Cole rummaged through the medical kit until he found the bundle of turkey basters and some eye drop bottles marked HB.
The street looked like a war zone, but was quieter than it had been a few minutes ago. Cars were parked at odd angles, some of them on the sidewalk, while others were badly damaged or completely destroyed. Shots crackled from random spots in the distance. Men and women in uniform scrambled to find each other and talk on radios while dealing with civilians or wounded who lay stretched out on the ground.
As far as Cole could tell, there were only a few Half Breeds in the vicinity. He couldn’t see any of them, but heard barks and snarls nearby. One wild howl was ended by a chorus of shotgun blasts. He hurried to the fallen cop he’d spotted from his car and was stopped by a burly man in a black jumpsuit and a heavy bulletproof vest with a badge sewn into the spot where a breast pocket should be.
“Whoa, back up,” the big guy warned.
Despite the rifle in the cop’s hands, Cole kept moving. “That man’s hurt,” he said. “I can help him before he gets worse.”
The guy with the rifle shook his head. “More paramedics are on the way. Go back to your home and let us do our job.”
“I just need to get a look at the wound,” he insisted. “I’m a doctor, and having him lying flat or on his side or with his head elevated could make the difference between whether or not he lives long enough for the paramedics to help.”
The words had flown out of him in a way that reminded him of a religious zealot speaking in tongues. They were a mix of some things he’d heard on TV and in a couple classes he’d gotten at Red Cross class, tied together with a dash of bullshit. The recipe was just good enough for the heavily armed man to let him get a little closer.
The wounded cop was hurt badly, but he was strong enough to hang on. His uniform was ripped open at the waist and shredded all the way down to the knee. When the man saw his fellow officer escort Cole to him, he opened his eyes wider and said, “I think it’s got rabies or something. My leg feels li—like it’s burning.”
Making a loose fist around an eyedropper, Cole leaned forward until his hand was over the wound, then tightened his fist to spray some liquid from the dropper onto the wound. “Keep his head up,” he said. “It’ll help him stay awake.”
The man on the sidewalk made a sound as if someone had tightened a belt around his injury. He held onto his breath for a moment and then let it out as if the invisible belt had been loosened. “Burning stopped,” he sighed. Cole bent down to hear him better.
“I don’t know what you did, but thanks, man,” the cop said. The frantic edge to his expression had been dulled and his muscles no longer looked as if every last one of them was pulled taut.
From there, Cole made the rounds to anyone else he could find who looked wounded badly enough to be in danger of becoming a Half Breed. According to Paige, little nips or cuts didn’t matter, but if a wound looked just shy of fatal, the Half Breed infection would take root.
Somewhere along the line he was joined by the woman he’d helped when he and Paige first arrived in Kansas City. The female officer had received some treatment for the minor wounds she’d gotten, and now insisted on escorting him to all the other wounded she could find. When he’d treated the worst cases, he handed her one of the larger turkey basters and said, “Squirt this stuff onto as many more wounds as you can find. It’ll keep them sterile until they can be stitched up.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Another ambulance had wailed down the street and was rolling into the middle of the commotion. “The pros are here, so I’ll give you room to work.”
“You did some great work yourself. Got a name?”
Fortunately, he was spared the task of deciding if he should give his real name or come up with a fake one. As the paramedics spread out to help the wounded, the freshest batch of cops barked for all civilians to clear the scene. Cole followed the order, wondering if it had been a mistake to distribute the solution. It had only taken a few minutes, but his gut told him he’d wasted too much time.
Paige was still out there with that Full Blood.
She could be lying wounded somewhere waiting for him.
Maybe she was already dead.
As soon as he got to the Cav and pulled open the driver’s door, a Mongrel poked his head out from under the vehicle’s battered back end.
“You’ve got a fan club,” Ben said.
“Any more Half Breeds around here?”
“Not for a mile or so.”
“Can you find Paige and that Full Blood?”
“Most of us went to lend your partner a hand. I can take you to her.”
Cole turned his key in the ignition. “Then let’s go.”
The Mongrel skittered ahead like a shadowy mirage.
Chapter 30
Paige hung onto her weapons with a grip that was nearly tight enough to drive the thorns in the handles all the way through the tops of her hands. Liam’s back was wide as a bull’s, and it took nearly everything she had to keep from being thrown.
The city rushed by on all sides. Pavement flowed under her like a whitewater current. Buildings, cars, people, streetlights, glowing neon, brake lights, more buildings, more cars, all of it flew past in a stream that overloaded her senses and caused her stomach to clench. When Liam leapt over something in his path, she flopped onto her side and cried out as the tendons in her shoulders and wrists threatened to snap. She tried to flatten herself against Liam’s back but was almost thrown off again as the Full Blood dug its claws into the pavement and came to a stop.
Paige slid along Liam’s back, hit his shoulders and felt her body swing into the air. Her left hand came away from her weapon, but her right remained locked. In fact, even when she dropped back down to bump against Liam’s side, her wounded arm held fast. The savage bite from the Half Breed had already healed to a set of jagged scratches. But while she didn’t feel any pain in that limb, she couldn’t feel much of anything else either.
They were on an interstate.
She didn’t know which interstate, but the road was wider, elevated, and filled with a steady stream of cars. Liam wanted to pick the sickle from his back with his teeth, but Paige plucked the weapon free and drove it back into a thick section of meat at the base of his neck. He tried to shake her off, forcing her to push the weapon in as far as it could go and hang on.
The Full Blood reared up then and made a sound like a train being derailed. His front paws flailed in the air as Paige fought to stay in place. Her feet dangled more than a yard off the pavement as she used every muscle she could to jerk the machete downward like a giant lever embedded behind his shoulder. The crude blade tore through the meat in his back, causing the massive werewolf to drop back to all fours, angle his head to one side, and sink his front claws into the pavement. A honking car sped by to clip Liam’s leg just as he turned to nip at her. Paige swung around and out of his reach, and was just quick enough to avoid a second snapping attempt.
Liam roared and ran straight down one lane of the interstate. Several cars skidded to avoid him, but the Full Blood leaned into them and used his shoulder to knock them aside. Then, like a bear using the trunk of a tree to scratch an itch, he angled his back toward the cars to try and rid himself of his unwanted rider.
Paige kept her hands wrapped around the weapon grips but couldn’t use them as anything but handles to keep from dropping onto the road. When Liam lowered his shoulder to slam that half of his body into a bus, she barely managed to pull her lower body up and tuck it in so her legs wouldn’t be mashed against steel. Once she’d adjusted her weight on that side, Liam lowered his head and kicked his back legs up in an attempt to fling her toward an oncoming truck. Her left hand slipped from the handle of her sickle, but her right fist remained locked so tightly that she wondered if she would ever be able to open her fist again.