Demon Accords 10: Rogues (28 page)

“So any ideas on how to handle it?” Hollis asked.

The kid pulled a small pad of paper and wrote on it with a Sharpie, Stacia looking over his shoulder.  She nodded as he handed it to Hollis, whose eyes flared before he, too, nodded.  He passed it to Cochran, who studied it and then handed it to Buck after taking a picture of it with his smartphone.

Buck looked at the pad. 
There are at least two weres on this side of the minefield with us, listening to us and waiting.  We should flush them out and kill them before going any further. Leave no enemy behind and all that. When everyone is ready, I’ll send Draco to birddog them.  ?????

Buck looked back up to see half the team pulling their phones and looking at the photo Cochran had just sent.  They showed it to their partners.

“So, clearing the field.  How you want to play it?” Hollis said, a little loudly and maybe overacting a bit.

“Draco,” Declan called out.  A short cry came from the ceiling behind them as the dragon dropped off his perch and glided down on giant bat wings.  Pulling up sharply, Draco landed smoothly on the machinery nearest Declan, then stretched his neck down to nuzzle his boss.

Declan grabbed the horn-covered head in both hands and leaned close to the toothy maw.  He stayed like that for a few seconds, then patted the monstrous brow.  Draco shook out his wings and gave a loud chirp before launching back into the air.

“Okay, get ready, everyone,” the kid said, watching as his creature climbed back to ceiling height.  The bat wings flapped as Draco circled around twice, coming close to the suspended payloads of metal and concrete.  Suddenly, he folded his wings and dove back behind them, straight between two massive hulks of metal, a bloom of flame roaring out to light the darkness.

A sharp yelp and a snarl sounded before a big furry shape jumped out from the metal canyon it had been hiding in and into the open. 

The four men at the back of the group had the clearest shots and all four opened fire, green laser beams targeting the speeding beast.  It was fast, and they missed with at least half of their shots.  The other half hit, though, tearing through it with authority.  The werewolf piled up and slammed into a support post, lifting its head in time to receive a final round through its eye socket.

“Reload,” one of the quad of men said and two of them pulled partial mags and replaced them with fresh ones from their assault vests. Then the other two followed suit.

That’s when the second werewolf jumped over a stack of pallets and landed in the middle of them all.

The wolf, gray with big swatches of brown, landed right next to Devany and instantly chomped down on the young deputy’s thigh, throwing him like a rag doll.

Hampton, who was facing away from the action, got knocked down on his face and held down by the massive wolf that partially stood on his body.  Buck lifted his shotgun, but there was no clear shot with all the agents in his line of fire.

Stacia dropped her shotgun and grabbed the tomahawk hanging down Declan’s back.  The wolf was already savaging another agent, its jaws locked on the poor man’s left arm and shoulder.

The custom hawk came out of its kydex sheath with a rasp as she wove around Declan.  The wolf threw the mangled agent away and spun around to face this new sound.

It was just in time to catch the silver and steel custom fighting ax in its shoulder, causing it to flinch and yelp in pain.  Her left hand slapped out to palm heel strike the wounded shoulder, which helped the hawk come free from the dense flesh.  Her follow-up strike came instantly, a fast rotary chopping motion that tore through its snout, the left hand again striking out into the incredibly painful wound while her right hand wound the ax back up for strike three.

Her thumb automatically stroked the haft of the hawk, the action ingrained by countless repetitions forced upon her by a deceased friend named Trenton.  The deceptively simple thumb motion spun the head of the tomahawk one-hundred, eighty degrees around, leaving the short, sharp, reinforced spike front and center just in time to punch through the were’s superdense skull and deep into its brain.

She automatically pulled the hawk free and hit it again.  And again.  Then she stepped out around to the werewolf’s side and, spinning the ax again, chopped through the spinal cord.

“Watch your assigned sectors!” Hollis yelled out.  “Koska, provide aid to Bundt.  Sarah, you help the deputy.”

Stacia stood up as the agents began to follow their orders and their training. She wiped the tomahawk on the dead were’s fur, trying to get as much sticky blood off as possible before turning to Declan.  He caught and held her eyes with his own, giving her a nod.  She nodded back and he turned around to the front, watching her sector for her, holding the shotgun that she barely remembered dropping.

Stepping closer to his back, she put the tomahawk into its sheath, pausing a moment to catch her breath, hand on his left, non-shooting shoulder, head tucked by his shoulder blade.  He kept his attention to the front, watching, while she stayed still just a moment longer.

She took a handful of deep breaths, then lifted her head and stepped around Declan to reclaim her shotgun.  He handed it over smoothly, gave her a quick glance, then set about mixing up more magic-infused Chaga tea in the short metal University of Vermont Winterfest insulated mug that came out of his ever-handy bag of tricks.

“Sip this, Devany,” he told the deputy, who was getting his wounded thigh bandaged by a female agent with obvious medic training.  The medic frowned at the young witch, but Devany had no qualms about following the kid’s instructions.  He sipped the tea, grimacing in pain.  Declan reclaimed the water mug and moved over to the other wounded man in time to see him shudder out a death rattle.  When he turned back to the deputy, Devany was slumping down, eyes fluttering shut.

“He’s going into shock,” the medic agent said.

“No, it’s the tea.  It dulls the pain and the rest of his senses.  It can also have a sedative effect,” Declan said.  “It might help him adapt to the virus.”

The medic sat back and looked at Declan in disbelief and a little anger.  “Nothing helps against the LV virus,” she said. She looked ready to argue it out.

“What does she mean?” Hampton asked.  He was unhurt, just dirty and a bit battered, but visibly upset by his friend’s condition.

“LV virus either accepts a new host or kills them,” Stacia said.  “It’s the primary mechanism for spreading Lycanthropy.  The tea might help, right?” she asked Declan.

“I had an ancestor who liked werewolves as pets. I remember reading that she used this kind of tea to help improve the odds of successful transitions,” Declan said with a sigh.

“He might die?” Hampton asked.

“He might,” Stacia said, moving over and sniffing at Devany’s wound.  It wasn’t a human-like action.

“If he does live, he’ll be one of
them,
” the medic said.

“He’ll still be Devany, but he’ll be a werewolf, too.  The key is learning to handle the dual nature.  It takes some time, and you’ve got to have the right instruction,” Stacia said. 

“How the hell will he get that up here?” Hampton asked.

“He’ll have to go to a pack,” she said, patting the worried deputy’s shoulder.  “I happen to be the assistant to the Alphas of the New England and Mid-Atlantic region,” she said. “He’ll have all the help he needs.”

“That’s new, isn’t it?  Mid-Atlantic?” Declan asked, watching his dragon circle above.

“There was some consolidation,” Stacia said.

“What’s that mean?” Buck asked.

“Means some dumbass alpha from a smaller pack challenged Brock Mallek and got hosed, would be my guess,” Declan said, looking down from the aerial display.  “We’re clear, by the way.  No more wolves hiding behind us.”

“How can you know that?” Hollis asked.

“He would alert me if anything was hiding,” Declan said, pointing up at Draco, who had grabbed onto a support strut with his wing claws and now hung in place, more than a little bit bat-like.

“Like the K9 guys in Afghanistan,” Buck said, looking up at the creature that looked like it ate canines.

“Yeah, kinda.  He doesn’t shed, though, and he won’t eat dog food,” the kid said.

“Ah, what does he eat?” Buck asked.

“I don’t actually know,” Declan admitted.

“That’s not very reassuring,” Buck said.

“Oh, I don’t think he eats meat or anything like that.  He’s basically an elemental, so his energy comes from his elements,” Declan said.

Stacia heard Hollis receive an order through his headset to move up close and monitor the conversation.  It sounded like someone she knew.  She moved her head enough to catch Declan’s eyes and rolled her own eyes toward Hollis’s helmet-mounted camera.  He gave her a tiny nod.

“What do you mean an elemental?” Hollis asked.  “What is he really? Where did he come from?”

“He’s… complicated,” Declan said.

“Complicated?  How so?” Hollis pressed.

“Long and very intricate story, Agent Hollis.  There’s even some math involved, and I’m not fond of math,” Declan said.  “Golden Ratios and stuff.  Hey, how about we clear the deathtrap and hunt down the rogues, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, Declan waved an arm at Draco to catch the dragon’s attention, then pointed at the field of hanging traps.  His fingers made an explosion motion like two people might do after a fist bump.

Instantly, the little dragon dropped off his perch and flew toward the forest of hanging ropes.

A molten stream of fire poured out of Draco’s mouth, illuminating the hanging objects, the entire ceiling, and most of the room as well.  Buck could feel the heat from down on the ground as the ropes holding aerial bombs flared into flame.  Draco flew through the ropes with sinuous ease, snaking between concrete blocks and chunks of machinery, breathing liquid fire in all directions.  As he arrived at the far end of the field of death traps, a man darted out from between two pallets.  He raised a shotgun toward the dragon, but the pallet next to his arm exploded into splinters as another gun fired two lightning-fast shots.

Buck heard a pump next to him, two tings of brass, and then two more quick shots as the man dove for cover.

“Fuckhead,” Stacia growled.

“Nice shooting,” Buck said.

“I missed,” she replied, pissed.  “These two barrels don’t shoot to the same point of aim.  I’m not used to it.”

“Doesn’t matter.  You beat him to the shot and made him take cover.  That’s a win,” Buck said, glancing at Declan.  The kid looked mad.  Objects started to drop from the ceiling, the first batch of ropes burned through.  The dragon was sweeping back through the unfired part of the ceiling, squirting fire at new targets.

Declan was watching his dragon and when it got closer, he whistled.  Immediately, Draco looked his way and the kid made a two-handed
bring it
motion.  Draco opened his jaws and breathed out a stream of flamethrower-quality death right at them.

Buck instinctively crouched, but nothing got near them.  Instead, the fire disappeared within two feet of the dragon’s mouth, just completely gone.  Declan nodded, satisfied, then looked across the minefield, which was rapidly filling with falling, smashing objects.  He pointed a hand at the stack of pallets Stacia had shot, and it exploded into flames, like a gasoline-fueled inferno, followed instantly by the stacks on either side of it.

“Did he just use the dragon’s fire to ignite those pallets?” Buck asked Stacia in a quiet voice.

“Yup.  Doesn’t touch his own reserves at all.  In fact, he’s charging back up right now,” she said in a similar whisper, nodding at the falling objects.  Buck, confused, looked closer.  Now that she pointed it out, he could see that something was weird about the way they fell.  Then it struck him.  Everything that fell barely bounced and hardly made much noise at all.  Certainly nothing like the first heavy roller.  The concrete floor had no other craters in it, just the first, yet concrete blocks and steel objects were falling like rain.  Buck watched a cinderblock hit fifteen feet away.  The block collapsed into a pile of rubble, but there was none of the violence of impact he expected.

“Taking some of the kinetic energy and storing it,” she said quietly with a glance at Hollis and Cochran.  Hollis was standing so his camera covered the kid, and Cochran was facing the burning pallets.

Buck realized she was confiding something to him that she didn’t want the DOAA guys to know.  There wasn’t a lot of trust here.

“Moving forward,” Declan said, glancing at the others before checking with his partner.  She finished thumbing top-up rounds into her gun and nodded.  Her bandolier was now only half full of stubby 12 gauge rounds.

The kid moved out onto the debris-strewn floor, eyes watching ahead, silver orbs beginning to spin around him and his lithe partner.

“I’ll stay with Dev,” Hampton said when Buck looked his way.  The medic, Sarah, was finished packing up and was moving back to her own partner.  Buck was torn between staying with his guys and seeing this through.

“Go on.  I trust that they wouldn’t go forward if something was left behind us,” Hampton said, slinging Devany’s shotgun over his own shoulder.  “I’m good.  Lots of silver firepower.”

With a nod, Buck moved out, following the witch and the wolfgirl, staying just back of the spinning orbs of metal.