“It’s none of your business.” John saw what was behind Spencer, and kept talking, moving closer. He stepped up until the barrel of Spencer’s rifle was pushed into his chest. “You want to kill me? Then kill me.”
Spencer was looking right in his face, and John saw it — that moment that the man switched, and decided to pull the trigger. John was waiting for that moment, that impossibly thin slice of time when action was about to start. Right there? That moment was when your guard was down.
Needs must, when the devil rides.
John slapped Spencer’s barrel aside with one hand and shoved him backwards. The gun went off as the man stumbled, but that was always going to happen — this way the round took John in the shoulder instead of the heart. He fell back — Jesus Christ, the pain — as Spencer tripped. Right into the metal chair. One of the IV packs ruptured, clear fluid spraying over Spencer.
Spencer wiped the fluid off his head, looking at his hand. “This was your big play?” He looked down at John. “Pathetic.” He raised his rifle again.
John chuckled. He knew it sounded weak, but damn his shoulder hurt, his entire side felt like he’d been hit by a truck. It made Spencer pause. “You ever wonder?”
Spencer looked blank. “Wonder?”
John jerked his head towards Val. “He hasn’t torn you to shreds. Why is that?”
“I’m not sure—”
“It’s because you’re a dead man walking.” John pulled himself upright, pulling Adalia close. “Come on honey. Let’s get you out of here.”
“I’m not done with you!” The rifle swung back up to John.
“No, I guess not.” John sighed. “But I think they’re about done with you.”
“They?” Spencer looked around the room, and saw it. Volk’s body was changing, twisting, growing. It jerked upright like it was on marionette strings as it changed, life coming back into the dead eyes, the smile returning just a moment before the face turned into a muzzle, the fangs growing—
Val roared at it, stepping forward. Volk rose to meet him, the two beasts grappling. Their moves were fast and powerful, claws and fangs flashing. Spencer raised his rifle to fire, then swayed. “I—”
John stepped carefully across the floor towards Carlisle. She was out cold, her lips blue. “Aw. Shit.” He’d read somewhere you shouldn’t move someone with a knife in them, but what about a gunshot? It probably didn’t matter, not here, because if they didn’t get clear they’d all be dead. He put Adalia down, then lifted Carlisle into a fireman’s carry. He grabbed Adalia’s hand, pulling the girl close. He spared a glance for Spencer.
The man’s hand had came away from his bloody nose. “What the hell?”
“Beats me, pal.” John paused, then looked back over at Elsie. “Elsie! It’s over. Get her out!”
Elsie was ignoring him. She pulled Birkita away from the wall, and held her forward towards the two creatures. “Do it! Do it!” she screamed at the beasts as the tears tracked down her face.
Both Val and Volk paused, looking at her. Val’s head turned on its side — just like a curious dog, Christ, just wait till I tell him about this shit — but Volk stepped forward. It snatched Birkita from Elsie. Val tried to step forward.
But it was too late.
Volk threw the girl at the window, her head leaving a bloody mark against the glass as she bounced off. She slid to the ground, lifeless. A keening started low and desperate in Elsie Morgan’s throat, and she scrambled towards her fallen daughter.
Adalia watched it all with big eyes, seeing nothing.
Spencer coughed, blood coming out of his mouth. A bloody grin split his face, and he patted the grenade belt. “You’re all coming with me. It doesn’t matter. If I don’t get the gift, none of you will.”
John didn’t see the change, didn’t even notice until the third werewolf roared. Volk and Val stopped their fighting briefly — just a second, God they’re fast — and then started to claw and rend at each other again. The new wolf was—
Danny's body was gone. Jesus Christ. How did that—
—tearing and slashing at Volk. John watched, his mouth open, as Val and Danny fought against Volk. He couldn’t tell where one started and the other finished. Danny clawed at Volk’s face, and Volk ducked back from that, but Val was there and waiting, his strike hitting low. Volk clawed back, but Val pulled away, Danny's slashing claws raking Volk’s muzzle. They pushed Volk this way and that, striking, circling, never giving quarter.
It didn’t matter. Each strike they delivered healed over as if it had never happened. No one could win this fight. Unless—
John turned to Spencer. “You want to be famous?”
Spencer had got back to his feet, and stumbled around to face John. Blood drooled out of the man’s mouth. “Whaaaa?”
John turned back to the fight. He raised his voice. “Val. I know you’re in there. I can’t do this by myself. I’m going to get Adalia out, but you need to deal with Spencer!” John’s boot caught the man in the stomach. It was a push, not a kick — he used his foot because he didn’t want any of that stuff on his skin. That, and it’d be damn hard to push the man with Carlisle over his shoulder, but her weight helped the shove.
Spencer stumbled back, tumbling into Val. The three beasts looked at the man, their fighting forgotten for a second. Val stared down at the man, then looked up at Danny. He gazed at Volk, then back to Danny.
“No.” John took a step forward. “Val, not like—”
Val grabbed up Spencer, patches of the man’s skin falling off. He charged at Volk, shoulder catching the other creature, and they hit the plate window. It shattered outward, a star burst of a thousand shards of glass, sunlight catching them and scattering tiny rainbows of light. Val had grabbed onto Volk’s back, Spencer’s body held around Volk’s front. The two of them tumbled out of sight, and were gone.
The explosion of the grenade belt was sudden and vast, the blast kicking the remaining windows in. John was hunkered over Adalia, squeezing his eyes shut — at least Carlisle’s got a vest — as the shards of glass spun about them.
He opened his eyes into the silence. Birkita’s body had been thrown away from the edge of the windows. John saw that Elsie Morgan sobbing, her eyes now blind ruins from the explosion of glass. She was moving bloody hands through the glass strewn floor, feeling for her daughter. John looked back to Danny, saw her sniff at Elsie, then growl low as she stalked forward. She loomed large above Elsie, one clawed arm coming up. John saw it clear in his head — Danny was going to tear Elsie apart. She’d die in pain and fear. It was what she deserved, wasn’t it? He looked back down at Birkita’s body. No, John — no one deserves that. He stepped forward.
“I’ve got this.” John coughed. “Please. I need you to check. My friend. Valentine. Is he..?”
Danny turned her muzzle back towards Elsie, the woman’s hands still shuffling through the glass of the floor.
“I know. I’ll handle it.” John swallowed. “Hut-hut-hut. Remember? I promise.”
Danny moved to the window, one clawed hand on the edge as she looking down. She turned back and looked at Adalia. Danny growled at him, then turned and jumped out the window. Like that, she was gone.
John walked into the corridor, setting Carlisle down. He patted next to the woman, and Adalia sat, wide eyes still seeing nothing. “Wait here honey. I’ll be right back.” He walked back into the room, moving through the debris until he found what he was looking for. He picked up Carlisle’s sidearm, checking the weapon, and walked over to Elsie Morgan.
“I can’t find her.” The sobs shook the woman. “I can’t find my little girl.”
“She’s safe now.” John looked back at Birkita’s body. “She’s not in any more pain.”
“She got the gift?” Elsie’s sightless eyes looked up at him. “She’s running free?”
“Yeah.” John sighed. “She’s running free. You know—”
“I need to pay the boat man?” Elsie stopped shuffling through the glass on the floor
, sitting back on her heels. She looked at him with those sightless eyes. “I know.”
“I…” John looked at the gun in his hand. Mercy — you can give her that at least. There’s no happy ending for her any other way. “Yeah.” He raised the gun towards her. The barrel shook a little in his hand. He shut his eyes and squeezed the trigger.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Carlisle drifted in and out of consciousness. She felt cold all over, her arms and legs heavy.
“Stay with me. Melissa! Christ.” Someone slapped her face. Miles — damn it, couldn’t he leave well enough alone?
Blackness.
• • •
She woke again to a stranger’s voice. Carlisle tried to crack her eyes open, but they wouldn’t budge. She felt warm and cold at the same time.
“Mr. Miles. What a pleasant surprise.” It was a voice that sounded at home over an English breakfast tea. “It’s odd, I was waiting for Mr. Everard, but…”
“Val can’t make it right now.” Miles’ voice was right next to her. She felt strange, like she was the wrong way up to be having a conversation. “You were expecting him, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” The other man cleared his throat. “You don’t know me. My name is Barnes. Sam Barnes.”
“Hi, Sam.” She felt a subtle shift under her as Miles spoke again. Maybe she was in a stretcher? “Look, this is a little weird.”
“Ms. Morgan?”
There was a long silence, and Carlisle almost fell asleep again. It would have been easy, but something was hurting deep inside.
Miles broke the silence. “She’s upstairs.”
“I see.” Barnes’ voice was moving. “And Miss Morgan?”
“The girl?”
“Yes.”
“She’s upstairs too.”
Another silence. Carlisle’s pain was fading, but something trickled into her throat, making her cough.
“Melissa? Stay with me.” Why did Miles keep saying that? She was right here. She couldn’t walk, anyway — it’s not like she was going anywhere. She wished he would call her Carlisle.
“Was it quick?” Barnes’ voice was hollow. “Tell me it was quick.”
“It was quick. Are you going to..?” She could feel Miles tense. Why was that — was he in the stretcher too? She would have giggled if she’d had the strength, the thought was preposterous.
“No.” Barnes cleared his throat. “Mr. Everard was … that is, Ms. Morgan … well, Mr. Everard was most helpful earlier. He gave me some advice, advice that saved my life.”
“Yeah?” Miles sounded dubious.
“But I couldn’t … I’ve waited, in the trees. For this to end.”
“I’d say it’s at an end. Look, I don’t want to rush you, but—”
“Of course. Detective Carlisle.”
“Isn’t this some kind of hospital?”
“It’s not that kind of hospital. And I think you’ll find the staff have long gone.”
“You stayed.” Miles’ voice was flat.
“Yes. I stayed.”
Carlisle finally cracked her eyes open. She could see the ground, and the back of Miles’ feet. Damn the man — he had her slung over his shoulders like a sack of grain. She could see blood on his clothes, and wondered whose it was.
“For Elsie? Did you stay to help her?”
“Not as such. I stayed to see if Mr. Everard — if Valentine needed a ride.”
“A ride? We’re in the woods.”
“Yes.”
“You can fly.” Miles wasn’t asking. He might make a half decent officer, if he could just keep his attitude in his pants. Carlisle wished she had the strength to smile.
“I think that’s lucky for you, as Detective Carlisle needs a hospital.”
“What’s the catch?”
“The catch is that we need to go soon. This is a one-time offer. There will be people coming here with questions, questions I’d rather not answer.”
“You realize this doesn’t fix things.”
Barnes sighed. “No, I imagine it doesn’t. But I hope that … well. Let’s worry about tomorrow when it comes, shall we?”
Carlisle faded out again.
• • •
She was flying. Carlisle could feel it. There was light around her. Didn’t they say not to go into the light?
• • •
The room she opened her eyes into was dark. The beep of a cardiac monitor sounded to her left, subdued into white noise against the backdrop of the morphine haze. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She looked around the room, eyes picking out the little details. No flowers next to the bed. Curtains for privacy, but pulled back. An empty ward, apart from her bed. And one other person.
Miles was sprawled backward in a chair, sitting at the end of the bed. He was snoring quietly. He wore a hospital gown, bandages creeping out from under it near his shoulder.
She slept again.
• • •
Carlisle woke to light. Miles was gone. Flowers had been put in a vase on the small table next to her. She pulled herself up slowly, wincing through the morphine. Carlisle groped for the glass of water next to the bed, gulping at the tepid water. An envelope fell from the table next to the bed — she hadn’t noticed it when she woke, knocking it off as she’d grabbed at the water.
The ward was really empty — Miles was gone.
Carlisle looked down at the envelope, the cream paper contrasting with the speckled tiles of the hospital floor. It was a long way down to that floor. She — slowly, Carlisle, Christ that hurts — rolled onto her side and reached an arm down, grasping for the edges of the envelope. Prize in hand, she rolled back onto her back.
The envelope was blank except for a neatly lettered, “MC,” on the front. She flipped it over, tearing at the seal, and pulling out the single sheet of paper inside. The letter was written in a neat, meticulous hand.
Detective Carlisle—
I appreciate you have many questions.
Ms. Morgan is no longer with us to assist in your inquiries. I hope that whatever information I hold will be able to help in her absence. Based on events at our medical facility, we believe the virus angle is a red herring, some kind of control mechanism that never worked properly. It seems ironic: with our science, we might have fixed that, given time.
When you are better, have someone from your office arrange a meeting with me. I’ll be happy to answer any questions.
Regards,
Sam Barnes
Acting Chief Executive Officer
Biomne
PS: Are you familiar with the Moon’s synodic cycle?
Carlisle folded the letter back up. What the hell was a synodic cycle? She hated science back in school, and being shot didn’t make her feel much better about it now.
She turned to the table next to her, opening the drawer. Some clothes were there, and — so they haven’t suspended me — her gun and her badge. The gun sat black and heavy against a pair of pale blue jeans. She pulled herself upright, gritting her teeth against the pain. Enough lying around. She wasn’t dead yet. The bandages around her leg and torso were clean and white, no blood staining through. Good enough.
Carlisle pulled on her clothes. A standing rack near the door held her jacket. She pulled it on, needing to use her teeth as one of her arms didn’t work right. Her sidearm went into her shoulder holster. She looked at her badge for a few moments, turning it over in her hands, then put it in her pocket. Finally, Carlisle checked the card with the flowers, a smile tugging at her face. The card said, “Shaggy! Mystery, Inc. needs you back! Meet back at the lair. Yours, Scooby.”
“Detective Carlisle.” She spun at the voice from the door, a hand reaching into her jacket to hold her sidearm. An officer stood, uncertain in the open doorway. “You’re not supposed to be up.”
“I’m not in the mood.” Carlisle relaxed her hand and pushed past the officer, making the corridor. Another cop was stationed outside. So — she’d been under protective custody. “T
here’s more important things you two should be doing than looking after me. Or did you catch all the bad guys?”
“I…” The man tried again. “The Superintendent would like to see you when you’re able. To move.”
“Do I look like I’m able to move?” Hey eyes went between the two men. “I look pretty shitty and sickly, don’t I?”
The other man’s lips quirked. “You look almost dead, Detective.”
“That’s what I thought. Go grab a coffee. I’ll report in a bit later. There’s something I need to do first.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The men walked off down the hospital corridor, lost amongst the bustle of the place. After they’d gone out of sight, she leaned against the door frame for a moment. She really was almost dead. Nothing that some pain killers wouldn’t fix.
She needed a car. Time to get a Mystery Machine.
• • •
The place was foreign to her, full of unfamiliar smells. The smell of dust underlaid it all, but there were children laughing and mothers having coffee and cake. It’d been a long time since Carlisle had been in a library, but the rules had obviously changed from “make no noise“ to “have a party.”
She shuffled amongst the aisles of books, not quite sure what to look for. A thin man with glasses approached her. “Need some help?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Do you know what the Moon is?” The man blinked at her. Some things never changed — back when she was in school librarians didn’t have a sense of humor either. “Never mind. Look. I’m trying to find out about the Moon’s synodic cycle. Astrology or something.”
“Oh right. Astronomy.” The man pushed his glasses up his nose. “The synodic cycle is just a fancy way of saying the cycle as the Moon goes around the Earth.”
“The Earth? Right.”
“Sure. Why, you looking something up for the full moon?” The man’s head cocked sideways.
The full moon. What if… “When’s the next full moon?”
“Hell if I know. Sorry. Maybe tonight? The moon’s pretty big at the moment.”
“You a stargazer?” The professional detective inside Carlisle took over, asking questions from habit.
The Night's Champion Collection: A supernatural werewolf thriller trilogy Page 36
