"He'll do no such thing!" Brenda declared, stepping in front of her husband. Baines gave Carl a piteous look, continued to the alter. Brenda followed him. "How long are we supposed to stay here? If you think we're spending the night--"
"That's exactly what you're going to do," Baines snapped, whirling on her. "The things that killed Jenny Moreland are out there, and our best bet is to stay hunkered down at least until sunrise. By then, the threat will be minimized, and you'll be free to get to where you're going, whether it's home," he said, motioning to the jogger, "or the next town over," he added, gesturing to Carl and his family. He turned to the homeless man, who had wasted no time making himself at home in the third pew on the right. "And if you need a place to stay for a little while, we will happily provide one." The man, dressed in dirt-encrusted, ramshackle clothing with an oversized, tattered black duster with matching "Boss of the Plains" hat, nodded with a smile that could barely be made out from within his mess of a gray beard.
Baines shot a final look at Brenda before going to Kristen. He didn't really care if they didn't like the accommodations. It was better than the alternative. He and Kristen had encountered Brenda and her family stranded on the side of the road, en route to Denver for a wedding. From the looks of things, a burst hose was the cause of their problems, and although Baines could have patched it up with tape from his truck, he decided to not take any chances and bring them to the church, along with the jogger, whose home was on the other side of town, and the homeless man, occupying a corner outside a small laundromat.
Kristen was wringing her hands as Baines joined her at the alter. "I don't think this is a good idea," she said, her voice pulled low by worry.
"Getting people off the streets to keep them alive?"
"No. Having me here."
Baines looked at his daughter, not following. She held up her bandaged right arm. It clicked. "This is the safest place for you. Right here, with me. This might not be the ideal bunker, but if we band together, we'll be fine."
"You really think so?"
Baines looked into his daughters worried eyes, and gave her exactly what she needed. Unwarranted confidence. "Yes. I do." Kristen forced a smile. Baines pulled her near and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Go in the kitchen and empty out the panty. Put everything on the table. I'll double check the windows and doors." Kristen nodded and headed to the back. Baines took a moment to look over his makeshift flock: The homeless man had picked up one of the Bibles in the back of the pew ahead of him and started reading. The jogger had plugged back in, listening to music while her thumbs worked overtime on the screen. Carl had placed his arm around his daughter, who was visibly upset. He poke to her in comforting tones, and it reminded him of the many times he had consoled his own daughter after something or someone had made her cry. Then there was Brenda, glaring a hole right through Baines' skull. He looked away, wanting as less to do with her as possible. That was Carl's mess, and he wasn't going anywhere near--
The sanctuary doors exploded into the church! The jogger and Brenda both screamed, bolting to their feet. Carl pulled his howling daughter into his chest. The homeless man simply turned. There, in the center of the entrance, was Carly, flanked by Slasher and Travis.
"Everyone get behind me!" Baines commanded, taking up his shotgun and marching down the center aisle, cocking the first round. The temporary parishioners follow the directive, huddling at the alter.
Carly lead the other two lycas in, a golden gaze fixed on Baines. "Maybe you can help me, reverend..." Baines leveled the shotgun. "We're looking for a friend."
TWENTY-ONE
Neiland came to. He sat up to find himself on the floor of a cell, locked inside. "What the...?" he said, looking around. "Where...?"
"Ironic, isn't it?" Neiland looked straight ahead. He was in the cell directly across from Alex. She sat cross-legged in the shadows, but he could easily see that she was sweating even worse than before. "Now we have something else in common." She chuckled. It sounded strained.
"Shut up over there!" Neiland shot his eyes to Wallace, sitting in a chair, guarding the doorway to the station. He glared back with eyes that held an unearthly glow. How long had he been out? And were was Peters and Webster? Had they returned, or had something happened to them before they could?
"I don't get it," Neiland said, grabbing the back of his head. The last thing he remembered was being on the floor, and Wallace's betrayal. Then a foot...
It came back to him. He had been knocked out. Again. This time by Wallace. "Somebody tell me what the hell is going on here."
"They're werewolves," Alex said bluntly. Her body shuddered. "All three of them. The two that came in here, and your boss."
"I said shut up!" Wallace growled, sitting forward.
"Bite me," Alex replied. Then, turning back to Neiland, "There's been a change of plans. Instead of killing me, your bossman had the glorious idea to make me the patsy for all the killings."
"Someone's gotta take the fall," Wallace gloated. "The people get a resolution, you get the death penalty, and we get to go on living here without interference."
"And what about me?" Neiland asked. Wallace answered him with a shrug.
"I was thinking about recruiting you. We could use another good wolf on the inside."
"Wolf? So you're really saying...?" Neiland trailed off, looking at Wallace. His boss flashed a predatory smile. He turned to Alex looked her dead in the eye. She didn't blink. His brain snapped into overdrive, putting together pieces he had already gone over at least a hundred times--but even with a new perspective sharpened by one whale of a revelation, he couldn't allow himself to believe it. He shook his head.
"You wanna know what a 'rich girl' like me's doing way out here in Weeping Springs?" Alex asked. She cut her eyes at Wallace. "It's because I hunt pieces of shit like him. Town to town, state to state. Worldwide. Wherever I find them, I kill them. Every time."
"You wish, missy," Wallace said, hoisting himself up. He walked to the front of Alex's cell, his hungry gaze never leaving her. "If I was in there right now, you wouldn't be so smart with your mouth."
"Well normally, this is the part where we fight and find out who can really back their shit up, but you already gave up that right. Thanks to your big idea, your master's expecting you to make sure I stay alive."
"Tristan's not my master."
"Yeah, right," Alex said, rolling her eyes. "He said it himself. You're a neo. You probably hold it for him when he pees. Your mother must be so proud."A low growl rumbled from within Wallace. Neiland's eyes widened. He darted them between Alex and the chief. "Then again, if all you ever wanna be is Tristan's personal little cock bitch, I guess it's cool. I've seen the way you look at him." She leaned forward. "Don't worry. I won't tell anybody."
"Enough!" Wallace roared, rearing back with both fists and slamming them against the bars. Metal creaked. "You're supposed to stay alive, but Tristan said I could kill you if you tried to escape." He removed his hat and tossed it to the floor. "You just tried to escape."
Alex smirked, knowing was coming. "I gotta warn you, I might give you indigestion."
"We'll see about that." Wallace's voice dropped even further into the bestial range. His eyes ignited into a flaming yellow. He snarled, baring his teeth...
Alex stood. Shaky. Ready to fight.
Black claws split Webber's fingernails, pushing outward, dripping his infected blood on the concrete. The tops of his ears stretched into points as they shifted higher on his head. Gray fur spurted from every exposed pore...
Neiland crawled backward inside his cell. Staring. Horrified.
Wallace's arms and body surged, splitting his uniform at the seams. His barreling chest made short work of his buttons, firing them off in rapid succession. Alex didn't flinch as they bounced off her. Wallace gnashed his teeth. His face cracked, bones snapping, grinding, rearranging, as his portly face pressed forward into a muzzle. His canines extended, and extra incisors and premolars burst throug
h his gums and found homes as his stretching jaw created spaces between his existing teeth...
Alex's eyes scanned the cell for anything that could be used as a weapon.
Burgeoning latissimus, rhomboid, and trapezius muscles in Wallace's mutating back burst open the thick material of his uniform, exposing roughening, darkening flesh. His spinal column raised with a sickening crack; the bones lengthened, forcing Wallace taller. His leather boots groaned under the strain of his transforming feet, bulging outward until they split from their very soles. Claws like the ones on his hands punctured the toes of the shoes as they were pulled apart from the inside. The change worked its way into Wallace's legs. His slacks erupted along the seams as his thickening waist tore apart his utility belt--
It slammed to the floor, jarring several item on it loose. The cell keys skidded to a stop a few feet from Neiland's cell.
Wallace, fully transformed, stood to his new height, just a few inches shy of seven feet. over He shrugged off the remaining scraps of his clothing--and along with it, his humanity. He roared at Alex, grasped the bars of her cell, and pried them open--the iron screaming as he did.
Alex pressed herself against the back wall. Wallace climbed into the cell, drooling in anticipation of his meal. He lunged at Alex, but she dodged to her right, blowing past him and out of the now-open cell.
Wallace spun to attack, but Alex was quicker, leaping and grasping the tops of two of the bent bars, using her momentum, she swung her legs forward--driving the heels of her boots off Wallace's snout. He stumbled back, answered with a swipe. Alex ducked and fired a roundhouse kick into the beast's gut. He staggered back, looked down at where she had connected. Even more pissed than before, he raised his eyes to her and snarled.
TWENTY-TWO
Kristen, having heard the smashing of the doors and the ensuing commotion, molded her body to the wall as she crept down the hallway back to the sanctuary. She stood at the edge of the entrance and peered around the corner.
"I'm only going to ask one time," Carly growled. "Where is your daughter?"
"I'll never tell you, you diseased bitch!" Baines countered, re-gripping the shotgun.
"Wow. Such language. Do you preach like this every Sunday?" Slasher and Travis chuckled.
Kristen could feel her heart once again pounding. She glanced down at her arm--at her mark. It was her they wanted. Maybe if she gave herself over... She shook her head, vanquishing the thought from her mind. She wouldn't let herself be anything to those monsters. But she also knew she couldn't bear to let anyone else die over her. This was her moment of decision. She hadn't been running long, but she was already tired of it. Her father had a secret life she had only just learned about. And like it or not, she was going to share it with him...
Starting now. Kristen bolted from the hallway to the alter. She grabbed one of the rifles and pushed through the others, joining Baines at his side.
"Kristen? What are you...? Why didn't you stay--?"
"I'm not letting these things control me," Kristen said, aiming the rifle at Carly and the others. "Tell me what I need to do."
Baines couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in his little girl. She was a fighter, just like him. They hadn't many opportunities to bond in the previous months. There was no time like the present. "It's already loaded," he said. "Just pull the trigger, raise that bolt on the side, slide it back and forth, set it back in place, and repeat."
"Got it."
"So cute. Daddy and his little girl working together. Well, you know what they say, the family that slays together..." She smirked at her own joke, looked to Travis and Slasher. "We know a little something about that, too, don't we, boys?"
"Damn right," Slashed offered with a psychotic glint to his eye.
"In fact, we believe in family so much that we've decided to expand it a bit."
"I'm not joining you. I don't care what you say," Kristen declared, bringing the rifle sight to her right eye.
Carly chuckled smugly. "Kristen, sweetheart, you think you're the only one?"
Kristen's eyes widened.
Carly sniffed the air. "Hey, reverend, you know the one about a wolf is sheep's clothing? I really think you should've checked your flock better.
Baines and Kristen shot glances at each other, then turned back to their charges. Carl clutched his daughter tight, shot out an arm out and pulled Brenda close. The homeless man stared back, unmoving. The jogger stood between them on shaky legs--
Sweating profusely.
"Oh no," Baines breathed. Kristen shot her eyes to him them back to the jogger. Realization hit.
"W-What's wrong with me?" she asked, feeling faint. "They said I'd be okay..." She fell back onto her rear end, reached down to her left leg and pulled the hem of her spandex jogging pants over her calf. It was wrapped in bandages, much like Kristen's arm. "I was in my neighbor's backyard, helping her with some plants when this...animal...jumped out of nowhere and attacked me. I fainted, but my neighbor ran it off with a shotgun. She didn't know what it was, but the doctors said it was just a scratch..."
"Get away from her!" Baines screamed. The others jumped at the urgency in his voice. They moved away from her on either side.
"I don't get it! Why? Why am I--AAAAAAAUUUGH!" she screamed, her body jerking, going rigid.
"It's her first change, she can't control it!" Baines barked. "Carl!" The man darted his eyes. "The rifle on the alter! Use it!"
"We have to kill her?" Kristen cried out, saucer-eyed.
"We have no choice, there's nothing we can do for her now!"
"There's nothing you can do for any of them," Carly snarked. She bounced her gaze from Slasher to Travis. "Kill them all, except the neo and the preacher's kid." The two lycas marched forward, eyes glowing, their bodies jerking as they began their monstrous transformations. She turned, stared directly at Kristen. "She's mine."
TWENTY-THREE
Neiland's brain had trouble reconciling what he was witnessing. Just moments before, his boss, the man he had known his entire--albeit brief--career as a law enforcement officer, had just transformed before his eyes into a beast that, until that moment, was only the stuff of Hollywood movies. Almost as astonishing, the woman he had arrested hours earlier for a downtown ruckus that resulted in the deaths of three civilians, was actually fighting the monster--and holding her own.
A synapse fired, and Neiland frantically searched himself for his cell phone. It wasn't on him, but he looked outside his cell and saw it laying on the floor, no doubt where it hand landed when he was initially thrown through the door and into the cell chamber. It was closer than the keys to the cell, which he had already tried to obtain to no avail. He clamored to the door of his cell, stuck his arm out, and stretched as hard as he could. His fingertips just grazed the rubbery back of the phone, and with several attempts to brush it closer, he was able to snag it and pull back into the cell with him. He fumbled with inputting his passcode, then activating the video camera from the home screen. He pointed it at the fight. No one would believe him if he brought the story to them through words alone, but even the most cynical critic would have a hard time discounting actual video evidence.
Alex backed out of the cell Wallace had pried open. He lumbered out after her, slashed for her head. He missed, and once more, Alex retaliated with a boot to his stomach. The beast bent over a bit with the force of the blow, and Alex followed with a jump kick to his head. Wallace reeled, but Alex didn't let up--hyper-extending his knee with a dropkick. He yowled in pain and dropped to his good knee. Alex stepped back, then uncorked a nasty spinning heel kick that connected with the beast's temple. Wallace went down in a heap.
Rasping, sweat pouring from her body, Alex moved for Wallace. From out of nowhere she seized, an unseen force striking her and forcing her to double over. She clutched her gut and fell to her knees.
"Ms. Craine!" Neiland yelled from his cell. Alex took a deep breath, swiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of a sopping arm. She brou
ght her head up. Weak. Glassy-eyed. She dug down into her reserves and pushed herself back to her feet. She staggered through the door to the main office, still holding her midsection. She scanned the station, catching sight of a door at the end of a hallway marked "Evidence." Alex tried the door, but, as one would expect, it was locked.
"C'mon!" she cried, pounding on it several times in desperation. She paused, her body heaving with each breath, then stepped back and kicked the damn thing in. She lumbered over to the first shelf she saw and rummaged through the contents of the boxes there. Not finding what she was looking for, she went to the next. Then a third. She was throwing things around without regard. She turned, spotted a basket in the back corner of the room. It contained her things.
Alex rambled over to it and dug through the contents. She fished out her belt, hands trembling as she fumbled with one of the compartments attached the to strap. Another spasm hit. "Fuck!" she cried out, falling against the edge of the basket. Straining against something inside her, she extracted a clear, plastic pouch from the compartment, filled with a yellowish powder. She ripped it open and kicked her head back, dumping the powder in her mouth. She swallowed hard and immediately started hacking, letting herself slide to the floor. Spittle dangled from her lips as she continued to cough, shuddering before a massive, cataclysmic spasm tore through her.
Alex rolled onto her back, convulsing on the dirty tile.
TWENTY-FOUR
Baines fired, blasting a hole in the top of a pew. He and Kristen had managed to keeps the lycas pinned down, but the terror was only heightened as they were forced to stand there and hear their growls, alongside the shredding of fabric, snapping of bone, and stretching of muscle as Travis and Slasher transformed into their more powerful, bestial forms. Some of the same sounds assaulted them from behind. Baines glanced over his shoulder--
Carl stood at the alter in horror, clutching the third rifle, watching as the jogger suffered through her first painful transformation, tears streaming from her eyes and feminine grunts growing heavier as her body spasmed. Brenda stood nearby, clutching her daughter as they both howled.
The Huntress (Lupus Moon Book One) Page 10
