Marcus Pelegrimas - The Breaking

“Shit,” she whispered as she approached the bed. One quick tug on a finger told her two things: the hand was dead and it wasn’t attached to anything. Considering those facts, she didn’t bother sorting through the pile of stuffing and moved on to the next room.

The second bedroom might have been about the same size as the first, but it felt a lot smaller due to all the furniture jammed into it. There were two beds, both of which had been shoved aside and upended by whatever pulled up the floorboards to expose bare dirt in a spot roughly three feet across. The air in the room had the heavy stillness of a storm that had passed. Splintered remains of dressers and bed frames had been thrown to the sides of the room as if blown there by the same explosion that ruined the floor. Paige absorbed all of this with a single sweeping glance. The heat in her scars had spiked, making her hands reflexively tighten around the shotgun. Keeping perfectly still, she bent at the knees to put the weapon holstered in her boot within reach.

The hissing she’d heard was still present. It changed in pitch, shifting between higher and lower registers. As she inched into the room, the sound was accompanied by a grating rasp.

Not hissing, she knew then. Panting.

Light came in through a filthy window to create a mass of shadows along that wall. Taking a moment so her eyes could adjust, she spotted one shape that didn’t match the jagged edges and straight lines of all the broken furniture and cracked wood. Now she could see the shape swelling and contracting in time to the rasping pants. She might not have known what was causing the electric crackle through her scars, but the heat was different than what a Half Breed projected. It wasn’t intense enough to come from a Full Blood, but had the electric crackle that came from a Mongrel. Whatever the thing in the corner was, it studied her with every bit as much scrutiny as she studied it.

Cautious footsteps came from the hallway. She turned toward them using only the muscles it would take to angle her head and move a hand back to motion for Nadya to stop. The Amriany froze in her tracks and questioned her with a silent expression. Paige responded by pointing at the corner. It took a moment for Nadya to find the source of the panting, and when she did, she nodded and raised her FAMAS.

“No,” Paige said in a quick whisper. “I think it’s guarding something.”

“We leave it?”

“Just try to keep it from calling any others.” With that, Paige eased the shotgun to the floor.

The creature tensed and inched forward. When it emerged from the shadows of its corner, it showed itself to be smaller than one of the newer Half Breeds, with a leaner frame and a snout that twisted into a beak. As it opened its mouth to growl at her, the creature dug its hands into the floor, pushing curved claws through the boards. Its dark eyes fixed intently on her while blinking with flapping, vertical lids.

“I think it’s a Mongrel,” Paige whispered. “Or it used to be.”

“That is no Kushtime,” Nadya said. “Not like one I’ve ever seen.”

“No. There’s something wrong with it.” Paige couldn’t stop looking at its eyes. No matter how strange its body was, there was something in its eyes that brought her mind all the way back to Kansas City when Liam was dragged underground by one particular burrowing Mongrel. That creature’s name snapped into her mind almost immediately.

“Max?” Paige whispered.

A flicker of recognition drifted across the creature’s face, but was pushed back by something else. Its eyes darted toward a second shape in the corner of the room farthest from the door. Tucked away behind the foot of one overturned bed was a more recognizable horror. The Half Breed scraped at the floor and stared at Paige with wide bloodshot eyes. It was in its resting phase where most of its fur was still tucked away to expose pale, leathery flesh. Werewolves in that form shunned the sunlight but weren’t destroyed by it. As near as Paige had been able to figure, Half Breeds transformed simply by flexing whatever muscles were required to do so. The effort made their bodies tense to the point of trembling and drove them to become wilder than the wounded creatures they were. If the trait was given to them by design, it effectively shaped them into taut killers that were always snapping their jaws and full of nervous energy. Paige didn’t like to think of it that way, however, because the god she prayed to would never design such a thing.

As she reached for her boot, the Half Breed shifted its gaze to follow her hand. The creature didn’t have a way of knowing what she was reaching for. Half Breeds ran on instinct and pain. This one’s instincts drew it from the shadows even farther as its panting grew into a snarl. Max watched Paige as well and growled in a way that caused every other living thing in that room to take a step back. There was no doubting it now. A Full Blood had reshaped Max into this thing. Paige’s scars could feel it. She just wasn’t sure she could believe it.

Lowering her shotgun, she closed her hand around the grip of her machete. She felt the rush of adrenaline shoot through her as its thorns bit into her palm. The connection between herself and the weapon allowed her to make the blade narrower so she could ease it from the holster without making a sound.

The Half Breed stretched out a forepaw that looked more like the gnarled hand of an elderly man with nails that had been filed down to points. Muscles beneath its skin twitched spastically, tugging the corners of its mouth to reveal fangs coated with old blood that had caked on and dried to flaky rust. Its eyes were bloodshot and its chest swelled with the effort of hauling its body up onto all four legs. Its entire frame quaked when it leaned forward, and its eyes widened even more, as if the lids were being pulled back by fishhooks connected to the wall. Once Paige stopped moving, however, it followed suit.

“All right,” she said. “It’s definitely guarding something.”

“Maybe it is buried in the floor.”

Paige studied the floor carefully, focusing on the spot where the boards had been torn up. Easing a little flashlight from her pocket, she took a quick look at the edges of the hole. Layers of the foundation were visible, along with cement and thicker pieces of wood that had either been beneath the floor or fallen in later. That hole went all the way down to the dirt, which looked to have been turned and then piled back in. Careful not to shine the light into the faces of either shapeshifter, Paige watched both creatures for any sign that they were about to attack.

Max stayed rigid and still. His body was relaxed and his eyes were all but dead. Something was holding him in that spot. Even a wild animal had more going on inside its head than that. The Half Breed presented an opposing picture. It strained and snarled as if testing the boundaries of an uncompromising leash. Its pale skin trembled and its muscles flexed in an erratic rhythm. Only when Paige backed away from the pit in the floor did either of the creatures retreat to the spots from which they’d come.

“I’ll take the Mongrel,” Nadya said. “You take the Half Breed.”

“No.”

“You want the Mongrel? Fine.”

“No,” Paige repeated insistently. “They’re not attacking us. They’re just guarding. Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“Never.”

“Maybe they’re just here to raise an alarm.” Looking at Max’s face, Paige couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Mongrel. She’d only met him once for less than a few seconds, but he played a big part in ending the Kansas City siege. Now, his body was twisted into something else, his brain was somehow on hold, and she suspected Liam had something to do with it. If that was the case, the Mongrel was most likely going through hell. “Keep watch outside,” she said. “Let me know if you think anyone knows we’re here.”