The reply came from one of the Marines above him. “Used the last of it up yesterday, sir.”
“If there’s more specialists in the city,” the other shotgunner offered, “then we could—”
“We could waste a lot of time on a gamble that they’re carrying the exact supplies we need,” Adderson snapped. Pointing to the second shotgunner and the Marine who’d spoken up earlier, he said, “You two stay here and dress the wound. If he starts to turn, you’re to put him down immediately. Understood?”
“Yes sir.”
The orders were taken without resentment or a second thought. That didn’t mean Adderson didn’t feel any pangs upon issuing them, however. Referring to his own troops like animals went against every instinct in his body but was a necessary evil in a world that had been fucked up beyond his ability to repair it. After signaling for the rest of the team to go down the rest of the stairs and sweep the next room, he brought the radio to his mouth and said, “Any Ravens in the vicinity of Zone Four?”
After a brief pause, Hendricks replied, “Never got too far from you, Major. Need a lift?”
“What’s the status on that special delivery from up north?”
“Should be arriving within the hour. Over.”
“And what about that Class One?”
“Ripping the hell out of a park, but he’s awfully mobile. Doesn’t seem to want to get too far away from those specialists, though.”
“Do you have gunners?” Adderson asked.
“Down one after that last howl.”
“Replenish your supply and pick up as many troops as you can. I’m bringing one along with me, so come and get us ASAP.”
“What’s the plan from there, sir?”
When Adderson pressed the radio’s button, he felt like he was ready to crush the device in his hand. “We point every barrel we’ve got at that fucking Class One and burn it down.”
“Roger that.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Cole had never been to a therapy session.
Even when things got a thousand miles past stressful at Digital Dreamers, as deadlines crept in and forum trolls were anxiously awaiting a game they could rip apart and criticize while playing it online, he’d never felt the need to undergo any sort of counseling to exorcise his demons. And more recently, when he was introduced to what very well could have been real demons, he still hadn’t considered doing much of anything that would be considered therapeutic. Injecting the healing serum into his arm had always gone a long way toward putting him into a bleary, vaguely dizzy sense of mind that was good for a solid night’s sleep but was never enough to cool the searing heat that lanced through the base of his skull like a hot knife. That same headache plagued him now in a way that was a strange reminder of his days as a game designer. Funny how building death-match levels and running for your life from shapeshifters could trigger the same basic stress pains. And after so much practice with being spread too thin, he’d never come up with a better way to relieve stress other than the few moments of respite he found in the dark with Paige. Getting behind the grips of a belt-fed machine gun bolted to the window of an NH-90 helicopter flying in low above the streets of Shreveport was a real close second.
The Half Breeds were out in force. Packs ran down every street, exploded from every alley, and roared up at him from nearly every window along what had been a business section of town filled with strip malls and chain restaurants. He’d never been to Shreveport, so he didn’t know what that section of town had looked like before the Breaking Moon, but he knew what it looked like now: the best shooting gallery ever conceived. As soon as he saw a four-legged shape come into view, he aimed at it and fired. The machine gun rattled in its heavy frame, making a stuttering mechanical roar that filled his ears and brain with a numbing thump. Glass shattered. Bricks exploded. Cars rocked. Cement cracked. Most important, Half Breeds skidded out of control and were knocked around as if swept up in a powerful wind. As per the instructions he’d been given during his crash course in IRD training, Cole swept the gun back and forth until the Half Breeds stopped moving or fell apart into more than one piece. As the pilot banked steeply to round a corner, he eased off the trigger and caught his breath. Paige sat on one of the folding benches with two other IRD troops, all of whom looked at Cole behind cautiously raised brows.
“I needed that,” was all he had to say.
Paige gave him a quick upward nod and replied, “When’s my turn?”
“Better save the ammo,” the soldier sitting beside her said. “We’ll need it once we get closer to the LZ.”
“Will we beat the others there?” Cole asked.
“Everyone else that came in with you should be driving straight across town to meet us. They should be waiting for us.”
“Driving is faster than flying?”
The soldier nodded once. His darkly tanned face twisted into a mildly amused expression that showed good humor despite the fatigue that wore at every inch of his weathered skin. “When there ain’t no traffic or cops around to get upset if you mount curbs or drive through the occasional yard, driving is pretty damn fast. Plus we’ve got to slow down when that machine gun is blazing away. Gives you better chances to hit something.”
“Oh stop looking at me like that, Paige,” Cole grunted as he flipped the safety on and set the gun barrel into the bracket that held it in place when it wasn’t in use. “I took out plenty of those things.”
“No explanations needed, sir,” the IRD soldier told him. “Every one of those things were headed toward the primary LZ, which means they meant to put the hurt on the troops already there. We’ll need all the breathing room we can get.”
“You don’t have to call him sir,” Paige chided the soldier. “He was probably just pretending he was in a video game when he was firing that thing.”
“You specialists may not have an official rank,” the man replied, “but we all know what you guys do with them sticks you carry. None of us mind treating you with the respect you deserve.”
“Tell that to your bosses,” Paige sighed. “I have a feeling our days of going where we please are over.”
“Not if the major has anything to say about it. Ever since you left, he’s been all over the—”
The soldier was cut off when something slammed into the side of the helicopter with enough force to send it wobbling perilously close to an office building. The others tucked their heads down and secured themselves as they’d been trained to do, but it wasn’t a routine affair for the Skinners. Cole and Paige did their best to keep from falling over as the helicopter spun through two complete rotations before it was pulled back onto a steady course. Before the pilot could get them right again, the craft listed to one side as its fuselage was torn open to the screeching cries of metal meeting claws.
Grabbing onto the machine gun’s mounting, Cole pressed his back against the wall and looked straight across to the side door. Light from outside as well as streams of cool air poured in through four sets of openings created by the claws dragging through the fuselage. Another set of claws had punctured the metal a bit higher and to one side, only to curl inward as the helicopter launched into a series of tight, waggling maneuvers.
“Hang on,” the pilot shouted. “Gonna try to shake it off!”
The only reactions on the soldiers’ faces were a few closed sets of eyes and a whole lot of focus as they tried not to think about what was attempting to get at them. Cole couldn’t do much more than that because he knew if he let go or allowed his muscles to relax, he’d find himself skidding straight toward the wrong side of that cabin. Before too long the pilot straightened the aircraft’s course.
“Are we clear to fire?” one of the soldiers asked.
“That’ll just rile it up,” the pilot replied. “Let me take her down before you give that shaggy bastard a reason to kick.”