Authors: Richard Parry
Val broke off from Danny's body, crossing the room in two strides.
He stood over Spencer, his head touching the ceiling, looking down at the man.
Spencer managed to get the clip into his rifle, bringing the weapon up, but it was too late.
Val grabbed the man in one clawed hand and flung him across the room.
Spencer landed next to John and Adalia, scrambling to his feet, and levelled the rifled at John.
“Don’t fucking move!
You touch me again, I’ll execute these two!”
The words were tumbling from Spencer, his rifle shaking slightly as he jabbed it at John.
John moved —
slowly, Miles, slowly
— and put Adalia behind him.
She’d gone quiet —
God, she shouldn’t have seen this, she shouldn’t be here
— and limp.
He stood, facing Spencer.
“You piece of shit.”
Val moved a step forward, but John held up his hand.
“No, buddy.
Not this time.
You can’t carry anymore.
It’s too heavy.”
Spencer squinted at John.
“What?”
“It’s none of your business.”
John saw what was behind Spencer, and kept talking, moving closer.
He stepped up until the barrel of Spencer’s rifle was pushed into his chest.
“You want to kill me?
Then kill me.”
Spencer was looking right in his face, and John saw it — that moment that the man switched, and decided to pull the trigger.
John was waiting for that moment, that impossibly thin slice of time when action was about to start.
Right there?
That moment was when your guard was down.
Needs must, when the devil rides
.
John slapped Spencer’s barrel aside with one hand and shoved him backwards.
The gun went off as the man stumbled, but that was always going to happen — this way the round took John in the shoulder instead of the heart.
He fell back —
Jesus Christ, the pain
— as Spencer tripped.
Right into the metal chair.
One of the IV packs ruptured, clear fluid spraying over Spencer.
Spencer wiped the fluid off his head, looking at his hand.
“This was your big play?”
He looked down at John.
“Pathetic.”
He raised his rifle again.
John chuckled.
He knew it sounded weak, but damn his shoulder hurt, his entire side felt like he’d been hit by a truck.
It made Spencer pause.
“You ever wonder?”
Spencer looked blank.
“Wonder?”
John jerked his head towards Val.
“He hasn’t torn you to shreds.
Why is that?”
“I’m not sure —”
“It’s because you’re a dead man walking.”
John pulled himself upright, pulling Adalia close.
“Come on honey.
Let’s get you out of here.”
“I’m not done with you!”
The rifle swung back up to John.
“No, I guess not.”
John sighed.
“But I think they’re about done with you.”
“They?”
Spencer looked around the room, and saw it.
Volk’s body was changing, twisting, growing.
It jerked upright like it was on marionette strings as it changed, life coming back into the dead eyes, the smile returning just a moment before the face turned into a muzzle, the fangs growing —
Val roared at it, stepping forward.
Volk rose to meet him, the two beasts grappling.
Their moves were fast and powerful, claws and fangs flashing.
Spencer raised his rifle to fire, then swayed.
“I —”
John stepped carefully across the floor towards Carlisle.
She was out cold, her lips blue.
“Aw.
Shit.”
He’d read somewhere you shouldn’t move someone with a knife in them, but what about a gunshot?
It probably didn’t matter, not here, because if they didn’t get clear they’d all be dead.
He put Adalia down, then lifted Carlisle into a fireman’s carry.
He grabbed Adalia’s hand, pulling the girl close.
He spared a glance for Spencer.
The man’s hand had came away from his bloody nose.
“What the hell?”
“Beats me, pal.”
John paused, then looked back over at Elsie.
“Elsie!
It’s over.
Get her out!”
Elsie was ignoring him.
She pulled Birkita away from the wall, and held her forward towards the two creatures.
“Do it!
Do it!”
she screamed at the beasts as the tears tracked down her face.
Both Val and Volk paused, looking at her.
Val’s head turned on its side —
just like a curious dog, Christ, just wait till I tell him about this shit
— but Volk stepped forward.
It snatched Birkita from Elsie.
Too late, Val tried to step forward, to —
But it
was
too late.
Volk threw the girl at the window, her head leaving a bloody mark against the glass as she bounced off.
She slid to the ground, lifeless.
A keening started low and desperate in Elsie Morgan’s throat, and she scrambled towards her fallen daughter.
Adalia watched it all with big eyes, seeing nothing.
Spencer coughed, blood coming out of his mouth.
A bloody grin split his face, and he patted the grenade belt.
“You’re all coming with me.
It doesn’t matter.
If I don’t get the gift, none of you will.”
John didn’t see the change, didn’t even notice until the third werewolf roared.
Volk and Val stopped their fighting briefly —
just a second, God they’re fast
— and then started to claw and rend at each other again.
The new wolf was —
Danny's body was gone.
Jesus Christ.
How did that —
— tearing and slashing at Volk.
John watched, his mouth open, as Val and Danny fought against Volk.
He couldn’t tell where one started and the other finished.
Danny clawed at Volk’s face, and Volk ducked back from that, but Val was there and waiting, his strike hitting low.
Volk clawed back, but Val pulled away, Danny's slashing claws raking Volk’s muzzle.
They pushed Volk this way and that, striking, circling, never giving quarter.
It didn’t matter.
Each strike they delivered healed over as if it had never happened.
No one could win this fight.
Unless —
John turned to Spencer.
“You want to be famous?”
Spencer had got back to his feet, and stumbled around to face John.
Blood drooled out of the man’s mouth.
“Whaaaa?”
John turned back to the fight.
He raised his voice.
“Val.
I know you’re in there.
I can’t do this by myself.
I’m going to get Adalia out, but you need to deal with Spencer!”
John’s boot caught the man in the stomach.
It was a push, not a kick — he used his foot because he didn’t want any of that stuff on his skin.
That, and it’d be damn hard to push the man with Carlisle over his shoulder, but her weight helped the shove.
Spencer stumbled back, tumbling into Val.
The three beasts looked at the man, their fighting forgotten for a second.
Val stared down at the man, then looked up at Danny.
He gazed at Volk, then back to Danny.
“No.”
John took a step forward.
“Val, not like —”
Val grabbed up Spencer, patches of the man’s skin falling off.
He charged at Volk, shoulder catching the other creature, and they hit the plate window.
It shattered outwards, a starburst of a thousand shards of glass, sunlight catching them and scattering tiny rainbows of light.
Val had grabbed onto Volk’s back, Spencer’s body held around Volk’s front.
The two of them tumbled out of sight, and were gone.
The explosion of the grenade belt was sudden and vast, the blast kicking the remaining windows in.
John was hunkered over Adalia, squeezing his eyes shut —
at least Carlisle’s got a vest —
as the shards of glass spun about them.
He opened his eyes into the silence.
Birkita’s body had been thrown away from the edge of the windows.
John saw that Elsie Morgan sobbing, her eyes now blind ruins from the explosion of glass.
She was moving bloody hands through the glass strewn floor, feeling for her daughter.
John looked back to Danny, saw her sniff at Elsie, then growl low as she stalked forward.
She loomed large above Elsie, one clawed arm coming up.
John saw it clear in his head — Danny was going to tear Elsie apart.
She’d die in pain and fear.
It was what she deserved, wasn’t it?
He looked back down at Birkita’s body.
No, John — no one deserves that
.
He stepped forward.
“I’ve got this.”
John coughed.
“Please.
I need you to check.
My friend.
Valentine.
Is he..?”
Danny turned her muzzle back towards Elsie, the woman’s hands still shuffling through the glass of the floor.
“I know.
I’ll handle it.”
John swallowed.
“Hut-hut-hut.
Remember?
I promise.”
Danny moved to the window, one clawed hand on the edge as she looking down.
She turned back and looked at Adalia.
Danny growled at him, then turned and jumped out the window.
Like that, she was gone.
John walked into the corridor, setting Carlisle down.
He patted next to the woman, and Adalia sat, wide eyes still seeing nothing.
“Wait here honey.
I’ll be right back.”
He walked back into the room, moving through the debris until he found what he was looking for.
He picked up Carlisle’s sidearm, checking the weapon, and walked over to Elsie Morgan.
“I can’t find her.”
The sobs shook the woman.
“I can’t find my little girl.”
“She’s safe now.”
John looked back at Birkita’s body.
“She’s not in any more pain.”
“She got the gift?”
Elsie’s sightless eyes looked up at him.
“She’s running free?”
“Yeah.”
John sighed.
“She’s running free.
You know —”
“I need to pay the boat man?”
Elsie stopped shuffling through the glass on the floor, sitting back on her heels.
She looked at him with those sightless eyes.
“I know.”
“I…”
John looked at the gun in his hand.
Mercy — you can give her that at least.
There’s no happy ending for her any other way.
“Yeah.”
He raised the gun towards her.
The barrel shook a little in his hand.
He shut his eyes and squeezed the trigger.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Carlisle drifted in and out of consciousness.
She felt cold all over, her arms and legs heavy.
“Stay with me.
Melissa!
Christ.”
Someone slapped her face.
Miles — damn it, couldn’t he leave well enough alone?
Blackness.
☽ ◇ ☾
She woke again to a stranger’s voice.
Carlisle tried to crack her eyes open, but they wouldn’t budge.
She felt warm and cold at the same time.
“Mr. Miles.
What a pleasant surprise.”
It was a voice that sounded at home over an English breakfast tea.
“It’s odd, I was waiting for Mr. Everard, but…”
“Val can’t make it right now.”
Miles’ voice was right next to her.
She felt strange, like she was the wrong way up to be having a conversation.
“You were expecting him, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
The other man cleared his throat.
“You don’t know me.
My name is Barnes.
Sam Barnes.”
“Hi, Sam.”
She felt a subtle shift under her as Miles spoke again.
Maybe she was in a stretcher?
“Look, this is a little weird.”
“Ms. Morgan?”
There was a long silence, and Carlisle almost fell asleep again.
It would have been easy, but something was hurting deep inside.