came almost down to his breastbone. He wore weathered jeans, work boots, and a hooded sweatshirt from the University of Texas wrapped around his thick body. “You two need a ride?” he asked.
Nadya rushed to Paige’s side. The blade in her hand still had blood dripping from it as she said, “Yes. We need to go back up the road to—”
“No,” Paige cut in. “You guys need to get into those trucks and ride somewhere safer than this. We got here on our own. We can get back on our own.”
Another man hopped down from the back of the green pickup, striding past the cab while notching an arrow into what looked to be a compound bow. Paige had seen one or two of the things in hunting catalogues and on a few nature shows when she’d been too lazy to change channels. The man with the bow clamped a cigarette between his teeth, which flared brightly as he inhaled and drew the arrow all the way back to his shoulder. He released the arrow and sent the pointed missile straight into the neck of a Half Breed that had attempted to circle around the group. Even with the arrow lodged so close to its shoulder, the thing barely slowed down. A trickle of blood seeped from the wound, which only made it angrier when it charged the pickup in a series of off-balance steps. The archer cursed while reaching over his shoulder for another arrow. Before he could notch it, his buddies opened fire with their hunting rifles and buried the Half Breed in a storm of lead.
The creature made it to the truck, climbed onto the hood and snapped at the driver through the windshield. Its snout cracked the glass and rivers of saliva smeared the pane.
“Get it away from there, Al!” the archer said while calmly circling the red truck.
While staring at the werewolf through the windshield, the driver of the red truck reached for the steering column and pulled the lever that sent a spray of blue fluid from the squirters. Most of the cleaning solution soaked into the Half Breed’s matted fur, but some of it splashed into its eyes and got the thing to backpedal toward the front of the hood. After shaking some of the fluid away by tossing its head from side to side, the Half Breed glared at the driver with such single-minded intensity that it took no notice of the archer until he put an arrow straight through its eye.
“Don’t like that, do ya?” the archer said while rushing forward to grab the shaft protruding from the Half Breed’s face. When the werewolf snapped at his hand, he gripped the arrow tight enough to hold the werewolf in place as his buddies with the shotguns surrounded him and emptied their buckshot into the creature’s body.
When the Half Breed stopped twitching, the archer jerked the arrow from its eye and asked, “Now what were you ladies saying about us finding somewhere safer to be?”
“You did real good against one of those things,” Paige replied. “But there’s a lot more out there.”
“We know,” the man with the long beard said. “Town’s full of the damned things.”
“Which is why you should get somewhere safe.”
“Ain’t nowhere safe,” the archer grunted as he flipped his cigarette to the ground, then stomped it out. “Didn’t you hear the man just now? The whole town’s full of these fucking things. Now do you have somewhere you need to be or don’t you?”
Paige looked down at the medical kit she’d tucked under her arm. Then she looked at Nadya and back to the guys near the pickup. “Are you guys locals?”
“We can swap names and numbers somewhere else or we can part ways right now. You got until I make it back to my truck to decide.” Without wasting another word, the archer slung his bow over one shoulder and went back to the green pickup.
The driver of the red truck, who Paige assumed was Al, stuck his head out his window and said, “Them things are crawling all over this town and it looks like they won’t be leaving anytime soon. You’re lucky enough to walk away from that wreck, so you might as well come along with us.”
Paige didn’t know what to make of them. If they were Skinners, that would explain some things. With the battle raging nearby, the only thing of which she was certain was that she didn’t have the time to sit and plan out every move as much as she would have liked. “Can you get us to that garage down the road?”
“You mean the autobody place?”
Since she’d smelled motor oil and metal before rushing out of the wide building, she guessed that was it. She climbed into the back of one of the trucks and said, “Just drop us off as close as you can and then get to wherever you need to be. If things get too hairy, you can let us off wherever.”
The archer slapped the side of the red truck as he headed back to the green one. “Lady, every damn thing’s getting hairy around here. Whether we ride up one street or down another don’t matter anymore.” With that, he climbed into the green truck and told the driver to get moving.
Once Nadya was in the bed of the red vehicle with Paige, both pickups made a U-turn and jumped a curb to get back onto the street. Along the way, Paige studied the field next to the airport. It was hard to tell for certain, but it seemed the Mongrels were making some progress. Liam held up the body of a digger, threw it into another Mongrel and was attacked by two more that had been cloaked. Minh tried to jump to Liam’s side and was weighed down by several felines that clung to her with every tooth and nail at their disposal. Bodies of all shapes converged on the Full Bloods. Before she could see any more than that, Paige’s truck veered into a parking lot and sped around to the back of the wide building with the garage doors. Sure enough, there was a little sign on the side of the building that read SAL’S AUTOBODY.
“You gonna be okay here, ladies?” the archer asked.
Paige and Nadya jumped down from the truck. Handing the medical kit to the Amriany, Paige replied, “We’ll be okay. What about you guys?”
“Made it this far. That don’t mean shit when it comes to the end of days, but we should be able to make it a little longer.”
Hearing that made Paige fairly certain the man wasn’t a Skinner. At least, he hadn’t been one for long. Most experienced werewolf hunters had already seen and killed enough to have grown comfortable with anything resembling the end of days. Just to be sure, she approached the green truck and extended a hand. “My name’s Paige and that’s Nadya. I’d ask you in, but that’s not such a good idea.”
Glancing to the door through which Nadya had already disappeared, he said, “John Waggoner. Ask anyone in town and they’ll tell you I ain’t about to hurt you. Whatever you’re protecting in there, it’s safe with us.”
“I’m sure it is, John. I appreciate the help. Is there a way I can get in touch with you?”
“We’ll swing by here in an hour or so. If that throw-down out there gets worse, it may take a little longer. There are other folks in town we need to check on. Any chance we could send some stragglers this way?”
Waggoner was no Skinner. His palms were rough and callused, but not scarred. Although she’d had her notions about the bow slung across his shoulder, that wasn’t a Skinner weapon either. It was too smooth to have ever changed shape, and the handle was made for comfort instead of drawing the blood of its owner.
“Yeah,” Paige said. “If anyone needs to come here, send them over. Just tell them not to be alarmed with what may greet them.”
“Are you sure about that?” Nadya asked quietly.
Patting her arm, Paige watched the men in the pickups. “Just have your stragglers mention my name if you come back and they should at least get shelter. Still, we’re kind of in a bad spot right now.”
“Understood,” Waggoner said with a nod. “Paige, right?”
“Yep.”
“Appreciate the help. We’ll swing by later to check in on you.” With that, he slapped the side of the truck and motioned for the driver to get moving. Both vehicles rolled away, gunning their engines as they were almost immediately chased by a pair of wandering Half Breeds.
“You think we’ll see them again?” Nadya asked.
“Odds of survival aren’t much worse for them than they are for us. Let’s just see what we can do for Milosh right now.”
Nadya led the way downstairs to the cellar inhabited by the Mongrels. Stopping at the top of the stairs, Paige dug into her pocket for her phone. The device might not have been up to Cole’s technical standards, but it was sturdy enough to survive all the bumps it had taken during the last several hours and still let her know she’d missed a call. The number on the caller ID was familiar, so she tapped the screen right away.
“Midwestern Ectological Group, how can—”
Paige interrupted the unfamiliar voice with a bare-bones introduction and an identification number that verified she was one of MEG’s “special contacts.”
“Hang on,” the operator said. “I’m supposed to patch you right through to Stu.”
