You’re not a murderer. Kane’s a murderer. Murderers must die.
The thought of Smoke becoming something that killed innocent people was appalling. Ever since he was young, he had abhorred those who shed innocent blood. Had felt compelled to fight evil wherever it rose. So often he found himself alone, in a world where people turned their backs to the horrors that devoured the innocent in the night. Now he had become one of those horrors. A man lost at sea only to find himself in the fight of his life against the great white whale. Bringing down Kane would be his death.
So be it.
There was more to fight for now than ever. He had a family. A wife and son. Smoke wasn’t about to stand around and let them be the prey of the monsters that tried to besiege mankind. No, he would end the fight here. That was his gift. Fighting. Being a second ahead of where he needed to be. Counterpunching quick and deadly. None of his skills would be effective if he was out of control.
Breathe, Smoke. Breathe.
Kane had been two steps ahead of him the entire time. He’d played right into the shifter’s hands. Now, it was time for him to turn those tables. Going through the floor was the first step. It took him off the radar for a bit. Now, he needed to take Kane by surprise. He wasn’t sure how closely Kane could track him. There was something in his bloodstream that gave him away.
No, there’s only one way to go about this.
Smoke stood up on the desk. It was time to hit the third level. The floor above him groaned. He crouched back. There was a soft click of a gun safety switching off. Smoke dove away. Gunfire erupted in a savage budha-budha-budha-budha. The large-caliber bullet holes turned the ceiling into a manhole. The bullet clip emptied.
Smoke sprang into action. He launched himself through the hole and hit the man changing out a clip square in the face. The man was out cold. There was a handheld scanner lying on the floor with a bright-green beacon on it.
Yep, I’m being tracked, alright.
He tossed it aside then turned. Something sliced into the back of his calf. It was the man he’d punched, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A shiny knife matched his grin. A familiar sneer formed on the thug’s face.
The man propped himself up on his elbows. “Remember me? Perhaps this will jog your memory, hound.” He slid on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. It was one of the Ratson brothers.
“I killed you,” Smoke said.
“No, I’m Oliver. You killed my brother, Warren. You turned his face into dogfood with that machine gun. But you didn’t get me. The blade you used sank, but not deep enough. I played possum after that. Live to fight another day. That’s what us Ratsons do.” He laughed. “Now look at you, all grown up and hairy. I have to say, I’m glad to take another crack at you.”
“Let’s crack on then, Oliver.” Smoke grabbed the man by the leg and threw him through the wall.
Oliver was back on his feet when Smoke got there. The man turned and loosed a flurry of punches.
Smoke swatted them all away. He twisted the knife free from Oliver’s hand then clocked him in the chin.
Oliver’s knees wobbled.
“Where’s Kane, Oliver?”
Touching the split in his lip, Oliver said, “He’s not worried about the likes of you, Smoke. You’re practically one of us. Soon enough you’ll sign your life over in the office.”
Smoke punched Oliver again.
The man dropped to a knee. “I felt that!”
The entire floor trembled. Oliver grabbed Smoke’s legs.
A minotaur burst through the door. It rammed Smoke with its massive head of horns.
CHAPTER 21
Frank took the gun and knife away from Sid like a parent taking toys from a toddler. With a handful of hair, he hauled her into the room. “It seems a little mouse has fallen into my snare. How sad for you, Sidney.” He slammed her over one of the desks. The iron strength in his arms nullified Sid’s struggles. “You’ve proven to be quite the difficult catch.”
“Save your breath, Frank.” She kicked back at his shins. It did little good.
Frank made a hollow chuckle.
Despite being pinned down, she had a fairly clear view of the room. Big monitors were up on the walls. In front of her, a young man and woman with ugly veins in their faces sat behind their desks working at a steady pace. They didn’t even turn to look at her. On screen were images of empty hallways and the generator room.
“Looks like a pretty boring Super Bowl party you’re hosting.”
“I don’t party.” Frank put more weight on her back.
Sid groaned. Guppy was speaking in her ear, “Hang in there, Sid, we’ll get help.” She was wheezing, and her bruises burned like fire despite the sweetheart suit.
“My, you are in really bad shape, aren’t you? The mortal existence is such a fragile one.” Frank stripped the communication link from her wrist. He pulled the plug from her ear and set it aside at a nearby computer station. “All of this wonderful technology that you mortals take such a shine to is your weakness. You rely on it rather than your God-given instincts. It ruins all forms of self-reliance.”
“You’re the one down here staring at computer screens, not me.” Keep him talking, Sid. “You track us with satellites, spy on us with cameras. The drug traders you command use countless wireless devices to do business. And you’re telling me that somehow you are self-reliant?” She wheezed. “You’re delusional.”
“There is a cure for asthma, Sidney. Would you like to know what it is?”
She didn’t reply. Instead, her eyes searched out the gun and knife Frank had taken.
“Death, Sidney. Death is the answer to all your problems.”
“Yours too, Frankenberry.”
“I don’t follow your jest, but if it makes you feel better, make all the jokes you want. Rich, Sherry, let’s give Ms. Shaw a seat.”
“It’s Mrs. Smoke.”
“Yes, if you say so, Mrs. Smoke.” He strong-armed her into a desk chair.
Rich and Sherry crept over with their jaws hanging. They bound up Sid’s arms at the wrists with duct tape. Frank stood behind, pressing her down by the shoulders. She squirmed, but everything was hard because she couldn’t breathe. Her energy was sapped.
“To be clear, Sidney, I find all of these technological wonders to be an abomination. I prefer the simpler times. But, I’m one to follow orders. Plus, I’m loyal. Long ago, I was dying and Kane saved me. So, here I am.”
“Who cares?” Sid wheezed.
“Well, you should. After all, once we corral that troublesome husband of yours, I’m going to turn you into something like me. Or, like Rich and Sherry. Aren’t they a charming couple? Oh, don’t let those varicose veins disturb you. That will fade. You see, the both of them are new to the deader procedure.” He massaged her shoulders. “Remember, I’m a mortician, and I want my subjects to be presented at their best. You see, I preserve life. I take pride in it. I promise you, you will be one of my most marvelous works yet.”
“You can’t win, Frank. The fires of Hell are waiting.”
“Now, now, let’s not go there. I’m treating you kindly.”
Several of the screens flickered. The once-empty hallways now showed new signs of life. A huge minotaur now roamed the halls with other men and deaders.
Sid’s heart skipped. Then it started to sink in. Every shifter they had fought was still alive.
“How about that? I can feel your heart in my fingers. You’re surprised, aren’t you. The shifters keep coming back. Well, most of them.” Frank kissed the top of her head. “We are hard to kill, that much is certain. That is why we always win. We are weeds. We spring up in every crack. We crawl out of those dark corners. It’s an amazing thing.”
The screens flickered. The hallways became void.
An old telephone sitting on the desk rang. “Oh, fudge sticks.” Frank stretched out his hand and picked up the receiver. “Yes, Kane?”
Sid could hear Kane screaming. “Get these monitors fixed, Frank! No
w! Our customers grow angry!”
“I believe there is a mouse chewing on the lines.”
“Then exterminate it!” Kane yelled.
Click.
“It seems that your friends on the outside — Guppy and Sam, is it? Well, they’ve become more than a nuisance now. Their termination has just been moved up on the schedule.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “Mack, we have some pests outside. I need you to exterminate them. I want four dead. Turn them to ash if you wish. It must be done.”
“Right away.”
“There, Sidney. No more heroes. If they’re lucky, there might be something left for a funeral.”
CHAPTER 22
“Dumbest idea ever!” Cort was running full speed down the hallway with a pack of redcoat deaders hot on his tail. The chase led him back into the generator room. He hadn’t done this much running since his days in the FBI academy. Still able to hear Guppy in his earpiece, he clicked on the communication link. “Guppy! Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, but I lost Sid. What’s going on?”
“I thought you could see what was going on! I’ve got about twenty deaders on my tail!”
“Hold on. Where are you?”
“The generator room. You know, the one we started in!” The deaders poured into the room. Rickety limbs and equipment made for a macabre vision. Cort’s lips curled. He bolted for the next double door entrance and hit the doors at full speed. He bounced right off them. “What the—Guppy, the doors are locked. I’m trapped inside with them!”
“Sorry. I’m battling it out with the other side. Give me a minute.”
“I don’t have a minute!”
The deaders closed in at a stiff-quick gait.
Seeing no other options, Cort fished the super vitamin out of his pocket, bit into it, and swallowed it down. Energy coursed through his heavy limbs like a bright sunburst in the sky. He grinned from ear to ear. Head bobbing, he said, “This is alright.”
Cort’s aim was quick. With a squeeze of the trigger, he shot four deaders in the heart. The bullet ripped through the first one, blew up the second, paralyzed the third, and the fourth deader’s chest was sheared through front to back. They fell with flailing limbs, except the paralyzed one. Many of their fellow deaders tripped over them. Cort kept shooting. The pop of bullets bursting through the chamber was music to his ears. Two more deaders went down. His wheel gun was emptied. Running away from the surging enemy on legs that made him feel like a running deer, he popped out his speed loader from his pouch and reloaded.
A knot of deaders cut off his path. The first round Cort shot tore through one’s skull. Brain matter oozed from the wound. The deader marched onward with a bayonet. Cort pumped it with an explosive round. He knocked aside the deader with a hole in its head like an old grocery cart.
The deaders were slight of build. There wasn’t any meat on their limbs. Cort realized with his surging strength he could brush them aside. With dead-accurate shots, he dropped another handful of deaders. Then the trigger clicked behind Cort’s finger.
“Empty!” On instinct, Cort holstered the Big Alaskan behind his back and drew his knife. There were about eight deaders left coming at him. He had his suit on. He liked his chances, bad hand and all. “Come on, geriatrics! Come get some!”
The first deader came at him with a rusty saber. It cut down hard.
Cort sidestepped with speed that didn’t match up with his bigger size. He plunged his dagger into the deader’s chest and gave the blade a twist that made crunching sounds. Still moving like a giant wildcat, Cort attacked the other deaders. Their weapons cut and stabbed. His head slipped aside like a prize fighter’s. “You old ladies don’t have nothing on me!” With the knife in his hand, he started punching them in the head like he was Apollo Creed.
“I’m the King of Sting! The Master of Disaster!”
The deaders poked and prodded at him. Their clumsy hacks brought pain, but the sweetheart suit held Cort together. He fought on with the eyes of a tiger, putting holes in one beating heart after the other. They kept coming. “What’s going on here? What’s going on? How much punishment do you devils want to take?” He hit a deader in the face with a few quick jabs that knocked its uniform hat off. A jaw cracked. Rotting teeth rained on the floor.
“I can get used to this!”
Fighting like he was king of the mountain, he jabbed one heart after the other. Right in the thick of it, his strength began to fade. His punches became telegraphed and heavy. He shouted into the comm link. “Guppy, my juice is gone! I need out of here!”
Cort’s lungs caught fire. His shoulders sagged. The deaders seemed to pour it on. They locked onto his body and held on with their undead lives. Their sharp fingertips clawed at his face. At first, the deaders hadn’t weighed so much. Now they felt like anvil-laden leeches stuck to his limbs. And their strength was unnatural.
“Guppy! Get me a door open now! Now!” Something bit into his face. “Aaaaah!”
***
Wearing out the keys on his laptop, Guppy said into the comm link, “They’re open, Cort! They’re open!” The link went dead.
With eyes bigger than saucers, Sam said, “Tell me you didn’t lose him.”
“I did.” Guppy’s chin was in his chest. “I’ve lost them all. Sam, I’ve got to go in there. They need all the help that they can get.” He spat blood out on the blacktop.
“Your ribs are busted. You aren’t going anywhere. The best way for you to help is from here. Just hack that system. You can do it.”
He let out a painful sigh. “Okay, I’ll keep going. Just keep your eyes open.”
There was a loud whoosh sound. The parking lot lit up from a plume of flame before turning black again.
Sam and Guppy peeked around from behind the cover of a van. There were two men dressed in full suits of body armor. One held a machine gun and a flamethrower, the other an assault rifle. The one with the flamethrower was Mack Black, the man Smoke had disguised himself as. There was no missing the buzz cut and caterpillar moustache. The other had a helmet that looked like a welder’s mask. A blast of flame roared out of the thrower, licking the pavement like dragon’s breath.
Mack Black called out, “I’m here for a marshmallow roast, but I’m all out of marshmallows. I’ll take some volunteers instead.”
CHAPTER 23
The minotaur’s momentum didn’t stop until Smoke was driven into a concrete wall back-first. “Miss me?” the minotaur said in the voice of the man, Mason Crowe. With burly arms wrapped around Smoke’s back, the minotaur power-drove him into the wall again. “I missed you, Smoke!”
Under normal circumstances, Smoke was certain his body wouldn’t have held up. His ribs, even if he had a sweetheart suit on, would have been crushed. It was his shifter form that held him together.
“Mason, I’ll be honest. I did miss you.” He kissed the nose of the bull man’s face.
Mason’s eyes lit up. His rock-hard body loosened.
Smoke’s thumbs jammed into Mason’s eyes.
The minotaur dropped Smoke. He let out a bullish bellow. His hooved feet clawed at the floor.
Smoke scrambled away. He made it into the next room only to find himself face to face with Oliver again. A gun barrel was pointed right at Smoke’s chest. He sprang to the side, avoiding the spray of bullets, and grabbed a hardback book from the shelf. He flung the book at Oliver’s eyes.
The dead man mad at the living didn’t flinch. The book bounced harmlessly off his lantern-jawed face, but it gave Smoke enough time to dodge another hail of gunfire and slip out the office door.
“You can run, but you can’t hide, Smoke. Our eyes are everywhere.” Oliver started whistling. He hustled out into the hall.
Smoke was huddled down at floor level. As soon as Oliver entered the hall, he struck. With a fierce slash, the knife in his hand cut through the man’s elbow. The gun he carried fell. Smoke snatched it up.
“Look what you’ve done. You idiot! You cut of
f my arm. That will take some doing to repair!” Oliver snaked a bowie knife out of a sheath strapped to his back. “So, you want to fight the old way. Let’s do it, Smoke. You like a challenge, don’t you?”
“No, I think I’ll just shoot you in the face with your own gun. Just like I did your brother.”
“You wouldn’t do that. You’re a brawler, not a co—”
Smoke squeezed the trigger. Bullets ripped through Oliver’s face. Brass cartridges fell to the floor. Oliver Raton’s body crumbled. “No, I’m not a co-worker.”
The minotaur charged out of the room, trampling Oliver with his hooves.
Smoke sprinted down the hallway. He ran as fast as he ever had. Looking over his shoulder, he realized Mason Crowe was gaining. The huge man must have weighed half a ton. He moved like a minivan.
Smoke hooked his fingernails on the corner of another turn in the hallway, pulled himself around, then pressed his back into the wall. He fully expected the minotaur to skid into the turn. Instead, the corner wall that Smoke shielded himself with exploded. Mason Crowe ran right over the top of him.
Mason grabbed Smoke up in his short, stocky arms. He slung him into the walls. “You fool. I’ve trampled so many, I know every trick in the book. You thought to slip me? An insult!” He flung Smoke into another wall. He lifted one of his hooves over Smoke’s head. “I’ll crush your head like an egg.” Mason stomped.
Flat on his back, Smoke wriggled away.
But Mason’s quick hands proved to be formidable. His thick, plucky fingers grabbed Smoke by the feet, and then the minotaur spun around, knocking Smoke’s head into the walls.
When Mason let go, Smoke hit the floor and slid. When he stopped, his bell was ringing. He shook his head while fighting to stand.
Smoke had fought about every shifter. None of them was as brawny as Mason Crowe. The minotaur was layers of animal brawn and muscle. The legendary beast would give the giants a fit. Strength for strength, Smoke wasn’t a match for the horn-headed man. Yet, his own unique abilities stormed inside him.
The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series Page 124