Bait and Bleed

by Elizabeth Blake

  I glanced at Erik to see if he thought the behavior was warranted. His eyes were rosy. Completely, through and through, pink. The black contacts fell away as his skull enlarged. A chill shivered through me. A wolf howled wildly outside.

  And then we heard popcorn popping, but it wasn't quite that. Peavey and I hit the floor. Gunfire, amongst a mutt gathering? The FBHS had finally come knocking. I could only hope to give the children a chance to escape. I pulled a gun, but I only had four spare magazines and three handguns on me. Where's the M4 when I need it?

  In the truck, if I could get to it…

  I peeked over a window sill.

  A single mutt rounded the house and sprinted through the massive yard, her bluish-gray coat glowing like steel in the moonlight. The roar of vehicles and gunfire followed her. She howled again, and the wicked sound was accompanied by a grin...Sakura. Her broad paws drummed over the dirt as a trail of armor plated Humvees followed her. She ran like a rabbit coursing, lunging in unpredictable directions, turning on a dime, leading the attack vehicles on a merry chase. A gunman on the roof of each vehicle sprayed bullets at her. Snarls and racka-racka cut through my brain.

  Peavey shed into a Rottweiler the size of a grizzly. My heart crashed up my throat. The house contained a hundred ravenous wolf monsters. Children, too. Not all of them could be as controlled as my friends. Youth came from everywhere, clamoring into the room. Panic rose among them. Vanya, the four year-old, and Averill, seven, came hand in hand. Two dozen more kids about Averill’s age swelled behind them, ranging from toddler to adolescent. Jesus. I hated seeing L-pos kids.

  Three things happened in an instant:

  Peter made a meteor-like dash out the door.

  Svetlana shed in a stream of gold and bolted so fast I could scarcely see it.

  The kitchen crowded with shedding wolves. Furniture toppled, china crashed.

  I got the hell out of the way. Screaming continued, and the sharp pitch turned into a snarl. Tatka shouted in Russian and herded children toward the basement. The sound of a drunken loon rose above everything else. Davey screamed. Fear and adrenaline squished my lungs.

  “Davey, where are you?” Panic charged up my throat. Where was my boy? “Davey! David Aberdeen!”

  I couldn’t see him. I pulled my sidearm but didn’t know what to shoot. I crouched low and positioned myself by an open window where I could sneak a peek.

  Chaos. Enormous wolves and big machine gun ruckus took over the terrain like the thunder of angry gods. I shut down for a moment. I might die tonight, and that sucked. The assault vehicles were low, plated things topped with machine guns. I fired but didn't penetrate their armored sides. Of course not. The mercenaries were safely tucked inside their shells.

  The scene became a pandemonium of fur and metal.

  Sakura ran with mercenaries on her tail. She spun and leaped and pivoted, a decoy buying time while the rest of the pack rallied. She led the Humvees toward the impregnable corner of trees where she was surrounded, no, where she led her enemies into a trap. She twisted and turned, dodged and ducked, romped and raced like a pole-jumping horse. As if she was having fun at the mercenaries' expense. She paid for it, taking bullets as she soared over the vehicles and romped in their blind-spots, distracting them by being impossible to catch.

  Within seconds, the cavalry arrived.

  Svetlana led the stampede of wolves descending upon the armored trucks. Like a mighty, massive bull, she tucked her shoulder and rammed the first vehicle with such veracity two of its tires rocked in the air. Machine gun fire pelted her honey fur. Two black wolves with white faces joined Sakura and smashed into its side. The vehicle flipped and rolled twice, crushing the gunner. A crowd of wolves pushed side by side to tear at the vehicle. I couldn't see beyond a swarm of wolf flesh. Metal screeched. Bullet-resistant glass broke. Screams rode the air. Men died.

  A Humvee circled and splattered the crowd of wolves with gunfire. Sickening howls and cringing werewolves told me some bullets struck home. I couldn't see who was injured, didn't know who was who. No way to predict our losses.

  Svetlana rammed another vehicle, tossing the gunman from his roost. He clung to the machine gun and shots flew wild. She dipped her ferocious head and swung her Herculean neck. The plated vehicle soared end for end before the heavy engine block dug into the ground and brought it to a stop. It sprawled helplessly on its back like a beetle. Men poured out. Mutts swarmed them.

  More windows broke in the house as fully-furry wolves leaped into the yard and joined the fray. At first, a dozen, then thirty, then more, all tearing in. Wolves of every color, size, skull shape, and capacity for murder swarmed the assault vehicles.

  Me? I stayed the hell out of the way, gun on low-ready as I squatted an arm’s length from the wall and waited for an opportunity to sneak behind the madness, get to my truck, and grab weapons I knew could make a difference.

  Another vehicle circled Sakura, but wolves joined her, taking bullets together. Soon a dozen mutts ganged up on the assault vehicle. Snarls. Screams. The continuous blast of weaponry. They smashed into war like defensive linemen and tipped the vehicle onto its side.

  Sakura jumped up and perched on the side panel. She grabbed the axle in a way I've never seen, as if the mutt had thumbs, and then she snapped it off and used it to beat her way into the Humvee. She shed down as she raged, and by the time she broke inside, her naked human hands grabbed a man and pulled him out. She shed back into the beast while he screamed, and then she tore into his throat and tossed him aside.

  Peavey and Silvershot ripped the doors from the vehicle and chased out heavily armed black-clothed men. Submachine gun fire blared for an instant before the humans were incapacitated. A wolf bit down on a body and dragged the struggling human a few paces before tearing it in half.

  Evidently, the front yard was way too chaotic. If I could circle around back, I might be able to reach my truck without incident.

  Gunfire persisted, clumped in pockets of human desperation, and their bullets weren't entirely wasted. A wolf so gray it was tinted green fell heavily atop a man it tried to kill; a thousand pounds of flesh crushed the villain. A broken creature dragged its ruined hindquarters before being put down. A white wolf took silver bullets to the face but charged through and slammed its skull into the gunman, crushing the small body against the Humvee.

  Bullets sprayed the house, blasting glass. I needed a bigger gun, like, immediately. I visualized where my truck stood in relation to the kitchen, about forty yards from where I crouched. I rose enough to peer through the window.

  Madness. Absolute havoc. The largest kennel grouping I'd ever seen swarmed a warzone littered with human and mutt debris. Bodies everywhere, furry and normal alike. Howls surrounded me, scraping in from the dark as the wolves roved through the woods.

  A vehicle erupted. Wolves cowered from the heat and plumes of rancid scent. A bright jet of fire caught on fur. A mutt screamed, caught between a beastly leviathan and a man. He sprinted, biting at his own flesh, panicking as the smell of burned hair covered the lot. A brave wolf lunged past the fire and chomped down on an assailant’s skull. Wolves snapped up men who escaped the fire.

  Engines revved. Two humvees barreled through a throng of gigantic carnivores. Damaged wolves lurched in zombie burlesque. Broken, dying, fighting, snarling into the mouth of death. Hackles up. I spotted a honey colored wolf, splotched with blood, chomping through a perennial vein. Relief: at least Svetlana lived. Smoke billowed from dying vehicles. People screamed as teeth tore them to pieces. Ground troops maneuvered through the wreckage, and the mutts were outnumbered by mercs with serious firepower. Christ, it resembled a small scale invasion.

  I crouched, scared to hold my head up for any length of time. If I circled around back, I'd have a better chance of getting to the truck alive. My body didn’t want to move. It liked huddling down, keeping small. I had never been in a firefight before. I was a killer, not a soldier. Logic generated a million reasons to sit do
wn, shut up, and wait for the bad guys to go away.

  If only.

  No one would come to save me. The idea that someone should was completely ludicrous. I was Kaidlyn goddamn Durant, gov’t merc, sanctioned murderer, protector of the innocent. And I sure as hell wouldn’t turtle-up and die, not when there were folks who needing killing. My magnificent truck contained serious firepower, and by golly, I intended to use it. I trotted toward the sliding porch door, staying low.

  A merc slipped around the house, aiming to enter from the rear. I dropped him before he realized I was there. The next guy wasn’t taken by surprise, and I lunged behind the industrial kitchen counter. Heavy rounds blasted into the cupboards.

  Poor Tatka would have to remodel. Again.

  I stayed away from the walls and poked around the corner enough to find a target. Shot the rifleman as he circled the counters. His shoulder swung out, arm flew wide, but he didn't drop. Body armor. He leapt in the opposite direction. His firing ceased as if he needed to reload. The lapse in gunfire tempted me to pop out. Maybe he ran dry? I didn’t believe it. Didn’t feel like any time had passed since his friend fell dead. More likely, he gave me a chance to be stupid while he tried to pinpoint my location. My eyes shot around the kitchen, finding my bearings in a half-familiar place.

  Caught the sheen of his visor reflected on the dishwasher. Fired over my shoulder to the left, drawing his attention. My bullet splintered into the fridge and he pivoted from me. I took a gander around the cabinet, claiming enough space for my firearm to pump rounds in his direction. Didn’t stop until his body hit the floor.

  A tactical reload gave me time to think and distanced me from stupid shock. This wasn't the bureau. They would have called me, wouldn't they? In the very least, Rainer would have noticed their movement.

  Independent contractors? Iago had outsourced his work again.

  A smaller mutt smashed through the wall like a cattle-sized wrecking ball. I shrieked in surprise and stuffed myself behind Svetlana's trio of steel fridges. The beast passed so close its fur tousled my hair. Heart pounding, I clenched my weapon like a lifeline and squished myself between the industrial refrigerators.

  Maybe if I stayed down, the hit team would spread out into the yard. If I didn't draw attention to myself, maybe they'd miss me.

  The mutt staggered and bled, flanks failing, guts dripping. I didn't recognize it, but it must have been young. Shots hissed closer to me, coming from the rear. Jesus. The assault team was everywhere. They breached the house through the hole the mutt had made. Men—ones on two legs and carrying rifles—pursued the wounded wolf across the kitchen, firing rapidly. Professionally. The wolf wailed, the cry of a dying animal, and it filled me with fear. Not because the creature was scary, but because it would shift back and I might see who had died. It might be one of my friends or one of the children.

  Panicked sounds caught my ears, and my heart stopped.

  Children were in the house.

  The squad perked at the noise. They knew, and now they’d purge the building, killing everyone. I wanted them all dead. Mostly, I wanted them to stop.

  How the fuck was I going to take on a squad of guys? I had modest concealment but zero cover. I'd have to pull them deeper into the house, away from the spacious kitchen and foyer. If I could make it to the stairs...

  With my firearm in hand and my heartbeat splattering like grenades through my chest, I lurked in the corner behind the fridge, terrified they might see me first, petrified because I had only pulled the maneuver on mutts, never on trained humans.

  All the hunting trips with Dad and his old Ranger buddies when they wouldn't shut up and I had to listen, a thirteen year old girl, as if I had half a clue, sitting in the garage with my brother, Jacob, after his first tour: the insight might pay off.

  In a squad this small, the man taking up the rear carried the SAW, a squad automatic weapon. And I wanted that badass hunk of metal.

  These men came for my friends and family. Given enough time, they would clear the massive house, find dozens of children, and slaughter them. Certainly weren’t coming for a tea party. They needed to die, and I felt generous enough to help them.

  Adrenaline and anger smothered my confusion. The world clicked into its rightful place, leaving me vindicated, angry, and on autopilot. Rage pushed into my hands, shoving numbness aside, reacquainting me with the texture of my pistol grip.

  Always knew I’d die with a gun in hand.

  The team trouped by, put the wolf down with rousing finality, and began to clear the room. The last man, the gunner, was my target. He bore the big, mean muscle of a man who grew strong for one explicit purpose: killing. By dumb, fat luck, I had his back. I crouched low. Despite the thunder of blood in my ears, I could hear his footsteps above all else. I tracked the noise until I had a good angle. I poked around, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Mutt-hunting habit had me searching for a spine.

  I shot through his ass, aiming north, hoping to plug as many bullets under that vest as it took to get what I wanted. His body twitched as the .45 dumped energy into his innards, making soup. His blood hit me. Several bullets later, he fell. I snatched his weapon as he went down. Even mortally wounded, he held on. A death grip. I stomped on his throat and shot him in the groin with my .45. I holstered the sidearm, ripped the SAW from his arms, and ran like hell.

  Bullets tore into the hallway as I dove left into Tatka’s workroom, leaping over dismembered furniture and a clutter of power tools. The side door let me circle around, setting a loop for the team following me. I tucked my Glock into its holster and two-handed the huge SAW.

  Christ, the weapon was heavy. Bulky. I resented its fearsome weight slowing me down despite the fact that I needed it to survive. Bullets lanced into the walls behind me, and I felt like a rabbit on the run. I fought the sensation. If panic shot from my heart to my head, I was dead.

  Needed to syphon the squad, clog them in doorways, and kill one by one. “

  Doorways are called ‘funnels of death’ for a reason,” Jacob had said.

  I ducked behind a corner in the hallway, ten meters from the stairs, and set low to the ground. Body weight slightly forward, crouched, weapon moving to high-ready.

  I closed my eyes for a moment and imagined how they would enter the room, claim corners of domination and establish interlocking fields of fire. Even with mediocre training, they’d clear the room quickly. They had to go through the door or backtrack, go around the room, and come down the hall. Two different funnel points.

  Men came through, releasing cover fire as the operator braved passage. Bullets hissed. I squeezed the trigger, hung on too long, and fucked up his torso with a slurry of lead. Bullets came at me. Some had backtracked and I took fire from two directions.

  If I could make it to the stairway, I would force them into pursuing me single file with nowhere for them to hide. I needed to be fast. If they caught me in the stairwell, I was as fucked as I planned for them to be.

  I gasped three fast breaths, turned, and charged up the stairs. Legs burning. Lungs flailing. Heart about to burst. Goddamn fat ass gun.

  Reached the top of the first stairs and turned on the half landing, hunkering behind the wall and panting like a wildebeest in labor. Breath like thunder in my ears, I tried to hear their movement. Nothing. Other noise rolled in, but I couldn’t hear the team.

  Where the hell were they?

  Something tinged on the wall at corner of the landing. I snatched a brief glance around the corner but didn’t see a single man.

  A lime-shaped thing rolled for a bit and laid still.

  A grenade. Well, fuck me.

  I threw myself deeper into the hallway and hunkered face-to-the-wall. Hand of God knocked me against the wall. No breath left in me. Blinked out, flickering blackness, like bad film at an old theatre. Bad brain. Faulty machine. Reboot.

  “Sarakas, tell me why we do what we do.”

  “We kill what everyone fears.”

  “Why?”


  “Because no one else dares.”

  What the fuck was I doing on the floor? Why did I smell smoke? Did the toaster malfunction again? Jesus, I hurt.

  Hail fell on me. Plaster rained beside my fallen body and sprayed me with debris. A chunk of wall came down. Glass from the broken window glittered atop the mess.

  Napping in the middle of a freakin’ firefight. Move, or lay down and die.

  As soon as the dust settled, their train would be moving up the stairs to finish me off. I crawled, belly to the floor, dragging the SAW and its huge drum. Poked my head low and saw them, sure enough, moving in a rapid train up the staircase.

  A wolf the color of dried blood flew out of nowhere and tackled the last man. It sunk tooth into his hamstring and dragged him deeper into the dark house. He screamed, shots firing wildly. Distraction. I took advantage. I flopped belly down atop the staircase, raised the SAW. Squeezing the trigger was like dragging an anvil toward my chest.

  Brass showered from the ejection port like confetti. The recoil pushed me back, scooting me across the floor.

  I tried to aim, possibly, but mostly I was determined to pull the trigger for as long as possible. For an eternity. Bullets ripped into them, shredding past their vests and punching into their legs. The men dropped like sacks of overripe meat. Bits spattered the grenade-torn walls. The drum ran empty and the last of its percussive recoil echoed through my body.

  My jaw hurt from clenching my teeth. Shoulder ached from the stock.

  I waited for signs of enemy life, but there were none.

  Jesus, I had nearly died. How the hell had I made it so far? Elation filled me. Heat swirled with billowing noise left from the explosion. Wasn’t done yet. More men would be searching the house, probably on their way now.