Clutching his throat, Donaher gurgled in pain and dropped behind the barrels.
"Damn!” I cried real loud. “My gun is jammed!"
"I'm out of bullets!” Mindy added, tucking away the bow and drawing her sword.
"My leg!” Jessica gasped, kneeling expectantly.
Grinning like fiends, the werewolves charged. What shmucks. Still somewhere in the rafters above, George cut loose with the Masterson Assault Cannon, angling his shots to make damn sure he did not hit the reactor shell.
Their bodies jerking wildly, the Scion agents did a little dance of death as the caseless, armor piercing, high explosive and now silver tipped mini-shells blew them to hell in nine pieces. Jessica did mop-up with the Uzi, Donaher set them on fire, Mindy cut off everybody's head with her sword and my Magnums blasted anything that seemed healthy or hairy. No sense wasting the Barret on dead fish in a barrel.
"Die!” Jessica throated holding her glowing necklace, and empty air filled with a dead werewolf turning visible.
Amazing. How had she found him?
Bad breath.
Lack of flossing saves America. Film at eleven.
Black blood dripping off a flaming paw, the largest werewolf pulled a small velvet bag from his tattered flak jacket and tossed it at us. We braced for an explosion, but nothing happened. The team pointed an arsenal his way.
"Alive for questioning!” I cried.
Reluctantly, they dropped the weapons.
"Si ... c ‘em....” he commanded and then died.
Sic ‘em? Expanding, the velvet bag tore apart as out stepped one mother-ugly monster: fifteen feet tall, with four skinny legs, six muscular arms, and a bulbous head made entirely of tentacles lined with suckers filled with teeth, and tipped with long claws. A weresquid? Would silver kill a weresquid?
Shoot it and see.
Fair enough. I placed my last four shots from the Barret into the pulsating chest of this thing and I'm not sure it noticed. Okay, silver meant doo-doo to the Wiggling Wonder.
Stepping in close, Father Mike butt-stroked the beast in the face with the wooden stock of his shotgun. Wood affected a lot of supernaturals. A whipping tentacle slammed the big priest aside to crash into a tool locker. Donaher went limp on the floor, blood flowing from his face. A no-go on the wood, then.
Her wrist jerked and Mindy buried a knife into its body. Then added a couple of throwing stars. Nada. Jessica peppered it with assorted 9mm rounds, but lead, steel, wood, silver and phosphorus had no noticeable effect. Except maybe slow it down a bit with all that weighty metal tucked inside.
"Cadillac Seville!” George announced, flipping the Masterson to full auto. But the fiery stream shells merely vanished into the body of the weird aquatic beast.
Scrambling to the moaning priest, I pulled open his cassock. Strapped around his chest was a bulky vest made completely of pockets, each numbered and containing a shotgun shell. Since we were fighting were-creatures Donaher had requisitioned a full bane collection. Good move.
These shells did not contain lead pellets or steel shot, but every known type of natural substance which had a negative effect on evil supernaturals: wolfbane leaves, dragonbane bark, salt, silver filings, garlic powder, thorns from a wild white rose, sawdust, mandrake root, minced bat wing, dried dodo droppings, essence of newt, powdered thulium, shredded income tax forms and instant coffee. The real stuff. No decaf. That didn't do anything to anybody.
Mindy cut off a tentacle. The bodiless limb wrapped itself around her torso and started to squeeze.
In a flat pocket was a tiny booklet and I fast read the enclosed bane chart: shrew, skunk, Shriner, oh hell, octopus was the closet we had to a squid. Was an octopus a relative of a squid? What was a squid anyway? A mollusk? Isn't that in the clam family? Only one way to find out.
Flamboyantly pulling the pin with his teeth in total disregard for good oral hygiene, George threw a thermite grenade at the wiggling monstrosity. But it caught the sphere in a tentacle and threw the grenade back. Surprisingly fast for a man of his bulk, George dove out the way and a time clock was engulfed in searing flames. No loss.
Then the water sprinklers came on, a fire bell started clanging and a calm voice began telling us to walk, not run, to the nearest exit.
Dripping wet, I frantically rummaged through the mess of shells until I found the huckleberry bush ashes picked by a left-handed virgin and burned on an even day of the week.
Avoiding a whipping tentacle, Jessica dropped her Uzi, but recovered to taser the thing in a leg. Nothing happened.
Quickly, I thumbed in the only anti-wereclam shell we had, turned and triggered the weapon. As the gun exploded, the beast screamed in pain and began clawing at the bloody ruin of its mighty chest. Yes! The solo tentacle dropped off a gasping Mindy, and in ragged stages the beast collapsed to the ground. Slowly, its form softened, blurred and reformed into a ... little ... tiny ... goldfish?
Blinking to clear my eyes, I dropped the gun. What the hell was this? Some kind of demented joke? Taking inventory of the enemy, I could only gasp when I saw they were dogs and cats. None of them were human. Then the answer came to me like fist in the dark. We had been tricked!
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Quickly, I recovered my aplomb. “Jess, call in Raul and Katrina! George, check Donaher. Mindy on guard.” They moved.
Grabbing a hold of the amulet around her neck, Jess scrunched in concentration and with a flash the mages appeared. Wands sparking with power, the wizards searched for danger.
"Hey, its over. We won,” Mindy said, with a lopsided grin. “Praise Buddha!"
Buddha? “Like hell we won,” I snapped fingers for attention. “Horta, I need HQ now. Full contact."
"Why-o-mino, pal-o-mino?” Raul asked, tilting his head. “The danger is over, isn't it?"
"Do it!"
"Okay, okay. Don't get you panties in a bunch,” the mage said with a grunt. Marking a spot in the air with the glowing tip of his wand, Raul draw a floating square. Chanting under her breath, Katrina reached out to twist a bit of nothingness and with a loud click the phosphorescent square formed to clear into a view of the War Room with Horace Gordon shouting orders to people. Neat! I wondered if we could get free HBO this way?
"Hello, Mountain Top,” I reported. “This is Manhattan Project. We have been tricked! These aren't the genuine articles, but cheap copies!"
"Code isn't necessary,” Henderson said. “This is a secure, scrambled, magic television."
"Copies? You sure, Alvarez?” Gordon demanded. One second later, his image mouthed the same words. Little time lag here.
Tugging on a sleeve, Henderson gestured and Horace turned to face us directly. In the background, some bedraggled ThunderBunnies were donning fresh clothing and the wall maps were blinking with warning lights.
"These perps are not humans,” I reported furiously, “but animals bitten and turned into intelligent were-creatures!"
"Then why was the goldfish in a bag?” George asked, pouring a Healing potion over Father Donaher. The wounds and bruises washed away like dirt stains.
Bracing a thumb on her scabbard, Mindy sheathed her katana. “Heck, magic can only up your IQ so far. Dogs and cats are naturally smart. Any angler knows that fish are only animated vegetables."
"Too true."
Horace Gordon rubbed a hoary hand across a grizzled chin. “Animal agents, eh? The crafty bastards."
I heartily agreed. “These attacks have only been a diversion to keep us from...” And there my line of reasoning ran out of steam. To keep us from doing what? Where? There had to be a method to this madness. So where are the real Scion members, the mage, and that blasted telepath!
10:45pm. Tick-tick.
"Sir,” Katrina asked, giving a curtsy. “What was at museum?"
"Um? Oh, yes, that caught my attention also. The robbers were more were-animals and some hired guns from Wisconsin."
Ah ha! The best mercena
ries were always farmers. Strong, diligent and with incredible patience.
"What were they after?” Raul asked pensively.
"The geological exhibit,” a petite blonde said, strapping on a fresh bandoleer of ammo clips. “Weird, eh?"
The last piece of the puzzle fell into place.
"The moon rock!” George and Henderson cried together.
Understanding brightened everybody's face. Yes, it all made sense now. In a never-ending quest to stir interest in space exploration, NASA would happily place on display at any public event one of their precious moon rocks.
Desperate for new personnel, the Scion had held an occult convention to try and recruit people. As an exhibit, they had gotten a moon rock. It was from another planet, high mystical energy there. But during the con, some poor werewolf had walked into a room to find itself in the direct physical presence of the Lunar Master. An event unprecedented in world history.
Which resulted in the ethereal explosion!
Damn straight. Surviving the blast, Scion members were transformed into intelligent werewolves and, justly so, saw this as their big chance to destroy the world.
"Henderson!” Gordon barked in a roar.
The young man saluted. “Sir?"
"Get that frigging rock out of the Museum pronto! Take Team Angel, a company of soldiers, some police and the Air Force Rangers."
"Done!” the man cried and went off-screen.
"So what we have to do is find the person holding the moon rock?” Mindy asked, chewing on a callused thumb. “If we break contact between this person and the moon rock, the Scion will become human again?"
Her long hair flying, Katrina shook her head. “Nyet! Change permanent is."
George helped Donaher to stand. The molehill and the mountain.
"Doesn't every moon rock exhibit have a radio transponder hidden in the base of its display stand, so if somebody steals the rock NASA can find the thieves and get the moon junior back?” asked the big Irishman.
That's my priest. Always thinking.
Hands clasped behind his back, Gordon turned expectantly.
"Accessing NASA files,” calmly announced a technician as he typed madly at a control console. “Transmission codes.... frequencies ... triangulating with New York and St.Louis.... Got them! We've detected a radar anomaly 60,000 feet over Peoria.” Hand touched the earphone. “Our NORAD liaison reports that the anomaly vaguely resembles a building."
A flying building?
"It's the Hadleyville hotel!” Gordon declared, throwing his hands at the ceiling.
Wow, talk about a mobile headquarters. It probably held every big weapon they owned and the two thousand members. This was bad. If necessary, they could always just drop in on downtown. Take out a couple of city blocks at least.
"This was a short war,” the chief smiled. I don't remember him every doing that before. “It doesn't matter how heavily that building may be fortified, it can't be very nimble. Plus, we now know where their mage is. Inside, keeping it aloft."
Gordon turned. “Schwartz! Manchilde! Have our Naval shore batteries launch everything they have and blow that thing out of the sky. I want Tomahawks flying in five seconds."
"Aye, sir!"
A dozen mages screamed for them to stop at the same time.
"Why?” Gordon demanded angrily.
"Because of the Death factor!” Raul stated, as if that clarified everything.
"Lord almighty,” a pale ThunderBunny whispered. “The Death Trauma factor!"
"What's that?” Mindy asked, before I could.
With a tense expression, Katrina haltingly explained. If the person holding the moon rock was violently killed, the trauma of their own death would rekindle the initial reaction.
As understanding flared, I took over. “Converting everybody in the Chicago area into werewolves?"
"If the hotel was close enough. Yes."
Instantly creating four million more werewolves. Eek.
"Four million, angry, intelligent downtown werewolves,” George corrected, smacking himself in the head. “Lord Almighty, Ed, there aren't that many silver bullets in existence to stop that big an army!"
"Welcome to the end of the world,” Jessica breathed softly.
"At least the end of humanity as the top link on the food chain,” Mindy corrected bitterly.
Raul gave her an eloquent elbow in the ribs.
This must have been their plan from the start. The Scion would be delighted if the Bureau shot down that hotel, it only served their purpose. And if we don't, they would drop it on Chicago with the exact same end result. Once again, we lose.
"Damned if we do and damned if we don't,” somebody muttered.
An engineer peeked his head around a corner of the nuclear reactor and stared goggle-eyed at the magic window. With a glance, Jessica sent him scurrying away.
"If the hotel is flying, why don't we add a few more Fly spells and hurtle it into space?” suggested a passing centaur bouncing along. Geez, buy some underwear, fellow.
Horace gave the matter due consideration. “Wouldn't work,” he declared. “The moment we started to augment their spell, the Scion would cancel it completely, and the hotel would immediately crash."
"I bet they're not traveling in a straight line to Chicago,” George postulated, tightening his grip on the Masterson. “But, in fact, zigzagging across the country going from one population center to another."
"Safeguarding their approach."
"Exactly."
It was good military strategy. Once more we were forcibly reminded that ruthless and amoral did not equate with stupidity. Even if we shot them down over Rockville, or Sheyboygan, we'd still get a hundred thousand werewolves. Although, it is an option.
Hands clasped behind his back, Horace started pacing. “What we need is an infiltration team to get inside the hotel, and rescue the werewolf with the rock.” He said it calmly, as ordering a cheese sandwich. “But as this also may be a diversion, I'm sending only one team. Any volunteers?"
Hands, wings, mandibles, filled the room.
Thoughtfully, Horace gazed over this cornucopia of suicides.
"Alvarez, your team is the furthest west, thus the closest, and minutes count. Go stop that hotel."
Whee! Fun time. “Mission limitations?” I asked aloud.
"You have until O'Hare. The population density there is relatively thin. When the hotel reaches that point, we destroy it, even if you're still inside."
That was only to be expected.
"Plus, I will have NORAD prepare for a nuclear accident to occur at the airport to handle any residual werewolves created."
Fluttering into view, a fairy seemed perturbed. “Sir, won't the radioactive fallout from even a low yield atomic blast pollute Lake Michigan contaminating half the water table of the nation?” she objected strongly.
"We'll have to chance it,” the chief replied gruffly. “I'd love to use a FAE, but the prevailing winds are too strong."
George nodded in comprehension.
"What's a FAE?” Donaher asked.
"Fuel-air-explosion device. Know how a leaking stove can blow up a house?” I asked. “This is the same thing, only on a military scale. Removes entire cities without radiation."
He whistled.
"Alert,” an old woman announced from a crystal ball. “A group of werewolves is attempting to open the gates of lower Hell."
"Send JP!” Gordon snapped. “He has diplomatic immunity down there. Tunafish, you have you orders! Get going!” The window went blank.
With a pass of her hand, Katrina dissolved the empty square.
"Conference!” I called and they gathered close. “Okay, how do we get there?"
"Teleport?"
"Never seen the inside."
"Gate?"
"Can't get a psionic lock."
"Grow wings and fly?"
"For this many people? It would drain us of magic."
"Use helicopter gunships?"
"From the Army outside? Now that's a good idea!"
"Gotta stop off at the limo first,” declared George. “To—
...and we were standing on the main access road, next to the limo, surrounded by military personnel.
"-get more ammunition,” George finished lamely. In open hostility, he scowled at Raul. “Enjoy doing that, don't you?"
"Who me?” the mage said innocently.
"The choppers are on the way,” Jess said, looking at the dark sky with a hand on the glowing necklace.
Unlocking the trunk, I grabbed a satchel charge and slammed a fresh clip into the Barret. We had a reservation at the Hadleyville Hotel.
* * * *
Five minutes later we were airborne, and airsick.
Resembling a hatchet blade with short wings, Apache helicopters were amazingly quiet. Sleek and fast, the trim military gunships could do a ground speed of 300mph, had more surveillance equipment than our old RV, were radar-resistant, had a low infrared signature, were armored proof to a 40mm shell and there was a 20mm electric machine gun in the nose. The stubby wings, unnecessary for flying, were only to offer more room to carry weapons: three Sidewinder air-to-air missiles, Three Maverick air-to-ground missiles, and two Blockbuster Hellfire bombs, plus there was a 35mm rapid fire mini-rocket cannon on each side.
Unfortunately, the Apaches could only carry one passenger, two if we squeezed tight and sat on each other's lap, so the team had to split into four groups. A Bell & Howell Huey transport could have held us and the limo, but none were available. The perimeter guard did originally have one, but it was still burning in the weeds.
Big on bottom, little on top, thankfully I got Jessica. Katrina got George, Raul got Mindy, and Donaher was the cheese.
What?
He rides alone.
Ah.
Stuffed into the front gunner's seat, Jess and I had three windows to look out, rectangular in front and trapezoidal on the sides. I could only assume there was some intelligent reason for the design. The military was not big on aesthetics. A triptych of video monitors topped the complex control panel spanning the cockpit. The middle screen showed a perfectly illuminated view of the ground below, the left behind us, and the right above.
Full Moonster [BUREAU 13 Book Three] Page 17
