Wolf's Blind (The Nick Lupo Series Book 6)

by W. D. Gagliani

  The staggering, tottering large form took the shape of a bloodied, battered male unsub and Marla tightened her grip on the curved metal, feeling the pad of her index finger spreading on its cold surface.

  “Freeze! Hold it right there!” she said in a hiss. She realized immediately that this person was not carrying a rifle.

  The form lurched to an unsteady stop, his head down and his features still shrouded in shadow.

  “Now hands up, get on your knees,” she called out, surprised at how calm she was.

  But she glimpsed her shimmery ghost next to the man who stood panting in front of her, and it seemed he was shaking his head.

  “Oh God,” she blurted out before the shape could follow her command. “Lupo?”

  It was Nick Lupo. Now the shadow seemed to lift off its surfaces and she could see his face, but it was him lifting his head. He seemed stunned, exhausted, hurt.

  She lowered the Glock.

  How close had she come to shooting him?

  “Lupo, are you all right? We were all worried, figuring you were dead.”

  “Anders? Marla Anders?” Confused, puzzled.

  She was silent for a beat, and then…

  Crack!

  Near Lupo’s feet gravel flew like shards of glass.

  He leaped aside and suddenly seemed to find a reserve of energy, for he immediately zig-zagged raggedly toward the corner of the large log cabin. He found it with his body, grunting as he struck the corner hard with his shoulder. He ignored the pain he must have felt at the glancing blow.

  His eyes were open, but glassy.

  “Anders, get down! Or come here!”

  She had no time to question, no time to assess his revived state, or his quickness. He did not seem like the drunken stumbler from a few seconds ago, but he did seem to be blind. Another shot rang out, and this time she was the target.

  Crack!

  She felt the bullet’s passage nearby and it almost deafened her.

  “Goddamn it, Anders, I don’t know if you’re like a hallucination or what, but if you aren’t you’d better get down or come here before he takes your fucking head off.”

  She turned in his direction, knowing he wasn’t seeing her.

  It was at least twenty feet.

  Can I do it without getting killed?

  She sensed the sniper was just waiting for her to make a move.

  Lupo

  Against the odds, he’d recognized the voice.

  He couldn’t process the reason Dr. Marla Anders was here, barely more than a fucking stone’s throw from Eagle River. Right now. It made no sense. He had stumbled into the camp unseeing, barely aware of where he was. He had crashed headfirst into a dilapidated cabin, taking that solid blow on his right shoulder, but then he had bounced off and careened down the inclined path and…

  He was startled by the voice in front of him, not only because of who she was, but also because he hadn’t expected someone in front of him. He had heard the rustle of water flowing nearby and had taken a chance on finding it, using it to somehow evade the Grim Reaper.

  But then the sniper had started shooting and Lupo’s memory had correctly placed where the wall was that he had found moments before, so he sought cover. And called Anders to get the hell to cover.

  Anders?

  Anders, the doc, had ambushed him?

  The Creature would never have let it happen, let him get taken down so easily, but the Creature was dozing somewhere inside and he himself was still blind and handicapped—not to mention hurting as if he’d been fed through a grinder.

  “Goddamn it,” he said again, “get over here now! Before he takes another shot!”

  His hands hurt like hell as slivers seemed to leap off the unpainted, decomposing wood and jabbed him like miniature javelins.

  And then he sensed her body hurtling toward him and stepped back slightly just in time so she crashed into the wooden wall, bounced off, and apparently sat on the ground, stunned.

  “Anders? Anders, you okay?”

  Funny how the roles reversed. He tried again. “Anders, we’ve got to find better cover. He’s not far behind me.” He reached out his hand to where he thought she might be.

  Everything was still dark.

  “Lupo?” she said. “What the hell’s—”

  And he was laughing quietly, without a stitch of humor. “I got blown up. Can’t see at all, nothing. He’s been hunting me all night. How in hell did you get here, and why?”

  “I think— Maybe later, Lupo.”

  “Are you armed, Doc? I hope so, otherwise we’re fucked. Pardon my lan…”

  She grunted in pain.

  “Doc, you hurt?”

  “I smacked pretty hard into this wall. I dropped my gun, but I can see it. It’s right here.”

  He reached out a hand, to where she seemed to be. “Here, can you see this, my hand?” he said.

  “Yes!” she said.

  And she touched him.

  The spark jumped from one to the other like the bolt off a Tesla coil and she shrieked more in shock than actual pain. They seemed stuck together for a split-second, then the current dissipated and…

  And he could see.

  He could fucking see again.

  “Jesus,” he said. He blinked hard. No, she was still there, and it wasn’t some sort of weird hallucination. Crouched near his feet, awkwardly positioned after taking the hard line into the building. Her Glock was on the gravel just a foot or two out of her reach. “I…I can see now, Anders.”

  “What?” She sounded confused. She’d barely processed the news of his blindness, and now he wasn’t blind.

  “Yeah, it happened when you touched me.”

  “My God, that’s why he was urging me to find you!”

  “Who?” he said, still amazed that his eyes worked, still trying them out, fearing they’d go black again. “DiSanto?”

  “No, you’re gonna think I’m nuts, but…”

  Then the Reaper’s rifle started to speak again, evenly-spaced shots like probes.

  Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

  All they could do was duck as the slugs started taking apart the scant cover provided by the cabin wall.

  “Christ!” Lupo called out desperately. He snatched up her Glock and started returning fire, both keenly aware that he’d run out of rounds and yet that consistent fire was the only thing to keep the Reaper away.

  He hoped Anders had another magazine.

  He fired the Glock until the slide locked.

  Empty.

  DiSanto

  “Jesus Christ!”

  They were in the open on the incline leading down to the camp, and he could see flashes of dark water between the cabins, on the other side of the row of sentinel pines that must have been lining the channel or river. The campground had been on the water, of course!

  But now they looked up in awe—and fear.

  Maybe the trees had dulled the sound, but suddenly a bright royal blue helicopter lunged over the tree line and came in close, hovering barely a few hundred feet above them. They were so exposed they might as well have been naked.

  It must have come in over that channel down there, DiSanto figured, an old wartime chopper pilot maneuver like you saw in the Vietnam movies. Whoever was at the controls was good. They hadn’t seen or heard him coming.

  They were both staring up, distracted from whatever Rabbioso might be doing as he reached the parade ground. For a few seconds, DiSanto thought it was Sheriff McCoyne’s people arriving in grand style to effect a daring cavalry rescue. He started waving up at the sleek chopper that tilted and came around when they’d been spotted.

  “Dee…” Jessie said uncertainly, standing beside him.

  He kept waving, but slower.

  “Dee,” she repeated, and he saw that she was starting to raise her Remington.

  “What the…fuck?” But his voice faded before he got the words out.

  Now the helicopter was facing them broadside, and one of t
he rear doors popped open and stayed that way. That was when he realized what was about to happen—what he was actually seeing.

  Down at the camp, Rabbioso’s rifle started to bark repeatedly—and then a pistol responded in kind. Was Lupo armed? But they were too busy to make any comment.

  For what DiSanto was seeing was death from above.

  A dark figure seated inside the belly of the chopper was hunched just at the open door, and DiSanto saw the glint of a reflection.

  “Get down! Down!” he shouted, and he leaped sideways and dragged Jessie down to the ground under him in a heap.

  Too late.

  Chunks of ground exploded up all around them like miniature volcanoes spewing hot, deadly lava.

  “Agh!” was all Jessie managed to get out before the Crack-Crack-Crack! of this new assault rifle reached them, climbing over the lower-pitch of the hovering chopper’s engines on idle.

  DiSanto grabbed her and pulled both of them over and over so they rolled down the very slight incline, the same one that would lead them directly below to the camp—except that now all he thought about was keeping them moving so the airborne gunman, suspended in mid-air as he was, would have a better chance of missing than hitting his targets.

  He could barely hear the shots, but the guy was just above them and he must have been having trouble with his shaky platform, but he couldn’t miss forever.

  Slugs hit the ground all around them as they rolled painfully down the rocky slope.

  DiSanto tried to get himself over Jessie’s body to protect it as best he could, but the jagged little hillocks set into the slope drove them apart and they continued to roll their separate ways.

  Later, DiSanto would have to ask what happened next, because he was too busy rolling and praying to not feel the high-powered slugs tearing his body apart.

  He rolled on and on, grunting.

  Somewhere nearby, Jessie was doing the same.

  Colgrave

  She’d been hoofing it as fast as she could from where DiSanto and Jessie had guided her in, then she followed their trail. She spotted the tree stands, the torn-up trees. She heard the shots, far off but getting closer—or maybe she was getting closer—and she had no trouble figuring out what was happening.

  Now there were lots of shots.

  She heard the reports of a high-powered rifle, a burst from DiSanto’s MP5, and then a pistol.

  It was a complete honkin’ firefight.

  “Christ, Lupo, what did you get yourself into?” she muttered.

  She wasn’t completely aware of it, but she was smiling. Her friend Brant would have nodded in understanding.

  She was carrying the Uzi over her shoulder on a sling, but now she stopped her full-on trot so she could pull back the bolt on top of the breech and cock the weapon. Whatever was happening, it sounded as though she needed the firepower, though it was short-range. The rifles worried her. But she felt like a reincarnated warrior as she continued to gallop toward the action.

  She ran between tree trunks, jumped over dangerous roots, and all along knew she was almost there.

  Suddenly she broke out of the thin cover of the woods and found herself on a slight hillside, but off to its side. She scanned its width and spotted Jessie and DiSanto. They were pointing.

  Pointing up.

  Right over her, a bright blue helicopter burst above the opposite tree line like a Martian war machine from one of those War of the Worlds movies. It was like a dragonfly as it swooped in low enough she could count the rivets in its belly. She thought it was the local cops, until it flipped sideways and someone aboard started shooting his own assault rifle.

  She watched as Jessie and DiSanto hit the ground and realized they were the targets.

  Then they started to roll crazily down the hill, toward a group of rotting cabins tucked into a wooded area right above the same river or channel the chopper had flown over. There was gunfire down there, too.

  It’s like a war.

  That Lupo, always having fun.

  She was more or less below the helicopter, one of those expensive Italian machines the U.S. Marines had almost purchased in bulk. They hadn’t seen her—they were too occupied with DiSanto and Jessie, who were still avoiding the bastard’s shooting…but not for long. She saw the pilot getting his shit together and holding the chopper more steadily so the gunman could draw a bead on her friends.

  No way, Goddamn it.

  Before the chopper could slowly work its way past her, she made sure she was squeezing the Uzi’s grip safety, and then she aimed almost straight up at the rivets and let fly with a long burst.

  Lupo

  The Glock empty, he swore loudly. Anders was too far away to hand him a magazine, if she had one. Gunfire seemed to have erupted somewhere away from the camp. He thought he heard the sound of an MP5 and his hopes soared—DiSanto? Then there was another rifle, farther away.

  And was that a helicopter?

  The fucking cavalry?

  Then he heard stumbling footsteps as somebody—his own Grim Reaper?—approached with unsure footing on the gravel. It had to be him. He had emptied his rifle as he approached and now he was here, maybe trying to reload while walking and keeping an eye out for whoever had been shooting at him.

  Barely able to see, but Lupo spotted an open doorway leading into the log cabin. It was black as night, but he’d just been blind for almost a full day, and it was cover.

  He staggered over to Anders and pulled her halfway to her feet, shoving her ahead of him into the doorway. She went without complaining, but she looked hunched over in pain. He followed her inside, glimpsed some sort of open game room or mess hall, and turned to face the doorway.

  Lupo figured he had a half-minute at best.

  He felt as if he’d been dragged behind a three-ton German truck like good old Indy, then the truck had backed up and rolled over him a few times. But he could see…and if he could see, then maybe…

  Anders was still stunned by the smacking she’d taken against the cabin.

  He called out in a whisper, “Anders, I want you to close your eyes and just ignore what you hear. Or anything you see, understand?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. Closed her eyes.

  She’s a peach, he thought.

  He stripped out of his outer clothes, his body screaming in pain. The footsteps were just outside, moving slowly, cautiously. He set the sheathed dagger nearby. It was a case of needing two things almost simultaneously, but one had to come first.

  Lupo visualized himself going over, and started to feel the familiar sensation of his DNA realigning.

  It’s-a-fact-Jack!

  It was what his brain always said at that moment, wherever it had come from.

  The Creature was there, ready to pounce. Lupo made it stifle its automatic snarl.

  First, this…

  He focused on his hurt, battered body, and almost the same second he felt relief as the magical healing began. Who cared why this worked, but it did and that was all that mattered. He told the wolf to be cautious, a predator was approaching, but the wolf—his familiar Creature, back from a long nap—already knew, and lay in wait.

  Lupo felt the healing work on his more serious wounds, his aches and pains, and even his near hypothermia.

  Then a shadow reached the doorway, the rifle held at the ready. Maybe he’d reloaded? Lupo thought he could sense the silver loads from here. If it was Rabbioso, how did that guy hold it?

  Lupo had to weigh his timing carefully. Use the wolf as a surprise, but keep from getting drilled with silver slugs. But if he could do that and keep Rabbioso from shooting him and then also from changing…

  No guts no glory. A sardonic tribute to DiSanto’s love of clichés.

  He held the Creature back to the last second then sprang, catching the entering Rabbioso off-guard.

  The wolf snatched the silver-loaded rifle out of the gunman’s hands and shrieked with the pain as the silver burned him like a live wire, but it followed Lup
o’s internal commands despite the quick jolt of agony and shook its head violently, sending the gun clattering across the claustrophobic space where it lay out of reach.

  And then the two of them faced each other.

  Rabbioso, clearly startled, saw that Lupo had changed—after all those hours, something had allowed him to do it. But what? He turned and his eyes widened as he saw Anders, huddled in the corner.

  He smiled.

  He smiled and started his own change.

  But Lupo timed it perfectly and lunged, taking the mobster enough by surprise that he stumbled backward as the wolf snarled and bit, ripped and tore at him. Blood flew as Lupo’s fangs shredded Rabbioso’s human flesh.

  Screaming now, Rabbioso tried to complete his process.

  But Lupo willed himself back to human form, and when he was over he reached down to the cracked plank flooring with his human hand and picked up the Vatican dagger. In one motion he unsheathed it, unmasking the silver blade so any werewolf would now sense it. It didn’t matter anymore.

  Even though he wanted to go for the kill, Lupo did not—in his weakened state, a full-strength Joe Rabbioso would be like a psychopathic killing machine. Lupo wouldn’t stand a chance. Instead, he leaped forward and caught Rabbioso just a split-second before the air around him would have started to ripple…

  Lupo’s grip on the dagger strengthened as he slashed across the top front of Rabbioso’s face, from cheek to cheek.

  Rabbioso shrieked again, but this time it was the very sound itself that was frightening, as blood and gel-like vitreous humor spurted out of his ruined eyes and caused him to resemble a twisted, bloody parody of Oedipus.

  And, as Lupo had hoped, Rabbioso became unable to complete the change. Blind, he could not summon his wolf.

  The wounded mobster threw himself backward and out the doorway, staggering across the parade ground. Lupo made sure Anders was all right, then gave chase as best he could, although he wasn’t faring much better than his enemy. When he looked up, Ghost Sam was standing there pointing the way to where Rabbioso had stumbled.

  “Nice way to miss all the action,” Lupo muttered at the apparition. “Now that it’s safe you show up.”

  “He’s making for the channel,” said Ghost Sam, ignoring the sarcastic remarks.