No Such Thing As Werewolves (42 page)

Only Jordan was able to react in time, somehow launching himself backward and landing in a roll as the detonation hurled his armored form through the fence and into the field beyond. Somehow Blair had expected it.
 

The poor soldier Blair mind-rode shrieked impotently in the chambers of his own head, horrified by his attack on his own companions. Blair reached up with both hands, forcing the man to key in the code that removed the helmet. Then Blair released him. He returned to his own body, blinking rapidly at the sudden shift in perception as time returned to its normal flow. The horrified soldier hadn’t reacted yet. Perfect. Blair seized the armored shoulders in both hands, lunging for the man’s throat. He tore it out in a wash of hot blood.
 

A sharp hiss triggered a surge of alarm, the instinctual reaction one has to a coiled serpent. Blair’s conscious mind took a moment to catch up, and he went cold when he identified the sound. It was the same sound his victim’s missiles had made when fired. Blair tried to spin, tried to blur, tried to do anything. It was too late. Four missiles streaked in his direction, and he was helpless as they found their target. Him.

 
The first pair detonated against the unfortunate power armor Blair still gripped, but the latter found their mark. The first caught him in the leg and unleashed a wave of fire and pain. A second caught him in the shoulder. The combined explosion picked him up like a terrier, hurling him across the yard and through the fence in a rough parody of what he’d just done to Jordan. Bones cracked with the impact, and the scent of his own burned flesh competed with white-hot agony for his attention. He lay there broken, unable to even contemplate rising.

We have reached the end of our power, Ka-Dun. I can aid you no further. I must sleep.

Blair couldn’t make his body work. It was simply too broken. He struggled with everything he was, everything he had become. All that effort, and he barely managed to roll onto his stomach. It wasn’t much, but at least he would die facing his killer.

Jordan’s armored form strode boldly through the hellish yard, passing through flaming bits of debris where the palm tree had once stood. He aimed a wickedly large rifle at Blair’s face.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Smith. Your DNA is needed in Peru. Know that it brings me no pleasure to end your life. I’d prefer to capture you, but you’re just too dangerous to live,” Jordan said, surprisingly somber. The statement was much more honest than he’d have expected from the man. It sounded…respectful.

Jordan raised the rifle, finger tightening on the trigger. Blair closed his eyes, ready for what would come next. He’d done his best.

Chapter 59- Final Hour

Ahiga’s final hour had begun. He knew this was so, knew it with a calm certainty that elicited mild surprise from himself. The moment provided another glimpse of the Mother’s wisdom, and he recalled a conversation he hadn’t understood in his youth. The Mother had explained to her pupils that the day might come when they needed to sacrifice themselves, to give their lives in exchange for a necessary outcome.

At the time he’d argued vehemently against such a course. Champions were so long lived that they were effectively immortal. Given that, survival at any cost made sense, for surely their worth to the world was greater than anything that might be purchased with their deaths. Only now did he finally understand the truth of her words. Some goals were worth the cost.

 
Blair must reach the Mother, no matter the cost. Ahiga closed his eyes, touching the minds of the coyote pack he’d gathered. Dozens of feral minds were united in purpose, each coyote cunning and silent as they prowled the night. They were less powerful than wolves, smaller and not so bold. Yet they were what he had.

Harry the men with guns. Nip. Then fall back to the shadows. Keep them from following the whelp and his pack.

Howls and yips came from all directions as the coyotes leapt to obey. Like wolves and foxes they were social animals, and they were thrilled at the inclusion in so large a pack. It gave them a purpose greater than before, a unity they’d likely never experienced and would never experience again. Though, Mother willing, perhaps they might now that the champions had returned.

The pack flowed down the hillside, bursting into Trevor’s yard through scorched gaps in the fence. The tiny creatures leapt at the men in their powerful armor, nipping and dancing away. They did the same to a group in the front yard who were prepared to storm the house. The pack could do nothing about the helicopters, but at least the men who reached the ground would be confused and slowed. It would buy time for Ahiga to do the real work.

He blurred down the ridge, wind tearing at shrubs and kicking up dust as time slowed. He leapt over the fence and rolled to his feet in the charred wreckage of what had been a lush garden just hours before. Of the four men clad in strange armor, two still fought. Both were focused on Blair’s shattered and broken body lying in a heap near the smoldering remains of a palm tree. Neither was aware of his presence.

Ahiga dipped low as he sprinted, grabbing the closest foe by an ankle with both hands. He swung the man around in a powerful arc, increasing the blur for a split second to increase his momentum. Then he flung the man with all the considerable might he could bring to bear, flinging him toward the closest helicopter. The confused warrior accelerated wildly through the air as Ahiga released his blur. Sporadic gunfire drowned out a harsh scream. Then he impacted with the pane of glass at the front of the vehicle, peppering the pilots with shrapnel and the mass of the soldier’s own armored form.
 

The helicopter tilted drunkenly, dipping low before it descended from sight to the front of the house. Moments later a fireball mushroomed into the sky. The remaining helicopters gained altitude, scattering like startled birds as their weapons silenced. Recovery wouldn’t take long, but at least the explosion gave them pause. The soldiers knew they were vulnerable now.

The remaining soldier spun to face Ahiga so swiftly that
he
could have been blurring. Once, Ahiga would have easily dodged such an attack, but he’d grown old and weak during his slumber. Burning so much energy so quickly taxed him mightily, and he lacked the strength to blur away from the rifle as the ugly black barrel came up. He staggered away, rolling out of the path of the bullets as they barked from the muzzle in little puffs of flame. One tore through his shoulder, pulverizing bone and shredding flesh. It burned like the sun, but he forced the pain down.
 

He staggered to his feet, weighing his options. The whelp was paramount. So Ahiga made his choice. He gestured at the mangled body, forcing much of his remaining strength toward the whelp in a crackling arc of silver light. That energy wouldn’t be enough to fully heal him, but it would return him to consciousness and allow him to flee.

The choice cost Ahiga dearly. Black blades, each wickedly sharp and as long as Ahiga’s forearm, snapped from the soldier’s wrists as he tossed aside the rifle. The blades lashed out in a pair of vicious strikes. The first carved scarlet furrows into Ahiga’s chest, sending him stumbling backward to one knee. He caught the second, wrapping both hands around the armored wrist. He used the man’s momentum against him, throwing himself to the ground and flinging the soldier through the remains of the fence and into the shrubby hillside beyond.
 

“Flee, whelp. I will delay them,” he roared, flipping back to his feet. Already he ached from the fire of a dozen tiny wounds, but he must persevere just a little longer.

To his shock, the whelp used a sending, something he’d thought beyond the inexperienced Champion. Ahiga felt the whelp’s gratitude for the rescue and his shame for rebuffing Ahiga’s teachings back in Acapulco. Also determination. The whelp would escape. He would find the Mother. He would set this right. Ahiga swelled with pride and relief. The whelp accepted his responsibility. The world had a chance.

There was movement at the edge of his vision, two men in the house, each training weapons on him. A coyote leapt from the shadows, ruining the first soldier’s aim even as his gun belted a hail of death. The shots went wide, ricocheting off one of the fallen suits of armor. The second soldier fired uninterrupted, but Ahiga was ready. He blurred, just for a moment.
 

The motion carried him to the roof, affording him a vantage of the combat. Would that he could walk the shadows like a female. He felt exposed up here despite his crouching in the haze unleashed by the strange warriors and their never-ending hail of death. Such wishes were futile, of course. He must work with what he had.

Ahiga watched as the whelp sprang to his feet and bolted into the house, disappearing from view. Ahiga shifted his gaze to the soldiers massing in the front yard. The loss of the helicopter and the sudden attacks by coyotes had forced them to be cautious, but already they were regrouping.

Movement from the yard. Ahiga turned back to see the last suit of black armor leap to its feet and sprint toward the house, where the whelp had disappeared. The man in that suit was the gravest threat. He must be stopped.

Ahiga fell from the sky like a bird of prey, tackling the armored soldier and sending them both into a rolling tangle of limbs. This opponent was faster than the others, cleverer and more willing to adapt. He must be their leader. Their Champion stabbed down with those wicked blades, pinning Ahiga’s foot to the ground. He rammed the other set of claws into Ahiga’s groin, flooding his manhood with shards of fiery agony.

Ahiga battled past the pain, for hesitation was death. He needed to buy Blair more time. He could not set down his heavy burden, not just yet. Ahiga wrapped his opponent in a tight embrace, ignoring his wounds as he summoned the energy for a blur.

The silvery energy moved sluggishly, mostly gone after his gift to speed Blair’s healing. Yet enough remained for what he intended. He blurred away from the combat, carrying the soldier up the hillside. He bounded over boulders and around shrubs, eating up the distance and carrying the primary threat far from the whelp.

His opponent quickly realized what was happening. He struggled to free himself from Ahiga’s grip, but Ahiga refused to let the man free. So the man scissored his legs, tripping Ahiga and sending the pair sprawling to the ground.

This time the soldier was the first to recover. He rolled to his feet, leaping immediately upon Ahiga’s back. Metal claws plunged into his back again and again, shredding his organs and draining what little strength remained.

He knew he was dying, but there was one more task to complete. Ahiga must show Blair what he was to fight against. He must impart one final gift of knowledge to prepare him for the trials to come.

Ahiga closed his eyes, abandoning the combat. He sent to Blair with all his remaining strength, inviting the whelp to mindshare. It was his final act, but if it succeeded, he could go to death’s embrace comforted because he’d made amends for his mistakes.

Chapter 60- Now

Blair staggered forward, bursting through the kitchen and down the hall toward the garage. He kept his feet, but it was a near thing. Trevor’s Mustang idled in the garage, the white paint job gleaming under the halogen light that had somehow survived the apocalypse the rest of the house had succumbed to.

Trevor crouched next to the open driver-side door, a large brick in one hand. He looked up sharply as Blair entered the garage. “About damn time. Get in the Rover. I need you to drive. I’m going to send the Mustang into the street to draw their fire. Once they focus on it, I’ll man the Barrett through the moonroof. You get us the hell out of here, and I’ll keep the helicopters off our asses.”

Blair hobbled toward the vehicle with a nod, agony burning through his right leg with every step. Whatever Ahiga had done to help him heal had gotten him moving, but his body had still suffered catastrophic damage he lacked the strength to fix. The beast remained silent, and for the first time Blair missed its presence.
 

He slid into the driver’s seat, noting that the keys were already in the ignition. Blair turned the key, foot firmly on the brake as the engine roared to life. The garage door began to rise. He turned to see Trevor’s crouched form rising from the Mustang. The muscle car shot down the driveway, toward the highway in the distance, leaving dark rubber streaks as it picked up speed. The smell of burned rubber mingled with gunpowder, blood, and dust.

Trevor sprinted toward the Rover, diving through the still-open door into the back seat. He yanked it shut behind him, grabbing the stock of the huge Barrett and pushing the barrel through the moonroof as he leaned against the back of the passenger seat. “Wait for them to take the bait.”

Take it, they did. The Mustang roared forward, already threatening to careen off the driveway and down the rocky hillside. It never had the chance. Two opposing streams of bright tracer rounds lit up the night. They converged on the car with chilling accuracy, coring the engine block and turning the car into a pillar of flame.

“Now,” Trevor snarled.
 

Blair didn’t need to be told twice. He romped on the gas, and the Rover rumbled out of the garage. The instant they cleared it, Trevor pushed his torso through the moonroof. Blair struggled to keep the vehicle steady, knowing that would affect the accuracy of the Barrett. He needn’t have bothered.