Wolfen (55 page)

Gone.

Truck empty. No scent trail.

Nothing.

A heartbeat stretches into eternity, its roar loud enough
to drown out the horde at my back as they bear down on us.

Gone.

I stare at Aiden in the same way I did the first time a
whitecoat cut me open from navel to neck to see how I ticked, unable to connect
one dot to the other, brain refusing to comprehend what happened—
why
it
happened.
How
it could possibly have been allowed to happen.

Sinna gone.

You’ll live, Wolfen girl. Don’t you worry none.
Sinna is
mine; she’s part of me.

Gone.

The ribbon of time has a massive flaw, a paradox in the
middle of nowhere. Everything intersects in the eye of a needle, and it shatters
the world into chaos. There’s before, and there’s after, but the
now
,
the
moment
is broken. Wrong.

Aiden stares back, speechless for perhaps the first time
in his life, the most crucial time when I need him to say something. Anything.

Make this right, goddamn it!

~

Claws in his shoulders.

Bryce reacted on instinct, whirling around to tear into the
horde with his bare hands, but he wouldn’t be lured away from the mule. That
truck was his constant, his last connection with Sinna. If he had to kill them
all one by one, he’d do it, but he would not give up that truck.

“
Move!
” Helena shouted, leaping over the roof and him
to rejoin the fray. Her swords sliced through flesh and bone, blades covered in
blood and grime. It was caked all over her like dirt. That’s what they all
were—dirt. Filth. Vermin to be exterminated.

Bryce took out a creeper that had crawled, undetected,
between them, aiming to take Helena down at the knees. It left Bryce’s back
exposed, but Aiden was there to cover him, and they fought like they always
did: together. Move as one. Think as one.

But this time was different. Bryce’s head wasn’t in it. His
muscles remembered what to do, but his limbs worked on autopilot. Slash, kick,
twist, claw, bite, punch, tear… A routine a split second slower than Aiden’s
half, and he couldn’t sync back up. He tried, but the subconscious link they
used to share had been severed.

Aiden shouted something, but his words held no meaning to
Bryce.

Helena screamed back in a language Bryce no longer understood.

They shoved him this way and that, turned him wherever they
needed, like a broken machine without a conductor.

Then someone shoved one time too hard, and Bryce was on his
own. Gone was his brother, the blonde female, the mule. Claws, and fangs, and
wiry gray bodies rushed at him.

He kept fighting. Human, nowhere near that cusp where he
knew the beast within should lie in wait, eager to rise up and tear shit apart.
It wasn’t there anymore. He was on his own. The routine kept his head up, kept
air in his lungs. But his mind was miles away. Back on the hill, the last sight
he’d had of Sinna, head thrown back, howling to the sky, owning everything
she’d ever been and everything she ever would be. Wolfen inside and out. The
last sight he’d ever have of her.

Converts buried him to the ground. Light gone, air gone. The
weight of the new world pressing on his chest, cracking his ribs, compressing
his skull until his bones groaned. And he couldn’t remember…couldn’t think of
how to get out.

Monsters screeched, blood trickled between pressed bodies,
dripped onto his face like acid. Then the weight eased, and eased some more as
the mule’s tires spun on top of them at full speed, friction burning skin and
flesh off of bone until the bodies all fell away. The ones who could still move
gave up, and suddenly there was sky above him.

Air expanded his lungs, ribs screamed in protest as they
realigned and knitted together.

Bryce blinked at the puffy black clouds of noxious smoke
wafting across the sky.

Hands on him. Clawed, but not tearing. He turned his head
enough to see Helena’s face. Her eyes glittered, her mouth moved to form words.
Get up!
He deciphered that much.
Get up! Move! Let’s go!
She kept
tugging until he was upright, then more until his feet were under him. But the
ground moved, pitched him sideways, and he slammed into the mule’s hood. Metal
vibrated, hot against his body. The engine purred.

Aiden sat behind the wheel. He leaned far forward, grabbed
onto Bryce, and hauled him into the cabin. “Move!” he ordered, his voice
delayed, slower than his mouth moved. “We need to haul ass, bro.”

Bryce righted himself as Aiden put the mule into gear.
Helena was on the hood, keeping converts off the truck, but when it moved, she
back flipped onto the bed where she hunkered down as Aiden gunned it through
the horde, mowing them down.

“B, are you listening?”

Bryce mutely turned his head to his brother, unseeing.

Aiden grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “Wake the fuck
up, B!”

Bryce pushed him away, faced forward. Converts rammed into
the mule from the side, raising it onto two wheels, but the damned thing was
heavy as a tank and as soon as Helena cut their arms off, it slammed back down
onto four and they kept going. South. East. Away from the other Wolfen,
circling around Haven to the other side.

“…the caves run for miles, I know where they lead out. We’ll
hit them from the back, like they did Haven. Are you listening? Bryce!”

Bryce unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Storm
a hive,” he said, managing a weak monotone. “Good plan. What the fuck for?”

“What the… Are you shitting me right now?”

Bryce chuckled—a droll sound. It tasted bitter in his mouth.
“Look around. They’re winning.”

“The hell they are! I’m sure as shit not giving up, are
you?”

Bryce just looked at him.

“No, don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare! You hear me?
You fight! For Sinna, you motherfucking fight, you lazy son of a bitch!” He
swerved hard left, away from a mob running them down head-on. They glanced off
the side, right into Helena’s blades. And the mule kept going.

“Sinna’s gone.” He shuddered as he said it, the cold weight
of the words sinking into his bones. “She’s gone…”

Aiden shook his head. “You didn’t hear a damn thing I said,
did you?”

Bryce swallowed hard, gritted his teeth against the burn
behind his eyes.

“They took her alive, B.”

The paradox exploded.

Keep always looking up. See the light, your guiding star.
The dark at the bottom is where the monsters are.

I feel the light slip away before I open my eyes. I don’t
want to. My head’s throbbing, my eyes feel swollen, and my stomach’s in so many
knots it’ll take a month to unravel, if I don’t throw it all up first.

But the stench reminds me of what happened, and I force
myself to wake.

It’s pitch-black around me. No light, not even a candle
flicker, no crack in the thick shell of night. But there must be, somewhere.
Otherwise, how am I seeing anything at all?

I’m hanging over a convert’s shoulder, and the stumbling,
lurching ride makes me wish I was still unconscious. I’m not tied, but my arms
have gone numb from hanging over my head; could be dislocated. I can’t tell. I
can’t feel them; can’t move them. Can barely move my head.

Panic squeezes my throat in a tight fist.

We’re in a tunnel. As my eyes adjust, I see others
lurking in the darkness, groaning and clicking as we pass. They’re everywhere,
crouched in nooks, crawling on the walls, hanging from the ceiling, their
disgusting hair creating a curtain we have to pass through. There are bones piled
together at intervals, stripped of meat so well they gleam white in the
darkness. Largest at the bottom, decreasing in size going up, with a skull at
the top for decoration. Tidy. Organized.

The converts we pass sniff in my direction, reach out for
me, more of them gathering the deeper we go. But the one bringing up the rear
screeches and beats them back every time they get too close.

The path slopes down. We’re going deeper underground.

They took me alive, and they’re bringing me underground.

No, no, no, I can’t do this. I can’t die like this! Not
with the monsters in the dark! I start shaking, can’t breathe…can’t…
Needairneedlightcan’tbreathecan’tFUCKINGBREATHE!

Thoughts go hazy, what vision I have turns dark around
the edges, but there are sparks of bright light floating all around, and I know
once they coalesce, it’ll be over. I want it. I welcome it. I’ll kill myself
before I let them touch me. I’ll stop myself breathing. I’ll slip away, and
I’ll be safe.

Bryce is out there. Helena, too.

They’ll be all right. They’re so much stronger than me.
They’re better off without me.

But remember…

Bryce. My hand in his. His arms around me. His lips on
mine. “Just so we’re clear.”

He’s out there, fighting for you.

He has Helena.

He’ll look for you.

He’ll be too late.

He’ll come down here, and they’ll kill him, too.

He’s too strong for that.

What if he isn’t?

He’ll come anyway. For me. He’ll walk right in. No light,
no air, no room to move. Too many of them, and only one of him. He’ll fight to
find me, whether I want him to or not, whether I’m dead or alive. They’ll kill
him. Because of me.

Can’t breathe. Bryce will come. He’ll come no matter
what. Need to breathe… He’ll come, and he’ll die, and it’ll be my fault.
Can’t—get—air…

Goddamn it, Sinna, take a fucking breath!

I suck in air so fast and so loud, it’s almost a scream,
and it incites the converts into a frenzy. The one in the back roars at them,
and they slink away, but not far enough. They stay to keep an eye on me,
drooling, working their jaws as if they already imagine gnawing on my bones.

Claws in my hair, bloodying my scalp, yanking up so far
my neck feels like it’s going to break. The convert snarls at me, his rank
breath burning my face, acidic spittle searing holes in my skin, but they heal.

I heal.

I’m not human anymore. I’m stronger now. I can heal, and
I’m fast. I won’t go down without a fight; Bryce taught me not to.

The thought of him out there makes me mad. I’m not human.
I’m Wolfen, goddammit. Not a little bit—all the way. And I can take care of
myself!

My fingers itch just beneath my nails. I curl them into
fists and feel nails pop off under pressure. Something else replaces
them—thicker, stronger, sharper. I rotate my shoulder and fire ants swarm
inside the joint as feeling returns.

The convert cocks his head, rumbling a purr from his
chest. He opens his mouth and sticks his long, thin tongue out to taste me.

Don’t think, do something.
Now!

I spear my hand up beneath his jaw. He screams, stops the
one carrying me in his tracks. My claws are sharp enough to pass clean through
the flesh, and I hook my fingers up to his bottom teeth. His saliva burns my
skin, and I shout, feeling muscle start to give way. But I won’t let go.

When my carrier whirls around, I yank down with all my
strength, and the convert’s jaw comes loose in my grip. My carrier’s the one
who takes the spray of blood from his companion’s wound. He doesn’t do anything
as the male stumbles back, squealing and flailing. None of the others do,
either; they stay where they are, watching in silence as one of their own
bleeds out.

I close my mind to the gurgling sounds at my back. He’s
still alive when my carrier decides he’s wasted enough time and turns away to
continue on his path. I don’t raise my head to look at my handiwork, just toss
the bottom half of my victim’s face in his general direction and wipe my hand
off on my sleeve.

I don’t know where I am, or how we got here, and there
are too many of them around. Savages, with barely enough restraint to keep
their hands off of me while another has me in his grip. The moment he lets go,
I’ll be fair game. Even if I manage to get free somehow, I won’t make it two
steps, not without a weapon.

So I wait for an opportunity.

We drop suddenly, a sharp transition from one tunnel to
the next. The walls on either side open up and we’re in the heart of the hive.
There’s some light here, though I can’t see where it’s coming from. Somewhere
far above me where I can’t catch a glimpse of the source, but it’s enough that
my vision improves a hundredfold.

My breath catches when I adjust.

The cave is massive—two hundred yards in every direction,
and at least half that to the roof. There’s an opening somewhere in the center
of the dome. Everywhere I look, shadows writhe with the movement of countless
bodies. 

There were hundreds of them up top around Haven.

There must be thousands down here.

My carrier sends out a call, and a path clears for him. Curious
bodies press close, smeared black with thick oil. Pools of it bubble up from
the ground, and gangs guard them like fresh kills. Some are covered with it.
Others painted in lines and crude patterns. We cross the gauntlet without
breaking stride until we’re through, inside another tunnel that leads to a
smaller cavern more like a nest with clumps of dry grass piled into beds. Three
of them.

I’m dropped to the ground, and before I know what’s what,
my carrier’s gone, leaving me alone in a chamber that echoes with the hum and
buzz of a thousand monsters like a giant beehive.

But there is something else underlying the noise, an
unrelenting
whump-whump-whump
I’ve felt once before. Spinning propeller
blades, sound waves pitched so low, they’re not a sound at all but a steady
physical thump beneath my skin. I touch the stone wall, and it vibrates subtly
with the rhythm. It’s incessant; so steady and uniform, it feels artificial.
But there is no machine left on Earth capable of making such a sound.

It’s theirs. A subsonic call, amplified a thousand times
by the structure of the cave system.

A summons.

It’s the sound that drove Randy’s converts mad.

~

Wooip… Wooooooip…

Sinna froze.

Wooip… Wooooooip…

A small sound, inquisitive. Echoing somewhere inside the cave.

Wooip…

A shower of dust and pebbles rained down along the wall
behind her, and Sinna slowly turned, lifting her gaze to the ceiling.

There wasn’t one. The cavern’s roof lay wide open to another
tunnel above it, a narrow lip around its edge providing a comfortable seat for
the convert child watching her. When he saw her notice, he drew his lips back
in a grotesque imitation of a smile and cocked his head left and right.
Wooooooip…

A larger, older male rushed him with a vicious snarl, and
Sinna flinched, shrinking back. The adult slammed the boy against the wall,
making him squeal. He let the boy dangle, before he turned and hurled him
across the open space above Sinna and out of sight. All in less than ten
seconds. When the adult was assured the boy wouldn’t come back, he shook
himself off, perched on the ledge, and picked Sinna out in the darkness.

Sinna froze.
No noise. Not ever.

Didn’t do much good, once she’d been discovered.
Can’t
run, can’t hide. No weapons.
She should have been terrified. But all she
could think was:
Come at me, you ugly son of a bitch.
Darkness could
undo her so easily, but
this
she could fight. And she was eager to test
her new claws some more.

But the convert didn’t attack. He just stared at her,
waiting for something.

She sidestepped left, and he turned his head to keep her in
sight. She returned right, and he gave a subtle snarl as if to say, “I see
you.”

But he didn’t move from his spot.

Rock groaned against rock at the back of the cave. A boulder
shifted away from a narrow passage and light spilled in through the opening.

They’re coming!
Bryce found her; she knew he would!

The convert above sensed her excitement and shifted around,
circling the ledge like a starved tiger. But he didn’t attack.

A burning torch dipped into the cavern, and Sinna slapped a
hand over her mouth to keep from shouting a warning to whoever carried it. The
convert stayed focused on her; she didn’t want to alert him to a new threat.

But it wasn’t Bryce who pushed through into the cave, and
not Helena, either.

It was a convert.

The female was small, decrepit, with wrinkled skin faded to
almost white and her back bowed beneath the weight of her years. She shuffled
inside, “smiling” gap-toothed at Sinna the way the child had, but on her, it
never twitched, as if her face was permanently frozen that way.

One foot in front of the other, claws scraping the floor,
she stalked Sinna’s retreat as far as the cavern would allow. Bringing up the
torch—a thigh bone dipped in tar—she leaned in close, squinting at Sinna’s face.

Sinna held her breath, calculating how quickly the male
would be on her if she grabbed the torch and whaled it over Granny Gray. But he
wasn’t her problem now; the female was. She might have looked old on the
outside, but beneath her sagging skin, her bones were strung with solid muscle,
and even though her eyes were faded, they were still sharp enough to see
uncertainty in Sinna’s face. Granny Gray looked long and hard, then sniffed at
Sinna and stuck her tongue out to taste the air. She passed the torch from one
gnarled hand to the other and poked at Sinna’s shoulder, tugged at her hair,
and grabbed her belly, making Sinna squeak in surprise.

Granny Gray clucked, then emitted a sound like an old
groaning door and shuffled around to face the male on the ledge.

He huffed and bounced on his feet where he perched, tossing
his head.

Granny Gray bobbed a bird-like nod and retreated. She
lowered herself onto one of the beds and set the torch onto the ground—right
between Sinna and the way out.

I can make it.
The egress was right there. She could
make a run for it, grab the torch, and squeeze through. As long as she had some
light, she could navigate the tunnels, no problem. They had to lead to the
surface somewhere.

Granny Gray twisted to look behind her as if she knew what
Sinna was thinking. But when she turned back, her expression hadn’t changed.
The male above crouched lower and tensed, while Granny kept on smiling. She sat
there for a moment, watching Sinna, then raised both hands and moved them
around.

Sinna frowned.

Granny did it again, the same little song and dance, without
the song. Or much of a dance.

Movement above. The male crept closer, toes already poking
out over the ledge. One claw gripped the stone backward so he could hang off of
it. The other dangled by his side, clenching and unclenching.

Keeping a wary eye on him, Sinna edged farther to the right.
Loose rocks littered the ground; she could use them as a last resort, but what
she really needed was to get her hands on that torch.

Granny hissed, pulling Sinna’s attention back as she mimed
her spiel. There was a sequence to the movements; she was repeating herself,
looking for some sort of response. She cycled through, waited, cycled through
again, then huffed.

The male became more agitated by the second. He snarled and
let go of his perch to drop down. In an instant, Granny was on her feet. She
screeched at him, and he pulled himself back onto the ledge, growling to be
denied.

Slowly, Granny turned back to Sinna. Even slower, she cycled
through the hand movements again, and Sinna grew lightheaded when she began to
recognize the gestures. They’d been drilled into her so long ago, the memory
had been lost to her mind, but her muscles remembered and her hands twitched,
subconsciously following Granny Gray.

Sign language.

The ancient convert was trying to speak to her.

Her fingers weren’t coordinated, her signs sloppy and
confusing, but the more Granny traced them, the better Sinna understood. She
kept repeating three words, signed them over and over, displaying a frightening
amount of sentience.