by M. D. Massey
“Um, on a scale of one to ten—one being Mr. Rogers, and ten being rabid, cannibalistic ’thropes?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Sure, let’s run with that.”
“Well, I’d say maybe a five or six? We don’t eat humans, but we’re not exactly friendly with them, either.”
“You never did explain how you got separated from your Pack.”
He glanced out the window. “Nope, I never did, did I?”
“Care to explain?” I asked.
“You know they can hear everything we’re saying, right?”
I nodded. “Figured as much. Now talk.”
He looked at me, then out the window. “Not here.”
I followed the kid down the hall and into an interior room that had once served as a break room for the floor nurses. Bobby sniffed the air as we walked in, looking this way and that.
“I smell food,” he muttered, rifling through the cabinets.
His search revealed a metal tin of Danish cookies, probably the only food in the place that hadn’t been ravaged by vermin over the years. The kid sat down at a nearby table and popped the tin open, then stuffed a few cookies into his mouth.
“Mmmm… stale but tasty.” He tilted the tin toward me. “Want one?”
“Sure, why not?” I grabbed a cookie and nibbled on it. They were nastily stale, to be honest, but not as bad as hardtack. “So, tell me about your family troubles.”
Bobby popped a couple more cookies in his pie hole, then started speaking. “Alright, so you know my parents got killed by wild dogs, right? Well, I was only eight or nine at the time. We’d driven out from Santa Cruz to visit family on the Gulf Coast, and while we were on vacation things went to shit.”
“Go on,” I said between nibbles.
“After my parents got killed, I just sort of hid from the deaders and wild dogs, and did my best to survive. We’d been staying in a resort town just north of Corpus Christi, out on one of the islands. At first, I tried to stay in town, closer to supplies and food. It didn’t take long before looters and deaders caused me to head farther down the island, where the rich people had lived.
“I scrounged food and water from condo units, avoiding shamblers and people for months. After a while, the living people got fewer and further between, and the deader population grew. Pretty soon, I was the only living person left on the island, or close to it. I got lonely, so I went looking for survivors.
“Long story short, I got chased out a two-story window by a bunch of shamblers while scavenging for food at a resort hotel. Broke both my legs and my left arm—bones were sticking right out and everything. Good news was that I fell on top of a carport, so the deaders couldn’t get to me. Bad news was I went into shock from blood loss, and started fading in and out of consciousness.
“As it turns out, Samson saw the whole thing happen. He and a couple of other ’thropes had escaped to the coast after the bombs fell, and they were just roaming around trying to survive like anyone else. I guess he felt pity for me or something. I remember him saying if he didn’t turn me, I was going to die. Said it had to be my choice.
“I said yes, not knowing what I was agreeing to, and he turned me. Savaged my body to do it, worse than it already was—and after I turned he had to break my bones again to reset them so they’d heal properly. Later, he explained that attacking me was the only way to get enough of the ’thrope vyrus into my bloodstream. I asked him why he didn’t just spit in my wounds, and he laughed and said, ‘Way of the Pack, kid. Everyone goes through it.’ He also told me that not everyone makes it when a ’thrope tries to turn them. I made it, so they took me in.”
He paused to toss a couple of cookies in his mouth. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re no longer with the Pack,” I said.
“Well… you know how teenagers rebel at a certain age, and clash with their parents?”
“Yeah, all kids do it to an extent.”
“Well, with me and Samson it was much worse. We nearly came to blows, on more than one occasion. I finally realized that my behavior was undermining his authority, and if I stuck around he’d either have to put me in my place, or…”
“Or you’d have to beat him and take his place.”
Bobby nodded. “So, I left.”
I sat and thought about the current situation. “You think your buddies can help us get the hell out of here?”
The kid grinned ear to ear. “Does a wolf shit rabbit fur?”
CITIZENS
While Colin and Gabby were still asleep, Bobby jumped out a second-story window and snuck out to the woods where the Pack was hiding. I’d asked him how they’d gotten from the coast to San Antonio so quickly, and he’d said “motorcycles.” I’d asked him where they got fuel, and he’d just said it was “Pack business” and refused to talk about it.
The plan was to have the Pack attack from one side, and us from the other. I stayed up, both to keep watch and just in case something went sideways and the wolves decided to leave us stranded. I’d told Bobby to tell the Pack to attack a few hours after dawn, but just before sun rose, I watched as a dozen large, furry humanoids charged toward the hospital.
“Ah, shit.” I ran to where Colin and Gabby were sleeping and woke them both up with a whistle.
Gabby rolled to her feet, pistol in one hand and kukri in the other. Colin, on the other hand, merely laid in the hospital bed he’d chosen for his bunk and looked at me.
“Relax, Gabby—we’re not in any imminent danger. At least, I don’t think so. Long story short, Bobby’s Pack arrived last night, and they’re going to help us get out of here.”
Colin chuckled and rolled over, covering his head with a pillow. “Yay. Wake me when the slaughter is over, alright?”
Gabby kicked his bed. “Don’t you want to go help them? I thought they were your friends, or something?”
Colin’s muffled voice replied from under the pillow. “They don’t need our help for this. If any vamps show up, let me know. Otherwise, I’m going back to sleep.”
“Pendejo,” Gabby muttered.
“Entiendo español perfecto, niña,” Colin replied. “And I resemble that remark.”
Gabby was about to lunge at him when I stepped between them. “Chill out, Gabby. I know you’re concerned about Bobby, but I have a feeling Colin’s right. Let him sleep. But just for grins, let’s head downstairs and see if we can lend a hand.”
“You’re just going to be in the way—but sure, do what you want,” Colin mumbled.
Gabby flipped him off, then laced up her boots and strapped on her gear. I could already hear the sounds of battle echoing up from the floor below. We descended to the ground level using the pit ladder in the elevator shaft, but by the time we arrived the fight was nearly over.
The werewolves had cut through those evil creatures like a scythe cutting wet grass. Dead, dismembered hounds lay all over the place, and a powerful rotting stench filled the air. Apparently, most of these hounds had been dead for some time, but their animation had stayed their decomposition. Now, those corpses were showing signs of rapid deterioration and decay. It was one of the strangest things I’d seen since the dead had risen… and I’d seen a lot.
Bobby loped up to us in werewolf form. “It’d be best if you guys waited here,” he growled. “It’s not smart to be around a bunch of strange werewolves right after a battle. You should probably give them a few minutes to settle down.”
The kid loped off again, so Gabby and I decided to crawl the rest of the way down the elevator shaft to search for my rifle. Using a disposable lighter as a weak light source, I found it at the bottom of the shaft under a pile of rotting dog corpses, covered in goo and filth, but otherwise serviceable. I’d have to field strip it and clean it thoroughly. Unlike Russian rifles, AR variants weren’t known for running flawlessly while dirty.
“I should have kept the damned Kalashnikov,” I muttered as I slung goop off the rifle’s receiver and stock. We were picking our way back to the ladder wh
en Gabby noticed something.
“Scratch, what the hell is that?”
I strained to see what Gabby was pointing at in the nearly complete darkness. My vision had been enhanced by the Doc’s serum, but it only worked in low-light conditions, not complete darkness. I pointed my lighter in that direction, and the faint light revealed a hole a few feet across that had been dug into the concrete wall of the elevator shaft, where the wall met the bottom of the shaft.
I tiptoed across the floor, trying to avoid stepping in any more goo than was necessary, and knelt down to look inside the hole with the lighter. Something had scratched or clawed its way through several feet of concrete, and I could see a tunnel had been dug in the dirt beyond that.
“What the actual hell?” I whispered. Then, I saw the bones. Human bones. “Shit. Gabby, head back up the ladder, now. Go!”
She did as I asked and I followed after her, hoping that whatever had dug that tunnel hadn’t been disturbed by our passing. Once we reached ground level, Gabby looked at me with concern.
“Scratch, do you have any idea what could have made that hole?”
“Not a one… and I don’t want to be around when it shows its face. C’mon, let’s go find Bobby and round up Colin so we can get the hell out of here.”
Some of the canine deaders had escaped the massacre, and I wanted to make sure we knew where they were headed. Gabby, Bobby, and I tracked them for a few miles at a distance, and as I suspected, they were headed northeast toward Austin. Confident that we could pick up their trail later, we headed back to the hospital for formal introductions with Bobby’s Pack.
When we arrived, Colin and about a dozen of the Pack’s members were gathered around a fire in the small patch of woods near the helipad. He was chatting with a Chuck Norris-looking guy wearing a leather biker vest, jeans, and boots. The guy was short and wiry, with a shaved head and an epic man beard. Despite the ’thrope’s stature, I immediately pegged him for the Pack alpha by the way he carried himself.
Colin waved us over as we walked up. “Folks, there’s someone I want you to meet. Scratch, meet Samson, former alpha of the Austin werewolf Pack, and now alpha of the Coastal Pack. Samson, meet Scratch…”
The alpha cut Colin off in a gruff, raspy voice. “I know who he is. So, you’re the one who rescued my pup from those punters?”
“If you’re referring to Bobby, I couldn’t leave him with those assholes, so yes. And he’s hardly a pup. He’s pulled his weight and then some since then.”
Samson glanced over at Bobby, who was conspicuously silent and avoiding eye contact with his adopted father. “I don’t doubt it. Damn it, boy, but how you’ve grown.”
Bobby merely acknowledged the attention with a shy smile, and Samson turned back to me.
“The boy always was headstrong, but we hadn’t heard from him since he split.” He looked at his adopted son. “Without permission, I might add.”
Bobby’s face darkened at that, so I decided to intervene before things got out of hand. Samson seemed like a stern leader, and given Bobby’s personality I could easily see how they’d clash with each other.
“Does one of your Pack members always need permission to leave?” I asked. “I’m just curious, as I’m unfamiliar with your ways. In fact, the first time I saw a ’thrope was just a few weeks ago. Frankly, I’d like to learn more about you, and understand how your Pack differs from the wolves we ran into in Austin.”
Samson ignored my question entirely. “Heard about that. Also heard you’re responsible for taking them bastards out, including Van.” He squinted at Colin with a smirk playing at the corners of his bearded mouth. “Colin’s been known to pull lopsided victories out of his ass, but even he couldn’t take out an entire werewolf pack… especially not one led by a primary. How’d you do it?”
I shrugged. “Teamwork, and a hell of a lot of luck. Plus, we had an alchemist and a golem.”
Samson’s eyes widened slightly. “Rabbi Borovitz? That wily old bastard still kicking around?”
Colin nodded. “Yeah, he is. He didn’t recognize me, though. Of course, I only knew him by reputation.”
Samson laughed. “The old man used to give those assholes at the Circle fits, that was for sure. They hated having rogue elements running loose, but Borovitz always had no fucks to give, especially where the Circle was concerned.”
“What’s ‘The Circle’?” Gabby asked.
Samson glanced over at Gabby, as if noticing her for the first time. He sniffed the air in her direction, then gave Bobby a sideways glance. “Just some people who used to make life miserable for all the supernaturals in Austin… back before the War.”
“What happened to them?” Gabby asked.
“They went underground, about the same time the fae went missing,” Colin replied.
“And good riddance,” a large and rather tough-looking member of the Pack interjected. “If one good thing came out of the apocalypse, it’s that.”
What Colin had said finally registered, and I held my hands up. “Hold up just a second… you can’t just drop something like that in casual conversation and expect regular folk to let it slide. You mean the fae? As in, fairies and elves and crap?”
Colin nodded. “Told you, Scratch… there’s a lot you don’t know about the supernatural world. Zombies, vamps, and ’thropes are just touching the surface.”
I sat down heavily on a stump someone had pulled up to the makeshift fire pit. “For the sake of discussion, let’s just say that elves exist. Does someone want to explain how this all fits into our undead apocalypse?”
Colin and Samson looked at each other, but Samson was the first to speak up. “That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out, ever since all this shit happened and the world went to hell. At first, we thought it was a coincidence—that the bombs fell, panic erupted, and then someone happened to get bit. Perfect storm for starting a zombie outbreak, what with the world in chaos and all.
“But then we heard it was happening all over, all at once. That’s a bit too convenient to be a coincidence. So, me and what was left of my Pack started poking around all over the state. Austin, Houston, Dallas. Far as we can tell, the Dallas coven knows what caused it, and we think they’re connected to whoever or whatever was behind it all.” The alpha looked at Colin. “I was hoping you’d be able to reveal a bit more of the mystery surrounding the whole mess.”
Colin shrugged. “I’m as much in the dark as you. Hell, I spent the last eight years keeping a bunch of my friends alive, and keeping my head down. Living in the shadow of the Corridor Pack, I spent most of my time making sure they didn’t come to eat my people in the middle of the night.”
Samson nodded. “Smart, living right under the noses of the baddest predators on the block. I bet it helped keep the heat off you from the vamps and deaders. Still, I wish I would’ve known you were alive. Could’ve used your help down along the coast.”
I cleared my throat. “This reminiscing and catching up is touching and all, but I still have a threat to deal with. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to gather up my people and track down those dogs, ’til they lead me to whoever is making the damned things.”
Samson looked at Colin. “Necromancy?”
Colin frowned. “Looks that way.”
The old alpha nodded as he regarded me. “I owe you a solid since you rescued my… Bobby. So, I’m going to leave him on loan to you, and I’m going to send a couple of my people with you to track these things back to their lair.”
Not one to turn down help when it was offered, I nodded my assent. “Much obliged. After seeing how you dealt with those deader dogs, I’d be glad to have your people along.”
“Deader dogs?” Samson asked.
“I keep calling them familiars, but the other name seems to have stuck,” Colin replied.
The old wolf laughed. “I suppose it’s as good a name as any. But take my advice—whatever made those things is packing some badass magical juju. Don’t try taking them on b
y yourself. If you want to take them out, come back and let us help you.”
“I’ll consider it,” was my only reply. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are y’all going to do while we’re gone?”
Samson gave Colin a look that spoke of plans within plans, and I got the feeling something had been decided before we’d arrived. “For now, we’ll stick around here and run patrols around this ‘Facility’ of yours.”
I frowned at Colin. “You told them about that?”
“You can trust them, Scratch. Samson and I go way back.”
“Wasn’t your decision to make, but it’s too late now.” I narrowed my eyes as I addressed Samson. “Nobody approaches the Facility until I get back. Last thing I need is a bunch of ’thropes to show up and freak everyone out. Things are tense enough as it is.”
“It’s your place, so it’s your call,” was all Samson said in reply.
I turned to give Colin a hard stare. “And as for you, when I get back we’re going to have a long discussion about OPSEC.”
“Whatever you say, Scratch.”
He actually had the audacity to smile as he said it, and I found myself wishing I’d dislocated his knee back at the castle house.
We tracked the remains of the deader dog pack east and north over the course of two days without ever catching up to them. I was worried they’d head for Canyon Lake, but they skirted around it and made a beeline for Kyle, crossing IH-35—just south of the former bedroom community. From there, they continued in a north-northeasterly direction, moving quickly and never stopping in their efforts to get wherever the hell they were headed. They crossed 45 and 183, finally turning north as they led us through what were once sparsely-populated areas south of Austin.
The two ’thropes Samson had sent along with us were stoically silent during the entire trip. One was the big man who’d expressed his dislike of “The Circle,” whatever the hell that was. He went by Sledge, and he looked like he’d earned the name. The other was a muscular Latina woman with short-cropped hair and a lot of ink. She said her name was Trina, and the permanent scowl on her face told me that was about all she was going to say.