by S. L. Eaves
The car is an older model and I waste no time in ripping free the wires from under the steering wheel. After several different tries, I find the right combination of wires and the car roars to life. Time to get back in the chase.
Crina is losing speed. Rear wheel sparking along the asphalt, the bike wavers as she struggles to stay ahead of the pack. A couple blocks away, I gun the engine and power into the straggler of the pack. He doesn’t pay me any attention until the fender catches his hind legs. His body contorts backward as he flies over the hood and into my waiting gun. I unload several shots into his back, ease off the gas as he rolls to a stop, then plant one in his skull, painting the pavement with brain matter.
The bike swerves and Crina dismounts just as it strikes a wall and explodes against the brick. I push harder on the accelerator. Road-kill to-be number two loses ground and I slam into him, pinning his body against the wall a few feet from the burning remains of my bike. The beast is facing me and lunges forward with his upper body, his lower still trapped by my car.
I smile at him over the barrel of my gun and pull the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
Kind of luck I’ve been having.
When he fails to wriggle free, he flips the car. The next best option. Now upside down, I scramble out as he jumps atop to crush me under the car’s weight. I don’t make a clean escape. My foot gets caught and he jumps on the metal several times to seal the deal. I reach into the boot of my free leg. Fifty percent chance it holds my switchblade.
My luck has turned.
I slip the blade free and bring it up as the wolf leaps atop me. His teeth sink into my shoulder, but it is the opposite arm that holds the knife. I slice into his torso and force the silver blade upward. Bowels spill onto the pavement. I get a lapful of intestines. He releases his bite and howls. I slam both hands into the handle, driving the blade under the chest cavity and through his vulnerable little organ.
The howl becomes a whimper as he collapses beside me, reverting to human form. I sit up and lift the car off my leg.
Staggering, I catch sight of Crina fending off the last of our attackers.
They are grappling at the far end of the alley. From my angle it looks like she is losing, but it’s tough to tell. I sprint toward them, ignoring what is likely a broken foot. The wolf, propped on his hind legs, slams Crina into the wall. She sees me approaching from over his shoulder and raises her arm to catch the knife I toss. She doesn’t waste any time putting it to use.
The first blow catches his shoulder; he retreats enough for her to make a clean strike to his heart. I scoop up her gun from the ground but don’t need it. The second blow gets him where it counts and he falls to her feet with a thud.
The alley is littered with dead carcasses and mangled vehicles.
“They go and leave us looking like mass murderers,” I grunt.
“I got news for you, Lori: we are.”
A trail of bodies leading straight to us and no one would believe our side of the story. Not that we’ll stick around to tell it.
She picks some glass from my hair. “Where’d you get the car?”
“Same place I got the glass.” I shake the rest free from my hair.
Crina looks like she’d just climbed out of a blender. I doubt I fared much better. Hell, if I entered a Halloween contest, I’d win hands down.
“I need a rabies shot after tonight.”
“And a strong drink,” Crina adds.
First an arrow, then a hungry wolf; my shoulder has seen better days. Nothing is healing as fast as I’d like it to.
Sirens are heading in our direction. Took them long enough.
“Let’s get out of here.” Crina points to the fire escape to her right. “Can you make it on that foot?”
I nod knowing my options are limited if we want to make a clean escape. Also desperate to front that I’m tougher than I am. As we ascend to the rooftop, I ask the question that’s been begging for an answer: “So who is Striden?”
Chapter 27
Back at the base, Crina is quick to disappear. She hadn’t been willing to offer up an explanation on who Striden was or how they came to know one another. I can’t help but recall her story about the wolf from years ago, the one she figured for dead. But she is her typical shielded self and I can tell she is shaken by the surprise encounter, enough to know not to pry.
I find the others in the tech room, a carbon copy of the one overseas. We are renting an office space on the top floor of a modern building in lower Manhattan. Security cameras Xan could tap into, easy access via rooftop, enough offices for us to each have a makeshift bedroom; hang a couple curtains and it’s home sweet home.
Catch had nearly lost his arm back at the docks, but after some gauze and a few pints of blood, the burns have mostly healed and all he requires is the help of a sling. His impaled arm is also on the mend, as he demonstrates by wrapping it around me the second I enter.
“Ooo, careful.” I grimace and he releases his embrace.
“Sorry…whoa, what happened?” His eyes widen, assessing the damage.
“What, you didn’t see enough action at the docks?” Quinn chimes in.
She sits, arms crossed, in the corner of the room, her leg propped on a chair. Trent keeps fussing with her leg, trying to make her comfortable. She lets him pamper her, acting like she’s doing him a favor.
Everyone is anxious for my report. Given my appearance, it is clear that we’d encountered something. Or someone. I confirm that Crina has returned intact, but is in no mood to share. This is getting to be an all too familiar scene. The wolves are tearing us into pieces. So far we are the ones left standing, but for how long? That teen said they refer to us as endangered. That label alone tells us a lot about how they view our time left in this world.
Marcus pulls me into the conference room to recount the events in private.
“Does the name Striden mean anything to you?”
Marcus’ eyes go wide. I continue.
“Crina was more surprised to see him than he was of her. He reacted as though he’d been expecting her. He had a big guy at his side, like a body guard, but that human at the docks said two brothers are running the show so they might be related. Neither of them pursued us. Didn’t see the need since they had a small army at their fingertips. We interrupted some sort of mission briefing. I’m telling you it was like a cult the way they were lined up listening to him preach. Mindless zombies happy to do his bidding. Scary shit.”
“How many?”
“Six werewolves. All male. All muscle. Not including the leader and his sidekick.”
“Striden. Alive. And in New York City.”
“So what’s this guy’s story?”
Marcus’ eyes rage, but he remains calm. He runs his hand through his hair and whistles through his teeth.
“He’s a werewolf. A given, I suppose. Power thirsty. He had a small pack of followers in the late seventies when Crina and Dominique hunted them down and killed everyone including Striden. He was much younger back then, of course, and he did not pose much of a threat. A group of teenage vandals, nothing more. When the war began, I remember thinking it looked reminiscent of his work. Striden certainly didn’t invent the concept of daylight burnings, but he’d been known for his cowardly tactics. If he discovered a vampire hideout, he’d burn it to the ground. He was never successful in learning the location of The Covenant. Or so we thought.
“Then the firestorm happened. That was not your typical fire either; the walls of the mansion were rigged with explosives and coated with accelerants. Naturally, I suspected Striden’s hand behind the torching. However, Crina insisted she watched him die at Dominique’s hand. And years had passed since his death with zero signs to contradict it, so it was not a practical theory.”
He sighs, paces, trying to recall the past.
“Dominique did not survive the fire…so if it was indeed him and it was revenge he sought, he certainly succeeded.
> “The Striden I knew lived to hunt vampires. He never seemed too concerned about building werewolf numbers, but motives change in time.”
“So he’s back in a big way. More ambitious, more organized, and more powerful.”
“And he’s after something much greater than a few surviving vampires.”
“We finally know who we’re fighting,” I consider. “He travels around, starting these cults, or packs of wolves. Never having to lift a finger against us ’cause we’re always ten cities behind. Putting out the fires he’s started…You think he’s working for someone?”
“No. Not that ego. Striden doesn’t answer to anyone but himself.”
Crina appears outside the long glass window that stretches the length of the room. Marcus gestures for her to join us. Cleaned up and only limping slightly, she enters with a look that says the glass isn’t sound proof.
“I was briefing Marcus on our findings.”
She nods, her expression sullen.
“It was definitely Striden you encountered?”
Crina’s eyes harden. “Yes. He’s aged, but he still has that ugly smirk. And he certainly recognized me.”
If he’s been alive this whole time, that’s decades of planning he’s had on us, no wonder these wolves seem to know our every move.
But tonight changed everything. Tonight we came out ahead. Took out the team he’d stationed at the warehouse. Took out his new recruits. We’d gotten close. Tonight he’d surrendered his upper hand.
Crina and Marcus begin arguing and this snaps me back to attention.
“We need to go after him now. By tomorrow he could be anywhere. Their numbers in the city took a huge blow tonight and we need to attack while we’ve got the advantage. Who knows where he’ll be by sundown tomorrow.”
“It’s not an option. I will not permit such a rash, desperate move. You and Lori are far from a hundred percent. We almost lost Catch tonight. Both he and Quinn are in recovery. Sunrise is less than three hours away. I will not send my team out on a mission this high risk, this close to sunrise.”
Crina falls silent, her body vibrating with fervor.
“But we’re so close.” She whispers.
“And that’s why we can’t afford to make any mistakes.” Marcus sighs, holds up his index finger, and disappears into the hall. He reappears a moment later.
“I sent Xan to survey the hotel until dawn. If Striden makes a move in the next few hours he might be able to learn where he’s headed.”
Crina begins to protest, but Marcus’s expression keeps her quiet. Instead, she merely nods.
“Thank you, Marcus.”
“I have a suggestion.”
They both turn to me.
“Striden’s reaction said that he knew you were alive. I’m just starting to piece things together, but wouldn’t he have presumed you for dead after the firestorm? Did he have a way of knowing you weren’t home at the time?”
After some consideration, Crina shakes her head. “I cannot say for certain what he did or didn’t know. But yeah, his reaction to my presence said, ‘What took you so long?’”
“He knew you were alive because he has allies on the inside. Vampires reporting our activities.”
“Watch what you’re saying, Lori,” Marcus snaps.
“Think. Back in Amsterdam. Vampires were responsible for many of the supplies we destroyed in that warehouse tonight.”
“Hanson.” Crina nods.
“His men were on high alert. Knew who we were. Hell, they were stocking up on crossbows, same with the crew we encountered tonight. If they knew, we can assume Striden knew. Someone’s acting as an informant. I’m not saying it’s one of us; in fact it’s more likely a rogue with something to gain. Marcus, your recruiting efforts are no secret in the vampire community.”
“So what are you saying?” His tone is even.
“There’s a missing link in the chain. And it’s a vampire.”
“Or was a vampire. Likely it was Hanson or someone under his employ. Any other vampire involvement is pure speculation.”
“Still, we should consider the possibility that other vampires flipped. What about the rogue Catch overheard talking to one of the lawyers the other night?” I ask alluding to a lead we’d forgone to pursue the warehouse. “We should revisit that trail. Also, now we know S&D from Adrian’s notes and the lawyer documents points to S&D Pharmaceuticals…bet you money the ‘S’ stands for Striden. We find their corporate offices and we’ll discover firsthand what they’re using that equipment for.” I offer enthusiastically.
Marcus seems tentative, “Alright, that’s good. But first we need to regroup. Let’s face it, tonight was a disaster.”
I am somewhat relieved by his hesitation. We were not prepared for tonight’s encounter and I am not begging for an encore. As much as I share Crina’s sense of urgency to strike while the iron is hot, part of me is thinking of Catch. I want to buy him some extra time to recover. We can’t do this without him.
“What did Catch discover the other night? A vampire? I didn’t hear about this. If he has another lead, we should pursue it. They could provide us more intel on S&D nonsense,” Crina offers.
“So we stay in New York. We pick up where we left off, but discretely,” Marcus agrees. “We need to know what we’re up against.” He glances at Crina.
“I can live with that,” she consents.
Marcus nods. She exits.
“What a night.” I start to follow her out, but Marcus intercepts me, pulling me aside.
“Keep an eye on Crina,” he whispers.
“She won’t disobey your wishes.”
“I know. But tonight brought back memories long buried. She’s got a lot to process.”
***
The mortal world is in upheaval, taking the brunt of the aftermath from our little fallout with the wolves. The news, which had been mostly covering an influenza outbreak, now blares dramatic headlines about dead bodies in the streets, the hunt for mass murders, pleas for witnesses to come forward, cautious warnings not to walk alone at night and to report suspicious activity. If they only knew the half of it.
For us, the repercussion is silence. There is no activity at any of the island’s docks, no werewolf sightings, let alone attacks. Striden’s hotel offered us nothing. Xan had returned with little to report. We conclude that Striden had covered his tracks and evacuated in a timely fashion. Xan said he spotted a chopper leaving the scene when he got there—black, unmarked, and reeking of malice.
Prior to Quinn’s discovery. Catch’s target, a human lawyer named Reece, had been our best source of information. An avid Mets fan, Reece enjoyed taking in games with his clients. Prior to the night at the dockyard, Catch had spent a couple nights sporting a Mets’ cap and a beer, pretending to watch the games.
He wasn’t the only one pretending.
Through snippets of conversation heard between cheers and jeers of the crowd, Catch learned that a virus had been tested on humans successfully. He caught the words antidote and vaccine, so he couldn’t be sure what exactly S&D was working on but he knew human testing was not on par with FDA regulations.
Franco, the “client” who frequently joined Reece at these games, would make various requests from building leases to international shipment authorizations. Reece was happy to oblige. And Franco was of the undead variety. Which brought us back to my rat hypothesis.
Now, with Striden MIA, we revert back to our best remaining lead. However, Mets games are no longer an option. A terrified Reece is laying low. The recent headlines and the untimely demise of his co-workers have him on high alert. Surely he’d gotten word of our presence in his city, but with a wife and two children to consider, he does not flee. He does not go into work, either. We stake out his brownstone on the Upper West Side, a few blocks from Central Park.
As one might expect in this situation, he only goes out during the day, so we arrange a snag-and-bag plan.
We jack a windowless van and when R
eece leaves one afternoon, I fire a tranquilizer dart from a window across the street.
He teeters, then drops.
Catch and Trent, covered head to toe in protective clothing, make the risky interception, grabbing Reece up from the sidewalk midday. The van speeds off, a cloud of exhaust left in its wake.
***
Initially Marcus does not allow anyone in the conference room during his interrogation. I’ve heard rumors of his methods and have no interest in witnessing them firsthand. After a few screams Catch goes in to intervene. Good cop, bad cop approach I suppose.
After what I’m sure felt like eternity to Reece, Marcus and Catch emerge and share with us what they’ve learned.
Reece, being human, was easily swayed and wisely opted for full disclosure, from his client’s dealings to his associate’s discretions, this guy would have sold out his own family. Stand-up guy. Then again, if a couple vampires grabbed me off the street and tortured me I’d have probably offered up my first born.
But it is one name that captures our interest.
Deacon.
The name represents the D in S&D Pharmaceuticals. Deacon is Striden’s brother and the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, at least that’s how Reece understood it. Franco answers to Deacon. Franco brought in Reece and his law firm to act as an intermediary between the government—customs in particular—and S&D. Reece had also worked with Hanson and Alex overseas. Franco had initiated the meetings, then Reece and his team would step in to handle the operational logistics.
Reece was to ensure that medical supplies passed cleanly from ship to warehouse. If a box of weapons or suspicious chemicals crossed his path, he made sure they never landed on any sensitive paperwork.
As for where and why, he knew their eventual destination was to a laboratory or several, but he did not know their locations. To keep anyone from learning too much, the information was spread among his colleagues. The ones we’d done in. He suspected they’d been performing experiments for quite some time. He was quick to name Franco as his primary contact to that world.
