“How do you know this?”
“I’m with IRD. The In …human …”
“I know what it is. What are you guys doing here?”
After pulling in a breath and swallowing it, the soldier said, “Our scouts found two escaped prisoners who were headed here. Soon as they saw the Class Ones, our scouts called in for armed response. That’s us.”
“What escaped prisoners?”
The soldier started to talk but came up short. After another breath he grunted, “From Colorado.”
Knowing he was referring to Lambert and Frank, Cole asked, “What’s a Class One?”
“You …call them Full Bloods. Something’s wrong.”
Cole had moved away from the soldier to take a look through the window. The Half Breed was on its side and completely covered by living flaps of skin. “You’re damn right something’s wrong.”
“No,” the soldier grunted through a clenched jaw. “Something’s wrong with me. It feels like …like I broke some—” His words became a scream as his face twisted into a nightmarish version of its former self. His body flopped against the floor while his hands reached out to grab anything within reach.
“Holy shit,” Cole said as he rushed over to his side. “What’s wrong?”
The first crunch could have been made by the soldier’s boot stomping against some rubble or a fallen piece of equipment. The second definitely came from inside his body, but wasn’t extraordinary considering how wildly he was thrashing. When the soldier came to a stop, his breath was caught in his throat and his back arched. Four or five wet pops flowed through his torso as his bones were snapped like twigs inside him.
Cole stood up and watched in disbelief as more of the soldier’s bones cracked into pieces. When the man opened his mouth again, his voice was a deep-throated groan. Smaller bumps formed on his arms and face, popping open to release bundles of thick, wiry fur from his skin.
“You weren’t bitten,” Cole said. “I checked. You had to have been bitten for this to happen. Bitten down to the bone. Nothing got to you!”
The scream that had been building inside the soldier erupted amid a spray of blood and spit that flew from his mouth and then rained down upon his face. He slapped and kicked the slanted floor while more of his bones cracked inside his body.
“What the fuck is happening?” Cole asked, even though he already knew the answer. He’d seen the before picture and he’d seen the after, but this was the first time he’d seen one transition into the other.
“You’re a Skin …Skinner, right?” the soldier asked when the crackling within his body subsided.
Cole nodded.
The soldier’s eyes had been light brown a moment ago. Now they shifted into the dark, clouded orbs of a feral monster that was just beginning to feel its first pangs of hunger. His jaw opened as far as it could go, trembled, and then snapped with a loud, wet crunch. It was a grisly sight that captivated Cole in a way that was both unexplainable and shameful. Once he recovered from his shock, he gripped the wooden weapon Jessup had given him and drove it into the soldier’s heart.
The instant the sharpened end found its new home, Cole felt sick. He should have done it sooner, before the soldier was forced to endure the Breaking. He’d put plenty of Half Breeds down, but not until they were ready, willing, and able to tear his head off. This wasn’t a matter of survival. It felt like murder. Through the weapon’s handle he could feel the vibration of deeper bones breaking. That’s when he knew the act he’d just committed wasn’t murder, but mercy. Unfortunately for both of them, this act wasn’t over yet.
The soldier still squirmed and pushed air from his lungs. Cole pulled the blade out, raised it high in both hands and dropped it down into the soldier’s chest. Finally, the younger man’s body slumped and the final huff of air escaped through bloodied lips.
Cole couldn’t bear to look at the body. He didn’t even want to think about what the poor bastard had become. Instead, he thought about everything that had happened up to that point. Gunfire still chattered in the distance, probably fired by members of a genuine shadow government agency. When he looked over the rest of the men who’d been in the helicopter during the crash, he realized there was nothing he could do for them. The soldier had mentioned seeing more than one Full Blood. If that was more than just a slip of the tongue due to a whole lot of pain, he would need more than a wooden club and a few guns to deal with them. He made his way to the metal locker at the back of the helicopter, pulled it open and found a rack of assault rifles and several cases of ammunition. He slung one rifle over each shoulder, scooped some ammo into his pockets, and left the rest.
Talons scraped against the side of the helicopter, sounding close enough to all the other scraping for Cole to dismiss it after a quick look through the small square window built into the side door. On his way to the front of the cabin, he gripped the steel posts to maintain his balance while stepping over the bodies. The opening to the cockpit was bent and twisted to the point that even a multijointed Half Breed must have had trouble getting out. All he could see when he looked past that opening was shredded seats, broken equipment, and so much pulpy blood that it was impossible to say how many people had been ripped apart in there. One of the Half Breeds was probably a pilot, but the first could have been another soldier. That still didn’t explain how the Half Breeds had been created or ready to attack so quickly when most of their kind needed time to curl up and recuperate from the Breaking.
The scraping against the door continued. It was the same scraping as before. Same pattern. Same loudness. Same duration.
Not scraping, Cole realized.
Knocking.
He glanced out the scratched and dirty side window to find a lot of torn-up ground and an overturned statue of a Half Breed. There wasn’t a single gargoyle in the sky, which meant nothing for a species that was born to hide damn near anywhere. More than likely, Jessup was already doing his thing to point them toward the center of the nearby commotion.
The knock that tapped against the door nearly made him jump out of his skin. Cole managed to control his frazzled nerves and bladder by gripping the two automatic rifles he’d slung over his shoulders. The knocks that followed came in the same pattern and were made by a very familiar forked shape that cracked against the outside of the window directly in front of him.
It was his own spear.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cole readied the assault rifle as best he could. He might have fired a few different kinds of guns while researching his work on the
After opening the door, he thought of several different ways he could be attacked after stepping outside. The barrel of his gun could be grabbed, he could be stabbed from above, or he might be smashed in the face. So, ready for almost anything, he jumped outside with his finger on the rifle’s trigger.
“Heya, Cole.”
Spinning around to face the voice, Cole aimed his rifle at a man who leaned with his back against the helicopter and the spear propped casually against the dented metal beside him.
“What are you doing with my weapon, Rico?”
“You gave it to me back in Denver, remember?”
“Yeah. That was back before I found out what a traitorous piece of shit you are.”
The big man scowled, which did nothing to make his face any uglier than it already was. “You’ve been talkin’ to Paige, huh?”
“Yes I have, which is why I should shoot you right now.”
Rico stepped forward and raised both arms. He wore faded green Army surplus pants, heavy biker books with chains wrapped around the ankles, and a jacket he rarely took off. The tanned leather was made from several layers of Half Breed hide, and the strips of canvas were merely filler until he could collect and treat more dead werewolves.
“What are you doing here?”
