“When we get outside,” Jessup said, “we need to keep moving or else these gargoyles will take us down. If one gets close, don’t waste time lining up a shot. Just swing. And don’t bother shooting them. Bullets will just give them a little rip and they’re used to that. We just need to point them in the right direction. Once a few of them lock up with a Full Blood, all the others should swarm in to help.”
“How do we get them to leave?”
“They’ll leave when they’re full or dead. If there’s any other way to get them to go somewhere, I don’t know what it is. Take this,” Jessup said while tossing the long fleshy sack he’d extracted from the gargoyle. “I’ll find more out there. You just need to run fast and try to get close to something that needs to be given a dose of Magic Shell.” Jessup loaded both of his pistols and removed a wooden hatchet from a set of loops on the inside of his vest. “You remember that stuff that you poured on ice cream? It hardened into a chocolate shell.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So …I love that stuff.” Without any more parting words, the older Skinner kicked open the truck door and jumped outside.
For a fraction of a second Cole considered taking the sane choice and staying inside the truck. That option was taken away as soon as a gargoyle that had been clinging to the roof dropped down and hooked its talons into the truck’s frame and seat to pull itself inside. From that angle Cole could see a second set of eyes placed on the upper edge of its body. Unlike the ones on its smeared face, those eyes were narrow, unblinking black slits. They were the calmest part of the gargoyle’s entire body, remaining focused intently upon their target.
Cole shoved his door open and nearly fell out of the truck in his haste to get away. He pushed the door shut at the same time the gargoyle inside launched itself at the passenger door. Both things collided, forcing the gargoyle to climb the interior of the cab and press its face against the glass.
From the outside the Ford looked as though it had grown a skin and was in the process of shedding it. Gargoyles clamped onto nearly every available bit of the truck’s surface area, pulling away to look up as if they were being peeled off by an unseen hand. By the time Cole had built up some power in his strides, the gargoyles were flapping the sides of their bodies to create enough of a breeze for liftoff.
“Look for casualties!” Jessup yelled while waving toward the downed helicopter.
Cole’s legs were churning to carry him away from the truck as fast as possible. When he looked back again, he couldn’t see a single gargoyle. Knowing better than to stop moving, he focused on the helicopter. The canopy was cracked and smudged with oil and dirt from the impact. Once the waning sunlight caught the canopy at the right angle, it shone upon the dark red hue and viscous texture of something that coated the inside of the cockpit. After so much time as a Skinner, he’d seen more than enough of it to be certain the substance was blood.
It was a helicopter similar to the one that brought Paige into Denver. During his long sleep in wing G7, he’d dreamt of that chopper plenty of times. It had landed on retractable gear, but this one didn’t have time for a proper touchdown. There were no markings. No weapons. Only a sleek fuselage and a sliding door on one side. Someone inside screamed and kicked at the canopy. As Cole drew closer to the cockpit, one foot smashed through, only to be twisted completely around as the distinctive snarl of a werewolf emerged from the craft. Before Cole reached the side door, someone from within the chopper pulled it open. He was a man cut from military cloth, complete with hardened features and a bulky frame beneath standard issue black and gray fatigues.
“Get out of there!” Cole shouted.
“No! Stand back. I can’t stop it!”
“But we can! Keep the goddamn door open!”
The soldier grabbed the door as the entire helicopter rocked with the weight of a creature that worked its way out of the crumpled front section. Farther down the road gunfire erupted in bursts, followed by the haggard, tortured voices of Half Breeds. Cole thought about Kansas City while diving through the door before the soldier closed it. The main compartment looked like a metal box with a series of steel posts running down its center. Collapsible seats folded down from the posts, some facing Cole’s side and others facing another side door. Toward the rear of the cabin, large windows were fitted with rigs made to hold machine guns to be mounted and fired from the helicopter. Once again he had research for a Sniper Ranger level to thank for his partial knowledge of modern armaments. “All right,” he said while grabbing onto one of the steel posts so he could maneuver through a cabin that was tilted worse than the floor of a fun house. “Close the door.”
The soldier had a rank insignia on one shoulder, the name BUDDIG stenciled onto a strip on his chest and a patch on the other shoulder. Since it was the most colorful thing on his uniform, the patch catch Cole’s eye. It was a circle divided into red and gray quadrants surrounded by gold rope. Two assault rifles were crossed behind a row of spears, all of which were above a symbol that was half wolf’s head and half skull. The red quadrant with the wolf’s head had the letters I.R.D. stitched into it, and the opposite gray quadrant had U.S.A. stitched beside the skull.
When the soldier lunged for the door, Cole dropped his shotgun, grabbed the soldier by the elbow and pivoted to fling him away from the open door.
“No, we have to get out!” the soldier yelled.
Outside, a building chorus of wailing, high-pitched shrieks closed in on the wreck. Without taking the time to look for a target, Cole swung the wooden blade toward the door and was immediately rewarded by a wet ripping sound. The gargoyle he’d shredded hit the dirt in front of the door and dragged itself away. Its wound wasn’t fatal, but it would have trouble getting back into the air. The other dozen or so that swooped in toward the helicopter weren’t having those difficulties.
They weren’t in a formation and didn’t seem to expend any effort in staying aloft. The group of gargoyles merely drew close together at the apex of their ascent and dove at him. Now that he knew what their second set of narrow eyes looked like, he imagined every single one of them were fixed upon him.
He shut the side hatch as best he could and turned around just in time to spot a Half Breed slinking from the cockpit. It had shreds of material hanging from its shoulders and neck and a long string of bloody saliva dangling from bared fangs. Although the creature was as deadly as it was terrifying, at least it was familiar. “Keep back,” he said to the soldier without taking his eyes off the Half Breed. The club Jessup had given him was clenched tightly in his left fist, and somewhere along the way he’d drawn the .38.
“I don’t know where it came from!” the soldier said as he backed toward the rear of the cabin. As he did so, he was forced to push aside or climb over the still forms of two other soldiers who’d caught the worst of the crash.
When the Half Breed lunged, Cole reflexively pulled his trigger. The pistol bucked in his hand, spitting three quick rounds into the werewolf’s head and neck. He knew better than to think that would be enough to stop it, so he fired once more and swung the wooden blade in an overhead stab that dropped straight down toward the Half Breed’s face. The creature twisted its neck sharply in a way that would have snapped any natural beast’s spine. This one merely dodged the incoming weapon, stared sideways at him and clamped its jaws around the blade. The Half Breed twisted its head away once the weapon sliced the inside of its mouth and staggered back. Cole knew he wasn’t going to get a better chance than that, so he fired his remaining rounds into its body just to steer it away from the shotgun he’d dropped earlier. Claws scraped against the tilted metal floor of the downed helicopter as the beast scrambled to regain its footing.