The Endangered (27 page)

We sit around the coffee table lined with shots of vodka and blood. Crina recounts the night’s ambush in the sewer to a furious Trent. I tell him how Catch has been haunting me, causing me to question my sanity. By the time we’ve worked our way to the second bottle of vodka, Trent’s professing his love for Quinn, her rejection of his affection, his inability to function with her all-consuming presence in his thoughts…he’s got it bad.

“Is that what’s got you brooding?” I ask.

He nods. Downs another shot.

“She chose Dade.”

“She didn’t choose Dade. Marcus sent her to aid him in Morocco,” Crina clarifies.

“More wolves?”

“An attack at an airport there. Has Striden written all over it.”

Dade, being the biggest of us with the most kills, is Marcus’s go-to guy for the hairy assignments.

Quinn had seemed keen on Dade’s muscular physique and now she’s off with him on a hunt, leaving Trent to pace the hallways counting the minutes till her return. Trent had been following Quinn around like a lap dog since her arrival at the mansion, so this wasn’t exactly news.

“That explains why you’re wearing her shirt,” I note.

“And his loss of dignity,” Crina jests.

When the bottles are kicked, we retire to the bedroom. Our scars run deep. Comfort is a precious commodity. I awake with my arm wrapped tightly around Trent’s chest. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Crina lies to my left. I feel a warmth I haven’t felt since I was a kid in foster care. We’d sleep sometimes as many as six to a bed. I’d lie awake listening to the booze-fueled fights of my foster parents. Many quarrels ended with a crash and a whimper. Those days I took solace under the covers of raggedy blankets, consoled by my pseudo-siblings.

Another lifetime ago.

I drift off.

Chapter 33

A blaring alarm sends me upright in bed. Trent jumps and spins off the side of the bed. I blink and try to get my bearings. A red light flashes from the ceiling. It looks like a smoke alarm. But there isn’t any smoke.

“What the—”

Crina is already dressed and lacing up her boots.

“Security breach.” She tosses me a gun.

“The Saviors?”

“Most likely.”

Trent pops his head up from the floor.

“Who pulled the fire alarm?”

We dash down the hall toward the tech room, but we’re cut off by a vampire.

Not one of ours.

Crina engages. He’d come through the side door. Trent and I find his friend cutting the wires on the camera. Smoke spews from the keypad, which he’d blown off with C-4.

I fire several shots.

The bullets only slow him down. He recovers quickly and dives at us.

I am flush with blood and prime for action.

“I got him. Check the perimeter.”

Trent takes off in the direction of the stables. The stables not only store our wheels but also a hefty stash of artillery.

A cloud of dust blurs my vision. Something wrenches in my stomach. Too soon, I think. I turn to see Crina sprinting down the hall, a pile of dust and ash behind her.

My attention shifts to the staggering vampire. Several adrenalin-fueled blows and he goes down, fumbling for a device clipped to his waist. A grenade.

I strike his jaw sideways, knocking out a fang. After several strikes to the head with the butt of my gun, he loses consciousness. I unhook the hand grenade from his waistband, slide out the safety pin and hurl it outside. It reaches the tree line, smacks against a trunk and emits a small explosion.

The sun has just set and it isn’t quite dark out. I scan the tree line but see no movement. The battered door refuses to close behind me as I return indoors and scoop up the traitor.

Jiro, Xan and Marcus are in the tech room when I enter dragging an unconscious, uni-fang vampire behind me. Unaware of my return, they all freeze mid-action, mouths agape.

“Hey Marcus, got a present for you.”  The vamp lands at Marcus’s feet with a thump.

“She’s back and she’s bearing gifts,” laughs Xan.

He is fiddling with an mp7 and wears magazines of ammo across each shoulder. The G.I. Joe look is comical on such a frail-looking guy, like stringing Christmas lights on a twig.

“Those might not be as effective as you’d expect. We’re being attacked by our own kind.”

Jiro points at the computer screen. It is an infrared scan of our entire base.

Only a couple of blips on the far south end.

“That explains why there’s almost no thermal registering. They killed our visual. Aside from a few motion detectors around our gates, this is all I have to go by.”

I grab more rounds for my gun and a machete.

“Trent went for the stables. Crina dusted a vampire and took off. Not sure of her location. I’m going after them.” I point at the blips.

Marcus grunts. He kicks the unconscious vampire.

“Xan, grab me some smelling salts.”

The terrain is beyond damp; mud laps at my feet as I tear across the grounds toward the stables. Fresh tracks, three wheels. Trent had mounted the ATV.

I pretend not to see Catch’s bike stowed next to mine, looking lonely and neglected. I rev the engine and feel the familiar vibration permeate my body.      My targets are by the fence at the main gate. What are they waiting for, an open invitation? The gates to swing open expectantly?

An arrow strikes the side of the mansion about fifty feet ahead, obviously not aimed at me. I look up and see Crina crouched on a balcony, trying to get a clear shot with her crossbow. Another arrow whizzes in her direction, this one closer. I start zipping my bike side to side, spraying up sod and mud in an attempt to create a distraction.

It works. An arrow narrowly misses my head.

I maneuver under the balcony and Crina descends from her perch, landing on the back of my bike. An arrow catches her leg on the way down. She rips it free, wincing.

“I spotted him from the balcony. Hang a left. Get me to a closer vantage point.”

I veer in a sharp ninety degree angle and charge blindly into the woods. An arrow grazes my cheek. Could have been a branch…with a metal tip.

Crina launches herself into a tree. I continue forcing the bike through the dense brush. It does not offer much resistance. Another arrow glances the rear wheel cover. I’d let Crina deal with him as I continue to steer toward my original destination.

Gunfire erupts in the distance.

I reach the paved drive and aim for the gate, accelerating toward it at full speed. The rod iron gate stands roughly ten feet in height. Thin wire currents electrify its bars. By this point I assume they’ve dismantled them, but the bars show no sign of tampering.

I slow. Then I spot one. Several yards from the gate, a wolf in human form is securing what can best be described as a rocket launcher to the top of the brick wall that extends from the gate around our entire perimeter.

This crazy wolf is preparing to launch a missile right through our front door. He hears me approach and pulls a handgun. Bullets whiz past as I dart from the bike to the wall.

My machete makes contact, rips through his stomach, slices between the ribs, skewers the heart, and stops when it strikes his jawbone. Eviscerated, his insides spill to the ground as he tips backward over the wall.

I stand on the wall and begin to dislodge the cylinder-shaped rocket launcher. Then, looking up, I spot the other wolf prying up a manhole cover down the road. He stands upright awkwardly, relying on brute strength to pry up the steel disk.

It would be a shame to let the rocket launcher go to waste.

I swing it around, aim, and pull the trigger.

The missile sets the ground ablaze at his feet. The road lights up. Blood and fur spray the sky.

Crina nearly collides with Trent as she emerges from the woods, having successfully finished off the pesky coward with the bow and arrow. Trent is bleeding from a gash on his temple.

“You okay?” she asks as they both run down the driveway.

“This?” He wipes blood back from his eyes, embarrassed. “It’s healing quickly. I, uh, crashed the ATV.”

They slow when they spot me. Having jumped down onto the grounds and lopped off the head of the gutted wolf, I return to my perch atop the wall. I stand, arms outstretched, a blood-soaked machete in my right hand and a mass of bloody flesh dangling from my right.

Bone from where the head had been truncated from the spine juts out from severed skin; a new addition to that row of skulls that line the northern grounds.

My eyes blaze. The figure standing before them is not the Lori they knew. I’ve returned to them a creature void of any measure of humanity, a creature consumed by restless vengeance. I am ready to do what has to be done.

Xan meets us at the front entrance. The magazines remain flaccid across his chest. His face registers disappointment.

“Didn’t encounter any out back.” He gestures over his shoulder with the machine gun. “Found our three-wheeler crashed in the gardens.”

We all look at Trent. He responds with a meager shrug.

We join Jiro in the tech room. He hadn’t seen any activity from the remaining working sensors. And thermo has stopped registering.

Was that all of them? Not much of a threat.

Marcus emerges from the interrogation room, wiping the blood from his hands with a towel. Jekyll had made an appearance tonight.

“The Saviors were indeed working with Striden,” he announces.

“He say how many he came with? Rambo here is hoping for another shot.” Crina points at Xan, who is struggling to remove the satchel.

“He came with five others.”

“All accounted for and eliminated,” Jiro confirms.

“That was almost too easy,” Trent voices disappointment.

“Can he still talk? I have a few questions.” I tilt my head toward the door.

Marcus gives a grunt and a shrug. “Yeah, barely.”

Xan turns to Trent and Crina. “Did you know she was back?”

They proceed to fill the others in on my return. I close the door behind me, sealing in the stench of sour blood and burnt organs. Several appendages are scattered about; what remains of the vampire is chained to a chair at the far corner. I examine him, careful to step over his right eyeball and part of an ear as I approach. He squirms under the chains, his one eye staring into mine.

“Kill me.” His voice is a raspy whisper. “Kill me.”

I nod. “You answer me some questions and I’ll be happy to oblige. Don’t and I’ll let Marcus back in. Sound fair?”

His head bobs slightly.

“Good. Who do you answer to?”

“Florien.”

“And who does—did—he answer to?”

“He was our leader. He communicated with Deacon, Striden’s brother. So I guess he answered to them, but not really in that sense. We’re allies, not servants.”

“What do you know about the virus?”

“I already told Marcus. The key is in the cure.”

“The key?”

“Werewolf saliva. The vaccine contains concentrated werewolf enzymes.”

The cure isn’t a cure at all.

“He plans to distribute it masked as a vaccine?”

He nods. Blood bubbles from his mouth.

“What is your connection to Vega?” I take a shot.

“Vega?” His reaction is a dead giveaway.

I pick up one of the rustier utensils from the tray to my left. His body twitches reflexively.

“He disowned us. Left us to fend for ourselves. Then Striden offered us an endless supply of blood in exchange for our allegiance. We came to Marcus, extended the offer to him. Tried to be diplomatic about it. Didn’t want to make enemies of you.”

He trembles in his chair.

“You aligned yourself with the wolves; of course we considered you an adversary. You left us no choice. Now what did you mean about Vega disowning you?”

“Vega turned Florien. Florien made the rest of us. We were all part of Vega’s clan. With Vega you agree to absolute obedience. Nothing less will suffice. Vega and Florien came to blows a decade ago and Vega threw him out along with anyone who shared Florien’s blood ties. After that we were like gypsies; moving from town to town, stealing blood from butchers, hospitals…always looking over our shoulders for fear of Vega’s wrath.”

“You never considered joining the war? Marcus would have taken you in.”

“Florien didn’t view wolves as our enemies. Plus, Marcus and Vega have a history, one I’m fuzzy on, but I doubt he’d have welcomed a descendant of Vega through these doors with open arms.”

“So is Vega in league with Striden? Or was?”

He shakes his head flimsily.

“No, never.”

I move to strike; he slinks back.

“I swear. It was Marcus—Striden indicated he had betrayed him. Sent us here…we did it in desperation. We did not want to turn on you…on our own kind.”

It was Marcus not Vega who had a falling out with Striden? Interesting…

By now he’s nearly bled dry. The wound where his ear had been has stopped seeping blood.

He begins to drift in and out of consciousness as he speaks.

I pretty much had what I needed to know.

“And how many more of your clan is out there?”

His eye is closed. I kick his chair. “How many of Florien’s followers still remain?”

He shakes his head but does not open his eye. “You got the rest of us tonight. After the disaster in the sewer…Deacon sent three wolves to assist our attack.”   

“And Deacon?”

“Is in Los Angeles…with Striden…I think. They finished production. They are tying up loose ends…”

“Guess that includes us. Where in LA?”

I kick his chair again. No response.

There is a pencil-sized stake on the tray. It breaks in his ribcage, but not before making contact with his heart.

I stare at the pile of dust and chains at my feet. An image of Catch flashes in my mind; I fight to bury it.

***

Marcus sizes me up.

“Good to have you back.”

I wipe blood from my hands, but there is too much to make a difference.

“They’re in LA.”

Marcus nods. “Beyond Bio. We’re pulling the logistics. It appears they have a facility on the East Coast, but are headquartered in Los Angeles. We want to focus our efforts on the West Coast location.”

Everyone has congregated in the tech room. Xan and Jiro are cleaning and packing weapons. Trent is bouncing with anxious energy. Crina casually wraps gauze around the wound on her leg while mumbling profanities. They’ve obviously been brought up to speed.