Marcus Pelegrimas - The Breaking

“Get out of there!” Cole shouted.

“No! Stand back. I can’t stop it!”

“But we can! Keep the goddamn door open!”

The soldier grabbed the door as the entire helicopter rocked with the weight of a creature that worked its way out of the crumpled front section. Farther down the road gunfire erupted in bursts, followed by the haggard, tortured voices of Half Breeds. Cole thought about Kansas City while diving through the door before the soldier closed it. The main compartment looked like a metal box with a series of steel posts running down its center. Collapsible seats folded down from the posts, some facing Cole’s side and others facing another side door. Toward the rear of the cabin, large windows were fitted with rigs made to hold machine guns to be mounted and fired from the helicopter. Once again he had research for a Sniper Ranger level to thank for his partial knowledge of modern armaments. “All right,” he said while grabbing onto one of the steel posts so he could maneuver through a cabin that was tilted worse than the floor of a fun house. “Close the door.”

The soldier had a rank insignia on one shoulder, the name BUDDIG stenciled onto a strip on his chest and a patch on the other shoulder. Since it was the most colorful thing on his uniform, the patch catch Cole’s eye. It was a circle divided into red and gray quadrants surrounded by gold rope. Two assault rifles were crossed behind a row of spears, all of which were above a symbol that was half wolf’s head and half skull. The red quadrant with the wolf’s head had the letters I.R.D. stitched into it, and the opposite gray quadrant had U.S.A. stitched beside the skull.

When the soldier lunged for the door, Cole dropped his shotgun, grabbed the soldier by the elbow and pivoted to fling him away from the open door.

“No, we have to get out!” the soldier yelled.

Outside, a building chorus of wailing, high-pitched shrieks closed in on the wreck. Without taking the time to look for a target, Cole swung the wooden blade toward the door and was immediately rewarded by a wet ripping sound. The gargoyle he’d shredded hit the dirt in front of the door and dragged itself away. Its wound wasn’t fatal, but it would have trouble getting back into the air. The other dozen or so that swooped in toward the helicopter weren’t having those difficulties.

They weren’t in a formation and didn’t seem to expend any effort in staying aloft. The group of gargoyles merely drew close together at the apex of their ascent and dove at him. Now that he knew what their second set of narrow eyes looked like, he imagined every single one of them were fixed upon him.

He shut the side hatch as best he could and turned around just in time to spot a Half Breed slinking from the cockpit. It had shreds of material hanging from its shoulders and neck and a long string of bloody saliva dangling from bared fangs. Although the creature was as deadly as it was terrifying, at least it was familiar. “Keep back,” he said to the soldier without taking his eyes off the Half Breed. The club Jessup had given him was clenched tightly in his left fist, and somewhere along the way he’d drawn the .38.

“I don’t know where it came from!” the soldier said as he backed toward the rear of the cabin. As he did so, he was forced to push aside or climb over the still forms of two other soldiers who’d caught the worst of the crash.

When the Half Breed lunged, Cole reflexively pulled his trigger. The pistol bucked in his hand, spitting three quick rounds into the werewolf’s head and neck. He knew better than to think that would be enough to stop it, so he fired once more and swung the wooden blade in an overhead stab that dropped straight down toward the Half Breed’s face. The creature twisted its neck sharply in a way that would have snapped any natural beast’s spine. This one merely dodged the incoming weapon, stared sideways at him and clamped its jaws around the blade. The Half Breed twisted its head away once the weapon sliced the inside of its mouth and staggered back. Cole knew he wasn’t going to get a better chance than that, so he fired his remaining rounds into its body just to steer it away from the shotgun he’d dropped earlier. Claws scraped against the tilted metal floor of the downed helicopter as the beast scrambled to regain its footing.

Half Breeds were strong and very tough, but not bulletproof. Some of those rounds made it through, which lit an angry fire in its eyes. When Cole moved in close enough to use the wooden blade again, the werewolf turned toward him and skidded on the tilted floor. Rather than succumb to gravity, it used the countless joints created by its broken and rehinged skeleton to strike from a new angle. Even though his pistol was out of bullets, it made a hell of a good thump when he smashed it against one of the bloody spots on the werewolf’s fur. The creature yelped but was still able to pull away when Cole tried to stab it with the sharpened end of the club.

“If you’ve got a gun, you’re welcome to join in here!” Cole shouted at the soldier. He wasn’t about to take his eyes away from the Half Breed, but the soldier wasn’t responding with any gunfire. Outside, flat bodies thumped against the fuselage and used talons to search for a way in.

Cole swung at the Half Breed and drew some blood, but not enough to prevent the werewolf from climbing to its feet and lunging at him. Backing up until his heel knocked against the shotgun, he dropped the pistol in favor of the bigger weapon. The Half Breed circled around to snarl at the soldier.

“Hey!” Cole shouted. “Right here!”

Although the Half Breed snorted in his direction, it was more interested in the wounded man who squirmed up the slant of the downed helicopter to get to a metal locker at the back of the wreck.

“Come here!” Cole said in loud, choppy syllables that would have perked any dog’s ears. Thinking along those lines, he followed it up with a quick, shrill whistle.

The Half Breed snapped its head over to him and growled as if defending its meal from a would-be scavenger. Tensing its muscles and lowering its chest to the floor, it scraped at the metal panels beneath its claws and reared back on its hind legs. The werewolf was about to attack. Cole could feel it all the way down to his bones as he reached for the door handle. Suddenly, the creature bared its fangs and leapt at the soldier instead.

The thundering roar of the shotgun filled the cabin as Cole fired it into the Half Breed’s side. When the werewolf thumped against the closest wall, Cole threw himself at the beast to drive the smoking barrel of the shotgun into its body. He pumped in another shell and fired it into the werewolf before the shotgun was knocked from his hands by one of the creature’s thrashing legs. By the time Cole drew the wooden blade again, the Half Breed was pulling itself to its feet. Cole stretched one arm out to grab a hunk of fur at the base of its tail, pulled it toward him and buried the blade into the biggest shotgun wound.

The Half Breed yelped in pain while folding its torso in half to snap at him. Cole was fully aware of the creature’s flexibility and had already pulled the weapon away so he could jump back and chamber another shell. He fired again, cracked the shotgun against the side of the werewolf’s head, then drove the sharpened end of the club into its neck. Since the creature lay on its side spilling its blood onto the floor, the sounds of scraping claws and a low, hungry snarl seemed particularly out of place. Cole turned toward the cockpit and spotted another Half Breed emerging from the front portion of the craft. The second werewolf kept its body low, planted its back paws against the floor and leapt forward.

Cole leaned toward the door, grabbed the handle and pulled it open. The Half Breed sailed past him, but still had the speed and flexibility to snap its jaws in his direction before it was outside the helicopter. It landed several feet away from the hatch, sank its claws in and came to a stop amid a shower of dirt. From there it turned to face Cole, a snarl rumbling deep within its throat.