“Hair and fiber recovered from victims. We, um, hijacked some of the lab reports and sent it to Broussard’s people for sequencing. Rang all the right bells. And the genes show clear sign of after-market manipulation. Transgenics, gene therapy, all sorts of stuff.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Our theory is that someone is trying to build a better werewolf. I don’t know about you gents, but that pretty much scares the shit out of me.”
Chap. 42
The killer ran and the local wolf ran after.
They chased each other through the woods for long minutes, and then the killer broke and ran through a stream and shed his pursuer like a snake sheds a skin.
After ten full minutes of running, the killer stopped and went to high ground. He searched in all directions for the local wolf. For the pup.
And found nothing.
He sneered in contempt.
A wolf that could not follow a living scent was no wolf at all. He deserved to be gutted and left to rot.
The killer made a mental promise to see that done.
Chap. 43
“Why the fuck would someone want to do that?” I demanded.
“Two words,” said Ledger. “Super soldier.”
“Like Captain America with fur?” suggested Crow.
“More like Captain Russia or Captain North Korea, or something like that,” said Ledger. “But in broad terms, sure. Why not? If you can make the science work, and if that science isn’t all that expensive—and if you’re starting with actual werewolves it wouldn’t be—why not give it a shot? Of course, it’s more cost effective and logistically sound to do something like this, to draw from the local populace of your enemy. If you can find lycanthropes within a target country and recruit them, then it reduces the likelihood of political fallout. It’s always easier to disown a traitor than explain away a spy. Plus, given that there actually are werewolves, then imagine the psychological and religious implications. That kind of thing would do real harm. Actual monsters.”
Crow and I sat there and chewed on that. Kind of choked on it going down.
It also made me review some of my own encounters with what I’ve always thought were supernatural elements. Was Ledger right? Were these things really part of a much bigger version of “natural science?” Like the way physics has had to expand to embrace both Einstein’s relativity and Max Planck’s quantum physics, and was being stretched further to take in chaos theory, string theory, and other crazy shit that I can’t even begin to understand.
Vampires? Sure, the ones I met didn’t turn into bats or command storms. None of that nonsense. And me? The phases of the moon didn’t mean dick to me. Maybe it was all evidence that Mother Nature was a freaky bitch.
Demons and ghosts? Jury would have to deliberate a little longer on that. And that wasn’t a topic I wanted to float with Ledger. Or Crow, though I was beginning to suspect that he knew more about this than all of us.
“What about that kid, Antonio?” I asked. “Is he part of this mad science bullshit?”
Ledger shook his head. “No. He’s a friend of a friend.”
Crow made a twirling motion with his index finger, indicating that he wanted more of an answer than that.
“One of the guys that works with me, a computer super-geek, travels in some of the same circles as Antonio. When the Broussard thing came up, this friend of mine did some covert net searches. Very much on the D.L., and based on message board posts, Facebook searches and other data, he made a list of people who might actually be lycanthropes hiding within regular society.”
“More NSA spy shit?” asked Crow, but Ledger ignored that.
“How many names?” I asked.
“A few,” said Ledger, but he wouldn’t go any deeper into that. All he said was “Antonio Jones popped up on the list, and it happened to be that my friend knew him from some sci-fi and horror conventions. The kid’s Facebook photo was of him in full makeup as a werewolf, except—”
“Except it was real?”
“Yup.”
“That’s nuts,” I said, but I found it funny, too. “Hiding in plain sight.”
Crow grunted. “Kind of makes you wonder.”
“Yes it does,” Ledger agreed.
“So where does all this leave us?” I asked. “I mean, I can kind of buy this werewolf super soldier thing, and I’ve seen firsthand the kind of damage these assholes are willing to do, but…what now? We have a theory and no facts. Do you Mission Impossible cats have any leads?”
Ledger sighed. “Not yet. I was kind of hoping you fellas could help with that.”
“Why us?” asked Crow.
“’Cause, you got a werewolf working for you.”
“Meaning me?” I asked.
“Meaning your deputy,” said Ledger. “Meaning Officer Michael Sweeney. Meaning your adopted son.”
Crow said nothing. His expression was completely blank. He hadn’t mentioned Mike Sweeney.
So I asked. “What makes you think that?”
“Antonio,” said Ledger.
“Balls,” said Crow.
“Funny old world,” said Ledger.
Which is when Crow’s cell phone rang. He looked at it and made a face.
“It’s him.”
He held up a finger for silence as he took the call. Mostly, he listened.
Then he said, “Stay right there. Don’t do anything. You hear me, Mike? You stay right where you are and wait. I’m bringing plenty of backup. No, I don’t mean Otis and Farley. Don’t worry, we’ll be there in a hot minute.”
He closed the phone and got to his feet.
“What is it?” Ledger and I both asked.
“Mike thinks he found them.”
Chap. 44
Ledger’s car was right outside. A Ford Explorer that had gotten some kind of upgrade. The engine was quiet as a whisper, but the fucking thing could move. Crow rode shotgun, I was in the back.
“Buckle up, kids,” said Ledger. He wasn’t joking. He drove it like a getaway car.
“I only have two spare magazines,” said Crow.
Ledger laughed at that. “I got enough shit in the back to invade Iran. Now tell me about Sweeney. What exactly did he find?”
Crow said Mike was hunting the woods, trying to pick up the trail of the werewolves who’d wrecked the bike. He picked up a fresher scent, and for a while thought he was going to run another wolf to ground. Didn’t happen that way, though, and he followed that to a blockhouse in the woods that was sometimes used by the EPA when they sent their teams in. Some universities leased it for use, too. There’s some oddball flora and fauna in the woods near Pine Deep.
“Mike said that the trail led to a shed attached to the blockhouse, and he thought that the rear wall might be phony. That’s when he backed out and called me.”
“You know this blockhouse?” asked Ledger.
“Sure.” Crow gave him precise directions out of town, then began calling turns onto small side roads. Pretty soon we were driving roads so narrow and overgrown that weeds and branches brushed both sides of the car.
“I bet the last guy to use this road wore feathers,” complained Ledger.
We went deep into the state forest and way off the grid.
As we drove, Ledger caught my eye in the rearview. “This lycanthrope thing is pretty much new to me, and I’ll be the first to admit that it’s freaking me out.”
“Doesn’t show,” I said.
“Feels it on the inside. My nuts crawled up inside my chest cavity and they don’t seem to want to come down.”
“You afraid of me?” I asked.
“Of course I am, you freak. You’re a fucking werewolf. I have a fucking werewolf in my car. I am driving to meet another werewolf who is waiting to lead me to a nest of super-soldier werewolves. So, yeah, I’m afraid. I’d worry about anyone who said they weren’t scared.”
I grinned at him.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “You look like Hannibal fucking Lecter.”
; “Sorry.”
“Tell me something,” Ledger continued. “When you do that, um, change…how much of you is you and how much is the wolf?”
“One and the same.”
“That’s not enough of an answer, man. I need to know if I have to keep an eye on you. I mean, do I need to worry about you looking at me and thinking I’m on the menu?”
For some reason I couldn’t adequately explain, I found that to be moderately offensive.
“No,” I said.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He gave me another look. A hard one. “Be sure.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
Chap. 45
Crow had Ledger pull off onto a side road that ran fifty feet and dead-ended in the woods.
“It’s a mile from here,” he said. “Best if we go in on foot.”
We all agreed to that.
Ledger popped the back of the Explorer and opened a big, flat, metal box. Inside there were handguns, rifles, shotguns, boxes of rounds, and even some grenades.
“Party favors,” said Ledger.
“Sweet Mother of Pearl,” said Crow as he selected a bandolier fitted to hold a dozen loaded magazines. His sidearm was a Glock .40 and there were plenty of magazines for him. Ledger put one on as well, with mags for his Beretta. He also took an A-12 combat shotgun with a big drum filled with buckshot and Frag-12 fragmentation grenades.
“For when you want to send the very best,” said Ledger. I saw him check the spring of his rapid-release folding knife, too. Then he glanced at me. “What about you?”
I had my gun and two magazines, but that was all I needed. “Less I carry, the less I have to go back later and find. But…any chance you have an extra pair of sweat pants or something?”
“I have BDU pants. My size, but you can roll up the cuffs. Why?”
“Because I tend to ruin my clothes when I change, unless I strip out first. And if we walk away from this, I doubt you want me going commando on your back seat.”
He grinned, took the rolled-up extra pants, and tucked them into the back of his belt.
We moved off into the woods. Crow texted Mike to let him know we were coming. Ledger was good in the woods. Fast and silent, like me. Crow knew how to move through nature, too, but he had a limp. We had to slow down to let him keep pace with us. Even so, a mile was nothing and it fell away in a few quick minutes.
I smelled Mike before I saw him.
But he was closer than I would have liked. He was smart enough to come at us downwind. I turned a split second before he deliberately stepped on some dry grass. A moment later Crow and Ledger turned, too.
Mike waved us down behind some dense bushes. Beyond it, built into a downslope of a long hill, was a box made from cinderblock. Boring, utilitarian, and stained by forest rains and insect slime. The structure was sixty-by-ninety with a small shed built onto the east corner. Mike pointed to a clump of pines and in the shadows we could see three cars. An SUV and two sedans. Then he dug into a pocket and produced a handful of important-looking wires. Those cars weren’t going anywhere.
The young officer nodded to the building. “I picked up a scent in the woods and followed it. Lost it a couple of times because I think he knew he was being followed. He went into the stream for a while, but I found him again. Stayed downwind and tracked him here. Saw him go inside the shed, but when I checked, he wasn’t there. It’s rigged to look like a tool shed, but the back wall’s a dummy. Couldn’t find the lock or handle, though.”
Ledger nodded. “That’s good police work, kid.”
Sweeney gave him a stony go-fuck-yourself look. Crow patted him on the shoulder.
We watched the building for a few minutes.
“Don’t see any security cameras,” I said.
“Could be hidden,” mused Ledger. “But I don’t think so. I think this is a temporary setup. The fact that it’s half a mile from No-fucking-Where is their security system. It’ll be different inside. Guys like this always have lots and lots of guns.”
“So do we,” said Crow.
“They also have super soldiers.”
“So do we.”
Ledger nodded. He cut a look at Sweeney and at me. “And people wonder why I drink.”
“Okay, coach,” I said to Ledger. “This seems to be your ballgame. What’s the play?”
Before he could answer, there was a sound behind us. Very small. Very furtive.
We spun around, guns coming up. The wolf that lives inside of me nearly jumped out. Must have been the same with Sweeney.
A small figure staggered out of the brush behind us.
Antonio Jones.
And he was covered in blood.
He reached out a hand toward us. His mouth worked as he fought to speak. Then his eyes rolled up and he pitched forward.
Chap. 46
Ledger and Sweeney moved at the same time. They closed on Antonio so fast it was like they blurred. With Mike I could understand the speed. The wolf was right there beneath his skin, it glared out through his eyes all the time. Ledger was just a man, but moved with a speed and economy of motion that called to mind an expression I once read in an article about Jesse Owens. Oiled grace.
He reached Antonio first and caught the kid as he fell and lowered him to the ground. We all huddled around him.
“Jesus,” I breathed.
The kid was a mess.
Someone had beat the shit out of him. They’d cut him up. There were long, ragged gashes in his face and chest and stomach. His hands were bloody, his knuckles visibly broken. Whatever had happened, he’d put up one hell of a fight.
Ledger wiped blood from the kid’s eyes and mouth. Crow took his pulse. Mike pulled off his own uniform shirt and began ripping it into strips that I pressed against the worst of the cuts. Antonio’s eyelids fluttered and opened.
“What happened, kid?” asked Ledger, bending close.
“I…I….” The young man’s voice faltered. “I…tried to…stop…”
He coughed and blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth.
It took a while, but the kid mastered himself through an admirable effort of will. Sometimes you find strength in the strangest of places. This kid had some grit.
He told us that he saw the three of us leave the Scarecrow and was hurrying down the street to catch up, but we drove off. Then he saw two men hurry out of the bar, get into a car and follow. Antonio didn’t like the look of them. Or the smell. He got his scooter and tailed them. The car was well behind Ledger’s Explorer, and once out in the country, it turned off and went up a logger’s road. Antonio might have let it go, but he was positive that at least one of those men was a werewolf. So he followed. When he described the road, Crow and Mike nodded. The logger’s road changed to a Forest Service road three miles outside of town and then crossed into the state forest. Antonio, thinking that these men might be heading for the hidden lab Ledger had told him about, kept following.
He lost the car twice, and when he found it a third time, not more than a mile east of where we all knelt, the men were in the process of hiding the car with boughs they cut from the trees. They heard the scooter, and before Antonio could turn it around and get the hell out of there, the two men changed into wolfshape and ran him down.
There was one hell of a fight.
Antonio was sure he injured one of them pretty badly, but he took too much damage to keep fighting. The other one—a big son of a bitch Antonio described as “maybe Indian or Asian,“ was the one who took the kid apart. He slashed and bit him and beat him nearly to death. To get away, Antonio threw himself down a steep hill, fell into a river, and damn near drowned. The men gave up the chase, probably figuring him for dead. Antonio managed to get to the bank. When he climbed up the hill on the other side to try and find a road, he saw Ledger’s car drive past with us in it.
He followed and found us here.
We exchanged looks. This was one impressive young man. Tou
gher than he looked with big, clanking balls.
Antonio, spent from telling his tale and nearly ruined by the fight with the other werewolves, passed out and lay silent.
Ledger leaned close to me. “You know this lycanthrope stuff, Sam. Aren’t you guys supposed to be able to heal fast? Some kind of hyperactive wound repair system? Or is this kid going to die on us here?”
I hesitated. We Benandanti have a lot of specialized knowledge. Things about who we are and what we are. My mother, grandmother, and aunts were all very specific about keeping that information confidential. About sharing it with no one outside of the family. Not even with other werewolves.
So, naturally I had to give that a little thought before I answered. I glanced at Mike.
He shook his head. “I never had anyone to teach me how this all works,” he admitted. “I’ve been hurt a few times. I know how fast I heal, but I’m not the same as Antonio. Or you.”
His eyes were a strange and artificial blue. He reached up and pinched his eye, removing a contact lens. Then another. The eyes that were revealed were no human eyes at all. Nor were they werewolf eyes. They were as red as blood and ringed with gold.
Joe Ledger said, “What the fuck?”
I didn’t say shit. Not sure I could have. Whatever he was, Mike Sweeney was a lot more than a werewolf. I was damn sure he wasn’t even remotely human.
Ledger edged back, shaken and pale. “What in the wide blue fuck are you?”
Sweeney smiled. A rare thing for him. It was not the kind of smile you ever want to see. On anyone. Not even in a horror movie.
“What am I?” he asked, and for a moment, even the timbre of his voice was all wrong. Too deep. Too strange. “I have no idea.”
Crow touched Mike’s shoulder but looked at us. “Mike’s family tree is moderately complicated. Maybe one of these days we can talk about it.”
“Or maybe not,” said Mike.
“Or maybe not,” agreed Crow. “Right now, though, we got to help this kid. You have anything, Sam? Benandanti are supposed to be the secret keepers of the werewolves. Or something like that, am I right?”
“Something like that,” I mumbled.
They all looked at me. I looked down at the kid.
Poor little bastard really put his ass on the line. Tried to make a difference.
Limbus, Inc. Book II Page 32
