Marcus Pelegrimas - The Breaking

Cole rolled onto his belly to look outside. The only thing he saw was some wreckage and a Half Breed preparing to tear at him again.

“Uhhh …shit.”

The Half Breed coiled like a spring and leapt at the helicopter. Less than a second later it was snatched in midair by a flap of skin that swooped down to wrap around its head. The creature still had momentum on its side, but was prevented from entering the helicopter by a set of talons that reached down from above and outside the hatch to snag in its fur. The gargoyle on top of the wreck wasn’t strong enough to pull the Half Breed outside, but it held onto the helicopter with a grip that kept it from being dislodged. Once the gargoyle’s body was stretched out like a flap of wet leather, the Half Breed jerked to a stop and fell straight to the floor less than an inch from Cole’s boots.

He came at the werewolf then like a horror movie slasher, the club gripped tightly in a hand cocked up near the side of his head. The strike intended for the Half Breed’s neck sliced through empty air when the gargoyle pushed a sound from its mouth that sounded like a snake being drowned in a vat of mud. The sight of those narrow black eyes staring at him was enough to back Cole up.

The Half Breed scraped its claws against the floor and let out a strained whine as its struggles dwindled to nothing. Soon it was barely moving.

The gargoyle kept its black eyes fixed on Cole and its body wrapped tightly around the werewolf until more of the fliers slapped into place around the creature and dragged it outside. When the first gargoyle loosened its grip so it could envelop more of the beast, the bitter scent of dusty vinegar poured into Cole’s nostrils. It was the same scent he’d smelled in the truck, and like the section of seat Jessup had used as a sample for his crudely fashioned icing bag, the part of the Half Breed that had been wrapped up was now stiff and gray.

High-pitched shrieks filled the air outside, but Cole heeded Jessup’s advice by acting without looking for the source of the sound. He kicked the werewolf out of the helicopter, and before it hit the ground four more gargoyles darted from above to latch onto the creature. Cole shut the door and left the things to their meal.

“I can’t stop it,” the remaining soldier gasped.

“Don’t worry. Those things won’t be going anywhere.”

Having pulled himself to the back section of the helicopter, the soldier sat up so he could breathe a little easier. “Not that. Whatever’s inside me. It hurts.”

Cole had to clamber over the body of a dead man to examine the soldier. “Did that thing bite you? Was there someone else up front? Did it bite them? How did it get in here?”

“Nothing boarded us. That Class Two just showed up and started attacking the pilot. Maybe the co-pilot.”

The front section of the helicopter had been battered on impact, but most of the metal that collapsed between the main cabin and cockpit had been torn away by the werewolves. “Wait a second,” he said while turning to face the soldier once more. “Did you call that thing a Class Two?”

His face was smeared with blood and what could have either been grease or black camouflage paint. “Yeah. It’s one of the older ones. No tusks.”

“How do you know this?”

“I’m with IRD. The In …human …”

“I know what it is. What are you guys doing here?”

After pulling in a breath and swallowing it, the soldier said, “Our scouts found two escaped prisoners who were headed here. Soon as they saw the Class Ones, our scouts called in for armed response. That’s us.”

“What escaped prisoners?”

The soldier started to talk but came up short. After another breath he grunted, “From Colorado.”

Knowing he was referring to Lambert and Frank, Cole asked, “What’s a Class One?”

“You …call them Full Bloods. Something’s wrong.”

Cole had moved away from the soldier to take a look through the window. The Half Breed was on its side and completely covered by living flaps of skin. “You’re damn right something’s wrong.”

“No,” the soldier grunted through a clenched jaw. “Something’s wrong with me. It feels like …like I broke some—” His words became a scream as his face twisted into a nightmarish version of its former self. His body flopped against the floor while his hands reached out to grab anything within reach.

“Holy shit,” Cole said as he rushed over to his side. “What’s wrong?”

The first crunch could have been made by the soldier’s boot stomping against some rubble or a fallen piece of equipment. The second definitely came from inside his body, but wasn’t extraordinary considering how wildly he was thrashing. When the soldier came to a stop, his breath was caught in his throat and his back arched. Four or five wet pops flowed through his torso as his bones were snapped like twigs inside him.

Cole stood up and watched in disbelief as more of the soldier’s bones cracked into pieces. When the man opened his mouth again, his voice was a deep-throated groan. Smaller bumps formed on his arms and face, popping open to release bundles of thick, wiry fur from his skin.

“You weren’t bitten,” Cole said. “I checked. You had to have been bitten for this to happen. Bitten down to the bone. Nothing got to you!”

The scream that had been building inside the soldier erupted amid a spray of blood and spit that flew from his mouth and then rained down upon his face. He slapped and kicked the slanted floor while more of his bones cracked inside his body.

“What the fuck is happening?” Cole asked, even though he already knew the answer. He’d seen the before picture and he’d seen the after, but this was the first time he’d seen one transition into the other.

“You’re a Skin …Skinner, right?” the soldier asked when the crackling within his body subsided.

Cole nodded.

The soldier’s eyes had been light brown a moment ago. Now they shifted into the dark, clouded orbs of a feral monster that was just beginning to feel its first pangs of hunger. His jaw opened as far as it could go, trembled, and then snapped with a loud, wet crunch. It was a grisly sight that captivated Cole in a way that was both unexplainable and shameful. Once he recovered from his shock, he gripped the wooden weapon Jessup had given him and drove it into the soldier’s heart.

The instant the sharpened end found its new home, Cole felt sick. He should have done it sooner, before the soldier was forced to endure the Breaking. He’d put plenty of Half Breeds down, but not until they were ready, willing, and able to tear his head off. This wasn’t a matter of survival. It felt like murder. Through the weapon’s handle he could feel the vibration of deeper bones breaking. That’s when he knew the act he’d just committed wasn’t murder, but mercy. Unfortunately for both of them, this act wasn’t over yet.

The soldier still squirmed and pushed air from his lungs. Cole pulled the blade out, raised it high in both hands and dropped it down into the soldier’s chest. Finally, the younger man’s body slumped and the final huff of air escaped through bloodied lips.

Cole couldn’t bear to look at the body. He didn’t even want to think about what the poor bastard had become. Instead, he thought about everything that had happened up to that point. Gunfire still chattered in the distance, probably fired by members of a genuine shadow government agency. When he looked over the rest of the men who’d been in the helicopter during the crash, he realized there was nothing he could do for them. The soldier had mentioned seeing more than one Full Blood. If that was more than just a slip of the tongue due to a whole lot of pain, he would need more than a wooden club and a few guns to deal with them. He made his way to the metal locker at the back of the helicopter, pulled it open and found a rack of assault rifles and several cases of ammunition. He slung one rifle over each shoulder, scooped some ammo into his pockets, and left the rest.