Extinction Agenda s-6

by Marcus Pelegrimas

  She’d always been an exotic beauty, even when she was human. Now that she’d joined the elite ranks of the Full Blood, every one of her assets was enhanced into a natural wonder. This wasn’t the first time they’d danced this way, her leading him through a seemingly impossible maze. Randolph kept that in mind as he leapt from tree to tree, savoring every fleeting glimpse of her and each flicker of gold when she looked back to see if she could find him.

  As they went deeper into the trees and farther from the river or any overgrown path, he could sense other predators around him. He felt them watching, waiting for him to slip or land too close to the wrong set of hungry jaws. Spiders clung to his fur. Primate voices screeched at him as he passed. Creatures that had never been detected by human eyes waited within hidden dens, plotting escape and attack routes should either possibility arise. But what caught his attention most were the serpents.

  Snakes of all shapes and colors reclined on branches or dangled from trees that were low enough to grant them access to slow-moving prey. Colorful scales twitched as the werewolf’s paws thumped nearby. Long, muscular bodies wrapped around his ankles in an attempt to drag him down. Full Blood or not, Randolph was a stranger in those trees. That made him vulnerable to any number of carefully orchestrated attacks or well-timed bites. All those possibilities gave him a rush of excitement that had been absent after so many years of dancing with the same hunters across the same patches of land.

  Eventually, Jaden slowed down. Randolph caught up to her right away and tightened his grip on the next tree he could wrap his arms around. Sinking his claws into the aged bark, he looked down at her as one of the snakes slid across his knuckles.

  “Here is where we wait,” she announced.

  The clearing was small and could very well disappear or be reshaped by a storm. She remained on all fours, keeping her head low either out of deference to the being that approached or to watch for whatever threats might be lurking beneath the thick carpeting of fallen leaves and topsoil. Randolph felt the urge to climb even higher just to survey his surroundings but didn’t want to ruin what might be a singular chance to meet Icanchu. There would be time for sightseeing later. For now, there was business to discuss.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Shreveport, Louisiana

  The sirens wailed throughout the city. Whoever didn’t heed the warning they provided were either directed into shelter by passing soldiers or cut down by the increasing number of Half Breeds that swarmed through every alley, neighborhood, and suburb. Whenever Esteban raised his voice to howl above the din of the sirens, more locals dropped to their knees, clawed at their faces and screamed as they were cruelly introduced to the Breaking.

  Adderson cringed every time he heard the Full Blood. On the occasions when the agonized cries were too far away to affect him or his men, he felt shame for being relieved that he hadn’t lost anyone to the random slaughter inflicted by the whims of a monster. He didn’t know why some were broken and others weren’t. He didn’t know why he hadn’t even felt a twitch of pain during any of those howls. As a soldier, however, he was all too familiar with the terrible randomness that struck some down and left others standing to view the carnage.

  After taking silent stock of the soldiers in the Humvee with him, Adderson ordered the vehicle to stop. The driver was a tall kid who’d just turned twenty after being transferred to the IRD from an infantry post in the Army. Myles may have been young, but he’d proven himself under pressure in Afghanistan and a few times already when cleaning up various cities after the wolves started showing up.

  “Take a look up top, Warren,” Adderson said to a Marine on her second tour of duty in a war zone. “And be careful. There may be some following close enough to the Humvee that we can’t see them through the windows.”

  Jennifer Warren had put twice as much time into her career as the young driver and carried herself like a true warrior. “Yes sir,” she said. “Just like in Memphis.” In Memphis some of the Half Breeds had gotten smart enough to slink alongside IRD vehicles and wait for soldiers to stick their heads out so they could be pulled to the street and devoured. Even though she still had nightmares about those deaths, she stood up through the hatch in the roof that put her behind a mounted .50 caliber machine gun. “Looks like there’s some activity down this alley, sir,” she reported.

  Keying his radio, Adderson said, “Turning down the alley. Be ready.”

  The drivers of the two Humvees behind him acknowledged, and gunners emerged from their roofs.

  After getting the nod from Adderson, Myles hit the gas and turned down the alley. Almost immediately four Half Breeds exploded from behind a row of trash cans to attack the convoy. Warren opened fire with the .50 cal, and the Humvee behind her followed suit. The third gunner waited until two of the Half Breeds circled around before opening up on them.

  The first pair of Half Breeds caught Warren’s barrage in the face and chest. She knew well enough to aim low and lead the werewolves rather than wasting ammo trying to hit a target that was too fast to be pinned down with normal fire. Even after their front paws were knocked out from beneath them, they kept coming. The first time she’d seen creatures get up and continue to function after being hit by .50 caliber rounds, Warren had been stupefied. That was just enough time for two of the men in her unit to be taken down and another to be turned. Ever since then, she just fired at them until they stopped moving.

  When the driver started to get anxious, Adderson told him, “Steady. We’ll get our chance.”

  That didn’t seem to calm the kid’s nerves as machine guns kept blazing and chunks of pavement were blasted apart on either side of his vehicle. For a few jarring seconds all three of the .50 cals were firing in unison. Adderson’s brain rattled in his skull, but he focused on the alley from which the Half Breeds had emerged. There was more movement down there and what looked to be someone on all fours crawling out from the shadows. That figure, along with a few others, still seemed human.

  One Half Breed propped itself up to scratch its claws against Myles’s window. A few rounds from the second Humvee knocked it to the ground, where several more holes were blasted through its body. Once that one stopped moving, the gunfire fell silent.

  “That does it for that pack, sir,” one of the other gunners said through Adderson’s radio. “Moving on?”

  “Negative,” Adderson replied. “I need a recon unit to accompany me into that alley. Looks like there may be casualties.”

  “Yes sir.”

  One of the weapons issued to Adderson and the rest of the IRD troops had been an HK-G36. The lightweight assault rifles were modified to carry extended magazines as well as grenade launchers under the barrel. Not long after the IRD’s first mission, incendiary rounds were also issued, but it turned out that the only thing worse than a rampaging pack of werewolves was a rampaging pack of werewolves on fire. For now, hollow points intermixed with standard rounds were the flavor of the week. Enough of that mixture on full auto usually put down a Half Breed. Of course, a good amount of prayer didn’t hurt.

  A few comforting verses drifted through Adderson’s mind as he led the way down that alley. Snarls came from all sides. Some came from above. He kept his focus on the path directly ahead and pointed toward the rooftops so the Marines behind him could keep watch on that area. Someone was crying. He couldn’t tell whether it was a man or woman, child or adult. When someone was in that much pain and terrified, they were all brought down to the same level.

  “Wolves up top,” was all one of the Marines said before he and another soldier opened fire.

  Adderson barely flinched at the chattering gunshots. He was close enough to an alcove to see a woman and a boy who looked to be around ten years old huddled against a building’s side door that remained shut no matter how hard they pushed against it. She was missing an arm and he was lying on his side along with her severed limb. They were both covered in blood.

  “Help her,” the boy cried.

 
The woman’s eyes were glazed over and her body was still.

  “Help her! Please!”

  “She’s gone, son,” Adderson said.

  “No,” the boy wailed. “I can hear her.”

  The woman’s chest was moving. Adderson could see that and could hear her as well. The wet crunch of bones breaking inside of her was very distinctive. “Come here by me,” he said to the kid.

  The kid wouldn’t budge. “No! You’re supposed to help us. Help my mom!”

  “Mosier, come take this kid into one of the Humvees.”

  A Marine stepped forward to carry out the order. He’d been with the IRD since its inception and seen enough to recognize the danger signs where the boy’s mother was concerned. His instincts were so finely honed that his HK never wavered from her as she began to jerk and twitch under heavier convulsions. His grip on the kid’s arm was firm but gentle at first. It became uncompromising when the boy planted his feet and held onto the woman’s dirty wool cardigan.

  The woman’s eyes snapped open. Her jaw dropped and her back arched as the Breaking moved through her spine and ribs.

  “Mommy!”

  “Get that kid away from here!” Adderson roared.

  Despite Mosier’s best efforts, the kid would not be taken easily. Adderson waited until the boy was out of the alley, but could still hear his screams when he aimed at the woman’s head and sent a three-shot burst through her brain. The kid screamed, and his voice was soon joined by others. Even though the woman’s twitching had stopped, he kept his assault rifle pointed at her when he said, “Scout ahead to see who else is here.”

  Three soldiers replied in the affirmative, two Army Rangers and one Marine. They hurried down the alley in a shoulder-to-shoulder formation so all three of them could open fire if the need arose. Adderson couldn’t see much past them, but the shooting started almost immediately. All three of the soldiers fired in controlled bursts before going any farther. Since they hadn’t called for reinforcements, he knew they’d probably found a smaller pack than the one that attacked the convoy.

  Adderson’s ears picked up on the howl right away. He heard its rising and falling tone woven in with a distant set of sirens. “There’ll be more coming,” he said to the others.

  No response came.

  “Take the kid back to the Humvees and get him out of here.”

  Still no response.

  Swiveling around, Adderson found one of the soldiers on his knees, hanging onto the kid’s wrist in a grip that caused the boy to squirm in pain. Mosier must have handed him off but now was fighting to get him back. From the Humvees, muffled cries could be heard along with the thrashing of boots or fists pounding against the interior of the vehicles.

  More shots were fired by the scouting team in the alley, which meant they were unaffected by the most recent howl. The growls coming from that direction were definitely being made by Class Twos. Mosier struggled to pull the kid back while keeping his aim on the soldier who was being broken. “Come on, kid. Just relax and let me pull you loose.”

  The kid jerked his hand free, but also let out a bloodcurdling scream as his head twisted to one side and the bones in his legs began to pop. Having seen more than his share of action, Mosier dropped the kid’s hand and took aim. Because he was a father of three, he wasn’t able to pull the trigger right away. Because he was a human being, he wasn’t about to let the kid suffer once his bones began to snap and the wolf’s teeth ripped through tender, pink gums. He fired, knowing he would remember every shot until the last day of his life.

  “All teams in Delta Sector report!” Adderson shouted into his radio.

  Two of the groups didn’t report back. The Humvee closest to the street opened fire with its .50 cal, causing a torrent of pained growls to fill the air. Soon, the grating sound of claws scraping against metal pierced Adderson’s ears.

  “Hunter One, this is Duck Blind, do you copy?”

  At that moment those names felt all too appropriate. While Adderson and his troops waded hip deep in blood, the IRD brass stayed where it was safe and watched the fighting through satellite feeds and online relays. Jamming his finger against the radio’s Talk button as if he wanted to smash it into the box itself, Adderson replied, “This is Hunter One. My convoy has been compromised. There’s been civilian casualties. We’re downtown on—”

  “Pull your team back. We’re pulling the plug on this one. Over.”

  “No, sir! We’re already embedded. The Class One is staying nearby. We won’t get a better chance than this to take it out. Over.”

  “Do you have any specialists on site? Over.”

  Adderson clenched his jaw while weighing the pros and cons of lying about the Skinners being there along with his team. In the end he knew their presence wouldn’t make much difference. If anything, having the Skinners at his side when things swirled this far down the bowl would only make the higher-ups think twice about allowing the specialists on another operation. “No specialists on site,” he said. “Over.”

  “Then we’re out of options in dealing with that Class One. Pull your men out of there and clear a path for the bombers.”

  “What about the civilians, sir?”

  “We’ve already ordered them to take cover. The ones who haven’t are probably dead already. Now pull out, Major.”

  Adderson stood so he could see his men in the fire team as well as the bodies on the pavement nearby. Mosier took up position beside him with his rife held at the ready. The fire team was alternating fire so they could reload, but were holding their ground. A few were enforcing the Cleanup Protocols on the troops who’d fallen to the last howl. After another burst of fire, the alley was quiet once again. Keying his radio, Adderson said, “Negative, sir.”

  “What was that, Major?”

  Although Mosier didn’t speak up, he looked over to his commanding officer with surprise written across his hard-edged features.

  Gunfire had died down in the streets as well, and the howling had stopped, leaving the city with a silent pall and a gritty texture that left the taste of blood and burnt cordite in the back of Adderson’s throat. “Bombing runs haven’t worked on a Class One yet, sir. Soon as they hear the planes, they run away. Even if we get this one to stand still long enough for the bombs to drop, there’s no proof they’ll do any damage. This one is different, sir.”

  “How so?”

  Rather than try to explain how Esteban had faded in and out of a solid form, Adderson said, “It’s not like the others. I’ll file a report when I’m out of Shreveport, but I won’t be leaving until we put up a real fight.”

  “A real fight? What the hell do you call what we’ve been doing?”

  “We’ve been doing what we could while trying to remain safe, sir. It’ll take more than that to put these things down.”

  “And if we don’t play our cards right, those things may just wipe us off the map. We just got a report that Hunter Four’s team was compromised by an unknown number of Class Twos in South Dakota. The entire platoon is gone.”

  “All of them?”

  “Affirmative. And there wasn’t even a Class One present.”

  “Not that we know of, anyway.”

  “That’s just a matter of checking one box or another on the reports, Major. All those soldiers are either dead or running around the Badlands with the rest of those fucking wolves, and I won’t have that happen to your unit as well!”

  Adderson drew a breath and held it as he thought about the last time he’d seen the commanding officer of Hunter Four. Mark Jones had bought a round of drinks and charged it to the federal account under Essential Provisions. Adderson had promised to buy the next round. “We can’t pull back, sir,” he said. “These Class Ones are smart and they’re getting braver. This one’s staying in Shreveport just because it can.”

  “Come again?”

  “We’ve tracked its heat signature and it hasn’t been searching any particular part of town, chasing any specific scouting unit, or even
tearing into a specific batch of civvies. It’s just pacing, sir.”

  After a pause, the voice on the other end of the radio asked, “Pacing? What the hell does that even mean?”

  “Just like I said. It’s circling the city, keeping out of our range, turning us at random intervals and engaging whenever it feels like it. Some of this is a judgment call on my part, but I’ve engaged enough of these things to know when they’re trying to wipe us out or hit a particular target. This one’s just staying here because it knows it can. I think it’s trying to turn the entire city to add more wolves to the outbreak.”

  “Jesus Christ. Have you taken losses?”

  “Some of my men were turned by the last howl, but it’s still random. The Class Twos that were made will attack more targets who will either be killed or turned.” Steeling himself, Adderson said, “It’s only a matter of time before it gets every human being in Shreveport.”

  “That’s what our analysts say. This problem is spreading exponentially across the globe, which is why I’m recalling you, Major. I can’t afford to lose another Hunter platoon. Especially not yours.”

  “Have the tech crews come up with anything better to fight these things?”

  “The specialists left us some of those Snapper rounds, but they’re a bitch to manufacture on a large scale. We’ve already allocated all of those Silver Bullet rounds to the Hunter platoons, and whatever that stuff is that’s attached to those rounds, the specialists either don’t have any more or aren’t willing to share.”

  “So that’s a negative on new equipment,” Adderson stated.

  “For now. Do you have an ETA on when those specialists will be returning?” When Adderson didn’t respond right away, the next question was, “Are the specialists returning?”