cities they’ve kicked us out of. I don’t see how things could get much worse.”
“Some of the Full Bloods are fighting each other,” Cole said. “That’s something.”
“Any casualties?” she asked hopefully.
“Randolph was nearly gutted, but don’t get too excited. He’s gone.”
“What?”
“I saw him get his ass handed to him by a gray Full Blood named Esteban, and when we went to salvage the body before I made this call, we couldn’t find him.”
Although Paige didn’t like hearing that, she wasn’t too surprised. Werewolves like Randolph and Liam didn’t survive for hundreds of years by being easy to kill. “The Full Bloods have waited to make a move like this for centuries,” she said. “They’ve got more planned than taking over a few towns or nipping at each other.”
“According to MEG, the Breaking Moon won’t be fully risen until about three in the morning.”
“The Witching Hour?” Paige asked.
“They called it the Dead Hour, but yeah. Three a.m. is when the Breaking Moon will give all it’s got. From everything we’ve seen so far, I don’t think we want to let that happen or be there when it does.”
“Well, if there’s a big bomb that’s gonna go off, I’d prefer to be two inches away from it. Quick and painless. Same goes for this.”
“You’re a scary lady sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?” she mused. “Must be slipping.”
In the distance a muffled explosion ripped through one end of town. The ground beneath her feet trembled with the passing of digging Mongrels. A few gunshots from directly outside the store silenced a pair of snarling Half Breeds. She closed her eyes for a second, savored the relative calm that followed, and tried to imagine the face at the other end of the phone connection.
“How bad is it over there?” Cole asked.
“Bad enough that this town’s pretty much gonna have to be written off. Kansas City was brutal, but this …”
“Don’t think about that, Paige. We need to keep this craziness from spreading any farther,
“It’s already spreading,” she said, as if admitting to a terrible wrong she’d personally committed. “From what we can tell, at least two nearby towns in this county were hit by Half Breeds. Could be worse already by now.”
“Well, the cops are already sealing this place off,” Cole reported. “Your IRD buddies have come in to quarantine the spot where all the fighting took place, but Raton, New Mexico, is all over the news. Why the hell isn’t anyone taking notice of Oklahoma?”
“That’s what I plan on finding out, but I have my suspicions. How long before you can get here?”
“I’m still waiting for Tristan to get herself prepared for what she needs to do,” Cole said. “It sounds like this could take a lot out of her. I just hope it’s worth it. This would go a whole lot smoother if we knew exactly where to find you, but if I don’t hear from you in an hour, we’ll try to get as close as possible.”
She nodded and steeled herself as a low howl crept through town. Everytime she heard that sound, it reached deeper inside her. “You said the IRD is there. What about Rico?”
“He came with the helicopters and soldiers. Seems to be back to his old self.”
“Keep an eye on him.”
She heard another explosion, followed by a howl and what sounded like grating interference over the digital connection. This time, all of it came from Cole’s side. “Just try to stay alive long enough for me to see you again, okay?” he said.
“I will.”
The next two seconds were heavy with sentiments that neither one of them bothered to express. They knew they could not afford to drift away from the mind-set required to kill or die if the opportunity presented itself. After some bare-bones farewells that slipped from Paige’s mind the moment she said them, the connection was cut and she was on her own once more.
After handing over the plastic bucket to Bill, she stepped outside through a shattered window and surveyed the street while her concoction was loaded onto the green truck and driven away. Cars were situated at odd angles on the curb, in parking lots or on lawns where they’d stopped after hitting a tree that was solid enough to do the job. The smoky air reeked of burning oil, gasoline, and charred wood. Sections of concrete were cracked after too many Mongrels had tunneled beneath it, and nearly every pane of glass in sight had been smashed to pieces.
Paige looked through the remnants of the shop’s front window as the ever-present heat in her hands flared up. Two Half Breeds approached the green pickup, drawn by the scents drifting out from the paint store. Bill had gone out the back and Jesse was next door checking to see if any supplies could be salvaged from a discount bakery thrift shop. When one of the werewolves stared directly at her and perked its ears, Paige gripped her machete in one hand and her Beretta in the other. Rather than take cover inside the paint store, she stood just inside the shattered front window where the Half Breeds would have to come at her head-on.
The first one sprung forward, and as soon as it left its feet, she responded with a clubbing downward swing. The flat of the machete’s blade thumped against fur-covered muscle, sending the creature down onto a jagged landscape of broken glass sticking up from the bottom of the window frame. The glass didn’t go in far after being snagged in the natural armor of the creature’s furry hide, but it was enough to hold it there so she could get in a few uncontested shots with the Beretta. The shots were still ringing in her ears when she swung her machete again. The steel coated edge hacked through the Half Breed’s neck and lodged in its spine. Rather than remove the blade, she used the gun in her hand like a hammer to hit the machete and drive it the rest of the way through.
Then she turned toward the other Half Breed. No sooner had it set its sights on her than the creature was stuck by an arrow. It entered its right ear and carved a tunnel through the middle of its skull. Staggering like a drunk, the Half Breed tried to look for the whoever had fired the arrow, and meanwhile caught another one in the mouth. Waggoner stepped up and notched a third arrow. When the Half Breed dropped and began convulsing, he slung the bow over one shoulder.
“Now that,” he said, snapping a photo of the Half Breed with the arrows through its skull, “was one hell of a shot. Reminds me of that guy with the white hair and the arrow through his head.”
“Steve Martin?” Paige offered, looking down the street.
“No. That’s not the one.”
“Yes it is. He’s the one who wore the arrow through his head back in the seventies.”
Waggoner pocketed his phone and reached down to retrieve the arrow protruding from the Half Breed’s ear. “You know. He was the wild and crazy guy. I think that was George Carlin.”
“It’s not, but whatever. The others are headed back to Al’s house, right?”
“Should be.”
Satisfied that the street was clear for the moment, she said, “There’s got to be a reason why this town isn’t crawling with cops, news crews, and at least a few soldiers by now. Have your guys been calling for help?”
“We called the county sheriff. That’s his office down the block. Didn’t do any good, though. Al tried calling the National Guard and even the damn United States Marine Corps, but they didn’t listen to him. Of course, Al calls them about plenty of stupid shit. He’s probably on some kinda list by now.”
“That doesn’t explain all of the calls that have got to be coming from here.” Paige said. “You said that’s the county sheriff down the street?”
Waggoner nodded. “It’s the building with all the benches and the flagpole in front of it. I still don’t see how the hell someone didn’t get help using their own damn phone by now.”
“They probably made the call,” Paige replied. “But if the military is going to take it seriously, they’ll try to verify with someone official. With everything else that’s going on now, they’re probably swamped with crank calls that sound just as crazy as the real ones. How about we check out a hunch of mine. You ready to make a run for it?”
“Let’s do this.”
They vaulted through the window and landed on the sidewalk outside the paint store, then headed toward the corner of East Court Street and North Delaware Avenue. In the silence between attacks, the sound of Paige’s steps echoed in her ears, and her breath sounded like a windstorm being pulled back and forth through her head. Distant howls mixed with everything from screams to shotgun blasts.
The county sheriff’s office was a tan brick building with a large wavy shelf of black stone protruding from the
