“Kind of like a flying rodent ninja hit squad,” Cole said.
Jessup looked up from the knot he was tying and said, “Yeah. I guess that sums it up.”
“So you’re thinking of turning Cecile into one of those statues?”
“That’s the idea.”
“She seems like a good kid,” Cole sighed. “Shame to have her get taken out by these flying creeps and then get her guts sucked out.”
“I doubt this’ll kill her. We don’t know a lot about gargoyles, but if they had that kind of punch, they would have killed one or two Full Bloods over the years. Odds are a whole lot better they can contain one. Friend of mine did some hiking over in Hungary and found some statues that looked a lot like werewolves out in the middle of nowhere. Took enough pictures to find the scratches and smooth patch on the back later on, but he didn’t exactly know what he was looking at. We’ve always wanted to go back there, but the damn Gypsies would only chase us away again. I don’t even wanna know how he smuggled his camera back to the States. From what we can piece together in some old Skinner journals, we figure gargoyles migrated over here on a boat that passed through or originated from Greece on its way to the New World.”
“They’re from Greece?”
Jessup nodded while checking his guns, then dug out a shotgun kept under the seat in a specially crafted rack. It held the weapon in a hollowed space that would pass all but the most extensive inspections. “You heard of the Medusa myths?”
“You mean the reptile woman with snakes in her hair?” Cole asked. “I guess something’s gotta balance out the nymphs, huh?”
“Them myths came about the way lots of them do. Misinformation. As far as we can tell, Medusa was either the woman who crafted these things or first set them loose after stumbling on a nest buried deep somewhere. As for the snakes and such, I don’t know. Maybe the woman was just butt-ugly. All I can tell you is that here and now, these ugly little suckers are gonna save our butts once that Breaking Moon rises.”
Cole pulled in a deep breath and let it out. “I was just getting comfortable in here. Sure you don’t want to tell me some more about gargoyles and misinterpreted mythology?”
“There’s more guns under the seat. Ammo too. Fill up. Sounds like we’re gonna need it.”
Grabbing a few pistols, some preloaded magazines, and a shotgun, Cole said, “It sounds like someone’s already found Cecile.”
“It’s more than that,” Jessup grunted. “I wasn’t with that girl for long, but she’s not the sort to stir up whatever the hell is goin’ on out there. She would’ve just run away before the National Guard or whoever else is out there came for her. Besides, can’t you feel it?”
“Yeah,” Cole said while brushing his fingers against his scars. “There’s more than one Full Blood out there.”
“You ready for this?”
“Sure. There’s helicopters in the air, gargoyles slapping the windows, a werewolf howling, and now,” Cole added as a distinctive chatter crackled in the distance, “it sounds like there’s automatic gunfire. We’ve got some shotguns and weapons that require us to stand toe-to-toe and swing at a meat rendering plant.”
“But we got something they don’t.”
“Please don’t say courage,” Cole sighed.
Jessup held up the tube he’d tied, and showed him a smile that verged on the insane. “And there’s plenty more of this to be had. More than we’ll need if we play this quick enough.”
“How much of that stuff did you get?”
“Not what’s in here. It’s what’s out there we need to put to use.”
Cole looked outside where the frantic, nearly transparent flaps of skin and talons continued smearing their fluids on the truck. Since the window or hood hadn’t turned to stone, he could only assume that was a whole lot of slobber. “Can we at least point them in the right direction?”
“That’s the idea. Give them some live meat and they’ll take it. Gargoyles survive by leaving no witnesses. The more it fights back, the more they’ll try to bring it down, and nothing fights back more than a werewolf.” He started the truck and placed his hands on the wheel. “I don’t know what’s down this road either, but it’s big. We’re in this fight now, so should we sit here and whine about how things are going to hell or should we roll in to lend a hand?”
More than anything, Cole wanted to say something cool to that. Part of his old job had been to come up with catch phrases that fit nicely in the digitized mouths of his video game characters. The only thing to come out of his mouth now, however, was a shaky breath as he nodded his head.
Jessup pulled away from the cemetery. He didn’t gun the engine, take sharp turns, or even get the wipers going to clear a bigger spot on the windshield. He did nothing while driving up Scenic Road that could possibly upset or dislodge the creatures that had attached themselves to his windshield. The road was mostly straight and in good condition. If Cole squinted just enough he could trick himself into thinking he wasn’t moving at all. Apart from a few boxy little houses on one side of the road, all there was to see between the writhing bodies affixed to the glass was tall, dry grass and bushes that were too tough to die in the harsh New Mexican climate. He had almost calmed himself into believing he was looking through a dirty window instead of one covered by layers of squirming, living flesh. Stretched out and clinging with every talon it had, the gargoyle on the passenger window looked in at him with a face that could have been hastily drawn upon a dirt canvas. “What’s going on up there?” he asked.
Jessup leaned forward to look beneath the gargoyle clawing at the top of the windshield. “Don’t know, but it’s more than Full Bloods. Could be some Half Breeds. Just when I feel like I got a good handle on the number of them, they keep changing.”
“You can tell how many there are?”
“When you’ve had the scars for as long as I have, you’ll be able to read them better. Just take my word for it. There’s plenty of them and they weren’t here when we arrived.”
Outside the truck, road and scenery flashed by like a movie being played at the wrong speed. Cole’s brain was filled with plans of how he might deal with whatever was over the next rise, but every last strategy went out the window when a black helicopter crested the rise farther along the road, pivoted in midair and then veered toward the ground.
“Hang on!” Jessup shouted as he slammed his foot against the brake pedal.
Cole’s feet were already bracing against the floor and his free hand slapped against the dash. The truck skidded into a fishtail as its tires lost their grip on the road. All this time the helicopter seemed to hang about thirty feet in the air. When that frozen moment finally passed, the helicopter slapped against the ground in a shower of sparks as metal was torn asunder.
A shock wave rolled through the air, shaking the ground and throwing enough dirt and smoke toward the truck to make it even tougher to see through the windshield. Jessup fought with the steering wheel to keep from skidding off the road or slamming into a tree. Somehow the older man kept his composure long enough to bring the Ford to a stop. “You got that weapon I gave you?” When Cole didn’t answer, Jessup shouted, “You got it or not?”
“I’ve got it,” Cole replied. Since he’d been holding the short wooden blade in the fist that he used to brace against the dash, he wondered if he’d ever be able to pry it from his hand again.
The helicopter’s top rotor was still waggling after the one in the tail section had been brought to a stop by digging into the ground. Its body was shaking as well, but not just from the crash. There was movement inside the helicopter, but it was tough to make out details through the cracked canopy as well as the living stain on the truck’s window.