Extinction Agenda (4 page)

After cursing incoherently into his transmitter, Frank leapt away from the Half Breed, dropped into a crouch as soon as he landed, then sprang forward into an even higher jump that carried him along the frozen bank of the river. He barely sounded winded when he said, “The others had better be close.”

As soon as Cole was finished reloading, he found Frank through his scope and fired at the first hint of movement to come up behind the Squam. The Half Breeds had gathered too much steam, however, and his shot only caused another pretty pop in the snow. “Shit,” he said while lowering the rifle and flipping the safety. “They’re moving too fast for me to catch them.”

“There’s a big cluster behind Frank and to the left,” Paige announced.

Cole’s thumb flipped the safety off and he pressed his cheek to the rifle while keeping both eyes open. As soon as he found the group she was talking about, he sighted through the scope and fired two quick shots into the mass of fur and gnarled muscle. The Half Breeds scattered amid a series of grating yelps, leaving three of them behind. Two staggered and fell over, while the third hobbled and gnawed at a fresh wound in its flank that must have been put there by a round that went through one of the other two. Cole put it out of its misery with a shot straight through its face, which was a beauty to behold.

“I’ve got three Snappers left,” he said. “Should I load ’em up?”

“Don’t bother,” Paige told him. “Listen.”

A low rumble filled the air, which Cole could feel almost as much as hear. As the rumble became more rhythmic, a voice crackled over their earpieces.

“Raven One approaching. Targets in sight.”

Seconds later a sleek helicopter roared over the Skinners’ heads, then angled out toward the water. Cole saw that it was the same type of aircraft that had been brought down when he and Jessup had met up with Rico in New Mexico. After working more extensively with the IRD in recent months, he knew it was a modified NH90 Tactical Transport. It roared down to where most of the Half Breeds were gathered, hovering about twenty feet off the ground while a large barrel extended through the third window along the helicopter’s curved frame.

“Frank, clear out!” Cole shouted almost loud enough for his message to make it to the Squam without the earpieces.

Frank skidded amid a spray of dirty snow, changed direction and started retracing his steps. The Half Breeds closest to him scrambled and adjusted their course as well. So far, none of the werewolves were paying any attention to the helicopter. Leaping over the Half Breeds, Frank cleared a path for the aircraft’s gunner to open fire. The belt-fed machine gun sprayed hot lead onto the Riverfront, hitting more snow than Half Breeds as the helicopter swung around to keep the creatures from racing toward the riverboats anchored less than a block away. Rather than scatter again, the Half Breeds leapt up to sink their claws into the side of the helicopter.

“Can you take any of them out?” Paige asked as she watched the helicopter through her binoculars.

Cole looked through his scope but was having a hard time keeping the bobbing aircraft in view. “It’d be a wild shot. Even if I hit one of them, there’s a chance I could punch through the helicopter.”

“Shit. This is why we should always work up close,” she grunted while packing up the few things she’d brought along. “I told these Army guys not to rely too heavily on guns, but do they listen to me? Nooooo!”

“So they
are
Army?” Cole asked while securing his rifle. “I still haven’t gotten a straight answer on that.”

“You know what I mean. Let’s just get down there before somebody hits Frank.”

The Skinners carried their equipment to a four-door car with Illinois plates. Since it wasn’t a Cavalier, Paige didn’t seem to care whether she drove it into a wall. Since it wasn’t their old Cavalier, specifically, she barely seemed to care what model or make it was. Once their stuff was loaded, she climbed in behind the steering wheel and started the engine. The moment his back hit the seat, Cole was reaching for his safety belt.

Near the Riverfront, the chopping sound of the machine gun competed with the thumping of the helicopter’s blades as Half Breeds barked and screamed up at the aircraft. Soon those sounds were joined by the screech of metal being peeled away and the whine of an engine straining to compensate for additional weight. Cole looked back and saw several werewolves dangling from the helicopter and kicking as they were lifted farther off the ground.

“They’re trying to bring it down,” he reported.

Paige shook her head and gritted her teeth while driving to a nearby off-ramp. “Of course they are. They always do. Why the hell do they make us give those stupid briefings if nobody listens to us about little things like how fast Half Breeds are or how high they can jump?”

“Because Adderson already thinks he knows everything?”

Most times, just hearing the name of the man in charge of the IRD was enough to make Paige’s mood worse than usual. “Bingo,” she said. “Keep them updated on what we’re doing. Hopefully that’ll keep them from shooting us.”

“Raven One, this is Cole. Paige and I are driving down to the Riverfront.”

When there was a long pause before he got his answer, Cole rolled his eyes and added, “Over.”

“Maintain a safe perimeter until we clear these things out. Over.”

“Frank’s still down there!”

“I think they know where I am,” Frank said through the earpiece. This time his voice was strained, which meant he must have been doing a lot more than running and jumping.

Cole didn’t have to search for long before he spotted Frank hanging from the rear leg of a Half Breed that had embedded its claws into the lower edge of the chopper. After a few pulls and a couple sharp jabs from his claws, the Squam convinced the werewolf to let go so it could twist around to snap at him. He pushed away from it as soon as he started to fall. Both he and the Half Breed dropped toward the pavement, but only Frank was agile enough to turn in midair to land on his feet. The Half Breed thumped heavily on its side, and would have broken its legs if they hadn’t already been snapped along with the rest of the bones in its body during its initial transformation. Despite the awkward landing, it flopped over and stood up so it could howl and roar along with the rest of the creatures.

“Come and get me,” Frank hissed. “Now!”

It was tough to read expressions on a Squam’s face or in a voice that sounded like two dry blocks rubbed together, but there was no mistaking Frank’s urgency. Paige focused even harder on the road and swerved toward the Riverfront. The helicopter gunner unleashed a steady torrent of automatic fire that should have shredded the Half Breeds. Although some of the creatures fell and were subsequently hacked to pieces by the large caliber rounds, most of them were batted around and enraged by the insistent gunfire. Those were the newer breed that had thicker hides and matching sets of tusks protruding from upper and lower jaws. Paige steered directly toward them, knowing that Cole would brace himself for the inevitable impact. Before they got close enough to worry about scraping creatures off the windshield, the car’s headlights splashed over a tall figure that landed in front of them.

Frank was dressed in thick canvas pants and several layers of thermal material that encased his body without doing much to hinder his movement. The headlights illuminated the pale yellow and tan scales covering his arms and glinted off of his darker yellow eyes. When Paige threw the car into a sideways skid, he moved back far enough to clear a path and then opened the rear passenger door to climb inside. “I think this is all we’ll flush out tonight,” he said, “but that gun won’t kill them all.”

“I know,” Paige replied while slamming the car into a lower gear. She tore away and headed back to the ramp and onto the highway. Not only had the IRD set up roadblocks to keep the overpass clear, but the helicopter swung around to fire at the remaining Half Breeds until the wave of creatures moved away from the Skinners.

Even after the roadblock, traffic was light on I-64. Once St. Louis and the river were behind them, Illinois stretched out ahead. A year ago Cole would have been glad to be back in the state where he’d spent the initial part of his career as Paige’s partner. In more recent times, however, the two of them had wandered so much that it hardly felt as if they had a home anymore. What hit him even harder was that if they returned to Chicago, they wouldn’t have anywhere to go. Rasa Hill was gone, and even Steph’s Blood Parlor had been torched during the Nymar uprising that resulted in most Skinners being placed on federal and state Most Wanted lists.

After the events surrounding the Breaking Moon, Cole and Paige hadn’t settled in one place long enough to call it home. The IRD provided them with quarters when they were close enough to a base within Adderson’s jurisdiction. Every now and then Cole found himself thinking back wistfully to the weeks he’d slept in an old walk-in freezer at the condemned restaurant he’d only known as Rasa Hill. To this day he still wasn’t certain if the faded lettering on the front of that building spelled Rasa or Raza.

“You are quiet,” Frank said.

“I’m driving,” Paige snapped.

The Squam pulled in a rasping breath. “You are always quiet. I meant Cole. Being silent this long usually means something’s wrong.”

Cole looked over to Paige, who seemed to have expected his glance. They didn’t have to say a word to each other before she let out a heavy breath and nodded to him.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you can say it to me,” Frank told them. “I deserve that much for putting my life on the line as living bait for you and those soldiers.”

“Not living bait,” Paige told him. “Scout.”

“Scouts run ahead and look for things,” Frank grunted. “I have to dodge bullets and hang from helicopters.”

“Scout plus?”

Although Frank’s yellow eyes were covered by translucent lids, they were still capable of conveying plenty of emotion. When Cole glanced back at the Squam, he could relate all too well to the frustration he saw in them.

“The answer to your next question is no,” Cole told him. “Being with her never gets any easier.”

Chapter Two

T
he IRD had their mobile outpost set up in Collinsville, which was a short drive from St. Louis. The outpost consisted of two large campers, three covered trucks, and two helicopters. By the time Paige parked between the campers, another helicopter was returning from the St. Louis Riverfront. Its machine gun had been pulled inside and the landing gear lowered so it could touch down and unload the three soldiers who had been riding inside. Judging by the spring in their step, the men hadn’t left the helicopter to engage any Half Breeds. Although none of the higher ranking officers acknowledged Frank with more than a careful glare, the soldiers all sought him out so they could give him a grateful nod or wave. Frank’s thin, reptilian lips curved into something of a smile when he accepted their show of respect.

Paige and Cole stood outside of the second camper, stomping their feet and enjoying the hot chocolate that had been served to them in a paper cup. It was a thin and watery mix, but Cole preferred it much better than the salty yellow water that was supposed to pass for chicken soup.

Not only was the wind brutally cold, but the sun had been down long enough for the smallest remnants of its light to have been long forgotten. Both Skinners stood in the bracing chill and turned their faces into the wind. Cole closed his eyes and savored the way his nose tingled and the wind whispered directly into his frosted ears. Embracing his humanity by reveling in the simpler things was a habit he’d picked up from Paige. One of the good ones.

“What’s wrong with you two?” asked a man who stood in the doorway to one of the campers. “After all that’s happening, you want to catch your death in the cold?”

“Be right in, Ma,” Cole said.

The man who’d scolded them was somewhere in his early forties, dressed in heavy black and gray fatigues, his light brown hair buzzed down to a perfectly even layer. Although Cole had been clipping his hair to within an inch of its life, the shears he used paled in comparison to the fine military precision that marked Major Adderson’s hair as well as everything else he wore, touched, or said. Obviously not threatened by the cold, Adderson scowled at the Skinners and stepped aside while propping the door open with the side of his boot.

Paige and Cole drank their hot chocolate until it was gone, but knew better than to make the major wait long before entering the camper. Inside, the vehicle had been stripped and refurbished with a row of computers and monitors along one side, several televisions bolted to the ceiling used to monitor national and local news broadcasts, and a communications setup on the other side. At the back of the confined quarters was a space that had probably contained a bed. Now there was a small square table with a built-in illuminated touch-sensitive screen. Mainly it was used to display maps and objectives for the various IRD operations in which Cole and Paige had taken part. As soon as the Skinners were inside, Adderson led them back to join the two men who sat there.

“This has been a long couple of days,” the major said, “and we all look like hell.”

Cole chuckled at that. Compared to Adderson, he and Paige always looked like hell.

Paige crumpled up her paper cup and tossed it into a small receptacle that Cole hoped was a trash can. “If you guys want our help with these things, you gotta start listening to us!” she declared.

Adderson eased down onto a little stool bolted to the floor and sighed, “Do we, now?”

“Yes. Someone could have been killed. Just ask your pilot.”

A skinny young man wearing dark khakis and a baseball cap arched his back to work out a kink. Although the cap bore a Marine Corps emblem, the rest of his uniform was marked only by his rank on one shoulder and an IRD patch on the other. The Inhuman Response Division’s insignia was a half skull and half wolf’s head beneath crossed assault rifles on a field quartered into red and gray sections surrounded by a gold rope. The letters IRD were stitched on one side, and USA stitched on the other. “I don’t know what mission you were on,” he said, “but I wasn’t about to crash.”

“What about when that Half Breed clamped onto your helicopter?”

“That’s in my report, lady.”

“I’m sure it was. I’m not trying to call you out on anything. Just tell me one thing.”

Although Paige had made her intentions clear, the pilot still eyed her as if she were doing her best to get him in trouble in front of his boss. “I bet I can tell you plenty of things, honey.”

“Hendricks!” Adderson barked.

The pilot nodded toward his commanding officer and then met Paige’s eyes when he said, “I mean . . . ma’am.”

Paige walked up to the pilot, stood toe-to-toe with him and then leaned her chin forward just enough to make it seem she might try to bite his nose off. “Tell me how high a Class Two shifter can jump.”

When Hendricks looked over to Adderson, all he got was a steely glare. Shifting his eyes to Paige, he said, “Approximately five to six meters.”

“That’s what you were told when we made that first run into Nevada,” she replied. “It was wrong then and it’s still wrong now! Cole and I have told you as much as we can, but you still stick to your same damn guidelines.”

“We’re working on definitive profiles of all of these creatures,” Adderson said. “Your input is appreciated, but it’s not consistent. Until we can lock in some parameters for what we’re dealing with, we’ll work with the knowledge we have.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be able to deal with new intelligence as it comes in?” Paige asked.

“Sure, but when it changes according to who’s giving it, we have to take it with a grain of salt. Would you like to debate this further or shall we continue with the debrief?”

After shooting a disgruntled look in Cole’s direction, she crossed her arms, leaned against one of the monitors and allowed the soldiers to continue. For the next several minutes the pilot and crew from the helicopter gave their reports on what happened at the Riverfront. Then it was Cole and Paige’s turn to let them know what they did as far as the Half Breeds were concerned. When that was done, Adderson wrapped up by clapping his hands against the table and declaring, “We were called in to get a good idea as to how many Class Twos were positioned near the Riverfront and that’s what we did. Correct?”

Reluctantly, Paige nodded.

“Don’t give us the silent treatment, Miss Strobel. Is that what we did or isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Half Breeds aren’t exactly hard to find. Considering how the balance has shifted over the last few months, it’s tough to say what’s going on. Cole and I seriously need to get out there and see what’s happening so we can pass on some better information to you guys.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

Every eye was focused on Paige. Most of the soldiers respected what they did and had a good idea as to what they could offer, but they mainly treated the Skinners as just another thing that had gone wrong with the ecosystem.

“We could use some funding for supplies and weapons,” she said. “Maybe some transport to—”

“Our funding is limited as is,” Adderson cut in. “If you’d like to sign on as official members of the IRD, you’d have access to transportation as well as resources, including provisions and weaponry.”

“We don’t need your weaponry,” Cole said. “If anything, you need ours.”

“What’s that mean?” Hendricks asked. “Unless you missed it, we dusted plenty of those dogs tonight.”

“Shooting them is one thing,” Cole retorted, “killing them is another. Haven’t you realized that by now? They can take a lot of damage and shake it off unless you stick around to do the job right.” Recognizing the cocky glint in the pilot’s eye, he added, “And in case you missed it, I was dropping those things with one shot.”

“Enough, Cole,” Paige hissed.

“This isn’t bragging, Paige. It’s fact. These guys act like they’re the big men on the block, but we’re the ones that have been doing this since before anyone knew what a Half Breed was. And it
is
a Half Breed! Not Class One, Two, Three, Four, or Ten! When we shoot one of those things, it stays down. For every one or two you guys chop up with a thousand rounds fired from a helicopter, you’re letting six or seven sneak around to flank you. Half Breeds aren’t the smartest, but even they know how to take advantage of an opening when you give it to them.”

“Now that you mention it,” Adderson said, “some upgrade to our ammunition would be outstanding. I’m sure you could arrange that.”

Paige’s elbow jabbed Cole’s ribs like the business end of a stake.

Adderson slowly approached the Skinners. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how valuable those rounds would be if they were placed in the hands of one of our elite fire teams. In fact, I believe we could have wiped out every last shifter on that Riverfront. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Maybe, but we can’t exactly mass produce those things,” Cole explained.

“Perhaps we could. That is, unless you’re refusing to help outfit the IRD with supplies that could be considered vital to our long-term success.”

So far, despite the suspicion leveled at them by the uniformed soldiers and the constant pressure to sign up with the IRD on a long-term basis, Cole had been proud to serve with them. He couldn’t help but feel ashamed when he said, “I can’t do that.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Can’t promise more of those rounds. Rico was the one who put them together, and he—”

“Fine,” Adderson grunted. “Any more to report?” Since nobody spoke up in the fraction of a second he gave them, the major said, “Then get back to your duties. I want to have a word with our specialists.”

There wasn’t much space within the camper, but the five soldiers who remained in it sat at workstations or stood in front of monitors as if they were the only things left in their world.

“Walk with me,” Adderson said as he led the way outside. Cole and Paige followed him to a spot several paces from any of the other soldiers. The major fished a cigarette from a pack he’d pulled from his breast pocket and lit it with a Zippo.

“Does that thing have the IRD symbol on it?” Cole asked as he nodded toward the lighter. “If so, I want one.”

Smirking around the cigarette clamped between his teeth, Adderson held the lighter to show the hula girl engraved on its side. “Sorry, Cole. I can probably have one made up for you if you decide to sign up for the long haul.”

“We are in it for the long haul, sir. Couldn’t you even throw us one of those patches?”

“Collector, huh?”

“How about a T-shirt?” Paige asked as she rubbed her arms. “Or maybe some action figures? Any other way you guys want to market a supposedly secret organization?”

“Identification is all it is,” Adderson told her. “A man needs to know he’s part of a unit, and the higher-ups need to be able to identify that unit with a glance. Goes all the way back to . . .” He puffed on the cigarette and shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. Goes back a long ways.”

“Plus it looks cool,” Cole said.

“That it does.”

Although Paige was clearly freezing, she stepped away from the heat spilling out of the vehicles so she could lower her voice when she said, “We can’t continue with these hit and run things.”

“Agreed. When was the last time you’ve seen a Class One?”

“A Full Blood? Not since Atoka.”

That was a lie and Cole knew it. The last time they’d seen a Full Blood was in Finland when they squared off with Liam. He still had nightmares about just how many times he’d almost been killed that night. Once the adrenaline wore off, it wasn’t so easy to say if he’d acted bravely or with extreme stupidity.

“That town is still being held by one of those things,” Adderson said. “One of our teams reported one major sighting before we lost contact. From what you’ve told us and from what we’ve observed, it seems that those Class Ones are controlling the Class Twos.”

“The Full Bloods are creating the Half Breeds,” Paige said. “That’s how it’s always been. Only now they’re creating Half Breeds without having to attack and infect each and every victim. The range for that seems to be between a quarter and an eighth of a mile. I told you this when we first agreed to work together.”

Adderson wheeled so quickly around to face her that Cole almost grabbed for the spear strapped to his back. Paige was surprised as well, but kept her instincts in check before they got her shot by at least half a dozen Marines.

“We’re not working ‘together,’ ” Adderson said. “You two work for me.”

“Is that how it is?”

“After all I’ve done to cover your asses and keep the rest of you Skinners out of the fire where the police, FBI, and ATF are concerned, yes. You’d damn well better believe that’s how it is.” His next words slid out of him like the cigarette smoke curling from his nostrils. “If you’d sign up with us in an official capacity, then you would of course be assigned a rank and could command specialized troops to help you in any number of missions that you would design.”

“Why are you so intent on getting us to sign up?” Cole asked. “Do you get some sort of bonus?”

“Honestly, I’d be able to command this entire team more efficiently. I’d also be able to explain to my superiors why I’m bringing along civilians on highly classified military operations. Funny how the brass tends to get real picky about procedure when the rest of the world is sliding into hell, but if we turn to anarchy, then the whole game’s over.”

“So you are a recognized branch of the military,” Paige said.

Despite the attack helicopters, campers stuffed full of high-tech equipment, Marines and Army personnel behind him, Adderson somehow managed to keep a straight face when he told her, “I’m not able to confirm or deny that.”

Shaking her head, Paige said, “He wants to be able to tell us where to go and what to do, Cole. More than that, he wants to study our weapons and probably us as well. Didn’t you have your chance when you had Cole on the operating table?”

“He was taken from our facility before we could make an incision.”

Those words alone were enough to make Cole’s gut clench. More specifically, the memory of what was wrapped around his gut made him clench. The Nymar tendrils were still there, but he’d learned to deal with the cinching pain reflexively tightening around him. He felt better after some rest, but it was still easier if he just didn’t think about the part of him that had been infected by the vampire spore.