Akio unsheathed his katana. It caught the light, reflecting it in a rainbow arc across the gray wall. Terry looked at his bullwhip, a silver chain sewn into the end toward the tip. He held a small knife with a silvered blade in his other hand.
He vowed to silver the blade of his cavalry sword. He felt unarmed compared to the others.
Akio moved ahead, continuing downward. He looked to be walking casually, but quickly outpaced Terry, Char, and Aaron.
“Three Forsaken and two Weretigers,” Char whispered as they hurried forward.
“Are they a threat to Akio?” Terry asked, angling toward the wall to flip yet another light switch.
Char shook her head while gripping her pistols more tightly.
Then the lights went out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Terry’s anxiety rose exponentially. Not because of the darkness or the enemy, but because he didn’t know the terrain and there didn’t seem to be a plan. It reminded him of the old days, when he first joined the Corps. The instructions from the recon team leaders had always been to keep up. That was it.
Keep up.
He hurried ahead, fingering the only tools that would make a difference. The darkness enveloped him. His enhanced eyes could hardly make out the difference between the wall and the tunnel, let alone anything else.
Terry felt the air pressure change slightly. He crouched and listened. A padded footfall. A snarl. And Char was thrown into him as something ran into her and knocked her off balance.
She rolled to the side and fired three times in rapid succession. Terry saw the Weretiger recoil with the impact of each bullet.
Terry lashed out with the whip, drawing a long red line across the creature’s back.
“Where are you, Aaron?” Terry called out. A snarl to his left gave him his answer.
Terry drew his arm back for a second crack of the whip, but the Weretiger was faster. It leapt at TH. Terry dropped his whip as he bent backwards and twisted, letting the Were pass over him. He rammed his knife into the creature’s side.
The Weretiger drove the claws of its back feet into Terry’s chest, gripping and ripping the flak jacket. Terry was pulled over, landing on his back with the beast’s back paws still entangled in his gear.
Terry grunted as it pushed off, trying to leap free, but it fell on its side. It raked one claw at the human, who barely warded it off with an arm. The claws tore flesh and muscle to the bone.
Terry cried out in pain.
Char landed on the creature’s head and wrapped an arm around its neck. She gripped her second arm and pulled tightly, cutting off the air as the creature twisted and thrashed. Terry punched upward, trying to pound the soft spot that all men carried on the outside.
When another furry creature landed on him, Terry thought he was done. A new front paw dug into his chest as Aaron slashed into the soft underbelly of his fellow Weretiger.
Blood and entrails splashed over Terry, who struggled to get out from under the fighting felines. The smell was overwhelming.
Char finally dragged the creature to the side and Terry rolled over. Aaron attacked in a frenzy, driving Char away.
Terry crawled to his feet, cradling his injured arm. He found a nearby light switch and flipped it. His nanocytes were hard at work repairing his arm, but the damage was extensive. It would be a while before his arm worked right again.
Char had a long claw mark down her back, leaving blood trails down her shirt and pants. Her wounds were also starting to close. She’d reacted quickly and kept the claws from digging too deeply.
She winced as she tried to straighten up.
“Where?” he asked her.
“Up ahead. Two Forsaken and two more Weretigers.”
“Two? Go, Akio!” Terry cheered while clenching his jaw from the pain in his arm.
The smell of the Weretiger remained as it fought valiantly but futilely against its superior enemy. They waited until Aaron was finished and retreated against the wall, cowering, almost as if embarrassed by his display of primal fury.
Terry pulled his sword and hacked with his one hand until the creature’s head came free. He wiped the sword on the magnificent Weretiger pelt, then used his silvered blade on the neck as a redundancy. He couldn’t have the Weretiger recover.
“It’s plenty dead, TH,” Char reassured him, but he was an old school adherent when it came to killing Werewolves, keeping the tradition and his superstitions alive, even though his wife had appropriately schooled him to a modern understanding.
She relaxed as the healing process repaired the injuries on her back and relieved her pain.
“What’s next?” Terry asked, grimacing as the nerves in his arm rebelled at the less-than-gentle caress from the nanocytes.
***
Timmons and Sue moved forward silently, while Clyde’s nails clicked on the tunnel floor. Ahead, a dim light signaled a side room dug out of the mountain where four humans were sitting around a single table.
The tunnel continued ahead, deep into the mountain, where faint sounds told them that more humans were somewhere in the distance.
Timmons and Sue pondered changing into Were form, but decided against it. With the training that Terry had provided, they felt they were better fighters in human form. They could always change into Werewolves if they needed to, if the humans in the room were capable of something unexpected.
The Werewolves waited outside the door while the two men and two women sat around the table, probably eating breakfast. Timmons counted down on his fingers—three, two, one. He slowly turned the knob and they burst into the room.
One man jumped, upsetting the table and sending dishes flying. The other three dove to the side and popped up with silvered swords unsheathed.
Timmons looked at Sue.
“Nice pig stickers,” Timmons said coldly.
One of the women answered, but in Chinese, a language that neither of the Werewolves spoke. They had no idea what she said, but the surprise and anger on her face suggested she hadn’t delivered a warm welcome. Clyde sniffed at furniture close by.
Timmons pulled his pistol from the waistband of his pants and took aim. Sue slowly wrapped her fingers around the butt of her pistol and slid it free.
Two of the humans in the room started shouting. Clyde had had enough and started barking at them, baring his fangs in anger.
One man charged and the sound of two pistols firing simultaneously was deafening. Two went down. The other two tried to run, but the shots were too close together. They barely made it a step before the nine millimeter slugs slammed into their bodies, followed by a second round in a classic double-tap.
None of the four moved. Carefully, Timmons and Sue picked up the four swords, sheathed them, and stuffed them between their packs and their bodies.
Clyde peed on one of the people. Neither Timmons nor Sue cared. Timmons left the room.
“Come on, Clyde. Let’s see what the others are up to,” Sue called as she held the door for her dog.
***
Gene caught up to Shonna and Merrit as they jogged forward. He made so much noise as his nails scraped the concrete floor that they picked up their pace. The Weretigers ahead had to know they were coming, by their senses and from the sound.
There would be no surprise. Bogdan slowed as he sniffed the air, tasting the scent of the great cats.
Shonna and Merrit stopped. They both removed small knives and their pistols. Gene almost ran into them, sliding to a stop, and snuffled as he cocked his head, looking at them and wondering why they hadn’t kept going.
They started moving again, striding confidently forward. Ahead, the Weretigers paced and waited for the interlopers.
There would be no conversation, just a battle for supremacy of the underground. Werewolves, Werebear, or Weretigers.
Gene’s great brown muzzle forced its way between Shonna and Merrit. He pushed them aside as he surged ahead, adrenaline firing his soul.
If he could have spoken, he wou
ld have denigrated the entire lineage of the Weretigers, paying particular attention to the recessive genes that led to the abominations before them.
When they found the chamber from which numerous smaller tunnels led, the Weretigers were ready. These two were huge, about half Gene’s size, which made them twice as large as Aaron.
Shonna and Merrit breathed deeply and considered for only a moment, then they stripped and changed. They were more deadly as Werewolves, especially facing the Weretigers.
Gene stood and roared. Bogdan followed suit. Gene tottered on his back legs and then ambled forward, staying on two feet to keep his front claws before him. He remembered well his fight with the polar bear, knowing that the Weretigers were deadlier. He looked back, caught sight of the two Werewolves, and tipped his head to the right.
They didn’t understand if that meant he was going right or they were to go right.
They bounded behind him as he charged in between the two Weretigers, then dodged right at the last instant. They met him with a feline snarl. He didn’t bother roaring. A low guttural growl escaped his throat as he sought purchase on the tiger’s body with his claws, to pull his enemy close, overwhelm it with his size, and bite it to death.
He left the other Were to Merrit and Shonna, but Gene had made his move too quickly and the Werewolves’ response came too slowly.
The second Weretiger landed on Gene’s back, digging four sets of long claws into the heavy meat of the Werebear’s body. He screamed in pain while grasping the Weretiger before him and dragging it into a tighter embrace.
They jousted muzzles, each seeking a hold on the other. Gene was incensed.
Two Werewolves ripped the Weretiger from Gene’s back, their jaws clamped tightly on the shoulder and haunch. The three tumbled to the floor together.
Gene felt the weight lift from his back as his nanocytes went to work. He powered forward with his back legs, driving the Weretiger off balance. It scrambled to get leverage, twisting and turning as it went down under the bulky Werebear. Gene clamped his jaws on the cat’s throat and bit down.
Long claws tore into his midsection as the cat braced his back against the floor. It continued to twists its neck, attempting to get free, while ripping and shredding with its hind legs.
The polar bear had hurt him, but he had dragged that creature into the icy water and drowned it. He didn’t have that trick here. His guts were on fire and he struggled to maintain his grip on the Weretiger. He dropped onto the creature. Its claws tore deeper into his midsection until they were past the fur, fat, and muscle.
The great cat tore his insides up. With one great gasp, Gene gave all he had to his bite, finally breaking the Weretiger’s neck. The Werebear rolled to the side, pulling away from the claws dug too deeply within his body.
Bogdan jumped on the beast and ferociously tore into it.
On the other side of the chamber, a battle just as deadly was being waged.
***
North Chicago
Blevin knew that silver was important in dealing with special folk, like Forsaken. There had been no silver within Cheyenne Mountain. The Vampires had removed all of it—wedding rings, necklaces, even fillings from teeth if there was a hint of silver.
But Chief Foxtail came through for the defenders of North Chicago. His people carried a wealth of sterling silver. When the chief presented the need to his people, they donated their jewelry and accoutrements.
First Sergeant Blevin took it all solemnly and swore that it would be put to good use.
The motor pool consolidated their people and built a small oven where they could smelt the silver and then dip various items into it.
Blevin took every third bullet from the belt of the fifty cal and carefully dipped the tips, then wiped them to leave a thin gleam of silver, enough that it would not affect the aerodynamics of the bullet.
Knives were coated and finally, pistol bullets. All of those filling the role of lake watch were armed with pistols. They had emptied the armory, but they considered the immediate need more pressing than maintaining a reserve supply of weapons and ammunition.
Adams was feeling good about himself when he approached Anne and asked where he could mount the fifty cal on the sailboat.
That was when she lost her shit.
“You will under no circumstance put that monster on my sailboat!” she declared, shaking her fist at Adams. He looked at her oddly.
“You’re willing to fight me to prove that you don’t want to fight?” Adams asked. She looked at her fist, unclenched it, and shoved her hand in her pocket.
“No. I run a fishing boat. I won’t sail it if you put that cannon on board.” She pulled her hand from her pocket so she could cross her arms and show fierce determination on her face.
“Fair enough,” Adams said. He knew that as an alternative, he’d carry his pistol with two magazines loaded with nothing but silver-tipped bullets. He would wear a loose shirt to cover the pistol because Anne couldn’t know.
He respected her position, but he had a mission, too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
China
Shonna was slammed into the wall as the cat gyrated wildly. She lost her grip, but used her freedom to find a more vulnerable spot.
Merrit hung on, kicking his four paws to maintain his leverage, but more importantly, to keep the Weretiger off balance.
With its torn shoulder free of Werewolf, the cat twisted around and sunk its front claws into Merrit’s back.
This gave Shonna the opening she needed. She came at its exposed throat like an eagle diving onto a rabbit. She caught the soft part of the creature’s throat and ripped out a bite-sized hunk. The Weretiger gurgled as it tried to scream in agony.
Merrit hung on as it let go of him and sought to retaliate against its new attacker. Merrit turned and dragged the Weretiger backwards, flipping it onto its side.
Bogdan appeared and jumped onto it, immediately getting thrown off as the cat kicked with its four paws. Shonna appeared as the bear cub flew into the wall. She bit down into one of the paws, cracking bones in the creature’s ankle.
Merrit tried to drag the Weretiger to the side, refusing to let it get its legs underneath itself. Shonna jumped away, then came back for another leg, but the Weretiger was still. She savaged its throat until she was able to grind her way through its neck, severing its head and killing it for all time.
Merrit staggered away, looking at Gene’s still form. Both he and his enemy were on the tunnel floor, each healing slowly from their horrendous wounds. Merrit returned to human form, dug his knife out, and decapitated the Weretiger.
The bleeding from the wounds in Merrit’s back slowed. Instead of using his shirt to bind his own wounds, he bundled it onto the Werebear’s stomach. The Werebear’s intestines had been ripped and were hanging through the tears across his soft mid-section.
Merrit gently pushed Gene’s entrails back in and held them there.
“Go, find the others,” Merrit told Shonna. His head hung and his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. “We both need some time.”
Shonna nuzzled him for a second before changing back into human form, dressing quickly, and running up the tunnel toward the main intersection where she’d last seen the others.
She sensed a human ahead. She was angry that her mate and friend had been injured. She wanted vengeance and ran faster toward the man who seemed to be waiting.
With a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other, she ran past the corner and fired just as she saw that it was Eldie.
***
Terry and Char continued downhill.
“One Forsaken and one Weretiger,” she whispered. Terry thought about telling her that they should simply stay out of Akio’s way, but she seemed determined.
Who was he to deny his wife? And his arm hurt too much to argue. They jogged past two small side tunnels. They looked like test shafts that didn’t pan out. They passed more and more of those as the air became more stale and foul-smelling.
Char slowed, flipping a light switch as they passed. The lights remained on only briefly.
When they turned off, Char cried out, “Watch it!”
Terry instinctively ducked. The darkness in this part of the mine was so complete, he could see nothing, not even his hand in front of his own face. Terry continued downward, hitting the ground and rolling into a half-kneeling crouch. He listened intently, only hearing what he thought was Char scuffling her feet.
She grunted with effort and he took that as his cue, launching himself at full speed toward her. He glanced off something as he reached out, unable to stop himself as he body-slammed into his wife. They both went down, and deftly rolled away from each other.
As Terry started to stand, the hot breath of a Forsaken danced across his neck. Terry lashed out but his hands were beaten back as if he was a petulant child. He brought his knee up, but it was blocked as if he’d jammed it against the mountain’s bedrock. He gasped in pain as a kick with all the force of a pile driver hit him mid-chest.
Terry was thrown into the wall, stunned. Char attacked with all the speed at her enhanced command, and she was still too slow. She matched him blow for blow for three swings only, before he reached inside and caught her cheek with a powerful punch that twisted her head, spinning her to the ground.
The snarl and hiss of a Weretiger came to them as they both lay on the ground. Aaron launched himself through the air, twisting at the last second as he passed over Terry and Char. The Forsaken dodged, but Aaron twirled like a dervish and raked his rear claws across the Vampire’s chest, continuing to spin until his front claws were firmly embedded in the Forsaken’s back.
The Vampire shook off the Weretiger and seemed to speed up, to disappear and then reappeared on Aaron’s other side. He punched the Weretiger once in the top of its head. Aaron’s jaw bounced off the rock floor and he was still.
Just as suddenly, the Forsaken’s head toppled from its body, thudded into the floor, and rolled to rest against the Weretiger.
Akio stood, statuesque as he held his form for an instant, then wiped the blade clean on the Forsaken’s clothes before returning it to the saya.
Nomad Omnibus 02: A Kurtherian Gambit Series (A Terry Henry Walton Chronicles Omnibus) Page 56
