Forged From Ash (3 page)

“Sir?” one of the other soldiers asked.

 Without taking his eyes away from Rico, the Lieutenant barked, “What is it, Marsh?”

“Incoming.”

Every soldier on the front lines of the war against the shapeshifters knew to keep quiet. The werewolves could smell their next meal up to a quarter of a mile away. Stomping around and shouting only made their job easier. The quieter an IRD soldier spoke, the worse the situation was. The man who’d stepped into the middle of Rico and Sayers’s conversation spoke quietly enough to put both men on their guard.

They were at the western periphery of Charleston which was mostly interstate roads and bridges leading deeper into the city. Just beyond a row of ruined signs displaying names of gas stations to be found at the next exit, Half Breeds surged toward them like a storm of churning claws and snapping jaws.

“Looks like two packs!” Rico said. The need for silence was gone, and every soldier in the unit prepared their weapons while calling out position designations.

Sayers had his assault rifle to his shoulder and sighted at the thickest cluster of werewolves. “I count ten of them. That’s not enough for two packs.”

“Nine o’clock!” Rico said while pointing to his left.

A few soldiers were already looking in that direction, and when Sayers followed suit, he spotted a second group of creatures skittering so close to the ground that their bellies scraped against the dirt. They came in from the trees on that side of the interstate and would disappear beneath the closest onramp in a matter of seconds. Rico flipped open his jacket so he could jam his right hand into the interior pocket. When he pulled out that hand again, it was encased in something that looked like a cross between a gauntlet and a set of brass knuckles carved from darkly stained wood. His fingers flexed through the openings in the top of the gauntlet to make a fist. Blood dripped from his palm as the portion of the gauntlet wrapping across the top of his hand stretched down along his forearm. “I’ll take this bunch of critters,” he said while eyeing the smaller group that was clawing its way up the cement columns supporting the overpass. “Try to keep the rest off’a my back.”

The IRD soldiers fell into a defensive formation that was basically a square with two riflemen on the right and left and some of the heavier firepower facing front. The rear was covered by a gunner with a grenade launcher. Sayers reached out to tap the shoulder of the woman to his left. “Watch his six,” he said.

She nodded and shifted her position so she was on one knee facing Rico.

Despite the fact that Half Breeds were the most common terror roaming the scarred landscape, facing them was never easy. In the span of two years, they’d evolved to adapt to multiple climates and terrains. One generation rolled into another as packs swept through the civilized world, tearing humans apart and converting them into more of their kind. The largest group charging across the overpass came at the IRD amid huffing, frenzied breaths and the scraping of claws against concrete. Their eyes were wild, and their heads whipped from side to side as saliva poured over jagged teeth in anticipation of the slaughter that was to come.

“How’s it look back there?” Sayers asked.

The rifleman at the back of the formation replied, “Nothing yet, sir.”

“Double front, and prepare to fire!”

That rifleman remained where he was as his partner and one of the others on the right flank formed a wall of firepower facing the oncoming Half Breeds.

“Grenade!”

On command, the soldier with the launcher sent one shell through the air and another several yards closer. The first landed with a
THUMP
, causing the Half Breeds to close ranks and run even faster which meant the second grenade landed in the middle of them. The explosion was muffled by thickly muscled bodies, and the concussive charge that followed sent the Half Breeds rolling in a wide arc. Sayers’ next order was for the light machine gunner beside him to open up with a modified SAW taking its rounds from a belt contained in an aluminum box strapped to the gunner’s shoulder. The man carrying that weapon was a corn-fed Nebraska boy who was the only one able to lug that SAW and its ammunition in and out of Charleston. His weapon spat a chattering stream of lead at the tumbling werewolves, chopping some of them to pieces.

“Here they come!” Sayers shouted over the explosive roar.

Any Half Breeds that hadn’t been blown apart in that wave scampered to their feet. The ones that weren’t missing any limbs surged at the IRD unit while a few that were short a leg or two ran just a bit slower.

B
efore the world was overrun, Rico had forsaken the Skinners’ traditional wooden arsenal. He’d had a bad experience some time ago where his hand was nearly turned into meaty pulp thanks to his own weapon being turned against him. Over the last couple of years, he’d decided that revisiting the old ways was a whole lot better than dying like the rest of the poor schmucks who only had guns and explosives on their side.

In Rico’s youth, a set of brass knuckles had allowed him to pummel his way to the upper echelons of the Detroit pit fighting circuit. To this day, he still favored the feel of his fist being encased in something that could pound a face into unrecognizable oblivion. Of course, he’d taken the liberty of improving on a classic design. Responding to his will through a link forged between man and weapon, the hardened wooden gauntlet stretched all the way to his elbow and wrapped around most of his forearm. Before both halves of the creeping implement could meet, the first of the Half Breeds to scale the overpass support column poked its head up over the ledge.

Rico couldn’t be happier to punch the thing in its face. Since the weapon had been crafted into a supernatural substance by a centuries-old Skinner technique, spikes from his knuckles were more than enough to shred flesh from bone, exposing the creature’s gnarled skull amid a howl of pain. It let go of the edge, scraping against four of its pack mates on its way down to the base of the column.

The next one to make the climb locked eyes with Rico and ducked beneath his swing by twisting its head to one side and rotating it all the way back. Because the internal structure of a Half Breed was nothing but broken bones held together by knotted muscle, they could do such things without snapping their spine. When the creature brought its head around again, Rico was just quick enough to pull his arm back and hold it in front of him so the Half Breed’s teeth clamped onto the gauntlet instead of exposed skin.

As that Half Breed did its best to bite through the Skinner’s weapon, more werewolves dug their claws into the column to pull themselves up onto the overpass. “Oh no you don’t,” Rico snarled while drawing the Desert Eagle from beneath his right arm. He aimed at the next closest Half Breed and ended the misery of its post-human existence by blasting a hole through its face.

Doing his best to ignore the Half Breeds that continued to make their way onto the overpass, Rico narrowed his focus down to a single point. Like any Skinner’s weapon, his was connected to him through blood and ancient craftsmanship. It obeyed his mental command by using some of its mass to form a single spike that rose up into the mouth of the Half Breed gnawing on his arm to burrow through its head. The werewolf continued to chew, but its strength seeped out along with the blood and brain matter trickling from its perforated skull. With a snap of his wrist, Rico sent the creature plummeting to the ground below.

He wheeled around to face a creature that had crept in close and was coiled like a spring. Before the Half Breed could pounce, it was cut down by two three-shot bursts from a nearby assault rifle. Thanking the soldier that had been assigned to cover him with a curt nod, Rico swung at the next creature to throw itself at him.

“H
old positions!” Sayers called out to the soldiers around him.

Every IRD weapon spat its rounds at Half Breeds that ran forward without flinching at the bullets tearing them apart. Proving their uncanny knack for adapting to their circumstances, a couple of the Half Breeds closed in tightly behind two more to use them as a shield. The unfortunate creatures in front absorbed all the punishment their bodies could take until the other two leapt over them to charge into the IRD formation.

One of the infantry troops turned her weapon on the werewolf and opened fire. Despite the rounds thumping into its flesh, the Half Breed wasn’t about to be diverted from so much fresh meat. It raced around to the soldier protecting the group’s rear quadrant and sank curved fangs into the meat of the young man’s leg. He cried out and unloaded his magazine in a prolonged burst of fire that cut a bloody swath across another Half Breed that had been attempting to take advantage of the break in the IRD formation. All available rifles were pointed at the werewolf that had infiltrated their ranks but were too late to save the soldier that had been bitten. The wounded man’s flailing stopped as he passed out from the shock of having his body ripped apart.

Putting fatal rounds into the Half Breed’s chest, Sayers kicked it in the head with enough force for its teeth to come free of the rifleman’s flesh. “Marsh! Eyes front!”

The soldier standing directly to his right was a short and squat Corporal gripping a Benelli M4 shotgun in his hands. The end of its barrel was cut into several points originally intended for use as a tool to breech locked doors. With the points lengthened and sharpened to a knife edge, the breeching weapon was ideal for the brutal needs of close quarters combat. Corporal Marsh put his back to his wounded comrade just in time to see the Half Breed pouncing at him. He dropped to one knee and brought his shotgun up, driving the sharpened points into its chest. Once the werewolf was impaled, Marsh used the muscles in his shoulders and back to drive it to the ground before pulling his trigger. The Benelli burned a cavernous hole through the Half Breed. Its muscles twitched in a final dance while Marsh pivoted and fired at another creature that was all but decimated by SAW rounds.

“Sweep them to the rear flank!” Sayers commanded.

Hearing that, the automatic fire intensified and sprayed a hailstorm of rounds on either side of the dwindling packs. As soon as the creatures were clustered close enough together and before they had a chance to regroup, the soldier with the grenade launcher sent a round into the midst of the werewolves. With considerably fewer Half Breeds to absorb the blast, the grenade had even more of an impact.

“All right,” Sayers said. “Clean up the rest.”

R
ico was covered in blood. His weapon looked like a coating of meat wrapped around his fist and sent crimson sprays through the air as he swung at another Half Breed. The spikes on his knuckles were angled forward like a set of short claws. After gutting a werewolf with one swipe, he backhanded another with the top portion of the gauntlet which brought a surprised yelp from the creature. Once it was stunned, the rifleman covering Rico finished it off with a trio of shots through its temple.

The Skinner’s breaths came in surges, causing his chest to swell beneath the protective layers of leather he wore. Taking one last look over the side of the overpass, Rico nodded and said, “That’s the last of this bunch.” On his way back to the main group, he ended another Half Breed’s twitching with a straight downward blow that put a pair of wooden spikes through its brain.

The only remaining sounds were the clatter of empty magazines being ejected and replaced with fresh ones from the group’s supply. Rico’s weapon shrank down to its most compact form amid a subtle creak before he removed it from his fist and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Everyone all right?” he asked.

Sayers looked down at two of his soldiers. One was stretched out on the ground and the other knelt beside him. “Negative,” the Lieutenant said. “We have a casualty.”

Rico stepped close enough to get a look at the fallen rifleman. He recognized the young man but didn’t know his name. The soldier’s leg was torn apart so badly that his foot and part of his calf hung by a few stubborn tendons. All Rico needed to see was the bone that had been cracked like a dry twig to know it was all over for that young man.

“Better step away from him,” Rico told the slender man who’d opened a field medic kit and spread it on the ground beside the wounded soldier.

“I can stop the bleeding,” the medic hastily replied.

“Don’t matter if you stop it or not. He’s been bitten through the bone. He’s gonna turn.”

“If I stop the bleeding, I can get him back to base!”

“You ain’t takin’ him nowhere, dammit!” Rico snarled as he moved forward to drag the medic away. He barely made it three steps before he was stopped by two more of the riflemen. Rico glared at them each in turn, which wasn’t enough to convince them to let him go.

“Let him work,” Sayers said.

Looking over to the Lieutenant with even more fire in his eyes, Rico said, “What the hell’s the matter with you? Ain’t you been listenin’ to anything we’ve been telling you people? The Half Breeds infect us through bone marrow. If they get their saliva or blood into someone’s bone marrow, they’ll turn! Is that so fucking hard for you grunts to understand?”

Sayers put himself between Rico and the wounded soldier. “I know about bone marrow, but I also know these things are changing too fast for us to keep track. There’s a chance that they’ll start to infect us some other way.”

“If it ain’t broke, why fix it?” Rico snarled.

“He’s right,” said a demolitions expert who kept her blond hair pinned up tightly beneath her helmet. Rico knew her a little better than most of the other soldiers. Not only had she been the one to cover him a few moments ago, she was known for taking the occasional opportunity to flip the Lieutenant some grief.

“What was that, Lance Corporal McCune?” Sayers asked in a way that was similar to a parent using a misbehaving child’s first and middle name.

She cast her eyes down at the squirming rifleman with the savaged leg and said, “These creatures only evolve to adapt. They’ve damn near made humans extinct by infecting us through deep bites, so why would they switch to anything else? If we wait too long, hoping for—”