“If you know so much, you should have left me in Lancroft’s pit.”
Randolph had taken a form that was bristling with raw, elemental might. Saliva flowed off of fangs the size of a man’s fingers, only to freeze in the thick fur that hung from his chin. “The noise that fills this modern world has become deafening. In order to silence it, the Full Bloods needed first to be heard above the commotion. Liam knew this, but all he wanted was to rage against them all. The Skinners were a larger obstacle than any of our kind ever realized, but it was the leeches that suppressed them long enough for us to mobilize like never before. The Breaking Moon rose and you were free to make the best of it. But I have read the legends. I know that you are the First Deceiver. The first Full Blood. While your lies may not sink as deeply into our minds, your influence burrows like a worm that sinks further and further in the longer you infect our kind with your presence. That is why I spent most of the Breaking Moon far away from this place.
“I know the Skinners better than anyone. I have learned all there is to know about my brethren. I even knew where to find you when the time came. All I need is a source of the Torva’ox that is stronger than what now flows through even your veins. When I have that, there will be a culling that will silence the yapping population of human and shapeshifter alike.”
“And you believe Icanchu will help you do this?” Kawosa asked. “You are a fool.”
“I did not start this bloodshed, but I offer you a chance to be one of the survivors after I finish it.”
“I’ll take my chances on my own. Gambling with Death offers better odds than siding with an angry pup like you.”
“And I’m through with taking chances. Since you won’t give me what I need, I’ll take it from you.” Randolph lunged. He dropped to all fours and barely allowed his front paws to touch the ground before springing forward and baring almost every fang in his mouth with a wide, vicious snarl.
Kawosa planted his paws in the snow, bobbing his head down and to the side before rolling away as the Full Blood’s jaws clamped shut above him. He might have avoided getting his head snipped off, but a good portion of his fur along with a patch of flesh on the back of his neck were sheared away.
Twisting his head to take another snap at Kawosa, Randolph clamped down on empty air. When he opened his mouth again, he spat out the little piece of Kawosa he’d claimed as if the furry patch of flesh had put a foul taste in his mouth. Then he kicked up a frozen white wave as he scrambled to turn back around and face his opponent. Kawosa was there waiting for him.
The trickster wore a weary smile. His black eyes shifted to a cloudy green and then became perfect crystalline orbs similar to a Full Blood’s. Randolph tensed for an attack, and when he’d committed himself to a defense, Kawosa attacked a spot that was left open. Compared to the Full Blood’s claws, Kawosa’s were like curved, bony needles. They didn’t have enough brute force to peel a car down to the frame, but they punctured Randolph’s flesh with every swipe.
Knowing it was only a matter of seconds before his flesh was stripped to the bone, Randolph stood up and tried to grab hold of the other shapeshifter. When he got a hold on him, Kawosa bit his hand and shook his head until narrow, pointed fangs met inside the Full Blood’s wrist. Howling wildly, Randolph tore Kawosa from his back. The pain from the bite was more than enough to wash away the agony of ripping those claws from where they’d been lodged.
Kawosa landed on all fours, and as soon as his paws were under him, put some distance between himself and Randolph. Once that was done, he circled around and leapt at him.
Having already gotten a taste of Kawosa’s speed, Randolph didn’t try to dodge the incoming attack. He shifted his muscles into thick bands and planted his feet in preparation for catching the wily shapeshifter. Somehow, Kawosa pivoted in midair so his claws could swipe at him from unexpected angles. The instant Randolph grabbed his midsection, Kawosa slashed at Randolph’s face. The Full Blood craned his neck to avoid the deadly weapons, howling as one claw snagged the corner of an eye. It was only a matter of determination mixed with a bit of luck that he wasn’t blinded. Realizing this, he flung Kawosa into the air, shifted into his four-legged form and broke into a loping run. Not once did he take his eyes from Kawosa as the shapeshifter turned and kicked through empty space. All he needed to do was keep his prey in sight while gauging where Kawosa would land.
And then the trickster disappeared like a mirage that had been made of cloud vapor and drifting smoke.
Randolph slowed his steps while searching the blue Canadian sky. There was nothing to mask the sight of an airborne shapeshifter. In the distance he heard the impact of something landing in the snow, followed by the scraping of claws against hard, frozen earth. Panting with renewed vigor, Randolph raced in that direction.
“You know nothing of what I can do,” Kawosa said while pacing less than fifty yards in front of the Full Blood.
Randolph rushed at him, eyes narrowing to keep out as much of the icy wind as possible. When Kawosa sprang from his hind legs, Randolph jumped to meet him at the top of an arch formed by their two trajectories. Instead of colliding the way two physical bodies should, however, Randolph slashed apart the vision of Kawosa that faded without so much as a hint of anything solid that had been there. Before Randolph could touch the ground again, something slammed against his ribs. It was Kawosa, clinging to him, biting and clawing in a frenzy of sharp edges and insatiable hunger. Peeling him off and casting him away this time was even more painful for Randolph than the last.
“I’ll give you one chance to think, pup,” Kawosa said upon landing. “Think about what you’re doing and maybe you’ll come to your senses.”
But Randolph wasn’t going to be swayed. Although there were no energies trying to assert themselves on his mind, he recognized the feral gleam in the shapeshifter’s pale gold eyes. There was too much blood dripping from his tapered snout, too much torn flesh dangling from between his teeth, for him to simply give up now. Any werewolf knew the hunger that came after tasting the tender perfection of freshly shredded meat. Rather than put his insight to the test, Randolph allowed his muscles to relax and his head to hang to one side as if he was truly considering the offer.
Sure enough, Kawosa charged. Although the trickster was the one snapping at the bait dangling in front of him, he didn’t go about it recklessly. He covered the small patch of ground between them in a series of darting steps, each one sending him forward at a slightly different angle than the last. Even his head sent mixed signals as it bobbed in the wrong way from the rest of his body. Rather than try to compensate for all of those factors, Randolph stood up and swept both arms out. If another creature had been standing directly in front of him, it would have been ripped in half by both sets of claws that raked out in opposite directions to cover as much area as possible.
The swings were wild enough to clip Kawosa in several places. Having underestimated his quarry, Kawosa now found himself in the midst of an onslaught akin to several sets of propeller blades converging on him at once. He snapped at Randolph’s legs and brought the Full Blood down. He then kicked his lower body to an awkward angle so another powerful swing could pass him by, and scrambled away.
Like any predator, Randolph’s killer instinct swelled at the sight of his prey trying to flee. His howl was a terrible sound that sent smaller animals fleeing for miles in every direction. After all that had happened, even the humans in nearby towns knew to shut their doors and seek shelter instead of poking their noses out to investigate the unearthly riot.
Kawosa kept his steps swift and glanced over one shoulder to find the other shapeshifter bearing down on him. Shifting into a lean, scraggly canine built for running, he bolted toward the north. But Randolph knew better than to chase after him right away. Instead, he slowed down and strained for his other senses to detect any hint as to something else that might be moving around him.
Kawosa didn’t exactly disappear from where he’d been, but he did show up
in a spot that Randolph hadn’t been expecting. When Randolph tried to follow his prey, he found himself simply looking in the wrong direction. Now that the trickster had built up a head of steam, he had enough speed to put a simple ruse like that to good use. Keeping that in mind, Randolph charged over snowdrifts, leapt over fallen logs, and stormed through forests. Kawosa’s ruse bought him enough time to veer away to the south, but the Full Blood surged onward with enough force to catch up to him. Randolph’s claws snagged the trickster’s tail, but Kawosa ripped himself loose at the expense of his own body and ran away again.
After tossing aside the tail he’d ripped from Kawosa’s body, the pursuit began in earnest.
Chapter Eight
Louisville, Kentucky
When the sun went down on a war-torn country, nearly every city felt the same. After the Breaking Moon, dusk became a universal warning for all living things without claws to seek shelter before the monsters emerged from their holes. There was no shame in running anymore. No pride to be lost at jumping when an unexpected noise rang out. People still conducted their lives, trying not to think about the horrors that had engulfed their former lives. A trickle of humanity went out to eat or worked at jobs they could ill afford to quit. Some children went to school where drills were conducted to teach them where to run if Half Breeds charged toward the playground. The rest sat behind bolted doors, praying.
Rico had given up on anything as comforting as prayer. He sat inside the sloped building on the corner of Spring and Payne, hunched over the keyboard of one of many Vigilant computers, angling his head so the other nearby Skinners couldn’t easily hear him as he spoke into a hands-free phone receiver. Since the windows were all blacked out and barred, he watched the outside world through a small bank of monitors displaying feeds from cameras set up on posts, rooftops, and windowsills within three square blocks of his location. Every so often he would check the faces of the Skinners watching him, and then look back down to the work he was doing. “All right,” he whispered. “What do you want me to do?”
“Are you at the computer?” Cole asked through the headset.
“Yeah, but I ain’t no hacker. If anyone’s tryin’ to hide something about that prison in Colorado, I sure as hell won’t be able to find it.”
“Just type what I tell you and let me know what you find. Look for Hal Waylon. He was the guy who ran the place where I was locked up.”
Rico did as Cole instructed, but Hal Waylon’s name wasn’t easy to find. A little digging into e-mail histories, downloads, and user interface registrations was enough to pull up the name four times. Denver, Colorado, was mentioned, but mostly in connection to the two Full Bloods who’d leveled a supposedly abandoned packaging facility. It was the same bullshit that had been handed to the press, and mentioned nothing of Cole’s escape. The fragments he’d found where Hal Waylon was mentioned were too small to count for anything.
“We need more than that,” Rico grunted.
“Hal Waylon was a Skinner,” Cole insisted. “He mentioned the Vigilant by name and acted like someone who took his sensitivity training from a douche bag like Jonah Lancroft.”
“There are other Vigilant branches out there. I only got a few minutes before I’m noticed here, so make it snappy.”
The two closest to him were from the younger batch who’d been called in to help with Cecile. They were twitchy due to frayed nerves, pale after being out of the sunlight for the better part of a month, and never far away from a shotgun or assault rifle. A few more Skinners walked back and forth between other rooms. Most of the activity was centered on the basement now that there was a live Full Blood to cut and prod as they pleased. Rico didn’t even want to think about what sorts of experiments were being run on Cecile or what samples were being taken.
“Okay,” Cole sighed. “Let’s try a few other keywords. What about ‘tendrils, infected’ or ‘spore’?” He then told Rico how to run the search to look for instances where those words showed up in conjunction with his own name.
Leaning back in the squeaky old office chair he’d been given, Rico said, “Nada.”
“Hey,” one of the younger Skinners said. “You find anything yet?” She usually sat in the spot Rico was using, but wasn’t high enough on the totem pole to do much of anything when he waved her off.
He searched for prison and cells, only to find some notes related to building the holding area in the basement where Cecile was being held.
“Okay,” Cole said. “We need to search for something specifically related to that Colorado facility where I was locked up, but isn’t a high enough priority to be wiped out in an attempt for these guys to make themselves look innocent. Something not very important in the grand scheme of things but that’s still in the system. Maybe something mentioned in low-level messages or a document that wouldn’t have been wiped off the hard drive.”
“You got ten more seconds,” Rico said.
Cole only needed four. “Try ‘Lambert.’ ”
“That’s the other prisoner that broke out with you, ain’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Where’s he been?”
“Good question,” Cole replied. “Haven’t seen him since about a week after Atoka fell. He’s probably holed up someplace to stay out of the line of fire.”
“Join the damn club,” Rico grunted.
Some hits showed up right away. When Rico clicked on them, he got a few e-mails regarding a scrawny man claiming to be a psychic who was brought up on charges for assaulting two people at a bar in West Texas. A half-garbled link to a website brought his attention to a news story about a man arrested for robbing a woman outside a tattoo parlor and trying to escape into the Rocky Mountains.
Cole sifted through his memories of those days he’d spent behind bars. The next few searches were quick and easy.
Frank.
That one came up empty, which wasn’t a surprise. Cole doubted anyone running that prison gave a damn about what Frank’s name was.
Squamatosapien.
Squam.
Lizard man.
None of those words sparked much of anything either. Rico could feel his time at the computer dwindling. It wouldn’t be long before one of the others took it upon themselves to step closer and take a better look at what he was doing. When Cole gave him the next search item, the smile shone through in his voice.
“Try ‘Sweet Sarah Sunshine.’ ”
The computer chugged through its own memories before spitting up one note from a file that resided in a buffer where old documents sat after being placed in a bundle and then stored without being opened for an excessive amount of time. It was an e-mail marked, Prioner description. The simple misspelling in the title was probably the only thing that had saved it from being deleted with all of the other prisoner-related stuff.
“We have a winnah,” Rico declared. It read:
Subject in Holding Cell 4: Adult male, Hispanic, approx. 30-35 years old, 5’9’’ tall, 168 lbs. Tattoo on rib cage reads “Sweet Sarah Sunshine” adorned with lip marks and ladybugs. Low-level psychic ability at close range. Can read thoughts and short-term memories which make him particularly valuable in questioning and categorizing other prisoners. No known family. Recommend he be left in vicinity of cells and terminated when becomes too much trouble. Dissection of brain matter may be useful.The victory Rico felt at finding something faded the moment he realized what it meant. “You were right,” he said under his breath.
“What is it?” Cole asked. “What did you find? Can you e-mail it to me?”
Once quick glance at the young woman who normally haunted that computer was enough to tell Rico that she would be sifting through that terminal the moment he got up. “No,” he said as he deleted everything he knew how to delete. “But it’s enough. Meet me outside. I got something you need to see.”
While going through the motions of shutting the computer down, he jabbed a beefy finger toward the young woman and barked, “Go check on the crow’s nest
and secure the armory!”
She, along with half of the Skinners in the immediate area, jumped up and hurried upstairs to follow through on the orders. Once they were out of the way, Rico stomped over to the rune-encrusted panel in the floor and dropped to one knee so he could tap some of the runes on the square door that Jessup had opened earlier. When the trapdoor came open, Rico pressed his finger against the earpiece as if about to shove it into his brain. “It’s not here,” he said in a hushed voice.
Cole’s response was measured and calm. “I may know something about that.”
“You got a hold of that box?” Rico asked. An ugly smirk crawled across his face when he asked, “How the hell did you manage that one?”
“I don’t have it, but I know where it is.”
“I’m coming out there and you’re givin’ it back to me.”
“I can’t,” Cole said. “Paige and I need that thing.”
Rico shut the door, set the runes to remain locked no matter who touched them next, then nodded casually to the Skinner on guard duty carrying an AK-47. “You’re damn lucky that box is still in there. Were you the one that didn’t shut it right?”
“No!” The guard reflexively replied. “Wasn’t me!”
“Good. Don’t go warnin’ any of the other newbie twerps,” he snarled. “When I find out which it was that did that, I want it to be a surprise.”
The expression on the younger man’s face showed that he was relieved to be grateful he hadn’t touched the floor panel, and his quick turn on the balls of his feet showed how anxious he was to get the hell away from the big man.
Extinction Agenda s-6 Page 11
