One by one the gargoyles descended. They spread their bodies out to catch the wind, which slowed their fall while putting them in prime position to wrap around the Half Breeds. Talons dug into the werewolves’ ribs and chests. Howls became muffled as they were enveloped, and Cole knew he wouldn’t get a better chance to leave the club. “Will our stuff be safe here?” he asked the bartender.
The man with the shotgun laughed heartily. “Nothing is safe anywhere, my friend.”
Cole felt a solid slap on his shoulder as Waggoner stepped up to the bar. “I like this man’s outlook. How about one for the road?”
Apparently, the bartender was willing to part with some liquor as long as it meant clearing the Skinners from his place. Either that or it was his way of supporting the troops, because he splashed some vodka into shot glasses so they could toss it back. But before Cole could indulge, he and Waggoner were dragged outside by Paige.
“Maybe we should try another angle,” Cole said.
Paige led the charge, with Waggoner reluctantly bringing up the rear. “If you’re thinking about sneaking up on anyone,” she said, “I doubt that’s much of an option.”
The road leading to the club was lonely and unpaved. Apart from a few cars that were upended along the side of the road, there were only power lines and a few packs of werewolves rushing in different directions, like sections of shadow ripped away from the night and tossed into a blender. They were far enough away from a town that the stars themselves provided enough light for the Skinners once their eyes became acclimated. “I think I see them!” Cole said.
There was movement farther down the road, which amounted to a confusing mess of shadows lunging at each other. Suddenly, that group was illuminated by the strobe effect of an assault rifle fired at full auto into the faces of an impending werewolf horde.
“Yep,” Paige said. “That’s them all right.” Without another word, she gripped her weapons and ran into the fray.
Fueled by the vodka still warming his system, Waggoner took off as well. He had his curved wooden weapon in hand but wasn’t gripping it nearly tight enough to draw blood. The expression on his wide face drifted between eagerness and terror. “Do you know how to use that thing?” Cole asked.
That question was enough of a challenge to tighten Waggoner’s fists around the weapon until blood flowed from his hands. “Damn right I do.”
“Then prove it.” It wasn’t the most inspiring speech to send a man into battle, but it was all Cole could afford to give before Paige got too far ahead of him. It was enough to get the other man trotting alongside him.
Turning to his right, he saw the vague outline of a shaggy body behind a pair of eyes that caught the dim glow from above. The thorns of Cole’s weapon burrowed into his palms as he willed the spear to stretch to its normal size. Its metallic spearhead glinted in the moonlight, and the forked end reached toward the ground like a serpent’s tongue. When the Half Breed bared its teeth and leapt at him, Cole threw himself to the ground and twisted around to hit the dirt on his right side. He dug the forked end of the spear into the earth and propped it up so the metallic end was waiting for the Half Breed. Without a way to defy the laws of gravity, the werewolf landed on the spearhead and its weight forced the sharpened point to emerge from its back.
Lying on the ground like that meant he could feel the approach of the other werewolves. Two of them thundered toward him. The one at the front of the group lowered its head and opened its mouth. Saliva poured from crooked fangs in anticipation of the tender meat it intended on ripping from Cole’s neck and face. Before it got close enough to have its meal, however, the Half Breed was knocked off its stride by a narrow projectile that hit its upper body with a solid thump. It rolled onto its side and slid the rest of the way toward Cole, who scooted away and jerked the spear free. A third Half Breed leapt over that one, but Cole was ready for it. He bent at the knees and brought his spear up to catch it in the chest. Although the Half Breed was fast enough to keep from impaling itself, it still received a nasty gash along its left side as the spearhead raked across its rib cage.
“On your right,” Waggoner said from behind Cole.
When he tried to step aside to clear a path for the other Skinner, a set of jaws clamped down on his ankle. He felt the fangs press against the thick leather of his boots. Willing the forked end of his spear to pinch shut, he slid that end of the weapon along his trapped leg into the werewolf’s mouth and then willed it to open again. The wooden tines weren’t strong enough to brace the Half Breed’s powerful jaws apart, but the smaller splinters that Cole brought up from the wooden surface made the creature think twice before tearing his foot off. The Half Breed pulled its head back and then drew its weight down onto its haunches in preparation for a lunge. It was held in place by a narrow piece of wood that hissed through the air to drive into the creature’s chest.
At first Cole thought the werewolf had somehow been stuck by a piece of flying debris. The object lodged in its chest looked like nothing more than a stick with one end that had several pieces cracked away as if it splintered while being crudely ripped from a branch. That’s when he realized the stick was identical to the projectile that caught one of the other Half Breeds a few moments ago. Waggoner stepped up to grab it by the splintered end and clench his fist around it. His other hand was wrapped around the middle of his weapon, which still had the string tied from end to end. Cole could now see the string wasn’t just there to keep it in place when strapped across his back.
The Half Breed reared its head back and began clawing at the ground. Waggoner pulled the stick out from where it had landed. It came loose amid a bloody spray caused by a sharpened end that had split apart to form two hooks where a single tip had once been. With a little more effort, Waggoner willed the hooks to curl back together to form an arrowhead. He notched the stick on the string, drew it back, and fired it into the third Half Breed.
“Damn,” Cole said as he drilled the metallic spearhead through the first creature’s eye before pulling it out to pivot and deal with the second. “I haven’t seen that one before.”
Waggoner’s shot sailed true, and the arrow hit the Half Breed in the eye. Because it was made from specially prepared wood, it went all the way through and was stopped only when the splintered end snagged something within the beast’s skull. He then put the Half Breed down by cracking the end of his longbow against its temple so Cole could impale it through the top of its skull. “Still some kinks to work out,” Waggoner said, “but it works pretty well.” He retrieved his arrow and reached over his shoulder to place it in the leather harness, which was just big enough to hold four more of the arrows flat against his back, where they could go all but unnoticed.
Farther down the road, Paige and some of others were firing their guns at a group of Half Breeds. The pack was being thinned out by a cluster of people who took a stand near a pair of SUVs parked in the grass about 150 yards away from the club. Four of them were illuminated by headlights, but there was enough commotion in the shadows to convince Cole there had to be a fight going on there as well.
He and Waggoner ran to catch up with the others. When he heard the telltale screeches coming from above, Cole shouted, “Down!” and threw himself face first to the dirt. Gargoyles might not have been sturdy, but they were fast, their cry a way to catch their prey’s attention, not to warn them. If anyone on the ground stopped to look at where that sound was coming from, they would be too late to do anything to avoid the airborne attack. Unfortunately, Waggoner had forgotten about that.
The gargoyle’s body hit him with a wet slap, wrapping his arms and torso within a layer of writhing skin. Talons dug into his chest, piercing his jacket and jabbing into his flesh to give the gargoyle a firm grip. He dropped to his knees and yelped in pain, but his attempt to break loose only caused the talons to rip him open even more.
Cole knew better that to simply cut the gargoyle apart. When it was wrapped around its prey, the creature’s sole purpos
e was to administer a fluid from glands on its tongue and beneath its wings and smear it over its prey using the flat surface of its body. After a few seconds the fluid would begin to harden into a stony crust so the victim could be immobilized, preserved, and eaten slowly over an undetermined period of time. The statues left behind had historically been mistaken as gargoyles, while the real things were free to tuck themselves away in corners of buildings or hide in trees where they were again mistaken as hanging moss or large bats.
“Keep still,” Cole grunted as he wrapped his arms around Waggoner and the gargoyle encapsulating him. “Struggling only makes it worse.”
“Worse?” Waggoner asked. “How the hell could this get worse? It’s stabbing me!”
The gargoyle’s black eyes gazed up at Cole without a hint of consciousness. Either they were incapable of expressing anything close to emotion or the creature was focused intently on what its other eyes were seeing. The creature’s second face was similar to a crude black chalk drawing on its belly. When Cole saw it the first time, he was reminded of a stingray. He couldn’t see it now, but could imagine all too well how its narrow mouth was silently opening and closing to administer the hardening fluid.
As if to confirm those suspicions, Waggoner said, “Holy shit, it is worse! I think it’s biting me!”
“Stay still!”
Waggoner closed his eyes and clenched every muscle in his body like a robot that had blown a gasket and seized up. Hearing the shrieking overhead from another gargoyle, Cole swung his spear with one hand toward the sound and cut the incoming flier in half. Its fluids spattered in a wider, less concentrated arc, which formed a thin, brittle crust where it landed. The sounds of battle were slackening in the distance, but Cole only paid partial attention. Even an army of Full Bloods was headed his way, he needed to drop his weapon and grab both talons that were digging into Waggoner’s upper chest.
“This is gonna sting,” he said. Without any more warning than that, he pulled the curved talons as straight as possible from the holes they’d dug in the other man’s flesh. They were long and sharp, but also thin and didn’t do any significant damage. He pulled the gargoyle back and cracked its frame in half with a quick twist.
Extending his arms and then reaching back to pull the smaller set of talons from his lower back, Waggoner said, “That did the trick. Nice one.”
“Actually I didn’t mean to do that, but you’re welcome anyway.”
The lower set of talons were connected to the closest thing a gargoyle had to feet. The long toenails had barely punctured Waggoner’s clothing before digging into him. Once they were pulled away, the entire creature fell off him like a second skin that had been shed.
Before Waggoner could stomp on the gargoyle, Cole said, “Wait! Grab it by the head.”
“Grab what?”
“You heard me,” Cole snapped in a sharp tone that left no room for misinterpretation. “Grab it by the head, reach into its mouth and pull out its tongue.”
Confused disgust flashed across Waggoner’s face, but he’d been training with Skinners long enough to have heard stranger requests from his superiors. He looked around for a good excuse to ignore the order, but the fighting had tapered off to a few random yelps as some Half Breeds were put down for good. The rush of retreating footsteps flowed away from the road like a wind rustling through tall weeds. Grudgingly, he grabbed the gargoyle by the head and did as he was told. The tongue and bladder to which it was connected came out after no small amount of work.
“Tie a knot in those tubes and keep that sac safe,” Cole said.
“You plan on using some of that stuff to turn something into stone?”
“If we have to. Otherwise, we’ll keep it for later.”
When he was through, Waggoner offered it to Cole.
“No,” Cole told him. “Keep hold of it and make sure it doesn’t leak.”
“But it stinks like hell.”
“Yes it does, but you already got that crap all over you. Holding onto a little more won’t make things any worse.”
Waggoner looked down at the front of his jacket where portions of the rocky crust still clung to him. The rest had left behind a mess of gray, dusty globs that stuck to him like dried glue. Already he smelled as if he’d been doused in rotten eggs and vinegar before being rolled on the floor of an old movie theater.
“Sucks to be the new guy,” Cole told him.
“Cole!” Paige shouted from the spot where the SUVs had been parked. “Stop messing around. You and John get to the club and bring all of our stuff over here.”
Cole sighed and looked around for any trace of gargoyles or Half Breeds. There was nothing else in the vicinity, which left him no reason to ignore the orders he’d been given. Turning toward the club, he jabbed a finger at Waggoner and said, “Not a word.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“How is it that the nymphs usher you around, but not us?” asked a slim black man wearing a dark gray hooded sweatshirt and frayed jeans. He was behind the wheel of the SUV Cole, Paige, and Waggoner had been piled into, and when he looked at them in the rearview mirror, a sour expression twisted the goatee that covered the lower portion of his face. Sharp features made him look even more severe when he said, “We’re supposed to be working together, so I think they should put in a good word for us with those ladies.”
“You are Russian,” Milosh said from the passenger seat. “So nobody cares what you think.” He was a stocky man with a full beard that would have spread like a bandito mask across the bottom of his face if not for the two scars running along his cheeks to part the whiskers like smoke.
The driver shot Milosh a piercing glare, which became friendlier when he shifted his eyes toward the Skinners. “Since he is a Czech pig with no manners, I will introduce myself. I am George.”
“And that,” Milosh cut in, “is Paige and Cole. The other one, I do not know.” Settling back into his seat, he grunted, “Pig, indeed.”
“So what happened back there?” Paige asked.
George and Milosh both looked into the closest mirror they could find as it they thought there might be werewolves nipping at the SUV’s bumper. “Ever since the Breaking Moon,” Milosh explained, “the Vitsaruuv have all been crazy.”
“Like they were ever sane,” George grunted.
“They are changed now. The ones with the tusks. They showed up in America first, but now they are here. Even the Kushtime are changed.”
George glanced back at the Skinners. “He means Mongrels.”
Milosh nodded and carried on. “At first we thought the Weshruuv all move over to America.”
“And you didn’t mind that, huh?” Paige asked. “As long as the Full Bloods are gathered on our turf, you guys just don’t care?”
“Maybe you forget that I was there during the Breaking Moon!” Milosh roared. “Drina and Gunari were killed when that insane Weshruuv brought our plane down. Tobar is still behind bars in your country! He may be dead for all we know.” Milosh shifted in his seat. The left sleeve of his jacket had been cut off and stapled shut because there was no arm inside it. He’d lost it to Minh when they fought in Atoka, but the Amriany seemed less concerned about that than he did about his next question. “Is he dead?”
Paige looked over to Cole, deferring to him since he’d taken it upon himself to keep up on the research. As much as he wanted to say otherwise, Cole replied, “I don’t know. The prisons were hit hard when the Half Breeds showed up. There just wasn’t enough time to move everyone and—”
“And a foreigner being held captive doesn’t matter to your police,” Milosh said.
“Lots of men and women were killed when those things started to swarm everywhere,” Cole replied tersely. “The Half Breeds were hungry, and prisons were just big buildings full of meat to them. Hospitals got hit just as badly. Lots of lives were lost, just like they’re being lost everywhere else. You want to focus on what we’re doing here or would you rather spout off some more?”
“You want to know what all Russians are like?” Milosh asked.
And, as further proof that the world was indeed going crazy, Paige took the role of peacemaker. “So you and your men were attacked outside of that club. I take it that wasn’t random?”
Drawing a knife from a shoulder holster that had been modified to carry it instead of a gun, Milosh said, “No. Not random. Someone knows our networks. Our codes. Everything they might need to guess where we might be and what we might be doing.”
Cole winced and pushed himself as far back into his seat as the cushions would allow before saying, “I hate to ask this, but is there any chance that one of your people is leaking the information? Like . . . maybe someone who was captured and questioned?”
Judging by the wariness in his voice and the lack of a knife shoved in his general direction, Cole suspected that Milosh had considered the possibility as well. “Tobar doesn’t know enough to have caused this kind of damage. And even if he did, he wouldn’t have lived long enough to have gotten it to the right people.”
“Who the hell are the right people?” George snapped. “The Full Bloods? They’re not people. They’re animals!”
“You’ve only dealt with one of them,” Milosh scolded. “Esteban isn’t like the others.”
Paige and Cole both sprung to attention. “What do you know about Esteban?” she asked.
“My country’s in his territory. Has been for over a century. He’s an animal that prefers to walk on all fours and would rather eat five children before bothering to bring down a grown man.”
“I don’t care which Full Blood it is,” Cole said. “They’re not the kind to take prisoners and they sure aren’t the kind to question anyone about anything. They don’t have to. That sounds more like a Nymar tactic.”
Extinction Agenda Page 22
