Although Cole had spent plenty of time at firing ranges when researching the video game shooters he’d helped design, that experience paled next to the crash course he’d been given by the snipers of the Inhuman Response Division. Although refusing to become official members of the IRD, he, Paige, and a few other Skinners had signed on as specialists with the military fire teams assembled to deal with threats like werewolves and Nymar. As it turned out, his video game experience had sharpened his reflexes and eye-hand coordination, making him proficient with sniper rifles. Either that, he’d thought, or his instructor had been boosting his ego by telling him as much. For the moment, his skill level was high enough to put a round just behind the shoulder of the lead Half Breed.
Not only did the werewolf drop, but its front end slapped against the ground and skidded as being smeared against the cement by a cruel, invisible hand. Its front paws scraped the ground and its head twisted around to send a piercing wail through the air. The bullet that caused all the commotion was a Snapper round. Since Teflon-coated rounds could punch a hole through them that was too clean to put a Half Breed down, and hollow points would only flatten against their skin before penetrating, Rico had taken it upon himself to build Snapper rounds. They were Teflon-coated hollow points filled with a mixture of diluted fragments melted down from the Blood Blade. Initial impact triggered an internal support to collapse, which delayed the flattening of the hollow point just long enough for it to crack open after making it through a Half Breed’s exceptionally tough hide. Then the round broke open with its titular snap and let the Blood Blade infused poison flow. Combined with the innate punch of a .50 caliber round, it was enough to drop a Half Breed no matter where it hit. Unfortunately, due to the limited supply of the poison and the time it took to craft the rounds, Snappers weren’t exactly standard issue.
Cole’s mouth formed half of a small grin as he pulled back the lever to chamber the next round. While the other Half Breeds were looking around for the source of the shot, he took quick aim at a cluster of three and fired. It was a grazing shot that didn’t allow the Snapper to do its thing, but produced a cool metallic explosion in the snow just past a werewolf’s head.
“They’re scattering,” Paige said.
“Ready on the backup.”
Hearing that through her earpiece, Paige dropped her binoculars and picked up an M-4 assault rifle without much of anything by way of special modifications. The overpass was about 250 meters from the Half Breeds, which put them within the weapon’s effective range. As soon as Cole fired his third Snapper into the flank of a Half Breed, Paige pulled her trigger in a quick rhythm that sent the M-4 rounds sparking against concrete, thumping into snow, and clipping the occasional werewolf. Blood was spilled, but not nearly enough to put the creatures down. However, she’d accomplished her goal of scattering the creatures before they overwhelmed Frank, which also gave Cole a chance to shove three more rounds into his rifle.
“There’s more on the way,” Frank said through his matching earpiece.
“Stay put,” Cole replied. “Just for two shots.”
Without a single word in protest, Frank remained where he was and watched as the Half Breeds scrambled to regroup and charge at the only target they could see. Even from a distance it was obvious that the Squam was coiling for a burst of movement. His entire body compressed until the tips of his splayed fingers dipped beneath the snow like a lineman getting ready for the quarterback to snap the ball.
Rather than try to find a single body through his scope, Cole picked a spot between the Half Breeds and Frank. The Half Breeds were hungry and too riled up to try anything more sophisticated than a head-on run at their target. As soon as Cole spotted something at the lowest edge of his magnified line of sight, he exhaled and squeezed the trigger. By the time the Brown Tactical bucked against his shoulder, a Half Breed was charging across the center of his sights. The Snapper round punched a hole through the back of the creature’s head, emptied the contents of its skull onto the ground and sent the werewolf skidding on its chest for another few feet. Cole opened his other eye so he could see the entire shoreline while retaining a hazy view through the scope. His next shot was taken quickly, using pure video game reflexes. His instructor would have slapped him on the back of the head for taking it, and Paige would have given him another jab for wasting a Snapper round, but none of that was necessary. His round tunneled into a Half Breed’s shoulder, doing enough damage to send the creature spiraling onto its side as it headed toward Frank.
Now that the two shots had been taken, Frank sprang into action. He leapt straight into the air to avoid the last uninjured Half Breed and came down with one large foot on top of the one Cole had winged. Although they couldn’t be seen from a distance, the Squam’s nails sprouted into claws, which he drove in between the wounded Half Breed’s ribs. The werewolf howled in pain as those claws sank home and the poison from the Snapper ripped through its system.
“You got that last one?” Paige asked.
Cole and Frank answered with a simultaneous, “Yeah.”
She set her rifle down and picked up the binoculars. Within seconds she spotted the others Frank had warned them about earlier. “I see two more.”
“Only two?” Cole asked. “No prob.”
“No. Two more packs,” Paige clarified. “One coming in from the arch and the other from those trailers.”
Cole looked toward the Gateway Arch and spotted a cluster of werewolves moving along the Riverfront. The other pack was swarming over and around a row of trailers left there after a festival that marked the city of St. Louis’s last attempt at conducting business as usual. The festival hadn’t been the bloodbath some people predicted, but it was cut short when three people went through the Breaking less than two hours after the music started. They were gunned down before they could hurt anyone, the festival was cancelled, and the trailers set up to sell apple cider and caramel apples were left behind as temporary obstacles for the werewolves that came toward the Riverfront and veered off sharply before getting anywhere close to Frank.
“Shit,” Cole grunted. “Frank, try to draw those things to you.”
“What more do you want me to do?” the Squam replied as the surviving member of the first pack lunged at him again.
Cole fired his third round at the Half Breed, but only caused a burst of snow to explode within two feet of the creature. “The other packs aren’t headed for you anymore. See if you can draw them away from those riverboats!”
The casino and restaurants were the main reason the Skinners were there. Despite added security to protect those who’d decided not to heed the countless warnings from local police and newscasters, packs of Half Breeds had claimed the Riverfront and killed dozens of people. Now, whether there were people in sight or not, the werewolves had become smart enough to know the boats were a perfect source for a quick meal.
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.”