Without a single word in protest, Frank remained where he was and watched as the Half Breeds scrambled to regroup and charge at the only target they could see. Even from a distance it was obvious that the Squam was coiling for a burst of movement. His entire body compressed until the tips of his splayed fingers dipped beneath the snow like a lineman getting ready for the quarterback to snap the ball.
Rather than try to find a single body through his scope, Cole picked a spot between the Half Breeds and Frank. The Half Breeds were hungry and too riled up to try anything more sophisticated than a head-on run at their target. As soon as Cole spotted something at the lowest edge of his magnified line of sight, he exhaled and squeezed the trigger. By the time the Brown Tactical bucked against his shoulder, a Half Breed was charging across the center of his sights. The Snapper round punched a hole through the back of the creature’s head, emptied the contents of its skull onto the ground and sent the werewolf skidding on its chest for another few feet. Cole opened his other eye so he could see the entire shoreline while retaining a hazy view through the scope. His next shot was taken quickly, using pure video game reflexes. His instructor would have slapped him on the back of the head for taking it, and Paige would have given him another jab for wasting a Snapper round, but none of that was necessary. His round tunneled into a Half Breed’s shoulder, doing enough damage to send the creature spiraling onto its side as it headed toward Frank.
Now that the two shots had been taken, Frank sprang into action. He leapt straight into the air to avoid the last uninjured Half Breed and came down with one large foot on top of the one Cole had winged. Although they couldn’t be seen from a distance, the Squam’s nails sprouted into claws, which he drove in between the wounded Half Breed’s ribs. The werewolf howled in pain as those claws sank home and the poison from the Snapper ripped through its system.
“You got that last one?” Paige asked.
Cole and Frank answered with a simultaneous, “Yeah.”
She set her rifle down and picked up the binoculars. Within seconds she spotted the others Frank had warned them about earlier. “I see two more.”
“Only two?” Cole asked. “No prob.”
“No. Two more packs,” Paige clarified. “One coming in from the arch and the other from those trailers.”
Cole looked toward the Gateway Arch and spotted a cluster of werewolves moving along the Riverfront. The other pack was swarming over and around a row of trailers left there after a festival that marked the city of St. Louis’s last attempt at conducting business as usual. The festival hadn’t been the bloodbath some people predicted, but it was cut short when three people went through the Breaking less than two hours after the music started. They were gunned down before they could hurt anyone, the festival was cancelled, and the trailers set up to sell apple cider and caramel apples were left behind as temporary obstacles for the werewolves that came toward the Riverfront and veered off sharply before getting anywhere close to Frank.
“Shit,” Cole grunted. “Frank, try to draw those things to you.”
“What more do you want me to do?” the Squam replied as the surviving member of the first pack lunged at him again.
Cole fired his third round at the Half Breed, but only caused a burst of snow to explode within two feet of the creature. “The other packs aren’t headed for you anymore. See if you can draw them away from those riverboats!”
The casino and restaurants were the main reason the Skinners were there. Despite added security to protect those who’d decided not to heed the countless warnings from local police and newscasters, packs of Half Breeds had claimed the Riverfront and killed dozens of people. Now, whether there were people in sight or not, the werewolves had become smart enough to know the boats were a perfect source for a quick meal.
After cursing incoherently into his transmitter, Frank leapt away from the Half Breed, dropped into a crouch as soon as he landed, then sprang forward into an even higher jump that carried him along the frozen bank of the river. He barely sounded winded when he said, “The others had better be close.”
As soon as Cole was finished reloading, he found Frank through his scope and fired at the first hint of movement to come up behind the Squam. The Half Breeds had gathered too much steam, however, and his shot only caused another pretty pop in the snow. “Shit,” he said while lowering the rifle and flipping the safety. “They’re moving too fast for me to catch them.”
“There’s a big cluster behind Frank and to the left,” Paige announced.
Cole’s thumb flipped the safety off and he pressed his cheek to the rifle while keeping both eyes open. As soon as he found the group she was talking about, he sighted through the scope and fired two quick shots into the mass of fur and gnarled muscle. The Half Breeds scattered amid a series of grating yelps, leaving three of them behind. Two staggered and fell over, while the third hobbled and gnawed at a fresh wound in its flank that must have been put there by a round that went through one of the other two. Cole put it out of its misery with a shot straight through its face, which was a beauty to behold.
“I’ve got three Snappers left,” he said. “Should I load ’em up?”
“Don’t bother,” Paige told him. “Listen.”
A low rumble filled the air, which Cole could feel almost as much as hear. As the rumble became more rhythmic, a voice crackled over their earpieces.
“Raven One approaching. Targets in sight.”
Seconds later a sleek helicopter roared over the Skinners’ heads, then angled out toward the water. Cole saw that it was the same type of aircraft that had been brought down when he and Jessup had met up with Rico in New Mexico. After working more extensively with the IRD in recent months, he knew it was a modified NH90 Tactical Transport. It roared down to where most of the Half Breeds were gathered, hovering about twenty feet off the ground while a large barrel extended through the third window along the helicopter’s curved frame.
“Frank, clear out!” Cole shouted almost loud enough for his message to make it to the Squam without the earpieces.
Frank skidded amid a spray of dirty snow, changed direction and started retracing his steps. The Half Breeds closest to him scrambled and adjusted their course as well. So far, none of the werewolves were paying any attention to the helicopter. Leaping over the Half Breeds, Frank cleared a path for the aircraft’s gunner to open fire. The belt-fed machine gun sprayed hot lead onto the Riverfront, hitting more snow than Half Breeds as the helicopter swung around to keep the creatures from racing toward the riverboats anchored less than a block away. Rather than scatter again, the Half Breeds leapt up to sink their claws into the side of the helicopter.
“Can you take any of them out?” Paige asked as she watched the helicopter through her binoculars.
Cole looked through his scope but was having a hard time keeping the bobbing aircraft in view. “It’d be a wild shot. Even if I hit one of them, there’s a chance I could punch through the helicopter.”
“Shit. This is why we should always work up close,” she grunted while packing up the few things she’d brought along. “I told these Army guys not to rely too heavily on guns, but do they listen to me? Nooooo!”
“So they
“You know what I mean. Let’s just get down there before somebody hits Frank.”
The Skinners carried their equipment to a four-door car with Illinois plates. Since it wasn’t a Cavalier, Paige didn’t seem to care whether she drove it into a wall. Since it wasn’t their old Cavalier, specifically, she barely seemed to care what model or make it was. Once their stuff was loaded, she climbed in behind the steering wheel and started the engine. The moment his back hit the seat, Cole was reaching for his safety belt.
Near the Riverfront, the chopping sound of the machine gun competed with the thumping of the helicopter’s blades as Half Breeds barked and screamed up at the aircraft. Soon those sounds were joined by the screech of metal being peeled away and the whine of an engine straining to compensate for additional weight. Cole looked back and saw several werewolves dangling from the helicopter and kicking as they were lifted farther off the ground.
“They’re trying to bring it down,” he reported.
Paige shook her head and gritted her teeth while driving to a nearby off-ramp. “Of course they are. They always do. Why the hell do they make us give those stupid briefings if nobody listens to us about little things like how fast Half Breeds are or how high they can jump?”
“Because Adderson already thinks he knows everything?”
Most times, just hearing the name of the man in charge of the IRD was enough to make Paige’s mood worse than usual. “Bingo,” she said. “Keep them updated on what we’re doing. Hopefully that’ll keep them from shooting
