The Breaking

CHAPTER Twelve


Frank knocked two of the guards out in a matter of seconds. The one that didn’t stay down was finished off by Lambert with a punch he seemed to have been saving since the day of his capture. Cole kept Waylon at the end of the shotgun he’d taken from one of the fallen guards, asked him nicely for a private route out of the prison, and was told to press the button marked P1.

“Why the hell are you trusting him?” Lambert asked.

“Because it’s too late for him to lie.”

“I can’t believe you would knowingly draw one of those creatures here,” Waylon said. “Even if you had nothing to do with the policemen that were killed by the Nymar, you’ll be the reason why all of these innocent men are killed here today.”

Frank stood with his arms crossed and his back pressed against the rumbling wall of the moving elevator. “You call your bloodthirsty guards innocent men?”

“They aren’t lambs to be slaughtered,” Waylon said, staring at the Squam as if Frank had been hacked up from the gullet of an even larger swamp resident. “They, like me, are just men doing their jobs.”

“You’re a Lancroft disciple, right?” Cole asked.

Lifting his chin slightly, Waylon said, “He was a great man.”

“He was the man who unleashed the Mud Flu to kill hundreds of people. The only reason he didn’t kill thousands was because my partners and I stopped him. Lancroft himself didn’t give two shits about sacrificing innocents that way.”

There was a lull in the noise within the prison walls. Everyone in the elevator held their breath to see if it would last.

It didn’t.

Bricks were torn loose to hit the shaft beneath them. Men shouted and something that Cole guessed was handgun fire was followed by the distinctive roar of a Full Blood.

“It’s already here,” Waylon said. “See what you’ve done?”

“It’ll be coming straight for us,” Cole told him. “I’ve seen more than a few Full Bloods in my time, and when they set their sights on something, they have a very narrow field of vision. That thing out there will probably tear after us and any other Skinner in here. Since you and most of your men fit that bill, you really should get us out of here as quickly as possible.”

Waylon’s eyes darted toward the panel of buttons on the wall. The next impact against the elevator shaft made the entire car shake. “It’s P Two. The floor you want is P Two.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, goddammit! P Two. Hit it now!”

Cole reached out to poke the button directly beneath the one that was already lit. The car stopped, sent a muted ding through a small speaker above them and groaned as the doors started to open.

“That’s P One!” Waylon shouted, losing every bit of composure that had been his normal exterior.

Cole speculated that his initial plan had been to get him, Lambert, and Frank to stumble into an ambush set up by more of the guards from G7. Waylon’s haste to abandon that idea had less to do with a change of heart than with the creature that stood just outside the doors holding a guard in each hand as if they were toys. Frank had accomplished the same basic feat not too long ago, but the Full Blood had room to spare in each fist.

The beast stood just over seven feet tall and was covered in dark brown fur. Slowly, it shifted its head to look at the elevator and open its mouth in a way that dragged its teeth even farther through the rips they’d cut into his cheeks. “There you are,” it growled.

Nodding slowly, Cole took in the sight with calm acceptance. “Burkis. Took you longer than I thought it would. Or are you going by Randolph now?”

The Full Blood cast aside the guards and swatted away several others as he hunched over to avoid scraping his head on the low ceiling while stalking toward the elevator. The parking level was wide open behind him. Beyond a few cars, there was a ramp that led down to the other levels and presumably the street. Between the ramp and the cars parked behind the werewolf, there were a few metal doors along the wall and what looked to be a small office.

“P Two!” Waylon shouted hysterically.

“What’s the matter?” Cole asked as he tapped the button. “Never seen a Full Blood before? What kind of Skinner are you?”

The elevator doors slid shut as slowly as if cutting off just another would-be passenger with poor timing. The Full Blood lowered his head and reached out to grab the edges of the doors with both hands. No man alive would have been quick enough to reach the elevator before those doors closed. No animal would have been able to grab them and force them open. Randolph was neither of those things, so he got to the elevator and pulled both sliding doors completely off their tracks.

“Time and again you refuse to heed my warnings,” Randolph snarled. “If you are a part of what is being protected here, then I was foolish not to have killed you when we first met.”

“I just want out of here,” Cole said while swinging the shotgun away from Waylon to aim at the Full Blood. “Step aside and let us go and we won’t have a problem.”

The Full Blood stared down at the elevator, leaned in to sniff the passengers and then scowled at Waylon. “That one stinks of Lancroft’s chemicals,” he snarled through shrinking fangs. Nodding toward the guards, Randolph added, “As do they.”

“You probably didn’t know anything about this place before, right?”

Randolph said nothing to admit such a weakness, but the flaring of his nostrils told Cole he’d struck a nerve.

When he lowered his shotgun, one of the guards attempted to grab it from him. Randolph bared his fangs and reached into the elevator to grab the guard’s head and hold him in place. Cole kept the shotgun down and stooped down to take something from out of his canvas shoe and toss it at the Full Blood. Randolph caught the chip of metal, growled, and closed it in a shaggy fist.

“I cut that out to interfere with the runes cloaking this place from you,” Cole explained.

“You knew I was close enough to get here so quickly?” Randolph asked.

Shrugging, Cole admitted, “I didn’t have a clue who or what might be in the area. I just hoped that something big and mean would be able to sniff out this place and come running to get to a bunch of Skinners.”

“You would sacrifice your own kind for a slim chance of survival?”

“These a*sholes may or may not be Skinners, but they’re not my kind,” Cole said. “They’re f*cking parasites who took advantage of me getting framed for the deaths of a bunch of innocent cops. They’re bloodthirsty a*sholes, and if I have to gamble with my own life to get the hell out of here and throw some real justice their way, then that’s how it’s got to be.”

“Justice,” Randolph snarled in a manner than made it unclear whether he spoke the word as a question, statement, or joke.

“If you want to level this place, go ahead and do it,” Cole said. “My friends and I will gladly leave you alone.”

“And what about them?” Randolph asked as he fixed his crystalline gray-blue eyes upon Waylon and his men.

“They could barely contain three prisoners,” Cole said grudgingly. “What could they do to you?”

Randolph seemed to consider that until his ears pricked up and he reached in to grab Waylon’s arm. Somehow, the man in the suit had gotten a cell phone in his hand and made a quick connection. “I need all firepower to converge on Parking Level One,” he shouted at the phone. “The prisoners are escaping and there is a Class One Shifter on site. Repeat, Class One Shifter.”

Randolph grabbed Waylon’s arm and squeezed until bones broke and the phone dropped from his grasp. “Where is the other Jekhibar?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Waylon squeaked.

“The Unity Stone,” Randolph snarled. “It’s here. I can smell it.”

“Then you can find it yourself.”

“You truly want me to tear this place apart?” After a few more sniffs, his eyes drifted toward the floor. “Below. The Jekhibar is below.” He pulled in another breath. This time, he didn’t like the taste. “There are more coming.”

“You’re damn right there are,” Waylon said defiantly. “More than enough to blast you into pieces. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll run before—”

Randolph pulled Waylon from the elevator with such force that his arm came away from his body and blood poured down the side of his suit. Waylon was too shocked to make a sound as he dropped. Even if he could have found enough breath to scream, it would have been washed away by the Full Blood’s bellowing voice.

“No human tells me to run!” Randolph bellowed. “You have survived this long only because we have allowed it. I thought to hinder this madness by collecting the artifacts that would lead your kind to the brink, but perhaps Liam was right. Perhaps things should be allowed to take their course even if it leads to this world being engulfed in fire and humans are all forced to endure the Breaking.”

Cole picked up Waylon’s cell phone and listened to the voice coming through its speaker. “Shit,” he said while disconnecting the call, then tucking the phone under the front of his jumpsuit. “There’s more coming this way.”

“What?” Lambert asked. “Who?”

“I don’t know. Sounded like soldiers.”

“Guns and machines,” Randolph said. “You can go if you commit yourself to one task. Protect the young one.”

Lambert tried easing past the werewolf but was stopped by an open hand covered in Waylon’s blood. “He’s with me,” Cole assured him. “And so is he,” he added, indicating Frank. Randolph let both of them move past him and into the parking garage. “What young one?” Cole asked.

“One of my kind. She is still wild, but must be hidden from the others.”

“Other Full Bloods?” Cole asked as confusion threatened to suffocate him like a rising pool.

“They’ve come for the Breaking Moon and are seeking any way possible to get more than their share of it. Find the young one, take her far from this continent and keep her hidden.” As he shifted into a hulking body that was bigger than most of the compact cars behind him, Randolph snarled, “If Skinners truly care about your species, you must prepare for war. It is too late to avoid now. Organize and find a way to keep my brethren from becoming too powerful to be contained.”

“How the hell do I find a Full Blood?” Cole asked. “You guys always find me!”

“True Skinners find a way. That is why the warrior spirit remains alive in you and not in the rest of humanity. The only way for me to act without answering to Kawosa is for me to remain as ignorant as you in some matters. Now if you wish to survive, you must leave this place.” Shifting his gaze to Waylon, he added, “If you will help me in my search, this can go much smoother.”

Waylon was on the floor, bleeding out through the ragged stump of his right arm. Several guards had shoved open a door somewhere in the parking garage beyond the elevator and fired a few shots at the fleeing prisoners before catching sight of the Full Blood. Cole watched as Randolph absorbed a wave of shotgun blasts that thumped against his side and chest. The blast rippled through the Full Blood’s fur like a hot wind, shredding some of the flesh directly beneath it. The charred flesh quickly solidified into a rough patch of skin that was quickly obscured by his coat. Randolph straightened up and turned to face the guards. “So be it.” Looking over his shoulder, he snarled, “You have a job to do, Cole,” and then charged at the guards.

Cole hurried behind the werewolf and dove behind the cover of some parked cars. Gunshots blasted around him, but none of them came anywhere close to hitting him since they’d been fired by men who were knocked aside or tossed into a wall while their fingers were clamped around their triggers. When a fully armored guard landed heavily on the car Cole was using for cover, a piercing alarm started to wail. He could see the stairwell the guards had used to enter the garage. More armed men and women rushed through the door to fire at Randolph while shouting orders to one another.

Despite what those guards had done to him, Cole couldn’t help but shout, “Just get out of here! You won’t be able to kill him!”

Not only weren’t the guards listening, but a few of them rushed over to Randolph wearing full riot gear and carrying crudely fashioned Skinner weapons. Two were caught in a wild flurry of claws that sent limbs and blood flying. Another was about to be decapitated when he was saved by a large figure in an inmate’s jumpsuit. It was Frank. Leaping in with speed that rivaled a Mongrel, he dodged a blow from the Full Blood and grabbed one guard by the shoulders to toss her back into the stairwell. When Randolph roared at him, the reptile man spat something into the werewolf’s eyes that caused him to recoil and wipe at his face. Frank leapt over the creature’s wildly thrashing claws to land on top of a car. By the time that alarm started to wail, the Squam had jumped away. He landed, then ran alongside Cole, who was headed toward the back of the garage.

“She was just a medical tech,” Frank explained. “Waylon forces everyone to fight whether they want to or not.”

“Whatever,” Cole grunted. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

The Full Blood roared and launched a series of powerful swings that chopped some of the guards to pieces while others maneuvered around him to stab their sharpened wooden weapons into his back and ribs. When Randolph twisted around to sink his claws into one of those men and bite down on another, they made no attempt to block or parry an attack. The guards barely knew what they were doing. They might have wielded Skinner weapons, but were too stupid to do anything but charge ahead, and too frightened to press an advantage.

The guards with the wooden weapons were first to go. Randolph bit all the way down to the spine of one man and then spit him at the others in the stairwell as if he was something caught between the werewolf’s teeth. The Full Blood backed away from the stairwell, but not in retreat. He merely repositioned himself his remaining opponents were in front of him. More gunshots rained down from a gaping hole in the ceiling to thump into his fur. The hole must have been Randolph’s point of entry into the garage, and guards stood at the edge, firing at the werewolf from what should have been a superior position. All they managed to do was further anger the beast.

Not concerned with Waylon or the guards, Cole took stock of any elements that had a bearing on his chances of getting out of that prison. Lambert was crouching behind a car and slowly working his way toward the ramp that led up and out of the parking garage. Frank jumped from one car to another, hissing loudly while flexing his hands until wide, rough nails extended from his fingertips.

Suddenly, four men in tactical armor dropped into the garage through the hole, landing either on the dirty concrete or on Randolph’s back. Instead of firearms, they had wooden weapons that put the guards’ clubs to shame.

One of the new arrivals carrying a large wooden halberd landed on the floor beside Randolph. The long handle resembled Cole’s spear, but the squared blade at the end was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was at least ten inches wide and over a foot long, squared at three corners, with the upper corner extending up into the shape of a rhino’s horn. The man holding it dug the leading edge into Randolph’s side, raked it across and then spun the entire weapon around his body so it could hit the Full Blood again.

Randolph turned and stopped the next swing with one outstretched hand, closed his fist around the halberd’s blade and tried to pull it away from the man who held it. His other paw reached back to grab his side and remove a guard’s club as if it were no more than a large thorn, then threw it away. The club sped through the air like a bullet, smashing through the windows of one car and, after exploding through the glass, knocking into Lambert’s hip.

Keeping his head down and shotgun raised, Cole hurried to get to Lambert before he was stomped, slashed, or otherwise destroyed by the rampaging Full Blood or the growing number of guards. He tried to channel some of the power that had been in him earlier, but all that remained was the agony of broken tendrils cinching in around his stomach. Each step was harder to take than the previous one, but he somehow got to the fallen inmate and helped him to his feet. “Get up, Lambert. We gotta get out of here.”

Frank’s strained, hissing voice could barely be heard over the rest of the chaos as he dispatched one of the new arrivals by grabbing a gnarled quarterstaff from the guard’s hands and twisting it away. “Stairs should be this way,” he said while cracking the guard in the jaw with his own weapon. Then shots were fired at the Squam, forcing him to drop down and out of sight.

When Lambert looked his way, Cole told him, “Go on. I’m helping Frank.”

“Ain’t time for that, man. We got another minute or two at best before them guards find us.”

Already breaking into a run, Cole shouted, “Just go. This won’t take long.”

Frank climbed to his feet and staggered toward him. By the looks of him, Cole didn’t thing he had the strength to make another jump. The Squam’s yellowish skin was cracked and bleeding in several places, discolored to look like mud. His narrow vertical pupils shifted toward Cole. “They are keeping the Full Blood occupied, but won’t be able to kill it.”

“Go on and get out of here,” Cole said without sparing so much as a glance toward the battle raging a stone’s throw away. “If level two is a bust, then take the ramp. Cars get in and out of here, so there’s got to be a way for us to do the same.”

Frank nodded and did his best to run toward the ramp Lambert was now using. He kept his upper body hunched down so low, it looked like he was running on all fours.

The heat in Cole’s scars flared up until he reflexively pulled in a breath and tightened his grip around the shotgun. The club he’d taken from one of the elevator guards was tucked under one arm. Frank was almost at the top of the ramp now, but he dove off the edge to clear a path for another Full Blood that was stormed up.

It was one of the biggest werewolves Cole had seen. Normally, a Full Blood was smaller when it walked on four legs. Resembling a bear with longer limbs and a canine head, they used that form for speed or mobility and walked on two legs when fighting or climbing. This one, covered in dark gray fur, galloped like a horse and kicked up dust from the concrete as its claws scraped gouges into the cement and through the occasional speed bump. Where Randolph’s teeth grew at odd angles to slice through his face, this one’s were as organized as they were deadly. The creature pulled in a deep breath and barked in a deep baritone, displaying two sets of long fangs sprouting from each spot where canine incisors would grow.

After tossing the guard with the halberd over a minivan, Randolph turned toward the other creature. “Esteban!” he roared. “There is nothing for you here.”

The Full Blood with the gray fur looked as if he would cross the entire parking area in one leap, but shifted into his upright form to dig his feet into a car’s roof. “This place reeks of Skinners hiding treasures they do not understand,” he replied in a rumbling voice colored by a Spanish accent. “It is no surprise to find you here while the others cluster around the Torva’ox like children gazing upon a shiny trinket.”

Randolph charged at the other Full Blood with men attached to him by blades, hooks, or other weapons embedded in his flesh. The guards dangled from his sides and back like decorations until they were scraped against a post or brushed off against a parked car. The two Full Bloods collided like storm fronts, completely ignoring the wave of guards that had just arrived. In his upright form, Randolph was shorter than the gray werewolf, but wider in the shoulders. Once they clamped their jaws around the thick matting of fur protecting the other’s neck, Cole found his opening to put that place behind him.

He ran down the ramp and quickly spotted Lambert and Frank racing across a crumbling parking lot for the safety of a wooded hillside less than a quarter mile away. It was early evening and the sun was making its descent to the western horizon. Police cars and several unmarked trucks sped toward the building, which sat by itself at the base of a tall set of hills. Wailing sirens filled the air, a helicopter roared in from the east, and more vehicles sped down the road that led to the prison’s poorly tended fence line. No one, however, seemed to notice Cole and his companions working their way up the rise that led to higher ground covered by trees and dense bushes.

Above all the chaos surrounding the cement block of a building, Randolph’s howl was joined by the voice of the other Full Blood. Before the armed men could leave their vehicles, the werewolves exploded from the parking garage. The few remaining men trying to hold a line in front of the building’s main entrance were decimated by the gray creature’s teeth and claws as Esteban tore through them.

Even when he got to the top of the rise, it was tough for Cole to make sense out of which Full Blood was winning. All he could tell from his new vantage point was that the prison would need some repairs if it was ever going to be used for anything more than a quarry. Randolph jumped down onto the gray werewolf but was grabbed in midair before he could sink his teeth into Esteban’s flesh. He then found himself on the ground with the gray wolf on top of him. The group of men Cole guessed were police opened fire on the Full Bloods, unleashing a chattering wave of gunshots from everything ranging from handguns to high-powered rifles. The Full Bloods hunkered down beneath the pelting of bullets, too engrossed in their own fight to answer them. After tossing Randolph against the side of the building, Esteban grabbed his leg and lobbed him into the largest cluster of police cars.

“Well,” Cole said from behind the rocks he and the other two escapees were using for cover, “they can’t pin that one on me.”

“They would if they knew what you did,” Lambert replied. “Lowering them defenses was a stupid goddamn idea.”

“We would have been dead if we’d stayed there.”

“You think so?”

Cole looked over at him and said, “Yeah. If it wasn’t for the Legion of Doom over there tag-teaming the entire prison, we would have been locked away, picked apart, and cut to pieces.”

“He’s right,” Frank said. “Nobody knew we were there, and Waylon was after something important enough for him to kill to get it.”

Another wave of gunfire erupted from the police encroaching on the prison. Randolph rolled to his feet and shifted into his four-legged form to charge the armed men who had tried to flank him. With bullets thumping uselessly into his fur, he scattered the humans, lowered his head and came back around to drive it into Esteban’s stomach. Having flipped the other Full Blood into the air, Randolph shifted into his upright form to catch Esteban by two clumps of fur and fling him away. The werewolf clawed at empty air while snarling ferociously, but was unable to do much more than that before slamming into the side of the building with enough force to go through the outer wall. Randolph turned to face the cops then, warned them back with a primal, territorial roar, and leapt through the hole in the side of the prison to pursue his prey.

“We need to get moving,” Cole said. “There won’t be any better time than this.”

Lambert couldn’t nod fast enough as he jogged toward the top of the rise so he could put more distance between himself and the raging battle.

Frank, on the other hand, wasn’t so eager. “You’re just going to leave?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Cole replied. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do after successfully breaking out of prison?”

“You’re a Skinner, aren’t you? If Skinners are good for anything, it’s hunting things like them,” he said while pointing a leathery hand at the howling Full Bloods. “Now you just want to leave?”

Cole stepped up so he was toe-to-toe with the Squam. Even though he had to look up into Frank’s yellow eyes, he glared at him as though doing so from higher ground. Normally, he was on the receiving end of stares like that, and when he saw the hesitation in Frank’s eyes, he realized why Paige used the tactic so often. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t exactly a normal day of monster hunting. They’re hunting us, and so far they’re winning. Even if we did run back there to try and take on a pair of Full Bloods using nothing but a few crappily prepared sticks and foul language,” he added while holding up the confiscated club, “those cops would shoot us and toss us back into a cell before we had a chance to get torn apart. Either way, we wouldn’t be able to do much more hunting, and those Full Bloods would still be able to do whatever the hell they want!”

“They’re doing that already,” Lambert said, pausing to look back at them. “Let’s just get to steppin’!”

“You want us to do something, Frank?” Cole asked without budging. “Then tell me what I should do.”

The Squam’s mouth remained closed so tightly it resembled a line scribbled across his face with a pencil.

“No?” Cole challenged. “Anything you want to do?”

Although the muscles in his face jumped beneath the scales embedded in his skin, Frank shook his head.

“Didn’t think so. We’re getting the hell away from here. You’re welcome to try your luck on your own, but if you want to come along, then spare me the speeches.” With that, Cole turned his back on Frank and the ruined prison so he could join Lambert as he headed for what looked to be a distant access road. A few cars raced by, but the drivers were too preoccupied with the werewolves tearing through a small army to notice a few figures making their way through the trees.

They ran for a mile, heading west through a patch of rocky terrain. Since the cars were coming from a highway to the north and helicopters were still flying in from the east, Cole didn’t see any alternative but to press on into the hills. Never before had he so deeply regretted not being a Boy Scout when he’d had the chance to learn more about wilderness survival or navigating using the sun’s position in the sky. When he thought the prison was far enough behind him to stop and catch his breath, he heard another explosion that spurred him onward.

Once they were deeply entrenched in what appeared to be some sort of park or nature reserve, Lambert slowed to a halt. “All right,” he gasped. “Enough of this. Before I take one more step, I need to know who I’m runnin’ with.”

Frank looked at the wheezing, sweating inmate and replied, “I refuse to explain myself to—”

“You sure as hell will,” Lambert cut in. “Right now.”

Cole looked at the Squam and said, “He’s a wanted fugitive just like the rest of us. We’re in this together. If he was going to turn on us, he would’ve done it already.”

“You can trust me or not,” Frank said while hunching over so his chest was a few feet from the ground. “Rather than defend myself to you two, I’ll find out if anyone’s after us. You should move on, so don’t wait for me. I’ll find you.” And with that, he scurried around a nearby cluster of trees.

Since he couldn’t possibly follow the Squam, Lambert said, “Maybe we should just put a pin in this for now.”

“Put a what?” Cole snapped.

“Something my ma used to say. It means it might be a good idea if we stuck this shit somewhere else for a little while until we’re not so close to a bunch of wild animals and cops who want us dead.” Shrugging, he added, “My ma was an interesting lady. What’s your plan from here?”

Cole laughed and stooped, placing his hands on his bent knees and catching his breath. “I gotta level with you, Lam. I knew something would be coming to tear that place down, but I only kept that chunk of the bar because I thought it was charmed metal.”

“And it was,” Lambert said proudly.

“Right. I figured I could jam it into something’s eye or . . . that sounds pretty stupid, huh?”

After a short pause filled by the thump of distant explosions and howls, Lambert said, “Yeah. That does sound pretty stupid. But no dumber than me running from the law with you and a lizard man.”

Something crawled out from the trees behind Cole. Without casting more than a quick glance at the wide-shouldered figure that had crept up behind him, he asked, “What’s our situation, Frank?”

“Nobody’s following us yet. The cops are too busy sorting through the rubble and keeping out of the way of those two Full Bloods. Looks like plenty of people were hurt. Maybe worse. Ambulances are coming. Helicopters are hanging all around. Some are bringing wounded to the hospital and others are just trying to get a closer look.”

“Reporters,” Cole grunted. “Perfect.”

“Nobody’s after us?” Lambert asked. “You’re sure?”

“I said it once,” Frank hissed. “But that could change if we stay here.”

The Squam’s face wasn’t the kind that inspired trust, but Cole decided to accept what came out of it. “All right. We need to keep moving.”