Wolf Hunt (Book 2) (7 page)

Ally's eyes popped open.

George quickly lowered his gun, so she wouldn't get the wrong idea. And then cursed as it fell out of his hand.

The hatless man removed the barrel of his gun from George's back and lifted it toward the window.

Ally hissed.

The hatless man flinched.

The passenger door of the van burst open, bashing into Red Hat.

As the hatless man glanced over at the commotion, George grabbed him by his thick, luxurious hair and smashed his face into the side of the van. The hatless man squeezed the trigger of his submachine gun, firing into the ground right next to their feet.

George bashed him into the van again, trying unsuccessfully to get him to drop the weapon. Bits of snow were flying everywhere.

Lou leapt out of the van. Actually, it was less of a leap than a clumsy stagger, but he did grab Red Hat while he was still off-balance from being struck by the door.

The hatless man screamed in pain, having just fired several bullets into his own foot. This was not enough to make him drop the gun or take his finger off the trigger.

Lou and Red Hat struggled with Red Hat's gun.

There was still some glass along the bottom edge of the van window frame. They were chunks instead of shards, but that didn't seem to matter to the hatless man as George dragged his face across it.

He kept his hold on his gun, continuing to fire into the ground until it ran out of ammo. George dragged his face across the window in the opposite direction, slamming it hard on the edge of the frame.

Though he still didn't drop the gun, he didn't put up much of a struggle when George took it away from him.

George released his grip on the man's hair. His fingers stuck to it for a moment then pulled free. The man touched his mangled face, looked down at his mangled foot, and then spat some blood on George's shirt.

George cracked him on the skull with the barrel of the Tommy Gun.

A gun fired.

Red Hat turned around and staggered away, clutching at a gruesome stomach wound. Lou shot him in the back of the head.

George hit the hatless man once more with the gun. His eyeball bulged from its socket, just a bit, and then he dropped onto the bloody snow.

"You okay?" George asked Lou.

Lou looked confused for a moment, then nodded. "I think so. I'm not...I mean, I'm...things are kind of..."

George ignored him and peered at Ally, who was frantically scooting toward the other side of the van. "What about you? You okay?"

"I hissed to help you!" she insisted.

"I know."

She slid open the side door.

"C'mon, Ally, please don't make me chase you," said George.

She jumped out of the van. George reached down, with some effort, and picked up Black Hat's gun.

"Lou and I both have guns," he announced. "Don't make us shoot you. We can work this out together."

She ran.

"I hate my life," George muttered, as he went after her.

CHAPTER TEN

Meanwhile, Eighty Miles Away...

Shane Goldwyn looked up at the clock on the wall. 4:15. The same time that was displayed on his computer monitor and on his wristwatch. Forty-five more minutes to go. This day was never going to end.

"Any big plans for the weekend?" asked Patrick, his cubicle-mate.

"It's Tuesday," Shane informed him.

Patrick laughed. "Hey, I start thinking about my weekend plans on Monday morning. Sometimes Sunday night."

"I'll probably just work out," said Shane.

Patrick laughed again. His laugh was unbelievably grating, and he laughed all the time, whether or not anything amusing had been said or done.

"I hear that. Got to keep in shape, my man."

Another annoying habit of Patrick's: he'd say things in such a manner that Shane couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Was he suggesting that Shane needed to work out more often? Shane was in perfectly good shape. Yeah, it sucked that at thirty-four he had the hairline of a fifty-year-old, but he was tall, lean, and far more physically desirable than a jackass like Patrick.

Okay, that wasn't fair. Patrick wasn't a jackass. Shane was just frustrated with the cubicle situation. A recent acquisition had brought in twelve new full-time employees, but there weren't enough desks for all of them. So Shane's supervisor had announced a new work-from-home program, where Shane would only have to come into the office on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays of even-numbered weeks and Tuesdays and Thursdays of odd-numbered weeks. He had a half-hour drive to work, so the saved commute time would really add up, not to mention that he could be a much more productive employee without the constant interruptions.

Then, management changed its mind, and they went with a "two to a cubicle" system.

He'd wanted to rip down the cubicle walls, and then tear open his supervisor's throat with his teeth.
She
sure wasn't sharing a desk with anybody.

Instead, he'd settled for a one-on-one meeting where he shared his grievance, and she said that she completely understood his disappointment, but that it turned out to not be a feasible arrangement, and perhaps they'd revisit the issue in a few months.

He'd clutched his fists so tightly that the nails dug into his palm, and then thanked her for taking the time to discuss it with him.

At least he had a job. Not everybody could say that, in this economy.

"Maybe I'll do a barbecue," said Patrick.

"In this weather?"

"Yeah, sure. I've got some brats in the fridge that'll go bad pretty soon, and no room for them in the freezer, so I might as well grill 'em all up and share 'em with the neighbors. I've got plenty if you want to come over. Bring your girlfriend."

"I'll ask her," Shane lied.

His cell phone began to vibrate. He slid it out of his pocket and checked the display. Robyn.

"Speak of the devil?" asked Patrick.

"Excuse me?"

"Is it your girlfriend?"

"Yeah." Employees weren't supposed to use their cell phones except when they were on break, and Robyn knew that, so she wouldn't be calling him unless it was important. The rule wasn't strictly enforced, but Shane stood up without answering the call and walked away from his cubicle, just to be on the safe side. He'd call her right back as soon as he got outside.

By the time he'd left the building, she'd sent him two text messages:
U there?
and
Call me
.

"What's going on?" he asked, when Robyn answered.

"Have you heard?"

"If I'd heard, I'd know why you called. Don't be cryptic."

"Ally didn't come home from school."

Shane immediately felt sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before speaking. "Okay...but it's only a quarter after four. So she's, what, an hour late?"

"Uh-huh."

"Is today band practice? Couldn't that have run long?"

"It's orchestra, not band. And she's not in it this year."

That was news to Shane, since he'd insisted that his daughter devote at least one more year to that violin he'd bought for her. "How do you know she didn't come home? Did Peggy call you?"

"No, I called her."

"Why the hell would you call her?"

"Are you alone?"

"I'm outside. Why?"

"Is anybody around?"

"There are some people smoking. Tell me what's going on, Robyn."

"You're going to be really upset. I think you should make sure you're somewhere that nobody can see you."

"I'm going to be really upset if you don't start giving me some fucking answers."

"Please don't curse at me."

Shane wanted to crush the phone in his fist, or at least fling it against the building. He didn't.

"I apologize. Now tell me what you know about the situation."

"Peggy still won't let Ally have a cell phone, so it's possible that she just went out with friends after school, lost track of time. But..."

"But...?"

"But the police are investigating a hit-and-run—"

"
What
?"

"No, no, not Ally. Just a car crash. A van smashed into a couple of other cars, and then it smashed into another car parked in somebody's driveway. And, basically, a few witnesses say that a wolf jumped out of the van and ran into the woods, but it wasn't really moving like a wolf, it was running like a human, sort of, and then the driver of the car ran into the woods, and he dragged the wolf back into the van and drove away."

"Okay. All right." Shane's hand was trembling. "All we have to go on is that Ally is late coming home from school, and some people claim they saw an unusual wolf, right?"

"There are pictures online. None of them are any good, but to me it looks a lot like George Orton. And one person said that there was also a big unconscious guy with a black beard in the van."

Shane closed his eyes and said nothing.

"Honey?" Robyn sounded desperate. "Please tell me that you're not where anybody can see you."

"I can control myself."

"But honey—!"

"Stop acting like I'm incompetent! I said I can control it!" A couple of the nicotine addicts glanced over at him and Shane lowered his voice. "I'll be fine. Nothing's going to happen here."

George Orton. Louis Flynn. The thugs who'd murdered Ivan Spinner.

Ivan was no great loss. Shane had never even met him. Still, their kind had to stick together, if only from the perspective of hating those who would take a werewolf's life.

"Has Peggy made any connection?" he asked.

"Between Ally and the wolf? No. Of course not."

"I have to ask, because you said you fucking called her right after hearing that George and Lou were dragging around a wolf."

"Stop cursing at me, Shane. I mean it. Why would Peggy ever think that?"

"Was the wolf wearing any clothes? Because if it's wearing the same clothes that my daughter was wearing to school, that might be a little strange, don't you think?"

"Okay, yeah, I understand."

Lost in the horrific news of Ally's disappearance was the fantastic news that she had indeed—potentially, if this wasn't all one big misunderstanding—inherited his lycanthropy. Now
that
would help repair the father/daughter bond.

"We're going to Tropper. Call Crabs. He's going with us."

"No, honey, not Crabs."

"Don't argue with me."

"Not him, please."

"Who the...who else are we going to call? Is there a local werewolf emergency response team that nobody has told me about? Call Crabs and tell him we're leaving in twenty minutes. Have a couple of changes of clothes packed for me when I get home."

"We can do this ourselves, Shane. I can't be around him. You know he creeps me out."

"Lou and George have my daughter. They weren't even trying to hide it—I mean, for God's sake, you said there are pictures online. That's a slap in the face. That's a declaration of war. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"Call him. Tell him to be ready. I'm leaving now."

Shane hung up. It was going to take over an hour to get to Tropper. An unbearably infuriating hour. Lots of terrible things could happen to Ally in an hour.

If he wanted to keep his job, he knew he should go back in and explain that he had to leave early due to a family emergency. He also knew that if he did so, he'd end up slamming his claws deep into his supervisor's neck and then twisting her head off.

Not a good idea.

He'd save his rage for the thugs. If George and Lou were looking to start a war, he was happy to escalate it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copious Frustration

George had only cried twice in his adult life. Once when his beloved Aunt Lori told him that she had cancer, and once more when she told him that she was cancer-free. Apart from that, no tears, ever. But he did almost want to cry when Ally took off running.

"Ally!" he shouted, quickly giving up the pursuit as hopeless. "Get back here! Don't make me shoot you in the leg!"

Ally continued running, apparently not impressed by what she'd seen of George's shooting abilities.

"Can you chase her?" George asked Lou.

Lou blinked as if he didn't quite understand the question, then nodded and hurried after her at about a quarter her speed.

"If you get lost in the woods you'll freeze to death!" George shouted. "You saw that they sent three killers after you! They'll send more! You need us, Ally!"

The idea that she needed the guys who'd kidnapped her and then savagely murdered three human beings right in front of her was going to be a tough sell. Then again, she
had
hissed to help freak out the other guys, so...

"Lou, that's enough," said George. "You'll never catch her. Let's just clear out."

Lou stopped running. He turned back around too quickly and nearly lost his balance.

"We'll get in the truck and get out of here. New Zealand sounds good."

George walked over to the truck and opened the driver's side door. No keys in the ignition, of course. Black Hat had been driving, so the keys were probably in his pocket. George went over to his corpse, crouched down in the slushy red snow, and patted his pants pockets.

Not there. Not in his outside jacket pockets, either, so George opened his jacket and checked the inside ones. Nothing but some tissue. Black Hat had been the driver, hadn't he? George was sure of that. Ninety-nine percent sure. The hatless, and now mostly faceless, man had definitely been sitting in the middle.

George stopped searching as he heard another vehicle approach.

It could be somebody there to help them.

Most likely it wasn't.

What should they do? Have an exciting shootout, or flee into the woods?

George wasn't up for fleeing into the woods.

On the other hand, if anybody in the approaching vehicle was another Bonnie and Clyde wanna-be, they'd have a hell of a lot more firepower than George and Lou.

Suddenly there was a yelp from the woods. Ally.

"You hear that?" asked Lou. "That sounded like she fell. We should go after her."

"All right." Good. Let Lou make one of the frickin' decisions, finally.

George and Lou jogged into the woods, both of them already panting. If he weren't focused on gasping for breath, George would have asked Lou exactly how long he'd been conscious in the van before he threw open the door. That question could wait.

At least the snow made it easy to follow Ally's tracks. After about a minute they found a large indentation where apparently she'd fallen, and just ahead of that the tracks split and veered into two different directions.

George and Lou paused at the intersection.

"She's messing with us," said Lou.

"Gee, y'think?"

Each set of tracks extended for about twenty feet and ended at a tree. She'd done a good job retracing her steps; it was impossible to tell which set of tracks she'd doubled back on.

"Come on out, Ally," said George. "Don't make us shoot you."

She didn't come out.

"You want left or right?" George asked.

"Right."

George walked to the left, not following Ally's tracks but rather staying far enough from the tree that if she was hiding behind it, he could see her before she—

Ally, whose ear was back to normal, charged at him, holding a large branch over her head with both hands.

He pointed his gun at her, though George had no intention of using it. It didn't stop her. She let out a not-quite-werewolfish cry and swung the branch.

George had expected the "pointing a gun at her" trick to work, so he didn't otherwise defend himself to the best of his ability, and the branch got him.

Fortunately for George, he was significantly larger than Ally, and the branch struck him in the shoulder instead of the head. It didn't feel
good
, but despite her spunk and lycanthropy, no fourteen-year-old girl was going to take out George with a moderately sized tree branch.

He yanked it out of her hands and tossed the branch aside.

Ally turned to run, but he grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back toward him. As Lou came over to help out, George twisted Ally's arm behind her back, using about a tenth of the force he'd use if he were pulling this move on a scumbag.

She cried out.

"I'm going to try once again to reason with you," said George. "My partner and I are awful people, we've already established that pretty well by now, but some of these other people are much worse. They may be here already. Lou and I are doing everything we can to control the situation, but we can't work this out if you keep trying to escape. Can you do me a favor and please just trust me? Can you do that for me? Just relax."

"Would you relax if you found out that
you
were a monster?" Ally asked. She was suddenly sobbing. The fact that it had taken this long to get to the sobbing part was very impressive.

"No," said George. "I'd completely lose my shit."

"Me too," said Lou.

"But we'll get you help," George assured her. "We can sort this out. We just need you to trust us, okay?"

"Okay," said Ally, obviously lying her ass off.

Fine. He didn't need her to trust him, as long as she didn't transform again. He simply wouldn't let go of her arm.

"Thanks. Let's get moving."

"Let me call my mom. I know she's worried sick."

George shook his head. "Can't do that now. Don't have a secure phone."

"No phone is secure. Let me call her and I'll cooperate with whatever you want, I swear."

"You'll cooperate anyway, because I'm saving you from experiments. Do you know what dissection means?"

"Yes. I go to school. Did you?"

George grinned. If she were his daughter, he'd be proud of her. "Well, I don't want to see you get dissected. So let's work together and stop that from happening. Do you know this area?"

"You mean these woods?"

"Yeah. If we keep going, will we get somewhere or will it become a
Blair Witch Project
kind of thing?"

"I think we'd be okay. I don't know. I don't go outside much if I don't have to. You're breaking my arm."

"No, I'm not."

"It feels like it's going to snap."

"I'm barely doing anything to it. Seriously, Ally, we're all going to die if you keep trying to escape."

"I'm not trying to escape."

"
George Orton
!" shouted a deep male voice from where they'd left the vehicles and the corpses. "
Louis Flynn
! We know where you are. Surrender yourself!"

At this point, George would've actually been relieved if this voice had come from a megaphone and been accompanied by the phrase,
this is the police.
He noted that the speaker had not bothered to say that they'd be unharmed.

"Let's just run," said George.

"Should we split up?" asked Ally.

"No."

George removed Ally's arm from behind her back but didn't let go of her. He kept a tight grip on her elbow as they hurried through the woods.

"You're slowing me down," she said.

"I know."

"They'll see our tracks."

"I know."

"If you let me go, I can get help."

"No."

"You run like my grandpa. We'll never get away."

"I'm not trying to outrun them," George said. If he weren't out of breath, he would have explained that his intention was just to get the three of them deep enough into the woods that the pursuers might be separated from some of their firepower. They wouldn't
all
run into the woods after them. The further he could separate them, the better the chances of taking them out individually.

It wasn't the kind of scheme that would make you rub your hands together and cackle at the genius of it all, but still, it was a halfway decent strategy to use in their goal of not immediately getting gunned down.

"Surrender yourself or we're coming in after you!" shouted the man, as if they weren't already coming after them.

"Let me at least make some fake tracks," said Ally.

"We saw how well that worked out for you before."

"You're being retarded!"

"Don't use the word 'retarded,'" said Lou. "It's offensive."

"Are you kidding me?"

"It is!"

"But it's not offensive to rip up somebody's face on a window?"

"Enough!" said George. "No more talking!"

"You guys are idiots."

"Yes, we are. Deal with it."

Ally muttered something, probably unkind.

"Okay, now it's time to separate. Lou, you wait here, and kill whoever comes by. Ally and I will keep going forward."

"Got it."

* * *

Lou was still feeling groggy from the dart, but he didn't say anything. Ally seemed fine, and even though she was a werewolf he didn't want to admit that she had a shorter recovery time than him.

If it were up to him, they'd just let the girl go. If she ran ahead, and he and George stayed back to deal with the reinforcements, she'd probably be able to get away.

George wouldn't like that idea, though, and he'd get pissed at Lou for suggesting it. Better to stay quiet until he caught up on everything he'd missed after getting tranquilized. He felt like he'd slept through some pretty substantial developments.

He snapped out the clip of the pistol and counted the rounds. Four. Not too bad. Better than having to strangle people with his bare hands.

Maybe he should try Ally's footprint trick. Lou trudged off to the side, toward the biggest tree on his left. Since George and Ally had continued walking straight, their pursuers would have three different paths to choose from. If it caused them just a moment of confusion, that might be enough.

Lou walked to the tree, then turned around and walked in his own footprints back to the original path.

"You have ten seconds!" the man shouted.

Lou walked to the right. None of the trees were big enough to hide him very well, but he'd work with what he had.

About a minute later, two men in facemasks and white snowsuits came down the path, each holding a rifle.

Snowsuits? What babies.

They stopped when they saw the path split into three directions.

"Is this a joke?" one of them asked.

Lou stepped out from behind the tree and fired, hitting the closer of the two men directly in the middle of the chest. He dropped to the ground. He squeezed off another shot just as the second man returned fire. The man's shot hit the tree. Lou's shot got him in the stomach. The second man also fell.

White snowsuits would show off spurting blood really well, and disappointingly, there was none. Bulletproof vests. He would've aimed at their heads, but it would've increased the chance that he'd miss altogether.

Oh well. He still had two bullets to finish them off.

Before he could rush over there to deliver point-blank headshots, the two men had already sat up. Damn. Those were some top-notch bulletproof vests. Lou squeezed himself behind the tree again as they opened fire. A chunk of bark flew off and hit him near the eye.

The shots ceased.

Were they reloading?

"Are you George or Louis?" one of the men asked.

"Lou."

"You're more valuable to us alive than dead, Lou."

"I'm honored."

"We'll sleep fine tonight if we have to kill you, but we'd rather not. Your call."

Lou could hear that they were separating. Shit.

He wasn't going to surrender. Better to go out with guns blazing than to suffer whatever fate awaited him back with Mr. Dewey.

The instant he caught a glimpse of the first guy, Lou fired at his head. The guy grunted and slapped his hand over the red streak on his neck, but he'd only been grazed. Not even close to a fatal shot.

Lou felt a sharp pain in his back.

He hadn't heard a gunshot.

He reached around and there was another goddamn dart lodged there.