“You think that’s weird,” Rico said. “Get a load of this.” He removed the Jekhibar from his pocket, held it in his hand and let it rest on his palm.
There wasn’t much of a change at first, but the blue wisps subtly shifted their direction until they were drifting toward Rico. Upon reaching his outstretched hand, they circled it and brushed against the Jekhibar before pressing into the rough, silvery surface.
“Just wait,” Rico said before Cole could ask the question that had popped into his mind.
In a matter of seconds the ghostly smoke emanating from the bodies in that room poured out of them even faster and blended to form a singular current that swept through the room. Although it was still disrupted by the constant motion of the bar’s patrons, the glowing haze took on a brighter hue as it flowed into the stone sitting on Rico’s palm.
“It’s coming from the ground,” Waggoner said.
Cole tore his eyes from the sight of the shimmering fog and looked down. Although he couldn’t see a definite source, the flow of the ghostly substance moved in such a way that a pattern emerged. It was indeed emanating from the people, but also rushed up from the floor, passing through boards and tile as if they were nothing but a screen. It all went directly to the Jekhibar.
“What is that thing?” Waggoner asked while looking to the lump of silver in Rico’s hand.
“Whatever the power was that the Full Bloods were after when they took Atoka,” he explained, “it’s drawn to this rock. It’s also drawn to the Full Bloods. What we didn’t know before was that it’s also drawn to us. I’ve done a bit of snooping around and I can tell you it ain’t drawn to Nymar. And ever since the Breaking Moon, it’s been flowing like a damn river.”
Their conversation was interrupted as the stringy woman behind the bar leaned over and asked, “You guys drinkin’ or what?”
“One for the road,” Rico said. “For each of us.”
The bartender reached under the bar and came back up with three matching bottles of cheap domestic, which she opened. “That’ll be nine seventy-five.”
“Pay her, new guy,” Rico grunted as he took a beer for himself.
Since it wasn’t light beer, Cole took one and told Waggoner, “I used to be the new guy, so now it’s your turn.”
“Last time I do a favor for you assholes,” Waggoner muttered as he fished out a ten and handed it over. The other two were already headed out the door, so he didn’t get a chance to hear the skinny woman unenthusiastically thank him for the pathetic tip before he was outside with them.
“Here’s the good part,” Rico said as he led the way down the street in the direction of the house marked by the bitten satellite dish. He turned and faced the bar again, having already put the Jekhibar back into its box. “As near as we can figure, that blue energy is the Torva’ox or whatever Paige was talking about back in Oklahoma. It’s been surging ever since the Breaking Moon.”
“Kind of like when you siphon gas from a truck?” Waggoner asked.
“Yeah. Something like that.” Shifting his focus back to Cole, Rico said, “Jessup may look like the leader of the pack around here, but that’s just because he’s got seniority. He ain’t the one calling all the shots and he ain’t the asshole you think he is.”
“I never said that.”
“Didn’t have to. You were looking at him like you wanted to plaster him against a wall. Same way you were lookin’ at me.”
Since Cole knew he couldn’t make a convincing argument against that, he let it pass. “Then who is calling the shots?”
“We’re workin’ on that.”
Waggoner shook his head and rubbed his temples. “I don’t know if it’s everything that’s been going on or if it’s because of these drops, but I feel a dizzy spell coming on.”
“Get used to it,” Cole said. “I’ve been feeling like that ever since I saw my first werewolf. Okay, Rico. So the Torva’ox flows into humans. Can we use it?”
“I don’t know and I ain’t even sure we’ll get a chance to find out. That shit that’s flowing through them Full Bloods makes them stronger, and this stone just seems to give the Torva’ox some extra spark so we can see it, or maybe adds more of a kick. I don’t know. We didn’t even make the damn thing. All I can tell you is that your average human being is sucking away the power that those Full Bloods want. Now if you were one of those big hairy sons of bitches, and you went through all that trouble to get the juices flowing, what would you think about so many little monkeys leeching off of the source?”
“I’d want to get rid of them,” Cole said.
Waggoner wanted to rub his eyes, but stopped himself. “Is that why they’ve come after us so hard?”
Now, Rico slapped Waggoner on the shoulder. “That’s the shitty thing about being able to see things from another perspective. Doesn’t always paint a pretty picture. Take the Jekhibar,” he said to Cole.
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah. It’ll be a good long while before anyone figures out a way to get that hatch open anyway, after what I did to mess with those runes. When someone finds out about that, I’ll steer the explanation toward interference caused by too many new recruits scuffing up the symbols. Should keep ’em busy for a few weeks. Think you can get it back to me by then?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Paige replied as she strode toward them. Her Beretta was in hand and ready to provide assistance if Rico stepped out of line, but she’d apparently decided that wasn’t necessary. “What will you do if things get too hot for you with the Vigilant?”
Rico showed her a crooked smile and plenty of blocky teeth. “I’ll leave. I been hidin’ from guys a lot more dangerous than them for a long time. Now that I know they were lyin’ to me about not knowin’ anything about Cole being locked up, I don’t feel too bad about jerkin’ them around. Until then, I’ll stay in town and see what more I can find about them. Somethin’ tells me we’ll have enough work to do for me to remain a valuable asset.”
Paige holstered her pistol and rubbed his arm. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“You too, Bloodhound. You owe me for this and I’ll collect.”
Chapter Ten
Shreveport, Louisiana
Two miles northwest of the Bossier City Reservoir
The NH-90 tactical transport helicopter roared over the flat Louisiana landscape amid a roar of engines. It was only one in a formation of the metallic aerial predators that had been specially modified for service in the IRD. One thing that hadn’t needed modification was the thermal imaging camera mounted to its nose. As the helicopter sped toward Shreveport, it scanned the terrain for any sign of its prey.
Inside, Major Adderson hung onto a steel grip bolted over his head so he could remain upright without taking his eyes from the thermal camera’s display. Since the sun was still adding some heat to the ground and casting a glare, he adjusted the monitor to a less sensitive setting while also flipping it to black and white. Almost immediately a group of white blobs leapt out at him from the dark gray mass covering most of the screen. “We have contact,” he said to the man beside him.
The other man stood with Adderson and the pilot in the front section of the aircraft. He was short with a wiry build tailor-made for the tight confines of jets and attack copters. Hanging from another of the hand grips mounted to the ceiling, he looked over Adderson’s shoulder at the display and said, “Looks like a pack of Class Twos. Kind of small, though.” He reached over for a little stick set into the console near the bottom right portion of the screen. With a few expert nudges, he panned around to where he wanted despite the helicopter’s churning forward movement. “There they are. Looks like two smaller packs running alongside that other one.” He reached for the switch of the radio clipped to the front of his flight suit and said, “Veer off to the west and swing back around. Flight pattern Alpha.”
“Alpha,” Adderson said. “You think there’s a Class One out there?”
“Class Twos travel in packs
anyway, but when you see little groups working together, that usually means there’s a big papa somewhere nearby steering them.”
As if responding to that, the pilot spoke through the channel designated for local chatter. “Visual contact on a possible Class One. Please verify. Over.”
Adderson allowed the smaller man to work the controls until a huge white blob marking a heat source smeared across the screen. He switched away from the thermal imaging then and got a good look at a massive Full Blood covered in thick layers of silvery gray fur that flowed across its back as it loped on all fours behind at least a dozen Half Breeds. After flipping over to a broader channel, Adderson keyed his radio and announced, “Ravens Two and Three, this is Raven One. Confirmed sighting of a Class One shifter and several packs of Class Twos. Be advised, unknown number of additional Class Twos in the vicinity.” After keying off of the open channel, he moved away from the monitor and allowed the smaller man to take his spot back.
The main cabin of the helicopter contained five soldiers who were buckled into seats that folded down from the wall or from a set of posts in the middle of the cramped space. As the NH-90 banked through a wide turn, Adderson shifted his weight to keep from stumbling as he studied his men. The soldiers were dressed in standard black, white, and gray camo fatigues bearing only a name tag and the half-wolf, half-skull patch of the IRD. Each was armed with an HK G36 assault rifle. Adderson claimed one for himself from a rack as he said, “In case you haven’t heard, we found the dogs we were after. There’s a whole lot of them along with one big papa. Looks like they’re headed for Shreveport, but we’re not about to let that happen. Am I right?”
Despite being a mix of races, nationalities, and gender, all of the soldiers responded with an affirmative bark that made them sound like their own breed of pack animal. Their rifles were held in steady hands and their eyes reflected just the right mixture of aggression and anxiety.
“Standard drill,” Adderson continued. “We land and deploy while the others provide air support and reinforcements if necessary. Our mission is to set explosives and try to draw those things close enough to feel the burn. Our specialists left some of their sniper rounds, but there’s not a lot left.”
“Do we have any specialists on this mission, sir?” one of the soldiers asked.
Even though the extent of the Skinners’ knowledge wasn’t commonly known to the IRD rank and file, their contributions had been large enough for their presence to be immediately felt. There were only a handful of Skinners who’d agreed to ride with the IRD on any mission, and only Cole and Paige could be counted on with any consistency. Still, no matter how much a rifleman knew about what Skinners actually did, they were aware that having them along greatly increased their odds of survival. Adderson had plenty of faith in his men, but a morale boost like that was hard to come by. He felt a regretful pang in his gut when he told them, “No specialists this time around, although I was informed by one of them that there’s a pair of fighter jets in the air that may be able to rain some hell down on these things.”
All of the soldiers nodded slowly as their chins dropped.
“That’s no smoke up your ass,” Adderson assured them. “Backup should be on the way, but we don’t need that. This is just a matter of shooting those Class Twos until they can’t move anymore. Drop one, move on to the next. Repeat as necessary.”
“What about the Class One?” another soldier asked.
“Leave it to the air support and explosives. We can only do so much, but it’s a hell of a lot more than those civvies who’ll be watching the show in Shreveport can do.”
The soldier grunted. “And on every other goddamn news station there is.”
“You’re right about that. So instead of letting those fucking dogs rip them to shreds, let’s give those civilians something to watch!”
The soldiers shouted their approval several times, and before they were finished, Adderson was shouting right along with them.
All three helicopters poured on one last burst of speed to get as far ahead of the Half Breeds as possible. Since they were able to get ahead of the creatures at all, Adderson knew the wolves were either conserving their strength or slowing down on purpose to meet them. Either way, he didn’t like it.
For some, hitting the ground running was just a motivational term. For the IRD, it was a means of staying alive for more than three seconds after being dropped into a hot zone. The helicopter barely touched down before the soldiers streamed out. Adderson was first on the ground, and the instant his boots slapped against the dirt he had his assault rifle in hand and was running toward the other two helicopters that hovered about twenty feet above the swaying brown grass. The remaining soldiers piled out behind him.
The Half Breeds were coming. Their paws made impacts that rumbled through the earth. Their panting breaths formed a current that rolled beneath the wind roaring in from the west. The other two helicopters deployed their men using drop lines, which hung from their doors like weighted tails. As those soldiers were unloaded, the pilots only had to pivot in the air to unleash a stream of fire from the mounted machine guns that poked their muzzles through a modified window. When the first Half Breed leapt up to try and grab it, the NH-90 moved away so it could continue firing. As the drop troops disconnected from their lines and raised their weapons, Adderson and his men opened fire.
All of those weapons formed a singular voice that melded with the thumping chopper blades to create a wave of fury that knocked the first batch of Half Breeds off their feet. None of the IRD soldiers wasted a moment in counting their blessings because the next wave was already upon them.
All three helicopters rose up and fanned out, hovering just above the newly adjusted minimum safe distance to avoid unwanted interruption of flight patterns due to Half Breeds clawing at their fuselage. The belt-fed machine guns pumped round after round into the werewolves farthest from the soldiers so as not to incur any friendly fire. Basically, it amounted to pounding the hell out of the same bunch of dogs until they were paste, which left a whole lot of work to be done.
Adderson knew it helped to think along tactical lines when he was in the mix. He considered a battle from afar even as he was wrapped up in it. That made it easier to go on when his men were knocked over by a gnarled shapeshifter that ripped a previously excited face off of its skull. When Half Breed and IRD lines converged, it was a bloody nightmare. HKs and claws all sent blood into the air. Screams and howls, both human and otherwise, filled his ears.
His focus was narrowed even more when one of those bastards singled him out. It was a long, lanky Half Breed with a face that had already been hit by heavy caliber fire to reveal knots of muscles that were white from the strain of keeping its head together while opening a mouth filled with crooked fangs. He fired in controlled bursts, and when that didn’t drop the shaggy fucker, switched to full auto to force it back before it brought him down.
“Grenade out!” a woman behind him shouted. That was followed by the sharp cracking sound of a rifle-mounted launcher sending its explosive round into a target that was hopefully several yards away.
It wasn’t.
The grenade thumped into the chest of a Half Breed directly behind the one that had taken a run at Adderson. It went off, opening a sizable hole in the creature, but not as sizable as it should have been. He was still having a hard time getting used to how tough those things were. It seemed as if all of weaponry he’d come to know like the back of his hand had been dialed down. For the moment, however, that Half Breed was down, the creatures around it were staggered, and he’d been thrown to the ground in the explosion.
Adderson was dazed and his ears were ringing. While his brain struggled to pull his thoughts together, his legs and arms fought to bring him to his feet. Three Half Breeds tore through two of his men like they were made of jelly and then feasted on their meat. He fired until his gun ran dry, reloaded, and fired some more. Grabbing the radio that was linked to the longer range frequencies powe
red by equipment in the helicopters, he shouted, “This is Hunting Party One to Lodge. Come in!”
After a few seconds of crackling static, a voice from a command center in Wyoming replied, “This is Lodge. Go ahead Hunting Party One.”
“Where’s our goddamn air strike?”
“F-18s are engaging targets outside of New Orleans, Hunting Party.”
“Gimme an ETA! We’re getting ripped apart and a Class One is set to jump on us!”
“Unknown at this time. F-18s are currently—”
“Explosives are out!”
He didn’t know where the advisory had come from, but Adderson rolled onto his belly and covered his head. A moment later there was a deafening thump followed by a blast wave that jammed his nose into the dirt. Something heavy landed beside him, and he looked to see if it was a Half Breed or another soldier caught in the blast. The Full Blood was neither.
Esteban’s fur was smoking from the explosion. Caught somewhere between forms, he kicked four large paws into the air while rolling onto his side. By the time he got there, he had two legs, two arms, and a vaguely human torso. There was nothing even vaguely human, however, about the face that was turned toward the major. “You are their leader,” he snarled.
Adderson responded to that by propping himself up, taking aim and clamping his finger on the trigger. The AK rattled in his hands while spouting a choppy current of lead into the Full Blood. Esteban placed a hand in front of his face while climbing to his feet. Sections of his coat were singed all the way down to rough patches of skin, and when some of Adderson’s rounds hit him there, they barely left a crease. Every other bullet snagged in his fur or thumped uselessly against his body.
Shifting his gaze toward the soldiers that rushed to Adderson’s side, Esteban said, “Watch.”
“Get clear, Major!” a soldier shouted.
Although Adderson was a hell of a long way from clear, he replied, “Hit him, hit him!”
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