* * *
There was a noise, so awful, so painfully loud, that for a moment Earl was sure the MCB must have gone ahead and dropped a nuclear weapon to cleanse the area. Except it seemed strangely organic.
Earl ran around the underground monster’s hole, through the open gates, past a rusting iron sign that read QUINN MINE, and jumped over some flaming boards. The Mosin-Nagant bounced up and down against his back with every step. An injured werewolf came out of the ruins. She had transformed, but her hair had been burned off, leaving her a mottled mass of black burns and red scabs. Earl didn’t even slow down as he sprayed her in the face with silver .45 slugs.
Hopefully there aren’t any of the new silver-proof ones around. He still had the Mosin’s magic ammo, but wanted to save that for the big—Earl totally lost the thought. They rounded the corner and saw the biggest fucking werewolf ever.
It was only a hundred yards away, pitch-black as night, at least twelve feet tall, and it was tossing Nikolai around like he was a rag doll. It wasn’t just a giant werewolf, it was the living embodiment of the forerunner’s bones, cloaked in angry muscle.
There was a flash of red fur as another werewolf jumped onto the Alpha’s back. Heather! The giant werewolf moved with shocking velocity, snatched Heather out of the air, and hurled her against the wall. Heather shattered a row of heavy-paned windows and disappeared into the bowels of Number Six.
“Whoa,” Jason said.
“Daaaamn.” Earl was a big proponent of flexible minds on Hunters, but that thing over there was something completely new.
“Is it too late to resign?”
“Probably…” Earl looked at the subgun in his hands and then back at the super-werewolf.
“Want your bazooka?”
“That’s not a bad idea.” Earl traded his Thompson for the Carl Gustav. “Take cover.” The Alpha werewolf had his back to them and was busy kicking Nikolai merrily down the road. Earl threw the heavy tube over his shoulder and peered through the scope. The Gustav’s optical sight filled with black hair, and Earl fired.
THOOOOM.
The 84mm shell was on the way. Somehow, impossibly, the Alpha turned, lashed out, and struck the shell in midair.
BOOOOOOM.
It detonated in a flash of superheated air. The Alpha flew back in a gout of blood and crashed through the wall of Number Six.
Earl dropped the empty Carl Gustav. “Immortal, my ass.” There was a groan of metal and a series of crashes as bits and pieces of the interior of Number Six collapsed.
“That shit blows up tanks,” Jason said happily.
Then the Alpha howled. Only, it wasn’t the cry of something mortally wounded. It was the bloodcurdling howl of something injured but still extremely angry. Earl felt the telepathic intrusion as the Alpha invaded his thoughts. Harbinger? You’re alive…I don’t know how, but it won’t be for long.
“Aw, hell,” Earl said as he unslung the Mosin-Nagant. Fighting monsters that could withstand hits from anti-tank weapons was usually a very bad thing. “Back to Plan A. We’ve got to hit him before he can heal. Come on.”
There was a rumble, and the ground lurched beneath their feet. A crack appeared in the ground and snow began to cascade down it. Earl’s eyes followed the crack as it travelled across the facility. It widened fifty feet away, and large chunks of pavement broke loose and fell into the growing gap. A giant metal claw appeared over the edge as the second of the Old Ones’ minions made its presence known.
The Alpha…There was no time to deal with both. He had to get the Alpha before he could regenerate. They were stuck between two awful monsters and out of high explosives.
Jason understood the issue. “I’ll keep this one busy,” he said. “Go get the big one.”
“Alone, you won’t have much chance.”
“Nobody will if that big one grows his arm back.” He tried to hand over Earl’s subgun.
Earl was impressed by the kid’s bravery. “Hold on to it. You’re going to need everything you’ve got.” He pulled out his remaining two magazines and shoved them into Jason’s coat pocket. “Stick and move. Don’t let it corner you.”
“Got it, Coach,” Jason said, lifting the Thompson in one hand and the SCAR-H in the other. “Remember our deal.”
“Keep your head straight, and I won’t need to.” Earl ran as fast as he could for the entrance to Number Six. Behind him, Jason opened fire.
Chapter 33
I am getting really tired of waking up on the ground.
Heather was on a cold slab of concrete. Shards of broken glass surrounded her. Beams of morning light were streaming through the hole in the wall a floor above. One of her hands was in the light. She was human again.
Already? How…But she could feel the drain. The Alpha had been hurt. He was using all of the surrounding werewolves’ energy to heal himself. For a brief moment, she wondered if she’d been cured. But no…she could still hear that damned background sound. She was still cursed. She had to get that amulet.
Standing, Heather cringed when she felt the pull in her leg. Reaching down, she dragged out the bloody hunk of glass that was embedded in her thigh and tossed it away. She’d lost her blanket, but she still had Harbinger’s coat. And it didn’t even seem damaged. It hadn’t so much as broken a seam when she’d changed in it, nor had the glass cut it. In fact, her torso and arms were the only part of her that hadn’t been cut by the window glass. No wonder Harbinger seemed so fond of it. The damn thing was like magic.
Where am I? Her gray vision couldn’t pick out as much detail as her normal vision, but she could see enough to know that she was on the ground floor of Number Six. Her dad had brought her here once when she was younger, because this was the site of the most tragic thing that had ever happened to their little community.…Or it had been, until last night.
Heather limped along, listening to her senses, trying to figure out what to do next. The inside of the above ground portion was mostly hollow through the center, except for the system that lifted the ore. There were stairs and ladders up each wall leading to various equipment rooms. Below her were the giant cable wheels that led to the elevators down into the mine shaft itself.
She discovered a massive, smoking hole in the wall, and everything around it was covered in blood. The Alpha hadn’t just been injured: he’d been severely injured. There were fresh boot prints in the blood. She smelled Harbinger, and the scent was warm. He’d only passed a minute ago. The blood trail led down the metal stairs, and that told her exactly where she needed to go.
* * *
Earl went down and down the stairs for what seemed like forever. He held a flashlight in his left hand and kept sweeping it back and forth ahead of him. The Finnish rifle was absurdly long, difficult to maneuver inside the close confines of the metal stairwell. The blood was slippery underfoot, but the amount had tapered off. That was either a good sign, as in the Alpha was losing blood pressure, or bad, in that he was healing.
Rounding the last corner, he came onto a catwalk. There was a woman in front of him, filthy, her hair matted with dirt and rust, and seemingly bewildered. She was looking at her hands, confused. Then she saw him, her eyes flashing gold, and asked, “I need to kill you, but why can’t I change?”
“Hell if I know,” Earl answered as he aimed down the Mosin-Nagant’s sights. The sharp report of the 7.62x54r was deafening in the enclosed space. The werewolf simply exploded. Everything but her legs disappeared over the edge of the catwalk. Earl lowered the smoking rifle and shined his light over the dripping carnage. “I’ve got to get me some of these Baba Yaga bullets.”
“Earl!” a man shouted below. “Down here.”
“Shut him up!” a young woman screamed.
He risked a glance over the edge of the railing. Several portable lanterns had been hung from chains at the base. There were two giant spools of cable suspended on steel girders over a gaping black hole in the gravel floor. A man was on his knees, his hands tied behind his back, and behind him was a young, dark-haired woman in a fur coat.
“Kirk?”
“Down he—” Kirk shouted, but the girl lifted one hand that seemed to be wearing some sort of medieval steel gauntlet and smacked Kirk in the face.
“Get him!” she shrieked. “Kill Harbinger!”
There was movement at the far end of the catwalk. Multiple people, and judging from their golden eyes, werewolves, were headed his way. He chambered another round in the Mosin and fired. Another werewolf flew into bloody pieces. They must not be able to transform for some reason, but these had brought guns. Bullets sparked against the catwalk as they fired wildly at him.
There was no cover. He was dead if he stayed on the catwalk. Too far to jump. He saw a chain dangling from an overhead beam off to the side. Earl slung the rifle over one shoulder, vaulted over the edge, caught the chain, and slid roughly down. The rusty steel tore the palms of his gloves. Earl ran out of chain ten feet before the bottom and fell the rest of the way. His boots hit the ground hard and something went pop inside one knee.
Metal echoed with footfalls as the werewolves ran above him. One leapt over the side and landed gracefully a few feet away. Earl’s revolver was already in hand, and the werewolf’s smile of satisfaction barely had time to go away before Earl blew his brains all over the wall.
Before any more could come after him, there was a scream and a crash. The entire catwalk shook, and dust rained down. There was a howl of pain as another werewolf came over the edge. Only this one went sideways and banged off of one of the pulleys with a sick crack. Apparently help had arrived.
Another werewolf was flung over the edge, only this one hit some chains, and was quickly entangled as it spun down until it impaled itself on a hook. The werewolf squealed until Earl shot her in the face. “Harbinger! Clear up here!”
Hearing Heather’s voice flooded Earl with relief. He turned back to the only remaining visible threat. The girl was pointing her metal hand at him. Her eyes were blank and her lips were moving rhythmically. The words she was repeating sure as hell were not in English. The already cold air around him grew even colder, like she was sucking the energy out of it. Magic! Earl snapped off a quick shot with his Smith and was rewarded with a spark as the bullet ricocheted off the girl’s gauntlet. She fell down, and the air temperature returned to just freezing.
Earl reached Kirk a second later. “Nice shot!”
“I was aiming for her head.” Earl drew his bowie knife and slashed the cords binding Kirk’s wrists. The girl was sitting up, so Earl pointed his gun at her. “Don’t move, missy.”
Heather vaulted over the railing, landed softly, and ran over to them. She was covered in healing scratches, and his minotaur-hide coat was dripping blood. She must have recognized the concern on Earl’s face. “Don’t worry. Most of it’s not mine.” Heather picked a flattened bullet off of the leather sleeve. “By the way, this is a really nice coat.”
“Thanks. It’s made out of one of my best friends. It’s a long story.” Earl turned back to Kirk. “What’s going on? Where’s the Alpha?” And then to the girl: “And who the hell are you?”
“I’m the high-priestess of the new—”