by Keri Hudson
Jack pulled back and closed the door. He pulled out his gun and started stripping off his clothes and shoes. Setting the bundle aside, Jack shifted, body big and lupine and ready for battle. He raised his forepaw to turn the handle again, pulling the door open and stepping into the area directly beneath the stage.
The hunt was on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jack crept into the vacuous area under the stage. The structure was supported by strong metal beams, crossing one another in a complex structural web. Wide concrete pillars supported the stage in places, massive hydraulic pumps and lifts in various areas, one already fixed with a grand piano.
Jack sniffed the air, quick to pick up the marijuana, the cigarette smoke, the various metals and body odors. There were fewer people than he’d expected there; none of them should have been armed.
Jack crept behind a big metal hydraulic pump, using his keener senses to sniff out the locations of the other guards, four that he could count.
Silencers on the guns, Jack thought, the human part of his lupine brain working, to prevent a panic above before they could execute their plan. But… what, and where?
Jack plotted out his kills, planning to hit the first one quick and pull back, sneak up on the next, take them down one at a time until he could get to whoever or whatever they were guarding.
Jack crept low and slowly up to the nearest guard. He knew the man was looking for an errant human form; nobody would be expecting a thousand-pound, seven-foot-long wolf coming at them.
Still, the key was to get as close as he could. The footsteps of the other men leaked into his ears, olfactory senses picking up another smell, distinct among the others.
Layla, he realized. What’s she doing down here? Unless… she’s what they’re guarding?
Jack neared one guard, glancing around in the other direction, gun pulled and ready. He stood there, ready prey as Jack approached. His heart beat faster, blood pulsing in his veins. His instincts were all at the fore, nerves throbbing under his skin, every fiber of his being ready for the contest.
Though he knew it wouldn’t be much of a contest.
Jack reared up on the man, who turned just as Jack arrived, too late to scream. Jack launched himself up at the man’s throat, jaws clamping around his windpipe. A sharp pull jerked the man forward, dropping his pistol as his legs gave out from under him. He gurgled and spat, his dying cries unable to escape his gaping mouth. The man twitched and bled out in front of Jack, of no further interest. Another guard was nearby, and he had to be taken quickly.
Jack moved fast, knowing he was risking giving himself away in favor of a quick assault. The man turned earlier than Jack had hoped, and Jack jumped into a faster run, hoping the sheer sight of his charge would stun the man into paralysis.
Not this time.
The man raised his gun and fired, the bullets muffled by the silencer: Ptew, ptew, ptew!
But it was easy enough for Jack to duck and dodge the shots, even on that slick concrete floor. He skidded a bit, but retained his footing long enough to launch his assault. Jack leapt up and used the sheer force of his weight and momentum to throw the man back. Jack turned and bit into the man’s wrist, clamping down hard. Bones cracked between Jack’s teeth, warm blood spilling into his mouth.
The man screamed. He pounded at Jack’s head with his free fist, but the strikes barely registered. Once the gun had dropped out of the guard’s hand, Jack let go and turned for a more lethal hold. Jack’s jaws locked around the man’s throat, clamping down hard until his vocal cords collapsed with a muffled clack under his bleeding skin. The man coughed up a mouthful of blood, arms flailing before Jack delivered the final shake, hard and vigorous and enough to render the man a trembling bundle of twitching nerves.
Two more guards ran at Jack from across the area under the stage, wearing shocked but determined expressions as they ran up on Jack, guns drawn and ready. Jack growled at them and charged, unafraid of the odds, even looking forward to the struggle. Jack was a born protector—of the planet, of the human race, of Layla in particular. This was what he was born to do, and he did it with relish.
They came up on him, one in front and the other to the side. They shot, gunshots muffled, ricocheting with metallic pings and pops around him as he ran at them.
Bang! Bang-bang-bang! Bang-bang, bang!
Jack took the bullets, mostly in the shoulders, turning to hide his vulnerable skull and face. Jack cried out as the bullets peppered his flesh, flanks and back, his body collapsing as he tried to flee.
The gunshots ceased and Jack lay there, a dozen or more bullets lodged in him. His heart was beating fast, but his body lay prone on the ground. A sad moan leaked from his throat, tail flicking against the concrete floor.
The two men approached him with necessary caution. Even badly stricken, a creature like a lupine shifter could still be deadly; even deadlier than before under the right circumstances. They got closer, their footsteps gradually louder, bodies leaning them forward for a closer look.
“What the hell is it?”
“I think it’s… Satan!”
“Shit, that ain’t Satan! Satan’s a goat!”
“Well, I don’t know, then! What d’you think?”
“Don’t know… maybe it is Satan.”
As soon as the first man was within reach, Jack sprang his trap. He jumped up from his prone position, scarcely hurt at all by the body shots he’d had to endure. They were lodged harmlessly in his thick layer of muscle and skin and would be ejected in a matter of a few minutes by Jack’s incredible durability and healing abilities.
The guard closest to him tried to scream as Jack pounced, his gun falling to the side as Jack clamped his jaw around the man’s face. Jack clenched down, the man’s skull cracking like an egg beneath him. He screamed and flailed, but the bones of his skull soon dug into his brain, one eye shooting out of its socket and into Jack’s mouth, a tasty treat.
Jack turned to the other man, standing in trembling terror. He aimed and shot his pistol, wobbling in his grip.
Click, click, click.
The man dropped his gun and turned to flee, but Jack couldn’t afford to let him escape. Jack ran, paws slipping a bit on the concrete until he picked up enough speed to reach the man. But instead of pouncing, Jack grabbed one of the man’s ankles and clamped down tight. The man screamed and fell forward, landing facedown on the concrete floor.
Jack bit down hard, the man’s tendons popping, his bones cracking. He punched at Jack’s head and snout, but another hard pull removed the man’s foot from his leg. He screamed and held his stumped leg, blood pouring out. The man backed up, whimpering and whining as he inched away from Jack, leaving a thick trail of blood.
“Lord, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”
But Jack didn’t bother to follow. The man’s sobbing prayer faded to a raspy pant as the pool of blood between him and Jack got wider, his life slipping away by the second. “Thy… thy kingdom… come…”
Jack turned to leave the man to his fate. He stepped deeper into the big area beneath the stage, but a sound grabbed his attention as it came from behind him. The sound got louder, cutting through the muffled music from the stage above, booming and rhythmic.
Jack stood his ground as the source of the loud, heavy grinding became clear; a forklift drove slowly toward him from the distant corner of that area, the driver blocked from his view by the unusual load the lift was carrying.
Layla lay across the prongs of the forklift, which were raised to their highest position. She was limp and seemed unconscious, body drooping between the metal prongs, her wrists tied to one of them, legs tied to the other, a cleave gag in her unmoving mouth, angel’s eyes closed. One sniff told Jack that she was still alive, but he knew the chances against that going on much longer were getting slimmer with every passing second.
He also knew that whoever he was looking for, whoever had been behind the wheel of that car on Mulholland, was also be
hind the controls of that forklift; and Layla’s life was in their hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The forklift stopped, the engine still idling. Layla moaned a bit, shifting her body without regaining full consciousness. The driver jumped out from behind the controls, the big machine humming as the robed pilot screeched at Jack, pointing an angry finger. The person was covered in robes and a hijab, but Jack could see by the build that it was a woman, and she didn’t seem afraid or even surprised to see him in his lupine form. Instead, she crept closer to the front of the vehicle, a black pistol in her hand, pointed directly at Layla’s sleeping skull even as she woke, little by little.
Jack stood, growling low and mean and deciding where he would strike for the killing blow, until the menacing figure pulled down the silk veil to reveal the face of the murderous mind behind Layla’s travails.
Pretty, wholesome brunette Cindy Connors finally pulled off her hood and showed her face, an angry shape to her features giving her another appearance entirely.
“Yeah,” Cindy hissed, “that's right!” A long, mean silence followed, Jack growling. “What’s the matter… cat got yer tongue?” She cackled out a witch’s laughter, but it died away quickly. “Didn’t suspect me, did you? Of course not! How could you have any idea what’s really going on here? I know you fancy yourself some kind of detective, but even the best of us fail every now and then, eh?”
Jack sized her up, a new aspect to her that he’d never realized when he was in his human form, something he’d never suspected.
“Of course,” Cindy went on, “I’m no terrorist! And those poor dummies you killed were Christians, here undercover as Muslims!” Cindy looked up, and Jack followed her line of sight to the metal support structure of the stage, where a massive brick of gray plastic explosive and a small digital timer lay, wires connecting the two. The red lit numbers were flashing, and Jack’s sharp, lupine eyesight could make it out: 12:01, 12:00, 11:59, 11:58…
Cindy explained, “I only brought the bomb in to convince them it was legit. Not that I mind blowing up as many of those shallow assholes as I can. And it should make sure you don't walk out of here alive, let alone any of these schmucks. That was easy, getting those extremist freaks to think we were starting a race war… one their side would win, of course. I could give a shit either way; if that wound up happening, it wouldn’t mean anything to me… or should I say, to us… our plans will go on unimpeded. In fact, they kill each other off, so much the better.”
Us, Jack thought, our, they…
“That’s not the race war I’m interested in,” Cindy went on, a knowing grin on her cheerful face. “That’s right, Jack, we both know the war I’m talking about: lupine versus ursine, the battle for control of the Earth. And it’s coming, Jack, sooner than you think, sooner than any of us thought.”
Layla began to stir, moaning into her gag as she slowly regained consciousness. Jack looked at her, finding no way of freeing her before killing Cindy, which he couldn’t do as long as that gun was pointed just inches from Layla’s head. He knew that one wrong move would mean her instant death.
“But you, Jack,” Cindy went on, “you’re a problem for us; you’re a rogue among your own kind, a lone shifter, no pack, no loyalty. You’ve killed your own kind before, Jack, we all know it.”
Jack growled, head low, eyes fixed on her.
“You’d think we’d be glad, let you live; the enemy of our enemy being our friend, or so the old saying goes. But you won’t be loyal to us either, we know that. Word’s gotten around that you’re dangerous to both sides. So when I heard about your… exploits in Somalia, and that Mathers could actually get in touch with you, it was an easy enough matter to convince him to do it. Layla’s nut-job boyfriend just made that an easy call. And bringing in those protesters was a piece of cake too. But I was just trying to draw you in, Jack.”
Layla regained consciousness, bucking and gasping, straining to look around and understand her situation—seven feet off the concrete floor, tied to the prongs of a forklift. She screamed and flinched.
Cindy said, “Morning, sunshine! Those stun guns pack a helluva punch, eh?” She turned back to Jack, the gun still pointed at Layla’s head. “This one couldn’t have been easier to handle, followed me right down here like the dumb little bitch that she is! But she did wrap you around her finger, so… who’s the real dumb little bitch?”
Jack growled, taking a single step nearer.
“Take it easy, Cujo, or your mate takes one in the face! Wouldn’t be the first time, I’ll bet!” She chuckled a bit, obviously enjoying her little joke. “Of course, there’s also the matter of your spawn in her belly.” Jack was struck by the new information, and Cindy seemed to be able to read it, even on his snarling snout. “Oh, you didn’t know? Well, we females have a stronger sense of these things.” She turned to Layla above and beside her. “Congratulations, by the way.”
Layla screamed muffled, wriggling between the two prongs, unable to free herself.
Cindy said to Jack, “Too bad the father-to-be has to die… right now.”
Jack’s growl got louder, pushed up by his rising fury. But before he could attack, Cindy tossed her gun and shifted, robes tearing off her body as she took her true shape: a massive bear, thousands of pounds of muscle and brown shaggy fur, long black claws and snapping white fangs.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jack and Cindy charged each other, animal cries ringing out, echoing in the vacuous area. Jack leapt up, head to head with the bigger, stronger ursine. She swung her massive arm, black claws digging into Jack’s side, the power of the strike sending him flying off to the side. He yelped as he was hurled to the hard concrete. But he recovered almost immediately and turned to face his ursine opponent as she charged him.
Jack jumped out of the way of a lethal pounce, Cindy clearly hoping to crush him under her incredible weight. But Jack’s nimbleness and dexterity won him a few more minutes and another chance at victory.
Jack jumped onto the big bear’s back, jaws digging into her thick hide between her shoulders. But he couldn’t make much headway into her hairy shield, tender nerves and vulnerable bones still out of his jaws’ terrible reach.
Layla struggled between the prongs, but the ropes around her wrists and ankles were also looped around those rusty prongs. Layla pulled her legs to the side, managing to nudge her ankles just a bit toward the end of the prong. Another hard tug, pulling her legs to her left, inched them a bit further toward the end of the prong.
But she could only get so far without having to nudge her bound wrists likewise, jutting her upper body to her left, nudging her wrists closer to the end of the other prong.
Cindy roared and shook her body, nearly throwing Jack off her back. But his jaws remained clamped down on her hide, pulling her to the side and giving Jack a chance to climb back to his position above her spine. His claws dug into her hide as he climbed up, but Cindy tried a different tactic. She rolled onto her side with enough force to trap and crush Jack beneath her.
Jack let go and jump out of the way just before her back hit that cold, hard concrete. Jack landed and turned to attack again, calculating that her belly would be exposed. But Cindy recovered too quickly and was already on all fours by the time Jack had a chance to charge again.
Layla kept wriggling, moving her ankles and then her wrists little by little toward the end of the prongs. Her body hung between them, the battling shifters rolling and tumbling nearby. Layla glanced over to see them barreling straight toward her. Layla stopped and pulled her body up as high as she could. Jack and Cindy rolled just beneath her, embroiled in their death fight. Once they passed, Layla turned to get a better view of them before continuing with her efforts to nudge herself off those prongs.
Jack looked up at the clock: 08:39, 08:38, 08:37…
Cindy charged, Jack pulling back to draw her in. Cindy roared and picked up speed just before Jack leapt up and back and out of her path. Nimbleness served Jack well a
gain, Cindy’s weight and cumbersome muscularity making her unable to cease in her charge. She smashed straight into a metal support pole, part of the intricate web supporting the stage above. The metal folded around her, bending and twisting as she flailed to recover her footing.
The stage creaked above them, loud even with the muffled boom of the music.
Jack’s lupine instincts kicked in, and he resorted to a tried-and-true attack for those of his kind. He ducked his head low and charged her from behind, jaws snapping at her vulnerable anus. Cindy kicked at him and roared; he knew that she was aware of how wolves most often killed their prey—disemboweling them by tearing out the anus and the digestive tract along with it.
Cindy’s hind paws kicked at Jack, one of them landing a good shot at his face and the other hitting him in the chest, sending Jack skidding back on the slick concrete floor.
But the stage creaked again before a loud crack filled the lower chamber. The music stopped suddenly, and a din rose up to replace it.
Stage is collapsing, Jack realized, the metal support beams already beginning to arch with the increased pressure. Jack could hear the crowd pouring through the seats and aisles to get out, finding exits in every direction.
Jack looked up to see that Layla’s ankles were close to the end of their prong, and her wrists were too. Layla’s motions seemed more measured, especially as she pulled her wrists closer to the edge of their prong.
Layla wrestled with freeing her ankles, raising her hips up to extend her reach and falling back. Layla looked up at her wrists and gave them another hard tug toward the edge.
Layla screamed into her gag as her wrists slid off the prong. She fell swinging, dangling from the tip of the forklift prong, every pendulum-like swing threatening to drop her flat on her head.
Cindy twisted her mighty physique until she finally freed herself of the support rods. She roared and stepped away, the damaged supports bending and creaking with her sudden absence. She charged Jack again, hitting him hard on the side of the face with one blow, a second hitting the other side. Jack took the blows and pulled back, careful to make sure Cindy’s attention was on him and not on Layla, dangling like a fish on the end of a hook.