He came at the werewolf then like a horror movie slasher, the club gripped tightly in a hand cocked up near the side of his head. The strike intended for the Half Breed’s neck sliced through empty air when the gargoyle pushed a sound from its mouth that sounded like a snake being drowned in a vat of mud. The sight of those narrow black eyes staring at him was enough to back Cole up.
The Half Breed scraped its claws against the floor and let out a strained whine as its struggles dwindled to nothing. Soon it was barely moving.
The gargoyle kept its black eyes fixed on Cole and its body wrapped tightly around the werewolf until more of the fliers slapped into place around the creature and dragged it outside. When the first gargoyle loosened its grip so it could envelop more of the beast, the bitter scent of dusty vinegar poured into Cole’s nostrils. It was the same scent he’d smelled in the truck, and like the section of seat Jessup had used as a sample for his crudely fashioned icing bag, the part of the Half Breed that had been wrapped up was now stiff and gray.
High-pitched shrieks filled the air outside, but Cole heeded Jessup’s advice by acting without looking for the source of the sound. He kicked the werewolf out of the helicopter, and before it hit the ground four more gargoyles darted from above to latch onto the creature. Cole shut the door and left the things to their meal.
“I can’t stop it,” the remaining soldier gasped.
“Don’t worry. Those things won’t be going anywhere.”
Having pulled himself to the back section of the helicopter, the soldier sat up so he could breathe a little easier. “Not that. Whatever’s inside me. It hurts.”
Cole had to clamber over the body of a dead man to examine the soldier. “Did that thing bite you? Was there someone else up front? Did it bite them? How did it get in here?”
“Nothing boarded us. That Class Two just showed up and started attacking the pilot. Maybe the co-pilot.”
The front section of the helicopter had been battered on impact, but most of the metal that collapsed between the main cabin and cockpit had been torn away by the werewolves. “Wait a second,” he said while turning to face the soldier once more. “Did you call that thing a Class Two?”
His face was smeared with blood and what could have either been grease or black camouflage paint. “Yeah. It’s one of the older ones. No tusks.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’m with IRD. The In . . . human . . .”
“I know what it is. What are you guys doing here?”
After pulling in a breath and swallowing it, the soldier said, “Our scouts found two escaped prisoners who were headed here. Soon as they saw the Class Ones, our scouts called in for armed response. That’s us.”
“What escaped prisoners?”
The soldier started to talk but came up short. After another breath he grunted, “From Colorado.”
Knowing he was referring to Lambert and Frank, Cole asked, “What’s a Class One?”
“You . . . call them Full Bloods. Something’s wrong.”
Cole had moved away from the soldier to take a look through the window. The Half Breed was on its side and completely covered by living flaps of skin. “You’re damn right something’s wrong.”
“No,” the soldier grunted through a clenched jaw. “Something’s wrong with me. It feels like . . . like I broke some—” His words became a scream as his face twisted into a nightmarish version of its former self. His body flopped against the floor while his hands reached out to grab anything within reach.
“Holy shit,” Cole said as he rushed over to his side. “What’s wrong?”
The first crunch could have been made by the soldier’s boot stomping against some rubble or a fallen piece of equipment. The second definitely came from inside his body, but wasn’t extraordinary considering how wildly he was thrashing. When the soldier came to a stop, his breath was caught in his throat and his back arched. Four or five wet pops flowed through his torso as his bones were snapped like twigs inside him.
Cole stood up and watched in disbelief as more of the soldier’s bones cracked into pieces. When the man opened his mouth again, his voice was a deep-throated groan. Smaller bumps formed on his arms and face, popping open to release bundles of thick, wiry fur from his skin.
“You weren’t bitten,” Cole said. “I checked. You had to have been bitten for this to happen. Bitten down to the bone. Nothing got to you!”
The scream that had been building inside the soldier erupted amid a spray of blood and spit that flew from his mouth and then rained down upon his face. He slapped and kicked the slanted floor while more of his bones cracked inside his body.
“What the fuck is happening?” Cole asked, even though he already knew the answer. He’d seen the before picture and he’d seen the after, but this was the first time he’d seen one transition into the other.
“You’re a Skin . . . Skinner, right?” the soldier asked when the crackling within his body subsided.
Cole nodded.
The soldier’s eyes had been light brown a moment ago. Now they shifted into the dark, clouded orbs of a feral monster that was just beginning to feel its first pangs of hunger. His jaw opened as far as it could go, trembled, and then snapped with a loud, wet crunch. It was a grisly sight that captivated Cole in a way that was both unexplainable and shameful. Once he recovered from his shock, he gripped the wooden weapon Jessup had given him and drove it into the soldier’s heart.
The instant the sharpened end found its new home, Cole felt sick. He should have done it sooner, before the soldier was forced to endure the Breaking. He’d put plenty of Half Breeds down, but not until they were ready, willing, and able to tear his head off. This wasn’t a matter of survival. It felt like murder. Through the weapon’s handle he could feel the vibration of deeper bones breaking. That’s when he knew the act he’d just committed wasn’t murder, but mercy. Unfortunately for both of them, this act wasn’t over yet.
The soldier still squirmed and pushed air from his lungs. Cole pulled the blade out, raised it high in both hands and dropped it down into the soldier’s chest. Finally, the younger man’s body slumped and the final huff of air escaped through bloodied lips.
Cole couldn’t bear to look at the body. He didn’t even want to think about what the poor bastard had become. Instead, he thought about everything that had happened up to that point. Gunfire still chattered in the distance, probably fired by members of a genuine shadow government agency. When he looked over the rest of the men who’d been in the helicopter during the crash, he realized there was nothing he could do for them. The soldier had mentioned seeing more than one Full Blood. If that was more than just a slip of the tongue due to a whole lot of pain, he would need more than a wooden club and a few guns to deal with them. He made his way to the metal locker at the back of the helicopter, pulled it open and found a rack of assault rifles and several cases of ammunition. He slung one rifle over each shoulder, scooped some ammo into his pockets, and left the rest.
Talons scraped against the side of the helicopter, sounding close enough to all the other scraping for Cole to dismiss it after a quick look through the small square window built into the side door. On his way to the front of the cabin, he gripped the steel posts to maintain his balance while stepping over the bodies. The opening to the cockpit was bent and twisted to the point that even a multijointed Half Breed must have had trouble getting out. All he could see when he looked past that opening was shredded seats, broken equipment, and so much pulpy blood that it was impossible to say how many people had been ripped apart in there. One of the Half Breeds was probably a pilot, but the first could have been another soldier. That still didn’t explain how the Half Breeds had been created or ready to attack so quickly when most of their kind needed time to curl up and recuperate from the Breaking.
The scraping against the door continued. It was the same scraping as before. Same pattern. Same loudness. Same duration.
Not scraping, Cole realized.
He glanced out the scratched and dirty side window to find a lot of torn-up ground and an overturned statue of a Half Breed. There wasn’t a single gargoyle in the sky, which meant nothing for a species that was born to hide damn near anywhere. More than likely, Jessup was already doing his thing to point them toward the center of the nearby commotion.
The knock that tapped against the door nearly made him jump out of his skin. Cole managed to control his frazzled nerves and bladder by gripping the two automatic rifles he’d slung over his shoulders. The knocks that followed came in the same pattern and were made by a very familiar forked shape that cracked against the outside of the window directly in front of him.
It was his own spear.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cole readied the assault rifle as best he could. He might have fired a few different kinds of guns while researching his work on the Sniper Ranger series, but it hadn’t exactly been under field conditions. Also, those weapons weren’t tricked out as much as the ones stored in the IRD locker. He found the safety and knew which end the bullets came out of, and that would have to be good enough for now.
After opening the door, he thought of several different ways he could be attacked after stepping outside. The barrel of his gun could be grabbed, he could be stabbed from above, or he might be smashed in the face. So, ready for almost anything, he jumped outside with his finger on the rifle’s trigger.
“Heya, Cole.”
Spinning around to face the voice, Cole aimed his rifle at a man who leaned with his back against the helicopter and the spear propped casually against the dented metal beside him.
“What are you doing with my weapon, Rico?”
“You gave it to me back in Denver, remember?”
“Yeah. That was back before I found out what a traitorous piece of shit you are.”
The big man scowled, which did nothing to make his face any uglier than it already was. “You’ve been talkin’ to Paige, huh?”
“Yes I have, which is why I should shoot you right now.”
Rico stepped forward and raised both arms. He wore faded green Army surplus pants, heavy biker books with chains wrapped around the ankles, and a jacket he rarely took off. The tanned leather was made from several layers of Half Breed hide, and the strips of canvas were merely filler until he could collect and treat more dead werewolves.
“What are you doing here?”
In the distance, the chattering of gunfire was washed away by the thudding rhythm of helicopter blades and the inhuman baritone of a Full Blood’s howl. Cole had to strain to hear any of that, however, since his blood was pumping through him in a quickening rush that had to be spurred on by the tendrils squeezing him from the inside.
“Didn’t Paige tell you the part that doesn’t make me sound like a prick?” Rico asked as an ugly smile crawled onto his face. “I joined up with her Army buddies to check ’em out. A group of them picked me up outside of Louisville and hooked up with a unit of gunships and a few truckloads of soldiers. When Bloodhound decides to sell out, at least it’s with some style, huh?”
“What happened in Toronto? I want to hear it from you.”
“You mean the guy I brought along who turned out to be Kawosa?” Rico’s eyes shifted nervously upward as he asked, “You want to hear this story somewhere a little safer? This place seems to have some sorta big bat infestation.”
“We’ll talk about it here. I haven’t quite decided yet if I want to keep you from being petrified and eaten.”
Rico opened his jacket to reveal the Sig Sauer he always carried. “I could have pointed a gun at you too. I didn’t. That’s because we’re partners. I’m working to earn my points back with Paige, but we don’t got that kinda baggage.”
“You know what would have won a lot of points with me?” Cole asked. “Getting me out of prison. Since you left me to rot in there, I don’t see any reason why I should play favorites with you over Paige. At least she had a reason to do what she did.”
“And we got a reason to do what we’re doin’. It’s the same reason we didn’t drop everything to spring you outta that prison.” Rico let his jacket fall shut again. “Tonight, the world as we knew it cracks wide open. It’s been brewing for a long time and we all seen it comin’. On the way over here, we wiped out four packs of Half Breeds. That’s just what we found when flying low in these choppers or driving down an interstate. You and I both know how much worse it is in spots we can’t see. If humans ain’t at the top of the food chain when the smoke clears, we’ll either be slaves or dead. You’ve already made your choice.”
“What about Toronto?”
Rico dropped his arms as if he no longer cared about the gun pointed at him. “What about Denver? When that skinny shapeshifter told you he was Paige, we believed it! I made some calls and that thing’s not like anything we ever faced. He didn’t even have to change into something that looked like Paige. He tells us something and humans believe him. Haven’t you ever heard of trickster myths?”
“I think so. American Indian stuff, right?”
Rico smiled. “That’s right. You do something other than play video games after all. In most of those myths, Coyote is the trickster. Kawosa is the coyote. He may be the closest thing to a god or demon that we’ve ever faced, and if you want to get pissed off because I fell for a trick thrown at me by a fucking god, then that’s your own damn business! He came to me, told me he was an old buddy, and I believed him. He told Paige the same thing and she believed him too.”
“Sounds like she woke up just before you shot her. If you were both under the same spell, how’d that happen?” Cole asked.
“I been wondering about that myself. She’s never really trusted anyone all the way ever since she first laid eyes on a Nymar. Maybe that was enough to give her the edge. All I can tell you is I’m damn glad she did because if I would’ve killed her for no reason, I would’ve eaten my next bullet two seconds later.”
The skies directly above them were still clear. Cole could feel the crackle in his scars that told him the gargoyles were still around, but he figured they must be preoccupied elsewhere. From the sound of it, there was plenty more werewolf meat to be had over the next ridge. As far as Rico was concerned, Cole suddenly realized he was holding the big man at gunpoint simply because he wanted to make someone, anyone, pay for driving Paige into a war zone.
What changed things around was something he had learned to trust more than anything else lately: instinct. Rico was talking sense. He knew the big man. He trusted him. Rico had proven himself when it counted the most and was trying his damnedest to do so again, even with a gun pointed at him and death on all sides. The least he could do was alleviate one of those situations. Cole lowered the gun and asked, “How did you know where to find me?”
“We picked up the trail of a Full Blood at that wrecked prison and followed it south. There was some sort of Lancroft storehouse or lab under there and we think the Full Blood got to another Shadow Spore.” Looking up nervously, Rico asked, “Are those bat things coming back or what?”
Cole’s scars were burning so badly from the shapeshifters nearby that he doubted he could feel the gargoyles if they were circling overhead. Fortunately, more howls in the distance were followed by gunfire and a wave of high-pitched shrieks. “They stay in flocks,” he explained. “I think. Anyway, it sounds like they’re over there.”
“Well that’s where we gotta go,” Rico said. “Bloodhound’s Army buddies are already here. That’s one of their choppers behind you, and there’s another that’s about to go down further up the road.”
The battle in the distance was making its way to the downed chopper. The explosions he heard before had sounded like impacts, but the next ones were definitely grenades. Judging by the bellowing roars that followed each one, the soldiers weren’t making much of a dent. Considering everything going on at the moment, Cole knew he didn’t have time to question Rico thoroughly. Instead, he decided to make
him prove himself the hard way and handed the big man an assault rifle. Then he picked up his spear, propped against the side of the helicopter, and smiled as his hands closed around the weapon’s familiar grip. Its weight was perfect. The largest spearhead gleamed with metallic varnish containing flakes of the Blood Blade. Even the thorns in the handle punctured his flesh in the spots marked by the very first scars he’d gotten as a Skinner. There was only one other homecoming he’d looked forward to this much.
“Do you know some skinny psychic dude and a Squam?” Rico asked as he started jogging toward the worst of the fighting.
“Yes! Do you know where they are?”
“The IRD picked them up in Colorado. Once I convinced them that I know you well enough to be trusted, they told us you and Jessup were headed here.”
“So that’s also how you found me,” Cole said. “Why didn’t you say that before?”
Rico looked over to him and admitted, “I wasn’t sure about you yet.”
Considering what had happened about a minute ago, Cole had to laugh.
“Your friends are locked up,” Rico said. “I’ll take you to them.”
Cole kept his eyes open for any trace of Jessup. He might not have known the other Skinner for long, but he’d be damned if he would lose a partner. An explosion rolled through the air like a boulder that had been dropped into a still pond. Both Skinners looked toward the hill where several black columns of smoke rose to smear the sky. As Rico checked the rifle he’d been given, Cole pulled on the harness that Rico must have rigged to hold the spear. It wasn’t much more than a large belt with two loops stitched into the leather, but it did the trick. Without another moment of hesitation, they ran toward the growing storm of gunfire and unearthly cries.
The Breaking Page 33