The Breaking

by Marcus Pelegrimas

  “Them myths came about the way lots of them do. Misinformation. As far as we can tell, Medusa was either the woman who crafted these things or first set them loose after stumbling on a nest buried deep somewhere. As for the snakes and such, I don’t know. Maybe the woman was just butt-ugly. All I can tell you is that here and now, these ugly little suckers are gonna save our butts once that Breaking Moon rises.”

  Cole pulled in a deep breath and let it out. “I was just getting comfortable in here. Sure you don’t want to tell me some more about gargoyles and misinterpreted mythology?”

  “There’s more guns under the seat. Ammo too. Fill up. Sounds like we’re gonna need it.”

  Grabbing a few pistols, some preloaded magazines, and a shotgun, Cole said, “It sounds like someone’s already found Cecile.”

  “It’s more than that,” Jessup grunted. “I wasn’t with that girl for long, but she’s not the sort to stir up whatever the hell is goin’ on out there. She would’ve just run away before the National Guard or whoever else is out there came for her. Besides, can’t you feel it?”

  “Yeah,” Cole said while brushing his fingers against his scars. “There’s more than one Full Blood out there.”

  “You ready for this?”

  “Sure. There’s helicopters in the air, gargoyles slapping the windows, a werewolf howling, and now,” Cole added as a distinctive chatter crackled in the distance, “it sounds like there’s automatic gunfire. We’ve got some shotguns and weapons that require us to stand toe-to-toe and swing at a meat rendering plant.”

  “But we got something they don’t.”

  “Please don’t say courage,” Cole sighed.

  Jessup held up the tube he’d tied, and showed him a smile that verged on the insane. “And there’s plenty more of this to be had. More than we’ll need if we play this quick enough.”

  “How much of that stuff did you get?”

  “Not what’s in here. It’s what’s out there we need to put to use.”

  Cole looked outside where the frantic, nearly transparent flaps of skin and talons continued smearing their fluids on the truck. Since the window or hood hadn’t turned to stone, he could only assume that was a whole lot of slobber. “Can we at least point them in the right direction?”

  “That’s the idea. Give them some live meat and they’ll take it. Gargoyles survive by leaving no witnesses. The more it fights back, the more they’ll try to bring it down, and nothing fights back more than a werewolf.” He started the truck and placed his hands on the wheel. “I don’t know what’s down this road either, but it’s big. We’re in this fight now, so should we sit here and whine about how things are going to hell or should we roll in to lend a hand?”

  More than anything, Cole wanted to say something cool to that. Part of his old job had been to come up with catch phrases that fit nicely in the digitized mouths of his video game characters. The only thing to come out of his mouth now, however, was a shaky breath as he nodded his head.

  Jessup pulled away from the cemetery. He didn’t gun the engine, take sharp turns, or even get the wipers going to clear a bigger spot on the windshield. He did nothing while driving up Scenic Road that could possibly upset or dislodge the creatures that had attached themselves to his windshield. The road was mostly straight and in good condition. If Cole squinted just enough he could trick himself into thinking he wasn’t moving at all. Apart from a few boxy little houses on one side of the road, all there was to see between the writhing bodies affixed to the glass was tall, dry grass and bushes that were too tough to die in the harsh New Mexican climate. He had almost calmed himself into believing he was looking through a dirty window instead of one covered by layers of squirming, living flesh. Stretched out and clinging with every talon it had, the gargoyle on the passenger window looked in at him with a face that could have been hastily drawn upon a dirt canvas. “What’s going on up there?” he asked.

  Jessup leaned forward to look beneath the gargoyle clawing at the top of the windshield. “Don’t know, but it’s more than Full Bloods. Could be some Half Breeds. Just when I feel like I got a good handle on the number of them, they keep changing.”

  “You can tell how many there are?”

  “When you’ve had the scars for as long as I have, you’ll be able to read them better. Just take my word for it. There’s plenty of them and they weren’t here when we arrived.”

  Outside the truck, road and scenery flashed by like a movie being played at the wrong speed. Cole’s brain was filled with plans of how he might deal with whatever was over the next rise, but every last strategy went out the window when a black helicopter crested the rise farther along the road, pivoted in midair and then veered toward the ground.

  “Hang on!” Jessup shouted as he slammed his foot against the brake pedal.

  Cole’s feet were already bracing against the floor and his free hand slapped against the dash. The truck skidded into a fishtail as its tires lost their grip on the road. All this time the helicopter seemed to hang about thirty feet in the air. When that frozen moment finally passed, the helicopter slapped against the ground in a shower of sparks as metal was torn asunder.

  A shock wave rolled through the air, shaking the ground and throwing enough dirt and smoke toward the truck to make it even tougher to see through the windshield. Jessup fought with the steering wheel to keep from skidding off the road or slamming into a tree. Somehow the older man kept his composure long enough to bring the Ford to a stop. “You got that weapon I gave you?” When Cole didn’t answer, Jessup shouted, “You got it or not?”

  “I’ve got it,” Cole replied. Since he’d been holding the short wooden blade in the fist that he used to brace against the dash, he wondered if he’d ever be able to pry it from his hand again.

  The helicopter’s top rotor was still waggling after the one in the tail section had been brought to a stop by digging into the ground. Its body was shaking as well, but not just from the crash. There was movement inside the helicopter, but it was tough to make out details through the cracked canopy as well as the living stain on the truck’s window.

  “When we get outside,” Jessup said, “we need to keep moving or else these gargoyles will take us down. If one gets close, don’t waste time lining up a shot. Just swing. And don’t bother shooting them. Bullets will just give them a little rip and they’re used to that. We just need to point them in the right direction. Once a few of them lock up with a Full Blood, all the others should swarm in to help.”

  “How do we get them to leave?”

  “They’ll leave when they’re full or dead. If there’s any other way to get them to go somewhere, I don’t know what it is. Take this,” Jessup said while tossing the long fleshy sack he’d extracted from the gargoyle. “I’ll find more out there. You just need to run fast and try to get close to something that needs to be given a dose of Magic Shell.” Jessup loaded both of his pistols and removed a wooden hatchet from a set of loops on the inside of his vest. “You remember that stuff that you poured on ice cream? It hardened into a chocolate shell.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So . . . I love that stuff.” Without any more parting words, the older Skinner kicked open the truck door and jumped outside.

  For a fraction of a second Cole considered taking the sane choice and staying inside the truck. That option was taken away as soon as a gargoyle that had been clinging to the roof dropped down and hooked its talons into the truck’s frame and seat to pull itself inside. From that angle Cole could see a second set of eyes placed on the upper edge of its body. Unlike the ones on its smeared face, those eyes were narrow, unblinking black slits. They were the calmest part of the gargoyle’s entire body, remaining focused intently upon their target.

  Cole shoved his door open and nearly fell out of the truck in his haste to get away. He pushed the door shut at the same time the gargoyle inside launched itself at the passenger door. Both things collided, forcing the gargoyle to climb the interior of the cab an
d press its face against the glass.

  From the outside the Ford looked as though it had grown a skin and was in the process of shedding it. Gargoyles clamped onto nearly every available bit of the truck’s surface area, pulling away to look up as if they were being peeled off by an unseen hand. By the time Cole had built up some power in his strides, the gargoyles were flapping the sides of their bodies to create enough of a breeze for liftoff.

  “Look for casualties!” Jessup yelled while waving toward the downed helicopter.

  Cole’s legs were churning to carry him away from the truck as fast as possible. When he looked back again, he couldn’t see a single gargoyle. Knowing better than to stop moving, he focused on the helicopter. The canopy was cracked and smudged with oil and dirt from the impact. Once the waning sunlight caught the canopy at the right angle, it shone upon the dark red hue and viscous texture of something that coated the inside of the cockpit. After so much time as a Skinner, he’d seen more than enough of it to be certain the substance was blood.

  It was a helicopter similar to the one that brought Paige into Denver. During his long sleep in wing G7, he’d dreamt of that chopper plenty of times. It had landed on retractable gear, but this one didn’t have time for a proper touchdown. There were no markings. No weapons. Only a sleek fuselage and a sliding door on one side. Someone inside screamed and kicked at the canopy. As Cole drew closer to the cockpit, one foot smashed through, only to be twisted completely around as the distinctive snarl of a werewolf emerged from the craft. Before Cole reached the side door, someone from within the chopper pulled it open. He was a man cut from military cloth, complete with hardened features and a bulky frame beneath standard issue black and gray fatigues.

  “Get out of there!” Cole shouted.

  “No! Stand back. I can’t stop it!”

  “But we can! Keep the goddamn door open!”

  The soldier grabbed the door as the entire helicopter rocked with the weight of a creature that worked its way out of the crumpled front section. Farther down the road gunfire erupted in bursts, followed by the haggard, tortured voices of Half Breeds. Cole thought about Kansas City while diving through the door before the soldier closed it. The main compartment looked like a metal box with a series of steel posts running down its center. Collapsible seats folded down from the posts, some facing Cole’s side and others facing another side door. Toward the rear of the cabin, large windows were fitted with rigs made to hold machine guns to be mounted and fired from the helicopter. Once again he had research for a Sniper Ranger level to thank for his partial knowledge of modern armaments. “All right,” he said while grabbing onto one of the steel posts so he could maneuver through a cabin that was tilted worse than the floor of a fun house. “Close the door.”

  The soldier had a rank insignia on one shoulder, the name BUDDIG stenciled onto a strip on his chest and a patch on the other shoulder. Since it was the most colorful thing on his uniform, the patch catch Cole’s eye. It was a circle divided into red and gray quadrants surrounded by gold rope. Two assault rifles were crossed behind a row of spears, all of which were above a symbol that was half wolf’s head and half skull. The red quadrant with the wolf’s head had the letters I.R.D. stitched into it, and the opposite gray quadrant had U.S.A. stitched beside the skull.

  When the soldier lunged for the door, Cole dropped his shotgun, grabbed the soldier by the elbow and pivoted to fling him away from the open door.

  “No, we have to get out!” the soldier yelled.

  Outside, a building chorus of wailing, high-pitched shrieks closed in on the wreck. Without taking the time to look for a target, Cole swung the wooden blade toward the door and was immediately rewarded by a wet ripping sound. The gargoyle he’d shredded hit the dirt in front of the door and dragged itself away. Its wound wasn’t fatal, but it would have trouble getting back into the air. The other dozen or so that swooped in toward the helicopter weren’t having those difficulties.

  They weren’t in a formation and didn’t seem to expend any effort in staying aloft. The group of gargoyles merely drew close together at the apex of their ascent and dove at him. Now that he knew what their second set of narrow eyes looked like, he imagined every single one of them were fixed upon him.

  He shut the side hatch as best he could and turned around just in time to spot a Half Breed slinking from the cockpit. It had shreds of material hanging from its shoulders and neck and a long string of bloody saliva dangling from bared fangs. Although the creature was as deadly as it was terrifying, at least it was familiar. “Keep back,” he said to the soldier without taking his eyes off the Half Breed. The club Jessup had given him was clenched tightly in his left fist, and somewhere along the way he’d drawn the .38.

  “I don’t know where it came from!” the soldier said as he backed toward the rear of the cabin. As he did so, he was forced to push aside or climb over the still forms of two other soldiers who’d caught the worst of the crash.

  When the Half Breed lunged, Cole reflexively pulled his trigger. The pistol bucked in his hand, spitting three quick rounds into the werewolf’s head and neck. He knew better than to think that would be enough to stop it, so he fired once more and swung the wooden blade in an overhead stab that dropped straight down toward the Half Breed’s face. The creature twisted its neck sharply in a way that would have snapped any natural beast’s spine. This one merely dodged the incoming weapon, stared sideways at him and clamped its jaws around the blade. The Half Breed twisted its head away once the weapon sliced the inside of its mouth and staggered back. Cole knew he wasn’t going to get a better chance than that, so he fired his remaining rounds into its body just to steer it away from the shotgun he’d dropped earlier. Claws scraped against the tilted metal floor of the downed helicopter as the beast scrambled to regain its footing.

  Half Breeds were strong and very tough, but not bulletproof. Some of those rounds made it through, which lit an angry fire in its eyes. When Cole moved in close enough to use the wooden blade again, the werewolf turned toward him and skidded on the tilted floor. Rather than succumb to gravity, it used the countless joints created by its broken and rehinged skeleton to strike from a new angle. Even though his pistol was out of bullets, it made a hell of a good thump when he smashed it against one of the bloody spots on the werewolf’s fur. The creature yelped but was still able to pull away when Cole tried to stab it with the sharpened end of the club.

  “If you’ve got a gun, you’re welcome to join in here!” Cole shouted at the soldier. He wasn’t about to take his eyes away from the Half Breed, but the soldier wasn’t responding with any gunfire. Outside, flat bodies thumped against the fuselage and used talons to search for a way in.

  Cole swung at the Half Breed and drew some blood, but not enough to prevent the werewolf from climbing to its feet and lunging at him. Backing up until his heel knocked against the shotgun, he dropped the pistol in favor of the bigger weapon. The Half Breed circled around to snarl at the soldier.

  “Hey!” Cole shouted. “Right here!”

  Although the Half Breed snorted in his direction, it was more interested in the wounded man who squirmed up the slant of the downed helicopter to get to a metal locker at the back of the wreck.

  “Come here!” Cole said in loud, choppy syllables that would have perked any dog’s ears. Thinking along those lines, he followed it up with a quick, shrill whistle.

  The Half Breed snapped its head over to him and growled as if defending its meal from a would-be scavenger. Tensing its muscles and lowering its chest to the floor, it scraped at the metal panels beneath its claws and reared back on its hind legs. The werewolf was about to attack. Cole could feel it all the way down to his bones as he reached for the door handle. Suddenly, the creature bared its fangs and leapt at the soldier instead.

  The thundering roar of the shotgun filled the cabin as Cole fired it into the Half Breed’s side. When the werewolf thumped against the closest wall, Cole threw himself at the beast to drive the smokin
g barrel of the shotgun into its body. He pumped in another shell and fired it into the werewolf before the shotgun was knocked from his hands by one of the creature’s thrashing legs. By the time Cole drew the wooden blade again, the Half Breed was pulling itself to its feet. Cole stretched one arm out to grab a hunk of fur at the base of its tail, pulled it toward him and buried the blade into the biggest shotgun wound.

  The Half Breed yelped in pain while folding its torso in half to snap at him. Cole was fully aware of the creature’s flexibility and had already pulled the weapon away so he could jump back and chamber another shell. He fired again, cracked the shotgun against the side of the werewolf’s head, then drove the sharpened end of the club into its neck. Since the creature lay on its side spilling its blood onto the floor, the sounds of scraping claws and a low, hungry snarl seemed particularly out of place. Cole turned toward the cockpit and spotted another Half Breed emerging from the front portion of the craft. The second werewolf kept its body low, planted its back paws against the floor and leapt forward.

  Cole leaned toward the door, grabbed the handle and pulled it open. The Half Breed sailed past him, but still had the speed and flexibility to snap its jaws in his direction before it was outside the helicopter. It landed several feet away from the hatch, sank its claws in and came to a stop amid a shower of dirt. From there it turned to face Cole, a snarl rumbling deep within its throat.

  Cole rolled onto his belly to look outside. The only thing he saw was some wreckage and a Half Breed preparing to tear at him again.

  “Uhhh . . . shit.”

  The Half Breed coiled like a spring and leapt at the helicopter. Less than a second later it was snatched in midair by a flap of skin that swooped down to wrap around its head. The creature still had momentum on its side, but was prevented from entering the helicopter by a set of talons that reached down from above and outside the hatch to snag in its fur. The gargoyle on top of the wreck wasn’t strong enough to pull the Half Breed outside, but it held onto the helicopter with a grip that kept it from being dislodged. Once the gargoyle’s body was stretched out like a flap of wet leather, the Half Breed jerked to a stop and fell straight to the floor less than an inch from Cole’s boots.