She was looking past him, and her face was ghostly white.
“Oh, man,” Greg said. He, too, was looking past Cole.
Cole turned around.
Slowly, as if he were afraid any sudden movements might prove fatal.
Between the time they ran for the side door and the wolf attack, the smoke had all but cleared out, leaving behind a scene that made Cole’s hairs on the back of his neck spike. And he’d seen a lot. He’d seen things that would give people nightmares.
It wasn’t the dead bodies of crazies and men in BDUs that shocked him. It was the presence of the creatures that hovered over them.
Wolves.
There was at least a dozen of them, and they looked similar to the one Emily had shot, that lay nearby right now.
No, he was wrong.
There weren’t a dozen. There had to be two dozen. Maybe more.
…maybe more…
They were gray and white, brown and black, and a mix of other colors. A pack. He was looking at a pack made up of big and small and male and female wolves. The slurp of their tongues as they licked up blood, the spine-chilling noise of chewing as sharp fangs ripped into flesh and scraped the bones underneath, had replaced his, Greg’s, and Emily’s breathing as the only sounds in the warehouse.
As far as Cole could tell, they were still undiscovered. Because otherwise why would the animals ignore them completely? Cole, Greg, and Emily were currently invisible because the wolves were too busy eating. Feasting on the dead.
“Go,” Cole whispered. Then, again, but with even more urgency, “Go, now.”
Emily turned first, then took one, then two steps toward the door. She didn’t take her eyes off the animals as she did so.
Neither did Greg, who followed closely behind her.
Cole turned to join them.
Clink! as his boot kicked at an empty brass casing lying on the floor where it had fallen. The round skidded across the concrete and into a corner, then pinged off the metal wall.
Cole froze, and so did Emily and Greg in front of him.
“Don’t look back,” the Voice said.
Cole started to turn…
“Don’t look back!” the Voice shouted.
…and looked back.
“Goddammit, when will you ever listen to me?” the Voice said.
The closest of the wolves had lifted its head to look in their direction. Red eyes sparkled underneath bright lights that flooded down the warehouse’s open high windows. The smoke had all but disappeared, leaving no doubt about their human—and still very much alive—presence to the animals.
The wolf opened its mouth, and fresh blood dripped from its corners. Strands of flesh and muscle dangled from its fangs as it let out a low but growing growl.
Another wolf, close by, did the same thing.
Then another…
…and another…
…and another…
“Go!” Cole shouted. “Go go go!”
Chapter 24. Emily
Cole was telling them to “Go! Go go go!” and that was precisely what they did.
But even as they did so, Emily knew they wouldn’t make it.
Not all of them, anyway.
…not all of them…
Step one: Know your objective.
Get to Bolton and the others waiting at the airstrip.
Step two: Gather intel.
The warehouse was lost. LARS was lost. Everything was lost. And soon, if they didn’t escape the building, they would be lost, too.
Step three: Formulate a plan.
Save herself and her baby. Save Cole. Save Greg. Save everyone.
And finally, step four: Execute that plan.
Get out of The Welcome Room. Get out now.
It was all a lot easier said than done, and she knew it. Cole knew it, too, from the look he gave her as he shouted the first, “Go!” Then, not even half a heartbeat later, “Go go go!”
She made the move toward the side door, Greg doing the same a few feet away in front of her. He was moving fast, the Beretta gripped tightly in his left hand. She wanted to ask him to give the pistol to Cole, who could use it way more effectively. But she didn’t, mostly because she was too busy breathing hard as she ran, following the former contractor’s footsteps as he made a beeline for the door.
And the wolves came.
All of them.
Two dozen, at least.
Maybe more.
…maybe more…
Their gray and white and brown furs were patched with dark red blood. Some of them growled but most didn’t. They just came. All at once, as if they were moving in unison to some unspoken command.
And she and Greg were the only ones with guns. Cole was only armed with the knife he’d taken down to the LARS with him. And that wasn’t even taking his bandaged arm into consideration. He hadn’t told her what’d happened, but it didn’t take a lot to figure out it hadn’t been good. All the blood that soaked the fabric was proof of that.
So they were three people with two guns and a dwindling bullet supply. At least for her. She wasn’t so sure about Greg.
Greg fired first, and it wasn’t at the animals behind or to the left of her. It was at something in front of him, coming through the open side door. The same direction where the last wolf had come in and bit down on his already-wounded right arm.
Another wolf, speeding toward him. Greg’s shot, fired while he was running—and with his left hand, no less—missed.
Greg had missed!
“Emily!” Cole shouting close behind her. So close that she could feel his warm breath against the back of her neck.
She turned and saw why he’d screamed her name.
They were coming. The wolves. All two dozen or more of them.
…two dozen or more…
She was momentarily awestruck by their speed. No wonder Greg had missed; even a seasoned shooter like Cole might have had difficulty putting a round into the moving things. They were that fast. The same surging adrenaline that allowed the infected humans to be faster, stronger, and more agile was giving the animals the same supernatural abilities.
Emily forgot about Greg—he was still firing, the bang-bang! of his shots echoing loudly behind her—as she spun completely around to focus on the incoming tide of black and brown and gray fur.
Saliva flitted from their fangs, blood—from their eyes, from their victims—flickering into the air around them like rain.
She aimed for the nearest one and fired—
—and missed.
She fired again—and again—and again.
A wolf slammed into the hard floor face-first. Another massive wolf, gray fur bristling in the air, leapt to get over the body while two others went around it. They didn’t stop to check on the fallen animal. They either didn’t care, or they were too focused on her and Cole and Greg.
The bang-bang! of Greg shooting behind her. That was good news. As long as he was shooting, it meant he was still standing. Even better, it meant he continued to have bullets.
Cole had stepped away from her, moving toward the advancing wolves instead of away from them.
What the hell is he doing? she thought, but quickly knew the answer. Cole was putting himself between her and the bloodthirsty animals. He was protecting her, like he always did. Because he loved her. And he loved the baby inside her.
…the baby inside her…
Cole hacked at the wolves as they descended on him. He was the closest prey and they converged on him, swarming from his left and right and front. They would have gone after him from behind too, if any of them had made it that far. Cole slashed and moved, slashed and moved, even as sharp teeth clamped down on his already-bandaged left arm and more tried to get at his right, but he was moving too frantically to allow that, seemingly—no, not seemingly, but purposefully—knowing that he couldn’t allow it.
“Go!” her husband shouted. “Go go go!”
She wanted to ask him “Go where, sweetheart?” because there wasn�
��t any place to go.
Wolves were still coming from behind her, through the side door. She knew that without having to look back. All she had to do was listen to Greg’s gunshots thundering loudly behind her.
Over and over, and over.
He’s going to run out of bullets. He’s going to run out of bullets eventually.
And soon, so am I.
The Glock was already feeling light in her right fist as she tried to take aim at the wolves surrounding Cole, trying to pick them off without hitting him.
Bang! and another one of the animals flopped to the floor.
Bang! and another one did a header.
The second dead wolf got the attention of the others and one, two—four of them turned their attention to her.
Emily backed up, taking aim, as they launched furry missiles in her direction.
She kept firing.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
She lost track of Cole. He was somewhere in the back of a wall of gray and brown and white fur. She could only glimpse his occasional movements, but that was enough to tell her he was doing so frantically, trying to shake off jaws that were clamped down on his arm and legs while still swinging, fighting, killing. She knew he was killing the animals because she could hear them yelping even against the brutal cacophony of her gunshots and that of Greg’s.
Greg’s…
He was still shooting behind her. She wasn’t sure how, because he must have fired a dozen rounds already. Or more. Had he fired more than a dozen shots? All she knew was that he was still going, and that was the best news.
She didn’t stop moving or shooting until the animals had fallen one by one in front of her, leaving a jagged trail of bloodied fur between her and Cole.
Another wolf fell sideways, forcing one of the animals behind it to leap into the air in order to avoid a collision. It landed and kept coming. Bang! as she hit it in the side. It flopped to the floor and let out a pained whine, but continued to squirm. She could have ended its life right there, but didn’t. She was running out of bullets.
…she was running out of bullets.
Suddenly something she had been dreading overwhelmed her.
Silence.
Silence from behind her, striking her like a runaway train full-on in the chest.
Greg.
Why had Greg stopped shooting? Why—
She glanced back.
Oh, God.
The former contractor was on the ground, hands gripping the head of a wolf as it growled on top of his body, trying to get at him with its snapping jaw. There was blood on Greg’s face, along both cheeks and chin and neck, but she didn’t know if those were his or the wolf’s because blood flicked from its dark-red eyes as it shook its head left and right. It was trying to loosen Greg’s grip on it. There were two dead wolves on the floor in front of the side door. Greg hadn’t missed every shot—not that it’d done him any good, because for the two he’d hit, there was a third that he hadn’t. And that animal was, right now, trying to bite his head off.
Greg somehow got his hands underneath the animal’s snapping jaw and managed to throw it off him. It landed in a pile, and even as it slithered back onto its feet, Emily took aim. Bang! as a round from her quickly-dwindling magazine punched through its right eye, and the wolf dropped.
“Emily!” Cole, behind her.
She turned around. Her husband was backpedaling toward her even as he swung wildly with his entire body from left to right, finally managing to dislodge a wolf that had its teeth on his (bloody) left forearm off him. The animal flew through the air and slammed into another one, sending both sprawling to the warehouse floor.
A wall of gray fur appeared in front of her as one of the animals broke off its attack on Cole and leapt for her. She stuck out her left forearm, more out of pure instinct than anything else, and somehow managed to elbow the leaping wolf in the snout.
It let out a surprised squeal as it fell—
—then quickly scrambled back up onto all fours.
Bang! as she shot it in the head, its brain exploding out the back.
The Glock’s slide snapped back and locked in place.
It was empty.
She was empty.
Oh God, she was out of bullets.
And they were still coming. A flurry of blood-matted fur and blood-dripping fangs. Low growls like something from the pits of Hell itself echoed from their bellies as they charged toward Cole and her and Greg.
She dropped the Glock and drew the knife at her left hip and stabbed at the closest animal. It was almost on top of her as she backpedaled and shoved the knife forward, the blade piercing the wolf’s chest and causing it to whimper—it sounded painfully innocent and nothing whatsoever like what it had become—as it dropped in front of her.
Then Cole was turning toward her, dragging two of the wolves with him. One of them had its fangs buried in his left leg while the other clung to his left arm, normally white canines dripping with red wetness. He slashed at the animal hanging off his arm, his tactical knife slipping easily into the side of its head and piercing the skull underneath. The creature let go.
Cole did the same to the one clinging to his leg. It yelped, then fell away as if discarded, while he hobbled toward her. His eyes were wide, his face slick with sweat, and blood caked his pants and shirt and chin.
He looked bad.
Ravaged.
Mauled.
And yet the eyes that looked back at her were full of determination. “Go!” he shouted.
Go? she thought. Go where?
“Go go go!” her husband shouted. There was blood on his face, dripping from his cheeks. “Get out of here!”
Cole’s knife was gripped tightly in one hand, even more blood dripping from his left arm. The cloth he’d been covering it up with was gone, revealing a devastating injury she hadn’t seen before but always knew was there.
“Get out of here!” Cole shouted.
“Not without you!” she shouted back.
“Now!”
“Not without you!”
“I’ll be right behind you!”
She stared at him.
He stared back.
The remaining wolves snarled as they converged on him.
She turned and went went went.
She found Greg on the floor in front of her. A wolf was on top of him, its fangs ripping through flesh and gnawing on the bone underneath. Blood spurted from Greg’s neck, his eyes big as saucers.
Greg had stopped moving.
Was he even still alive?
His body was limp, his arms resting on the floor.
He was either dead or…
No, he was dead.
Greg was dead. She could see it in his eyes. They were devoid of life.
Oh God, Greg was dead.
Greg was dead.
Emily maneuvered around him and the thing chewing on his flesh. The animal didn’t look up, didn’t even notice her, as Emily skidded past it.
I’m sorry, Greg.
God, I’m sorry.
She ran forward and burst through the open side door, full expecting a wolf—or two, three—to be waiting outside. But there was just open air and bright sunlight.
There were no wolves waiting.
She stared across the open grounds, toward the tarmac where the private planes and helicopters were parked. Planes and choppers that had brought Anton’s would-be clients to LARS and had remained behind when their owners failed to make it back up to The Welcome Room.
Bolton’s chopper was supposed to be among the parked aircraft.
Supposed to be, because it wasn’t there.
It wasn’t there.
She couldn’t see it among the two choppers and lone Gulfstream jet parked in the airfield, waiting for pilots that would never show up to claim them. The Bell would have stood out…and it wasn’t there.
…it wasn’t there…
They were gone. Bolton and the others.
They’d taken off in the chopper without her or Cole or Greg. There were bodies and two wolves from where she stood just outside The Welcome Room’s side door, about fifty yards from the airfield.
Bolton had taken off. He’d left her and Cole and Greg behind.
And now they were on their own.
…now they were on their own…
Chapter 25. Cole
“Fucked.”
Maybe.
“Really fucked.”
Not yet.
“You sure?”
Yes.
“I don’t believe you.”
I don’t care what you believe.
“You do realize that we’re the same person, right? That I know what you know? What you’re thinking? What you’re really thinking?”
Cole didn’t respond.
It laughed. “What’s the matter? Wolf got your tongue?”
The wolf—or should he say, wolves—didn’t have his tongue. At least, not yet. But they’d gotten other parts of him.
His legs.
Both of them.
His arms.
Both of them.
And one of them was trying to fight its way to Cole’s throat, slobber dripping wildly from blood-drenched canines as it pushed its way forward, getting closer and closer. He could make out bits of flesh inside its mouth, leftovers of its more recent victims. It wanted him to join those poor saps. It wanted him to join them bad.
But that wasn’t going to happen, because Cole wouldn’t let it happen.
He couldn’t let it happen.
Everything depended on him staying alive, on his feet, and fighting. Fighting with everything he got. And when he ran out of everything, he needed to find more of it. Because everything was on the line.
Everything.
So he fought and stabbed, and pushed until the point of the knife went through the wolf’s head just between its bloodshot eyes and out the back of its skull. It let out a yelp that belied its murderous appearance.
He shook it off, throwing its body into two of its fellow animals even as he stumbled back—
—and nearly tripped over Greg’s body.
The ex-contractor was dead.
Fuck.
“Double fuck,” the Voice said.
Triple fuck.
“That’s what I was gonna say next.”
Fall of Man | Book 3 | Firebase: Page 20
