men in the pickups. “Just have your stragglers mention my name if you come back and they should at least get shelter. Still, we’re kind of in a bad spot right now.”
“Understood,” Waggoner said with a nod. “Paige, right?”
“Yep.”
“Appreciate the help. We’ll swing by later to check in on you.” With that, he slapped the side of the truck and motioned for the driver to get moving. Both vehicles rolled away, gunning their engines as they were almost immediately chased by a pair of wandering Half Breeds.
“You think we’ll see them again?” Nadya asked.
“Odds of survival aren’t much worse for them than they are for us. Let’s just see what we can do for Milosh right now.”
Nadya led the way downstairs to the cellar inhabited by the Mongrels. Stopping at the top of the stairs, Paige dug into her pocket for her phone. The device might not have been up to Cole’s technical standards, but it was sturdy enough to survive all the bumps it had taken during the last several hours and still let her know she’d missed a call. The number on the caller ID was familiar, so she tapped the screen right away.
“Midwestern Ectological Group, how can—”
Paige interrupted the unfamiliar voice with a bare-bones introduction and an identification number that verified she was one of MEG’s “special contacts.”
“Hang on,” the operator said. “I’m supposed to patch you right through to Stu.”
The first voice was replaced by a very familiar one that said, “Paige! Where are you?”
“Oklahoma.”
“I knew it! As soon as I heard about the town that was overrun, I knew you’d be in the middle of it! Atoka, right?”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s already on the news?”
“Not the major networks, but there’s plenty of reports coming in from people taking pictures and videos and whatever else. They’re getting squashed by official channels that go pretty high up. Know anything about that?”
“Maybe. I need to get in touch with someone in this area. One of us. And nobody who might be a friend of Rico’s.”
“You worried about the Vigilant?”
Paige’s stomach clenched into a knot. “Who are they?” she asked.
“We’ve only heard the name once, but several of you guys have been breaking off from us.”
“How many?”
“It’s hard to say for certain,” Stu replied. “There are a few out west who don’t normally check in anyways and plenty that never made it onto our list, but they aren’t necessarily broken away. Lots more as you head east. We lost track of everyone from Philadelphia and that vicinity. That’s about all we’ve got on them.”
“What about anyone in the Oklahoma area? Anyone out here at all? Vigilant or not?” As she waited for Stu to look up the information, her phone beeped. It was another incoming call, but she ignored it since Stu was already pulling up results.
“Sure. There’s a small group based in Oklahoma City.”
“Is one of them named John Waggoner?” she asked.
“I’ve only got one name and it’s Bill Phillips. You want his number?”
“Just send it to me. I’ve got to go. Thanks, Stu.” Before he could say anything else, she cut the connection. Paige stood at the top of the stairs, listening to what sounded like some very uncomfortable grunts coming from Milosh. Since the noises he made weren’t growls or dying breaths, that probably meant he was getting the treatment he needed. The fingers on her right hand tingled, so she flexed them. More than likely she needed to get some preventive medication herself.
The phone rattled in her hand, causing her to twitch. It buzzed once and stopped, and when she looked down she saw Stu’s text message passing along Bill Phillips’s phone number. That was followed by U R welcome.
The next call she made was to a number that wasn’t listed in any directory. As far as she knew, it wasn’t even supposed to be written down on anything that wasn’t set on fire a minute later. After two rings the connection crackled through several layers of electronic security measures and was answered by a curt, “Adderson.”
Ignoring the beep of an incoming call, she asked, “Have you heard anything about Cole yet?”
“If you know where he is, then tell me right now!”
She grinned, which was enough of a silent gap to make the man at the other end of the connection nervous.
“Paige!” Adderson barked. “I’m serious. I can’t offer any assistance if you don’t offer some in return.”
She cut the call short with the quick poke of a button. By the time she got to the cot where Milosh was being treated, she was already getting another call. This one she answered right away.
Chapter Fifteen
Three miles north of Westcliffe, Colorado
An hour earlier
Cole and Lambert rode in an old Chevy hatchback they’d stolen not too long ago. Actually, Frank had stolen it. The Squam waited alongside County Road 255 until he spotted a solitary car with no others in sight. Bounding in a loping stride that forced him to lean forward and swat the ground with his hands, he caught up to it, pulled the passenger door open and climbed inside.
Although Cole felt bad for the petrified, twenty-something girl behind the wheel, he had to admit it was one of the coolest things he’d ever seen. He rushed over to the car, pulled the trembling little blonde out through her door and shoved her into the back with Lambert. “Who are you guys?” she screamed. “Please just let me go!”
“Can’t do that, darlin’,” Lambert said with a slimy grin. “What’s yer name, sweetie?”
Cole, behind the wheel and about to look in the purse he’d seen on the passenger seat, snapped his eyes up to the rearview mirror. “Lay off,” he said. “We’re just getting what we need.”
“She likes me.”
“No I . . . don’t,” the girl muttered.
“She likes the bad boys,” Lambert said. “Gangsta types. That’s what she’s thinkin’.”
According to what Cole heard, Lambert had been locked up in G7 because he was a mind reader. Judging by the look on the girl’s face, he might have struck a nerve. Even so, he told Lambert, “Just watch her. The only time
you need to touch her is if she makes a wrong move.”
Lambert met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “What do you think I’m gonna do to her? Just because I’m a—”
“Spare me the hurt feelings speech and just watch her!”
“What is that . . . thing?” the girl asked. “The thing that climbed into my car.”
Frank was nowhere in sight, but Cole assumed he’d return on his own, as he had before. Instead, he concerned himself with the purse. He took most of the cash as well as a debit card, left the credit cards, and kept digging until he found the girl’s cell phone. It was a newer model, wrapped up in a hot pink case with little fake jewels glued around the portrait of a Hollywood pretty boy who’d made a living playing even prettier vampires in a cable television series. “Great,” he sighed.
“Let me go,” she demanded.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” he assured her. Tossing the purse on the seat beside him, he put the car in gear and pulled back onto the road. “We just need the car, okay?”
She nodded and wrapped her arms around herself. Lambert stayed on his side of the seat as the car picked up speed. Thanks to the DOOR AJAR light on the dash coming on, Cole knew exactly what the inmate was doing when he lunged across at her. After grabbing her arm, Lambert pulled her away from the door that now swung open. By the time Cole pulled over, Frank had run up close enough to the car to shut the door again. As soon as she saw him, the girl yelped and pressed herself against Lambert.
“See?” the inmate said. “Told ya she liked me.”
Cole twisted around and placed his arm across the back of the seat. “I know this is scary,” he said to the blonde. “We aren’t going to hurt you. Just bear with us and you’ll have a hell of a story to tell to your friends.”
“Or to the cops,” Lambert said. “Or the news. That’s what she’s thinkin’.”
“Could you always read people that easily?” Cole asked.
“Nope. Just when they ain’t guarding their brains. Young ones are easier too,” he added. “They think they’re so smart but . . . Ooooh! That’s nasty, girl!”
She scowled at him and grew pale. The combination of fear and excitement in her eyes was close to what Cole had seen on the faces of humans who’d frequented Steph’s Blood Parlor and paid for Nymar to feed on them. Apparently, being the food of supernatural predators was still what all the cool kids were doing.
“Hold on to her, Lam,” Cole said. “What’s your name, miss?”
“Brianne.”
“She don’t like bein’ called miss.”
“Yeah,” Cole said. “I figured. Okay, Brianne. Just sit tight and we’ll let you off the first place we can. Sound good?”
She didn’t say anything, but must have been thinking in some pretty colorful terms because Lambert chuckled and shook his head.
Cole kept driving south, simply because that was the easiest way to keep the prison behind them. On all sides there was nothing but flat land covered in dead grass. The air was getting crisper, as if blowing in straight from the top of the distant mountains. Frank bounded ahead of them, scouting for any policemen or roadblocks set up in response to the situation at the prison. Every so often the Squam would show up on the side of the road to wave them along. The next time he showed up, he pointed them toward another highway to avoid a pair of state troopers. Cole drove for another several miles until he caught sight of a billboard advertising a truck stop coming up. Pulling off to the side of the road, he asked, “Have you been able to read Frank?”
“Off and on,” Lambert replied. “That’s why Waylon forced me to stay so close to him for so long. He wanted to know where the rest of them lizard men were hiding.”
“Lizard men?” Brianne squeaked, as if she’d convinced herself the sight of her carjacker had been a bad dream. “Oh God.”
“Can he be trusted?”
Lambert screwed his face up into a distasteful frown, but shrugged and replied, “Hasn’t dicked us over yet.”
Since it had been a while since the last time he saw his scaly partner, Cole kept his eyes on the shoulder until the Squam bounded into view. He reached for the shotgun he’d tucked near his feet, making sure Brianne saw it as he stepped outside. “Stay put,” he told her.
She couldn’t take her eyes off the weapon as she nodded meekly.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asked as he approached the car. His eyes darted back and forth before focusing on a vehicle approaching from the other lane. He stood closer to Cole and lowered his head so anyone in that dark blue Camry couldn’t make out more than the shapes of two men standing beside the hatchback. “We can’t stop in plain sight like this.”
“I know,” Cole replied. “You’re taking this girl into those trees and keeping an eye on her.”
Frank’s brow furrowed. It would have been a menacing expression for anyone his size, but on a man covered in yellow scales with gill flaps along his nose, it was downright chilling. “I won’t kill her.”
“Damn right you won’t. I want you to keep her here while me and Lambert drive ahead to that truck stop. Give us about fifteen minutes to top off the tank and get some supplies and then point her toward the same place. It’s only about a mile walk so she should be able to make it.”
“And what if she doesn’t?” Frank asked. “A pretty girl on her own, walking on a stretch of road, she could get into trouble.”
Suddenly, Cole felt bad for bringing the shotgun along. Not only had Frank proven to be nothing but honorable this far, but he seemed more concerned for Brianne’s welfare than he himself did. “Then stick with her to make sure she gets there safely. You might want to stay out of sight, though. I think you freak her out.”
“I understand.”
Cole opened the car and settled behind the wheel. “Hand her off to Frank.”
Brianne looked outside and practically jumped into Lambert’s arms. “No. No! Please don’t!”
“Get out,” Cole demanded.
When she looked to him, Lambert said, “You heard the man, sweet stuff.”
Somehow, the endearing tone in Lambert’s voice seemed more of a motivator than the shotgun in Cole’s hands. She kicked the door open. Almost immediately Frank was there to take her hand and help her out. Resigned to her fate, Brianne sobbed to herself and shuffled away.
“How far away can you read someone?” Cole asked.
“Don’t know. Depends on if I know them or not.”
“What about her? Will you be able to read her from a mile or two down the road?”
“Hell yes. That girl’s scared shitless, and not too bright anyways. Makes for a good combo.”
“Just let me know if she gets hurt.” Grudgingly, Cole drove away. The next time he checked his rearview mirror, Frank and the blonde were already out of sight.
About two minutes later he pulled up to the farthest pump at the truck stop that had been advertised on the billboard. “Thank Christ,” Lambert said. “I gotta take a piss.”
“Hold it.”
“I can’t!”
“You’re dressed in a freaking gray jumpsuit. You know what that makes you look like? Someone who escaped from a prison!”
“Fine,” Lambert grunted as he unzipped the front of his jumpsuit and rolled down the top portion so it was gathered around his waist to reveal a sweat-stained wife beater similar to the one Frank wore. “Better?”
Cole counted up Brianne’s money. She had thirty-eight bucks and the debit card. He handed the cash to Lambert and said, “Get as much food and water as you can with this. Don’t attract attention. If there’s trouble, run for the highway and I’ll pick you up. Come to think of it, wait until I’m done pumping the gas.”
“You wanna pump somethin’?” the inmate grunted. “Then follow me into the toilet.” With that, he stuffed the cash into his waistband and headed for the main building of the truck stop.
Cole felt a tension in his belly that had nothing to do with the tendrils wrapped around his guts as he sli
d Brianne’s debit card through the reader on the pump. The fact that he was probably being taped by a security camera didn’t bother him, since stealing a tank of gas barely qualified as legal trouble anymore. He was more concerned that the card would be denied for some reason. It wasn’t, so he topped off the tank. By the time he was done, Lambert still hadn’t shown up. Cole couldn’t see any signs of a commotion through the front window of the truck stop, so he pulled off to another parking space and dug out the phone from where he’d tucked it away.
Before he touched a single button, he reminded himself that it wasn’t his phone. Considering what had happened, it was more than likely that the cops or somebody would be monitoring calls made on Waylon’s line. Even if they didn’t do so now, the records would be there if anyone decided to do it later.
“God damn it,” Cole grumbled as he chucked the phone out the window.
His luck changed for the better when he found three folded ones and about four more dollars in change stuffed into Brianne’s ashtray. Since Lambert still hadn’t reappeared, he walked up to a bank of three pay phones outside the building. Peeking in past a faded cardboard advertisement for Ding Dongs in the window, he saw cash registers, soda machines, snack bars, showers, a metric ton of unhealthy snack foods, and a line for the restrooms. Scraping up enough cash to make a call had been fortunate. Discovering even one of those phones to be in working order was something close to a miracle. He dialed a number from memory and got an answer right away.
The Breaking Page 21