Pan looked over at Mariella, who had yet to give a command. She held a pair of thick binoculars to her eyes, the kind with incredibly complex-looking dials and buttons on the sides. She scanned the valley once, changed the settings, and scanned again. She did this three times before finally putting the binoculars away. Pan’s pendant vibrated against his chest, and he fumbled for the button.
“Four heat signatures in the main building,” she said quietly. “Clustered. Possibly bound. Haven’t moved since we got here. I’m seeing over a hundred shifters in the warehouse, most burning hella hot, but there are a bunch of them that are losing heat. Might be looking at a graveyard in there. What we’re gonna do is split into three. I want four of you down there looking for the front door. Secure the building. The cluster you’re looking for is in the north-west quadrant, kitty-corner from the warehouse.”
“That’s the conference room,” Pan said quickly. “They might not be bound, could just be a coffee break.”
“Hear that?” Mariella said. “Go in armed. Non-lethal. Group two, start cutting the top off of that warehouse. Pan, you’re with them. Calm our friends down so they don’t eat us before we get them tranquilized. Group three, bring the vans around. Once group one secures the building, one of them will open the garage for you. Hail, you’re heading group one. I’ll head group two. Oscar, group three.”
“Where do you want me?” Killian asked.
“Cover Pan. You got your space blaster?”
“Got it.”
“Good. On three. One, two….”
As she said “three”, the shifters scattered like silent, deadly spiders across the dark prairie. Pan slid down the ridge with Killian at his side, connecting with the wall before he could stop. Killian crashed into him, then patted a silent apology on his shoulder. Their pendants buzzed.
“Group two, hold your positions until the building is secure,” Mariella whispered.
Pan was anxious to start playing, but he did as he was told. The thud-thud-thud of crazed shifters against the walls made his palms sweat and his eyes prickle with the beginnings of tears, but he swallowed his nerves and squeezed Killian’s hand. Killian squeezed back reassuringly, then waved his gun with a cocky little smile. “I’ve got your back,” his eyes said. Pan smiled and took a steadying breath. Below them, a door opened. Pan counted the seconds. Two full minutes passed before the pendant buzzed, and he gasped for breath. He hadn’t realized that he’d been holding it.
“Building secure,” Hail’s voice said. “Four men, unconscious. Masked scent, eyes closed. Can’t tell if they’re shifters or not. Didn’t you say there were bodies in here?”
“At least two,” Killian answered.
“Not anymore. Place is cleaner than my grandmother’s kitchen.”
Somehow that news didn’t make Pan feel any better. If anything, it made him more nervous.
“You’re on, faux-hawk,” Mariella said.
Pan swallowed hard and made his way to the tear in the canvas. He sat cross-legged on the invisible wall and put his flute to his mouth. As shifters began cutting away the canvas on either side of him, he began to play his hypnotic tune. Every ounce of intention went into his song, the same way it had when he was protecting himself from Floyd, and the effects were nearly immediate. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the shifters on his team were stuffing their ears with plugs, and he felt guilty for a moment for not considering the effect on them. With them protected, though, he gave himself permission to take his song to the next level. A winding, exotic, almost alien tune dripped from the end of his flute, and one by one the beasts below him settled. They were lulled into a stupor, dazedly plodding along the trenches they had worn in the floor.
His pendant vibrated, but he had no way of pressing his button without sacrificing the music, and he was so close to putting the beasts to sleep that he wouldn’t risk it. Killian predicted his need, and stood closer with the pendant between them.
“Mariella! Problem! The garage is…fuck!”
A small explosion vibrated the walls, and Killian grabbed Pan’s arm to keep him steady.
“Hail! Hail! Goddammit, all squads, get to the garage, now!”
The vans came peeling up the dirt road at top speed as the shifters on the roof dropped down to the valley floor. Pan’s heart raced but he kept playing, lulling the shifter beasts to sleep. Gunfire began to ring out across the valley and he stopped with a terrified gasp.
“Keep going,” Killian ordered.
“But who’s doing the shooting? She said it was clear! She said there were only four! We have to get down there, we have to….”
“You have to fucking play!” Killian shouted as a beast leapt from the floor, snapping at Pan’s dangling foot.
Pan put the flute back to his lips and blew, but the note that escaped was flat. The other beasts began to rouse from their daze, snarling, focused on the fresh meat sitting just out of reach. Pan cleared his throat and licked his lips then tried again, nearly finding the tune but not quite, like a child’s toy when the batteries run down.
“Pan,” Killian said warningly.
“I’m trying!”
“No, you’re panicking. I’ve got your back. Trust me, and play.”
An explosion rocked the entire valley, jostling Pan off of his perch. He tumbled into the warehouse and smashed his face against the wall as Killian caught him by the ankle. The beast in that lane noticed him immediately and charged. Pan squeezed his eyes shut and played as Killian pulled hard on his leg, lifting him in the nick of time. Pan opened his eyes to see ferocious jaws clap together millimeters from his face, and as Killian dragged him over the edge, he sobbed into his song. He shook like a leaf, vibrating his tune, and Killian pressed his body against him comfortingly.
“You’re okay,” Killian said, his own voice shaking. “Keep playing. You’re okay.”
Killian turned around, pressing his back to Pan’s to watch the space around them. Gunfire continued, and a second blast shook them, but they were stable now. As long as they kept their feet on the ground and leaned into one another, they would keep their feet.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Silence fell over the valley. There was no sound save for Pan’s song, which was becoming increasingly redundant as the wolves below them fell asleep. Killian didn’t like it. The gunfire had ended several minutes before, and there had been no communication. As the minutes stretched on, he began to believe that they were the last shifters left alive. After close to half an hour, he was proved wrong by the last sound in the world he wanted to hear. Mariella’s gut-wrenching, heart-rending sobs rolled out of the building to echo across the valley. His pendant vibrated, and he almost didn’t want to answer it. He did, though, and held it out so Pan could hear as well.
“We lost Hail,” she sobbed. “The garage is clear. Group…group three. The door is open. Bring the vans. One at a time, there’s…there’s not a lot of room in there. Group two, up top. Tranq each shifter before we get there. Pan, thank you, but…we can’t take any…any more chances. Group one….” Her voice broke, and the line went dead. A few seconds later the pendant vibrated again, and he opened the channel. “Group one, please handle the garage. Make room for the vans. Remove the…evidence. And for the love of shit, be careful with his body.”
Killian watched Mariella walk away from the warehouse, across the valley, toward the stream. She fell to her knees under the light of the full moon and lifted her head to the sky, crying out in heartbroken agony. She shifted as she screamed, and her screams shifted with her, until she was howling at the sky. Primal, ancient feelings swelled up in Killian’s chest and he broke, picturing the lively, enthusiastic face of Hail, now gone forever. Overcome, he began to sob. Mariella’s wolf cry filled the air, joined by his as he succumbed to grief. Within moments, the full squad had joined in, pausing their work to mourn their lost brother. Pure love, pure agony. Hail’s spirit, his essence, whatever it was that made him…him, separated from his body, ri
sing on the swell of mournful music to disappear into the stars.
The heartbroken melody could have lasted for hours, for days, had their Alpha allowed; but Mariella was a fighter, a strong leader, and she knew their time was limited at best. She pulled herself together, literally and figuratively. As her leading voice dropped out of the melody, the others fell away in turn, leaving the stillest of silences in its wake. The pendant vibrated, and Killian listened in.
“Keep playing, faux-hawk,” her strong voice commanded. “The rest of you have your orders. We do this now.”
Pan wiped tears from his face then began to play once more, keeping the magic of his music thick and heavy in the warehouse below. Six shifters appeared on the wall with him, each with a tranquilizer gun and cheeks wet with tears. It was an odd, surreal image, and Killian captured it in his mind. It was important, he felt, to remember this moment with perfect clarity for as long as he possibly could. In unison, the shifters shot the beasts. Two darts each, starting with the beasts nearest the garage doors. They moved down the line as a group, reloaded as a group, and finished together. Killian spared a moment to acknowledge Mariella’s competent training, as well as the soldiers’ skills. The garage door below them opened just as the six shifters finished.
“If they’re dead, leave them,” Mariella shouted as she stepped through the door. “Otherwise, there are extra shackles in the underside compartments. Pack them in like sardines and blast the A/C. I do not want to come back to this shithole, capice?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Group two, get your asses down here and help. Pan, Killian, you did good, take a break.”
They sat together on the wall, hand in hand, and watched the squad work. In teams of two they broke the locks on the cages and checked the shifters inside for signs of life. Those who were still breathing were carried out in whatever form they happened to be, and were secured in the back of the van. Killian occupied his time by counting the beasts. One hundred seventy-eight in all. Only one hundred thirteen were moved; the rest were beyond saving. They were packed nine and ten to a van, and then Mariella directed two shifters to wrap Hail’s body and secure it to the roof of her van and cover it with a tarp. Once this was done, she instructed the squad to pile the bodies of the lost beasts in the center of the warehouse.
“Might want to come down, boys,” she said, sounding numb. “It’s about to get real smoky.”
A final body was added to the pile as Pan and Killian made their way down the hill. It was one of Maureen’s guards, dressed in his fatigues. Mariella broke the dog tags off of his body and shoved them in her pocket, then stepped back from the pile.
“Gasoline,” she ordered.
Someone drenched the pile, and the combination of old death, new death, and gasoline nearly made Killian sick. He turned to check on Pan, but Pan had already dashed off in the other direction to vomit into a cluster of bushes. Killian grimaced, and found himself glad once again that he had decided against full-time squad work. Someone ignited the dead and the entire group stood in silence until it burned out. She ordered them to do it again, and they obliged, burning every last molecule of biological matter left in the warehouse. Once the second flame had burned itself out, she turned to them.
“The mission was a success,” she said bitterly. “But we lost a brother. We lost sixty-six of our own also. Some long before we arrived. We will not allow this to keep happening. We will root out every last fucking research facility, and we will burn it to the goddamn ground. If you don’t have the stomach for it, tell me now. This is your future, boys and girls. You’re in or you’re out, right here, right fucking now.”
Pan was vomiting again, and his strangled choke answered her.
“Civilians don’t need to answer,” she said with the twist of a humorless smirk. “The rest of you. Show of hands. Who’s ready to do this again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, until we wipe this scum off the face of the earth?”
Every soldier raised their hand without a second of hesitation. She nodded briskly, and her eyes shone with pride.
“Shackle the three prisoners in the back of my cab,” she said. “Killian, Pan, you ride up front with me. Pan…jeez, kid. You better sit by the window.”
Pan shot her a look, but didn’t argue. The woman made good sense. As the first silver streaks of dawn lightened the dark sky, the Shifter Squad with their two civilians, three prisoners, and one-hundred-thirteen afflicted kindred hit the road back to Regis Thyme.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Pan was just as uncomfortable sitting in front of three of Maureen’s guards as he was with the incessant heaving in his belly. The acrid smell of burning flesh lingered in his nostrils, no matter how much sweet, dewy autumn air he inhaled. Killian’s hand on his thigh should have helped, but didn’t. It gave him a rush of butterflies, which only aggravated his condition. He didn’t want to remove it, though. The casual comfort with which Killian touched him was something he didn’t want to discourage, not until he was sure it would last. After a half hour or so, the prisoners began to wake up.
“Where am I?” One of them mumbled.
Pan recognized him as the short-tempered young shifter who had nearly shot Killian in the face. Devin, Douglas called him.
“You’re in a van on your way to Regis Thyme,” Mariella told him.
“What? Regis Thyme? What the fuck happened?!”
“What do you remember?” Mariella asked neutrally.
“No! I ask the questions! What the hell happened? Where is Maureen?”
“That’s something we’d all like to know,” Mariella said wryly. “But trust and believe, that woman is not your friend.”
“Bullshit! You’re lying! She’s going to cure me, and I’m going to go home!”
“You see how you’re missing one of your cronies?” Mariella asked him.
“Yeah….”
“Yeah, he ain’t breathing. You’re lucky you are. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“The hell are you talking about?” He asked, sounding less sure of himself by the second.
“Your employers booby-trapped the building, garage, warehouse, and all. They wanted you blown to hell.”
“You’re lying,” he said again.
Mariella slammed a fist on the steering wheel, making Killian jump. “Do I look like I’m fucking lying?” She asked, her eyes blazing in the mirror. “I lost my best soldier in there. He was about to be a father, and he died saving your stupid ass. Call me a liar one more time, motherfucker, and I’ll be reporting one less prisoner.”
Devin didn’t say anything.
“Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. I suggest you tell me, because once we get to Regis Thyme you will talk whether you like it or not. What. Do you. Remember.”
Devin cleared his throat, and when he spoke, he sounded young and frightened. Pan almost felt sorry for him.
“Those shifters…the two assholes next to you….”
“Watch it,” Mariella snapped.
“Sorry. The three men and the kids…they tore the place up, and did some kind of voodoo on us. Killed that creepy ass doctor, killed Peter. When I woke up they were gone and Maureen was flipping her shit. Made us, um…dispose of the bodies.”
“How?”
Devin mumbled something they couldn’t hear.
“Speak up,” Mariella ordered.
“Fed them to the dogs,” Devin sighed, his voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t want to, but she said we had to destroy the evidence. We burned out the doctor’s office with gasoline, and the observation booth, then we scrubbed the place down. Then she said it was break time and made us all coffee. It was sweet, which was weird, ‘cause she’s not exactly a sweet person. She gave us all our coffee, all six of us….”
“Six?”
“The two human guards, and the four of us shifters. That’s the last thing I remember, then I woke up here.”
“Let me fill in the blanks for you,” Mariella said with icy f
ury. “She drugged the coffee, at least yours and the other shifters. Couldn’t tell you what she did with the humans. Then she wired up the garage with explosives. The garage, the break room, everything. The way she did it would have flattened the compound. Nothing left. Not even you. Every single carpet was soaked in gasoline. What didn’t blow up would’ve burned. Even you. Trip wires everywhere. Thing is, she was in a hurry, and didn’t make sure that every trip wire would cause the chain reaction she was looking for. My soldier opened the door to the garage. He saw the explosives and the wires. He backed the hell out of there. But he paces when he talks. Didn’t see the trip wire by the bathroom door. The fucking bathroom door, kid. She was gonna blow away the first person who needed to take a piss. Blast caught him from behind, launched him into your little friend. Shrapnel. Silver shards and shifter bone. You starting to get a picture of the kind of nasty bitch she is?”
Devin didn’t say anything, but by the sound of his shackles, he was wriggling.
“We managed to disarm the rest, for the most part,” Mariella continued. Pan wasn’t sure she was still talking to Devin, or if she was just processing. “Blew up two charges, but we’d already uncoupled them. Little blasts, just enough to wreck the garage. Broderick’s gonna want me to go back. Find evidence. I don’t want to go back. You know why? Do you know why?”
“Uh….” Fear was very much present in Devin’s voice.
Dying to Live: The Shifter City Complete Series Page 31
