that you and Rico spent a lot of time at strip bars or in jail. Real productive. Still beats Chicago at this time of year. Sometimes there’s barely any snow around here. Everyone used to panic at the first sign of a flake. One time,” she chuckled, “there were school closings because the forecast was for it to be cold. Wasn’t cold yet. Just forecasted to be cold. Wish it was that easy to get out of class when I was going to school.”
“Little Paige Strobel in her pigtails and backpack. Mmmm.” Cole’s thoughts were cut short by a quick thump of Paige’s boot against his ribs. He could barely feel the blow through his two flannel shirts and T-shirt but wasn’t about to ask for a follow-up shot. Even if she’d put some real mustard behind the blow, his outermost layer would have absorbed it on its own. The long coat he wore was tailored from strips of Full Blood hide and allowed him to shrug off direct shotgun blasts. It was confiscated from him when he was taken into custody, but had recently been returned, thanks to some impressive connections in the official chain of command.
“Look sharp,” Paige announced. “Your boy’s headed for the river.”
Cole stretched out one arm to support the rifle that was held steady by a collapsible stand situated near the edge of the overpass, giving the smooth black barrel of the Brown Precision Tactical Elite plenty of clearance above the snow. The rest of the sniper rifle was coated in a similar black Teflon finish, so only the lenses of the scope would reflect anything from the few functioning streetlights in the area. He gazed through the scope and gripped the rifle behind the trigger so he could slowly pan along the nearby shoreline.
They were on the outskirts of downtown, with the Gateway Arch to their left and several layers of highway overpasses behind them. Not long ago there had been more riverboats connected to illuminated piers. Most were casinos and the rest were restaurants or tourist traps. One of the casinos was still open and even had a good crowd inside. The restaurants were open as well, but not doing a lot of business. In the months following the Breaking Moon, people were still willing to make the occasional attempt at a normal life no matter what else was going on. Still, even for a cold winter night, St. Louis was close to deserted.
“I don’t . . . wait a second,” Cole said. “Now I see him. Look at that guy move!”
Below the overpass were several low buildings and a wide expanse of parking lots normally used for busy summer days, festivals, or to contain overflow from sporting events. Since the werewolves had claimed the streets, open spaces that backed onto walls or the river were avoided at all costs. Because of that, the figure running from the direction of the arch had nobody to get in his way and only a few derelict cars to vault over as he dashed toward the water. Light from the highway and riverboats gave the snow a dim glow that radiated up to the night sky. When the figure hit the ground and spun around to glance toward the overpass, Cole lifted a hand over his head and waved without taking his eyes from the scope. “Hey, Frankie.”
“He doesn’t like being called that,” Paige reminded him.
“That’s why I didn’t say it too loud. How many is he bringing to the party?”
She lowered herself to one knee beside and slightly behind him, sighting through the binoculars until she spotted several shapes rustling through the shadows. “Four. Maybe five. They’re coming straight for him.”
Frank was a Squamatosapien, and like most Lizard Men, didn’t enjoy the cold. It wasn’t his natural habitat, but he wasn’t about to curl up and die after being caught too far away from Florida during the winter months. His heavier breathing and steps might have cut down on his sneaking ability, but the steely chill in the air added fuel to his fire when he ran. Like any other Squam, he could cover plenty of ground in a short amount of time and wasn’t hampered by the dark.
Through his scope, Cole could see the vaguely luminescent sheen on Frank’s eyes as his tear ducts squirted a substance onto his eyeballs that allowed him to see scents. After snapping his head around to catch sight of the Half Breeds, the Squam crouched down and drew his entire body into a compact bundle. He waited for the last second before exploding in a flailing tangle of arms and legs that extended just a bit farther than human proportions. The moment his first toe touched the ground again, his legs aligned for a perfect landing and his arms swung at his sides to preserve his momentum.
The Half Breeds tore past a squat rectangular building at the edge of one lot that had been used to sell parking passes, then put Frank in their sights, fanning out so two could dart ahead and another three could scramble over a chain-link fence surrounding the lot. The werewolves were moving erratically to swarm around the lot and building, and their target allowed his head to hang in a classic submission gesture that sent a message to any animal with a predatory lineage. Since Half Breeds were among the most powerful predators out there, he knew they would take a straight run at him as soon as they got a clear field in front of them.
“Are those the new rounds?” Paige asked.
“Yep.”
“Why aren’t you firing yet?”
“Because I want a clean kill,” Cole told her.
“You’re not just going for head shots, are you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you just saying that to shut me up?”
“Yep.”
Before Paige had a chance to fire back at that, Cole zeroed in on the Half Breed that looked to be the leader of the pack. Tracking so many of them over the months following the Breaking Moon, he’d come to recognize their behaviors with ease. Just as that creature was about to bark the command to charge, Cole released the breath he’d been holding and squeezed the trigger. The Brown Tactical bucked once against his shoulder and spat its round through the air. Not only was the rifle custom built to fire a .50 caliber round, but the bullets were lovingly crafted by the Skinners themselves.
Although Cole had spent plenty of time at firing ranges when researching the video game shooters he’d helped design, that experience paled next to the crash course he’d been given by the snipers of the Inhuman Response Division. Although refusing to become official members of the IRD, he, Paige, and a few other Skinners had signed on as specialists with the military fire teams assembled to deal with threats like werewolves and Nymar. As it turned out, his video game experience had sharpened his reflexes and eye-hand coordination, making him proficient with sniper rifles. Either that, he’d thought, or his instructor had been boosting his ego by telling him as much. For the moment, his skill level was high enough to put a round just behind the shoulder of the lead Half Breed.
Not only did the werewolf drop, but its front end slapped against the ground and skidded as being smeared against the cement by a cruel, invisible hand. Its front paws scraped the ground and its head twisted around to send a piercing wail through the air. The bullet that caused all the commotion was a Snapper round. Since Teflon- coated rounds could punch a hole through them that was too clean to put a Half Breed down, and hollow points would only flatten against their skin before penetrating, Rico had taken it upon himself to build Snapper rounds. They were Teflon-coated hollow points filled with a mixture of diluted fragments melted down from the Blood Blade. Initial impact triggered an internal support to collapse, which delayed the flattening of the hollow point just long enough for it to crack open after making it through a Half Breed’s exceptionally tough hide. Then the round broke open with its titular
Cole’s mouth formed half of a small grin as he pulled back the lever to chamber the next round. While the other Half Breeds were looking around for the source of the shot, he took quick aim at a cluster of three and fired. It was a grazing shot that didn’t allow the Snapper to do its thing, but produced a cool metallic explosion in the snow just past a werewolf’s head.
“They’re scattering,” Paige said.
“Ready on the backup.”
Hearing that through her earpiece, Paige dropped her binoculars and picked up an M-4 assault rifle without much of anything by way of special modifications. The overpass was about 250 meters from the Half Breeds, which put them within the weapon’s effective range. As soon as Cole fired his third Snapper into the flank of a Half Breed, Paige pulled her trigger in a quick rhythm that sent the M-4 rounds sparking against concrete, thumping into snow, and clipping the occasional werewolf. Blood was spilled, but not nearly enough to put the creatures down. However, she’d accomplished her goal of scattering the creatures before they overwhelmed Frank, which also gave Cole a chance to shove three more rounds into his rifle.
“There’s more on the way,” Frank said through his matching earpiece.
“Stay put,” Cole replied. “Just for two shots.”
