Already, the two of them had reached the interstate and were making their way to a crumbling onramp that would allow them to climb back onto the most direct route out of Charleston. Sayers moved with a tired cadence, and Rico ambled along beside him.
“The ranking Vigilant…that guy I’d traveled with and bled with…he just kept those visitors talking,” Rico continued. “He was all smiles and swapping stories until there were five men with shotguns behind the row of everyone who had their collars pulled. When he gave the nod, the shotgunners cut loose and blew the heads off of every single person who didn’t have a brand on the back of their neck. There wasn’t any question that all of them were Skinners. None of them had a chance to do a damn thing before their brains were blasted through their faces. They never even saw it coming. That’s the kind of people The Vigilant have turned in to. That’s why I couldn’t get the fuck away from them fast enough, and that’s just the sort of people who would put together the nightmare we saw back in that warehouse.”
“People like that will be out to kill us,” Sayers said as he tightened his grip on his assault rifle. “Either to take back what’s theirs or just make a statement against anyone who kicked in their door.”
“You’re still not getting it. The Vigilant aren’t interested in making statements. The time for that shit is long gone. They’re running experiments and needed Nymar as subjects. Nymar need blood to survive. The people in that pit were just that. Food. Just like mice kept to feed a bunch of snakes. The Vigilant aren’t trying to save humanity. They’ve got their own thing going.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know!” Rico said. “And I don’t care! All I need to know is that whatever they’ve got in mind, it ain’t good. The main thing that’s been allowing me to sleep a little better is that I haven’t heard much from any Vigilant cell for over a year. I figured they’d burned out, killed each other off or got wiped out by a Full Blood looking to clear a little corner of its conscience by doing the world a favor for a change.”
“And what about now?” Sayers asked. “Now that you’ve seen they’re still out there and what kind of thing they’re doing, what now?”
“Well that’s the big question, ain’t it? The Vigilant here didn’t really seem to care that we found this place.”
“They might not know about us yet.”
“Trust me, nobody lives for more than a day in this brave new world by being that lazy or stupid.”
Sayers didn’t have any problem agreeing with that. “I’ll let the IRD know what it’s dealing with in these guys.”
“That may not be a great idea.”
“How so?”
“Because today told us something else. It told us that The Vigilant don’t consider the IRD to be much of a threat. Not to them, at least. They probably got a real good laugh out of watching me tromp around with you guys, sifting through the fat load of nothing they left behind.”
“We made out with quite a bit, in case you weren’t paying attention when the trucks were being loaded.”
Rico’s grunting laugh was short-lived but heartfelt. “We barely got out with jack. The lab supplies they left behind can be replaced. More Nymar prisoners can be rounded up in any city big enough to have alleys to sulk in. And a civilian food supply? That can be replaced easier than anything else. Hell, they might not have set off those charges because someone intends to swing by later and pick up the explosives so they can be used somewhere else.”
“All right. You get a failing score for pep talks, but I’m hoping you have a point to this apart from rubbing it all in my face.”
“You guys are good at what you do,” Rico said. “You’ve saved plenty of lives and killed plenty of shapeshifters. The civvies need to be protected, and the packs need to be culled. Without that, this world would’ve been overrun some time ago.”
“Agreed.”
“Skinners like me have been doing our best to help you by doing what we do. We’ve shown you how to make a few different kinds of ammo. We’ve taught you how to kill some of these things. We’ve even worked with the military to smoke out some new species.”
“It would be a much bigger help if one of you showed us how to make those wooden weapons you all carry,” Sayers pointed out. “Even if it’s just a kind of bayonet we could put onto our rifles. Or some of that healing tonic. I could think of plenty you could show us if you’re willing to be a bigger help.”
Rico shook his head. “That kind of stuff ain’t the sort of thing that can just be taught in one sitting. There ain’t no recipe book that will help someone who ain’t a Skinner. Just because you got the list of ingredients don’t mean you’d have the first clue how to mix ‘em up. Finding the ingredients is tough for the best of us. Learnin’ to do what we do takes years. What you’re askin’ for would be like me wanting you to take me aside for a few days to turn me into a soldier worthy of bein’ in the Special Forces.”
Sayers winced, but reluctantly said, “I can see your point there.”
“What I’m proposing is for you guys to do what you do and for us to do what we do.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing.”
“With The Vigilant set up so close to an IRD camp, it’s obvious that they know what you guys are up to and don’t think you’re any sort of threat.”
“So you keep saying.”
“I need to do some scouting on my own, maybe pull together some acquaintances of mine, and see what the hell is really going on with them.”
“Getting clearance for that shouldn’t be a problem,” Sayers said.
“Yeah but if there’s someone tipping off The Vigilant from within the IRD, that will change the game. They’ll become tougher to find, and when you do find them, they’ll start doing some culling of their own.”
“You think there are traitors in the IRD?”
“If not in the Southeast Region, there could be somewhere else,” Rico told him. “And before you get too worked up about that, look me in the eyes and tell me there ain’t more than a few IRD troops who wouldn’t agree with taking extreme measures to do some more damage in this war.”
“I can’t think of anyone who would approve of what we found today.”
“Well it’s only a matter of time before someone in the IRD decides to take things a step further than the regs allow. If The Vigilant haven’t recruited anyone in the IRD, that’s gonna be coming too. The timetable for all of that will only speed up if The Vigilant know you’re on to them. Also, any disgruntled soldiers might get some bad ideas if they know there’s another well equipped militia for them to join.”
“They’ll find out sooner or later,” Sayers said. “But I’ll take that under advisement.”
“You gotta believe I ain’t withholding information just to be a dick. There are things that need to be dealt with by Skinners. We done plenty of good things with the IRD, and I’m sure lots of us will want to stay in the units we’re in, but I can do more good out there mixin’ it up the way I used to.”
“And, with the possibility of an internal security breach, you think you could do that better if I carry on as if you’re still officially assigned to Unit Seven.”
“That’s a great idea!”
“Don’t try to yank my chain, Specialist,” Sayers said. “If you’d just wanted to leave, you would have left. With all the butter you’re applying to my ass cheeks on this little walk, it’s obvious you need something from me.”
“I never was much for sneaky,” Rico admitted.
“But you do a hell of a job when you’re in your element.” Glancing over to the Skinner as he stopped and faced him, Sayers added, “Even out of your element. You’ve been one hell of an asset, Rico. If it had been anyone else asking for this kind of a concession, I’d turn them down flat.”
“Hopefully it ain’t too big of a deal. Just fake a few reports and tick my name off on the attendance records or whatever.”
Sayers genuinely laughed and started walking again
. “You obviously don’t know how closely IRD Specialists are monitored. I can cover for you, but there’ll be hell to pay once the wrong people find out you’re gone. Trust me, that’s not a matter of if. It’s when.”
“When that happens, just say I went AWOL after spouting off about somethin’ or other.”
“Believe me, that’s what I had in mind. I’ll want something in exchange, though.”
“Course you do. Even when there ain’t much of an economy left, nuthin’s ever free.”
“I’ll need some intel on these Vigilant,” Sayers said. “It’ll have to be the juicy stuff.”
“I been shacked up with the IRD for a while now,” Rico told him. “Lots of what I know from before won’t mean much.”
“You’ve still got to know some names, the locations of permanent bases, operating procedures, anything to help us gain some ground on that front.”
Slowly, Rico nodded. “I suppose there’s a few things I could tell you that may be a help. Just know that if anyone I talk about is still a Vigilant, they’ll be prepared for someone to come after them. And any locations I give you could be nothin’ but empty buildings that’re wired to go up in a ball of flame if anyone comes poking around.”
“Reminds me of the good ol’ days in Afghanistan,” Sayers replied.
“In that case, there was this place in Louisville I can tell you about.”
“What about you?” Sayers asked. “Where are you headed?”
“To call in some favors with a few old friends.”
“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen any other Skinners. Would any of these friends want a job? I’ll be needing a new Specialist soon.”
Rico’s expression darkened, and his eyes focused on a point a long ways beyond West Virginia. “Sorry, but no. The guy I have in mind ain’t exactly as sociable as he used to be.”
“If you need access to a communications rig to contact this man, that would be well within your duties as a Specialist.”
“It’s not the sort of thing I’d want monitored.”
Sayers grinned. “I guess you do have an idea of how closely you’re being watched. I could tag the calls as Classified. They’d have to be short, but it could be done.”
“Seems awfully generous, Lieutenant.”
“The way I see it, as long as you’re not howling at the moon or running around on four legs, we’re on the same side of this conflict.”
“Then you’d best not catch me anywhere near a bottle of Jim Beam.”
Both men laughed as their steps took an easier cadence. “Let me know where you need to call, and I’ll see what I can do to put you in touch with this friend of yours.”
“This guy won’t be anywhere he can be easily reached. Come to think of it, I don’t know off hand where he is. I got a few ideas, but he’s been out of touch lately. I just hope he ain’t too far gone by the time I catch up to him.”
“Sounds like a dangerous man to work with.”
“Things got rough for him when the shit hit the fan,” Rico said. “We were all right there in Oklahoma when that Full Blood started turning humans into mutts.”
“That was a hell of a night,” Sayers said. “Lost my old unit in a plane crash. The pilot was radioing for help when he turned. I’d arrived a few days ahead of them and got to hear the whole thing over the radio. From the sounds of the screams in the background…I hope my buddies died in the crash instead of being twisted into one of those things.”
“We lost some good people that night too,” Rico said quietly. “One of the Skinners and this friend of mine were close. Real close. She went down fighting, and as far as I know, he never got over it.”
“There is no getting over something like that.”
“That’s what I’m gonna find out. Because if there is anything left of him,” Rico said, “we may just stand a chance of taking ourselves off the endangered list.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cody, WY
For a city with its roots sunk firmly in the Wild West, Cody seemed to have made it to modern days better than most. It still had its scars. Buildings were damaged, concrete was torn up and its water only flowed thanks to several chugging pumps that were in constant need of repair. Cody, however, seemed comfortable in those circumstances. Its citizens had a grizzled look about them, reminiscent of the first settlers who’d blazed trails in covered wagons and traveled with the great man for whom the city was named.
As in the early days, strangers were noticed fairly quickly when they arrived. One such man rode in on a motorcycle built to withstand grueling trips across hard lands. Like most vehicles anymore, its most heavily modified parts were in the exhaust system. While no engine could run completely silent, quieter ones could slip past some of the werewolf packs without drawing their hungry gaze. This man rode in from Highway 20 and quickly found himself rolling down streets that were built wide enough to accommodate teams of horses back when Buffalo Bill was taking his show on the road. Clad in leathers and denim, he’d wrapped a scarf around his face that was heavy with all the dust that had been kicked up during his ride. After pulling up to a gas station, he set his kickstand, cut his engine and dismounted.
“Got any gas left?” he asked the three men leaning against the front wall of the station.
All three were slender and similarly dressed in clothes that looked to have been looted from a pile of Salvation Army’s leftovers. The one in the middle replied, “Some, but it’ll cost you. What’ve you got to trade?”
“How about some chocolate? I got six bars that are fresh off the shelf.”
That caught the interest of the guy leaning against the wall to the right of the one who’d already spoken. “What kind?”
“Two Hersheys with nuts, a Three Musketeers, and some Snickers.”
The guy looked over to his friend in the middle of the group, who said, “That’ll get you two gallons.”
“I was looking to get at least half a tank.”
“Then you’ll need more to trade,” the middle guy said through a grimy smile that had the confidence of someone who obviously had the upper hand.
The biker unbuckled one of his saddlebags and pulled out a large plastic grocery bag. He fished out some candy, tossed it over and then opened his jacket to pat his jeans pockets while also giving the trio a good look at the pistols holstered beneath his arms. His hand switched to one of the jacket’s interior pockets to find something which brought a smile to his face. “How about silver?” he asked while removing two shining dollar coins.
All three men moved away from the station wall, eyeing the biker with interest beyond that of simple curiosity. “You got silver?”
“Sure do. It’s the pure stuff, too. See for yourself.” With that, the biker flipped the coin through the air. He moved his hand to one of his pistols as a precautionary measure, but did not draw the weapon.
Expecting as much from anyone in that position, none of the three locals reacted to the mildly aggressive display. The man on the far right was the one to catch the coin, and he examined it for a few seconds before handing it over to the leader of the trio. The guy in the middle looked the coin over and even sniffed it before saying, “You got another one of these and you can fill your tank.”
“Another one fills my tank as well as one gas can.”
“The other coin as pure as this one?”
The biker nodded. “From the same set. You melt those down and you should be able to add some werewolf hides to your collection.”
Near the front door of the station, hanging from a wooden rack that had probably once been used for displaying cheap stadium blankets or decorative flags, were three pelts taken from small Half Breeds that had been brought down by at least four shotgun blasts each. The local man looked back at the skins proudly. “All right then,” he said. “Hand it over.”
“You keep that one there and you’ll get the other one when I’m done filling up.”
The spokesman nodded. “You take one more drop th
an what we agreed and you won’t leave this station.”
The price he’d bartered was a good deal compared to what he’d found in Brigham City. Even so, the biker grumbled as he rummaged in his pockets for one of the several silver coins he had stashed away. Instead of a simple silver dollar, the ones he’d used to pay for the gas had been found in an abandoned house in Colorado and were from a commemorative set engraved with the faces of Mount Rushmore. They’d been minted as overpriced keepsakes but were now more valuable than most any other form of currency. Since he’d developed a knack for sniffing them out in ruined houses and pawn shops, the biker tossed the second coin over without any more argument.
As he used one of the pumps to fill the tank in his motorcycle, the biker kept a close eye on the three men at the station. When he was done, he untied one of the two plastic gas cans secured to the back of his seat by a pair of bungee cords. He was watched extra carefully while filling up, and he replaced the nozzle before giving any of the three men a reason to assert themselves.
“I need to log in somewhere,” the biker said. “Is there any internet access in this town?”
“What do you need it for?” replied the local with the sweet tooth.
“Does it matter?”
“Only one geek in town. I’ll tell you where to find him for another Snickers.”
“You guys aren’t very friendly to visitors,” the biker said.
“We don’t get many around here.”
Forged From Ash - Book #7 of the Skinners Series Page 8
