Vegas Run

by Rachel A Brune

  "What are you doing here?"

  I understood his surprise. With a fire alarm blaring, the arms room should have been on total lockdown.

  "You hear that?" he demanded, pointing at the alarm blinking on and off in the corner of the armory. "It means you should be evacuating. Let's go."

  I growled and stepped out from the shadows behind her, revealing myself in full werewolf glory. Or so I'd like to think.

  His jaw worked, but no sound came out. Calix shrugged and rabbit punched him in the solar plexus.

  The man's eyes rolled into the top of his head, and he folded in half, down and out for the count.

  Calix crouched to grab him under the armpits. "Grab his feet, will you?"

  I complied, and we carried him back into the armory, closing the door behind us to allay suspicions.

  Together, we set the unconscious armorer down on a wooden crate and looked around. Calix turned slowly, the smile on her face growing ever broader. The pure glee reminded me of Karen in a gun store. Or me in an Italian butcher shop.

  On the other hand, many of the weapons, aside from the rows of M-4 rifles and pistols of various makes, were designed to threaten the health and welfare of supernatural creatures. A rack of swords sported blades of steel and silver alloys–I could almost taste the acrid stench of the metal. At the end of the rifle rack, a slew of tranq guns and TASERs stood stacked next to each other.

  "Those bastards." Calix strode to the wall opposite the swords. Hanging by itself on a peg, her peculiar blade flashed in the still-strobing alarm light.

  She grasped the handle of the weapon, lifting it from the peg and giving it a few swings. Satisfied they hadn't harmed her baby, she looked around at the rest of the toys.

  "See anything that grabs your fancy?"

  I gestured to the rifles, and she nodded. Not every rifle had a sling attached to it, but she picked out two that did.

  As for me, remembering the hybrid creatures we faced in Black Mountain, as well as the strength and sharp teeth and claws of whatever Gratusczak had turned himself into, the last wall of the armory held the only weapon that appealed to me.

  A heavy steel rack held a lineup of half a dozen flamethrowers. I pointed to one of them and gestured.

  Calix didn't bat an eye, just adjusted the straps to their loosest setting, and helped sling them over my shoulders. They barely fit, the handle almost too small and intricate for my paws, but I'd manage.

  I grinned. Best day ever.

  At the end of the room stood a heavy, metal door with another of the handprint panels next to it. The various warning stickers pasted on the door proclaimed to the world–or anyone who could get into the armory–that this was where the good stuff had been deposited.

  Calix handed me the weapons she'd collected, keeping her sword firmly grasped in her left hand, ready to use. She dragged the still-sleeping armorer over to the door and pressed his hand against the panel. The door whirred, clicked, then opened about an inch ajar. Calix unceremoniously dropped the armorer's hand and swung the door the rest of the way out.

  "This is so beautiful." She smiled and stepped aside to show me the spoils.

  We had just enough time to admire the impressive display of rows and boxes of ammunition, tranq darts, and explosive material, before the alarm shut off.

  "Crap, let's get moving." Calix grabbed a quick and varied selection of full magazines for the rifles, explosives, detonators, and a few other choice objects of destruction.

  At that moment, a new, insistent beeping started up. I tried to growl something along the lines of "Hey, that's the arms room alarm," but it mostly came out as a series of R's and Grr's. Calix got the message.

  We skedaddled on out of there, Calix with her arms full of weapons and ammo, me with my arms full of armorer. We had just enough time to close the door and slide down the hall to an empty conference room before the tramp of the goon squad blocked our way out.

  I dumped the unconscious man behind the door and stared at Calix. "Rut rext?"

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  What came next was the goon squad realized no one would let them into the armory, and the troop of hybrid creatures started taking turns kicking the door. Just goes to show you could have strong soldiers, and you could have smart soldiers, and these things were bred for all muscle.

  We waited until they were fully occupied with the door–and leaving little dents all over the reinforced steel surface–until we jumped out like two extremely unscary horror movie minions.

  There's nothing more anticlimactic than jumping out at an enemy, ready to tear limbs and beat jerkoffs, and getting completely ignored.

  "Hey, assholes!" Calix brandished her sword. None of the six creatures spared us a glance. Maybe we were too badass for them.

  The hybrid that grabbed me from behind and threw me into the wall, crunching parts of me that shouldn't be crunched, put that thought to the lie.

  I shook off the impact, rolling to my feet and launching myself at the incoming troops. Six to the front of us. About ten to our rear. Perfect odds.

  Unfortunately for us, the hybrids didn't wait in a line to attack us, one by one like in the movies. Instead, they piled on, surrounding us and leaving me little room to swing my claws or Calix her sword.

  A fist like iron thudded into the side of my head, followed by brutal attacks to my side, kidneys, anywhere they could get around my defenses. Even in my Überwechsel state, these fuckers were my equal in size and reach.

  Calix swung, but her sword barely pierced skin, although it raised lacerations that quickly faded. A few made it inside her swing, and she staggered from the blows.

  She swung and pivoted, setting her back against mine. The movement pushed the tanks of the flamethrower against my spine.

  I swung with one hand against the slavering crowd, even as they grabbed my legs. They pulled me in two directions at once by the arms, like kids fighting over an action figure. I started flashing back to the creatures under the Black Mountain facility.

  The nozzle of the flamethrower swung with the motion of the fight. I grabbed it, even as the creature immediately in front of me made a play for it.

  Pretty certain I was about to burn myself alive, I pointed the nozzle at the creature and depressed the trigger.

  The gout of flame spurted out, engulfing the hybrid and filling the hall with the scent of burning flesh. Drool slavered from my jaws. I screamed as the creature fell back. I had ignited the fur along my front. But pain and I were old friends.

  For the next few moments, the fighting intensified as the hybrids kicking in the armory door paused in that mission and turned on us.

  I depressed the nozzle again, spreading flame in great fiery gushes that smelled of chemicals and caused the barbecue scent to intensify. It smelled like brisket, but didn't stir my hunger. They were probably infected.

  As I burned, Calix swung her sword. Where the flamethrower incinerated flesh, it parted more easily beneath her blows.

  In a matter of ten minutes or less, the smoking, bleeding remains of Gratusczak's finest scientific work lay scattered around us. I'm not proud. I'm not ashamed, either, of how satisfying I found it.

  "Rick, let's go." Calix didn't leave me much time to enjoy my triumph, just picked up the stuff we'd raided from the armory and took the lead down the hall.

  I followed slightly behind and to her left. We came upon several more squads of four or six hybrids, heading toward the armory, alerted to the fact the facility had come under attack.

  With each new squad, I roasted them lightly on the outside, and let Calix carve out their tender, red insides.

  I didn't bother asking Calix where we were going–I knew that we'd end up by Karen. I wasn't wrong. We rounded a few corners and found ourselves in front of the server room.

  Calix motioned me back. The door stood ajar. From inside, the sound of raised voices reached us. I recognized them, matched them to their scent. Karen. Ramirez. Cordite and steel.

  Ignorin
g Calix's sudden cry, I pushed the door back and charged in.

  Before us, Ramirez and Karen faced off. In the split second of entry, I noticed three details.

  First: Karen stood, blood smeared across her clothes, over the bodies of two of the MONIKER hybrids. Second: the screen of the computer in front of her had fragmented into a glowing, pixelated mess.

  Third: Ramirez's finger squeezing the trigger of the gun he held, aimed straight for her head.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ramirez wasn't a field guy. I don't know if he'd ever pointed a weapon at someone with lethal intention. His hand shook.

  I froze. Karen had a pistol in her hand, but her arm hung at her side. Ramirez had gotten the drop on her.

  The two of them faced each other. The chaos of the fighting around us seemed to fade away.

  "Ken." Karen spoke calmly and evenly. "Please."

  Something in Ramirez's face shifted.

  The gunshots echoed around the small room.

  In a blur faster than even I could track, Calix leapt on him, taking him to the floor even before the sound of the shot reached us.

  As she tackled Ramirez, I darted in front of Karen, faster than I'd ever run before, but still too slow to keep a bullet from her.

  With a snarl, Calix ripped Ramirez's throat wide open, spraying the room with a fine mist. He didn't gurgle or scream, already dead before she dropped his body to the floor. Karen's bullet had drilled a neat hole through his forehead, blowing out the back of his head all over the computer equipment stacked against the wall behind him.

  Then Calix hovered next to me, face painted red with Ramirez's death. "Is she…?"

  "I'm fine," Karen groaned. "Rick, get off me, I can't breathe."

  I had to physically force myself to release my grip, and only did so by letting Calix take my place, cradling Karen in her arms.

  The shot had grazed her temple, but aside from copious bleeding, there didn't appear to be any permanent damage.

  Calix helped Karen to her feet, fussing at the wound until Karen pushed her hand away.

  "I said, I'm fine." She blinked at us. "Thanks for the rescue. You bring the stuff?"

  I stepped out the door to pick up the weapons, ammo, and explosives we'd brought with us, then hurriedly stepped back inside, slamming the door behind me. Just one more thing I like about this form–opposable thumbs.

  "Chrompary." I handed the supplies to Calix and Karen. Opposable thumbs aside, I wasn't going to volunteer to rig explosives if I couldn't even pronounce it in this form.

  "That still freaks me out," Karen said as they got busy. "Hearing you talk when you're furry."

  "Chrompary," I reminded her. "Rots."

  "Yes. Company. I heard you." She carefully set out the remaining explosives, handing them one brick by one brick to Calix, who set them around the server room. "One problem at a time."

  While it did my heart good to see the means of MONIKER's destruction being arranged around the room, the thought of what awaited us on the other side of the door also concerned me.

  The heavy kicks against the steel alerted us that our time had run out. The agency's hybrids had been heading to our position, and from the sounds of things out there, we were going to find it hard going to get out in one piece.

  Frustrated, I kicked Ramirez's body. Even soaked in blood, his tie was still obnoxious.

  I grasped the nozzle of the flamethrower. I couldn't read the gauge, but no way did I have enough fuel to take down the troops they were sending at us, troops that were knocking the hinges of the door askew. Karen and Calix were emplacing large amounts of explosive material, but blowing ourselves up to take down MONIKER didn't seem like the best plan ever.

  "Ready?"

  Calix's voice jerked my attention away from self-pity. I nodded, raised the nozzle of the flamethrower with one hand and displayed the claws of my other hand. Yeah, I was ready. Let's take down some of these hybrid assholes.

  Karen inserted a loaded magazine into one of the rifles and slung it over her back, then loaded up another rifle, holding it at the ready. Her pockets were already stuffed with spare mags.

  We turned as one to face the door, as one last heavy kick sent it flying.

  I unloaded with the flamethrower. The first hybrid through the door threw up a forearm to shield his face, in vain. His skin bubbled and roasted, and the bullets Karen sent into his chest in a neat circle dropped him in front of the door.

  His body caused the next few hybrids in line to pile up, leaving them easy targets for the three of us. For the shortest of eternities, we fell into a lethal rhythm. First, I blasted them with a gout of flame from my new favorite toy, and then either Calix cut them in half, or Karen shot them down.

  One of the hybrids, a little too eager to get to us, clambered over the bodies of his fellows, as well as the one in front of him. He pushed the first one to the side, which broke our rhythm. Calix spun off, facing the first hybrid, while Karen and I dealt with Mr. Overachiever.

  I both cursed and gave thanks for the narrow quarters of the server room. We were tripping over dead bodies, but while we had no room to maneuver, neither did our opponents. The hybrid reached out, slashing and clawing. I depressed the nozzle of the flamethrower.

  The device belched out a hiccup of flame–then nothing. Stupid toy.

  Karen fired a three-round burst. The bullets lodged in the skin of the hybrid, but without the fire to tenderize it first, it kept coming.

  I dropped the nozzle and attacked, slashing and clawing. By sheer force of momentum, I pushed the thing back. Karen fired again.

  This time, I got in her way, and one of the bullets grazed its way across my side.

  "Sorry." She threw the apology at me. I ignored it. The round burned–contained some silver–but it wasn't even painful.

  Slash-and-burn tactics were the only ones that had so far been effective against these guys.

  Calix found another one.

  "Dammit!"

  I threw a quick look over Mr. Overachiever's shoulder as we wrestled for position. Calix had her booted foot on the first hybrid's neck, using it to brace herself as she tried to yank her sword out of its mouth. Looked like she had found another vulnerable point.

  I roared and wrapped my arms around Overachiever's head, jamming my fingers into the sides of his mouth, opening it forcefully. He let go of my body and grabbed my hands, trying to force them away.

  Ducking to the side, I left a line clear for Karen, and without hesitation, she stepped forward. Jammed the rifle in its mouth. Fired straight up into its brain cavity. Dead overachiever. Let that be a lesson.

  A spray of bullets from the outside sent us ducking for cover, even though there wasn't any. I hoisted the body of the hybrid between the door and the three of us and let it absorb the spray of bullets.

  Even with that barrier, several rounds stitched my side, and metal shrapnel pinged off the door, giving Karen a few more future badass scars. She shrugged it off and returned fire under my arm.

  My brain had just enough time to wonder why hybrids were attacking us with rifles, when my other senses informed me that MONIKER had run out of hybrids and had sent their normal attack troops. Human troops.

  For a fraction of a second, Calix and I froze, and Karen hesitated. The mistake almost cost us our teammate.

  I roared and charged. After fighting the impossible, a few pesky humans weren't going to be any trouble. The nozzle of the now-useless flamethrower swung wildly as I plowed into the pack of MONIKER troops outside the door.

  The first few I disemboweled. The next I grabbed their weapons, using the fact their rifles were attached to their bodies via slings to pull them in close and slash across a few vital organs and an artery or two.

  MONIKER troops were disciplined, evident by the fact that they kept coming, even after being coated in arterial spray from their comrades.

  The alarm still blared in the hall, adding to the din of weapons firing uselessly, men and women scream
ing, and general chaos and upheaval.

  But even in the cacophony, I still managed to hear Karen's loud, clear voice ring out.

  "In nomine lunae–dormiunt."

  A green light shot from behind me, stabbing in long, sharp beams down the halls. The beams branched out into smaller, thinner beams, each of which sought one of the MONIKER troops, enveloping them.

  The beams emanated from Karen's raised fist, held high over her head. Her voice didn't waver, but her eyes squinted and she half-turned her head. This was new for her, too.

  Where the beams touched human skin, it looked like someone had turned off a switch. The well-trained ranks of MONIKER went out like a prizefighter someone paid off in the fourth round. Within seconds, the halls were full of snoring men and women.

  The adrenaline coursing through me demanded more action, called to me to continue rending, clawing, slicing. But in this form, I had more control of who and what I was, and none of me included murdering unconscious human beings. Even if they did fight for the opposing team.

  Next to me. Karen breathed heavily, panting. The effort of keeping her hand raised caused her to break out in a sweat. The scent of rosemary mingled with the smell of blood and another I couldn't quite place, but reminded me of Maria.

  As the targets decreased, the beams faded away.

  "Set the timer." Karen closed her hand around something and slipped it back in her pocket. "Twenty minutes."

  Calix nodded and headed back into the server room.

  I growled a question, not bothering to try to form words.

  Karen shrugged and guessed what I wanted to know. "It gives us enough time to get these guys out of here and dump them far enough away to not get caught up in the blast."

  Ugh. Of course. Not only do we get to save the enemy's life, but then we get to make sure they get a chance to come at us again another day. Stupid honor.

  I turned and shrugged, growling again. Karen helped unstrap me from the flamethrower. I let the empty tanks clang on the ground. Muttering to myself, I slung a few of the troops over my shoulder and loped away.