Marcus Pelegrimas - The Breaking

“Be quick about it,” Paige said as the howls outside grew more ecstatic.

“Us helping you now means the start of a true joining of Amriany and Skinner. We fight on your soil tonight and you must fight on ours in the future.”

“This thing is gonna go on for longer than one night,” Paige warned.

“Your fight becomes our fight, just as ours becomes yours. However long it takes.”

Paige extended her hand and Nadya shook it. “Fair enough, but I can’t guarantee all of us will be crazy about setting the past aside. I’ll vouch for you, which will go a long way with some. Then we’ll talk sense into the rest.”

“As will I. It is decided then. Right, Milosh?”

The wounded Amriany muttered in his own tongue, but nodded.

Bill walked into the garage carrying a shotgun. “Are we doing this or not?”

And that was that.

When Paige walked away from the garage, the only thing in her world was the fight that lay ahead. Even though there was no target for her machete, she tightened her grip around its handle until the thorns punctured her palm. The wood creaked and the weapon shifted. After climbing into the back of the red pickup, she noticed a more familiar sickle in her grasp.

Paige stared at the weapon as the truck’s engine roared to life and the vehicle rattled down the road. Unlike the sickle she’d forged throughout the course of her training, it was more like what that weapon would have aspired to become once it grew up. The handle was thicker and shorter, which allowed the blade to become wider and longer. Until now, the fact that she’d been unable to shift the weapon’s cutting edge had been attributed to the coat of metallic glaze added to the varnish. The edge was still there and its shape was mostly the same, but it was bent around the crescent edge of the sickle. Even as she marveled at the feat she’d been unable to perform ever since the injury to her arm, she could feel the potential for more. Looking up at the moon, feeling the wildness Kawosa had promised, she wanted to howl.

Every time she looked up from the back of the red pickup, Paige felt as if she was farther from civilization. Atoka was still there, but its buildings were husks. Some were on fire. Most were broken to one degree or another. Claw marks had been scratched onto just about every surface and the only things that moved were being pushed around by the wind.

“Take a look around,” Burke said while running alongside the pickup. “This is what every city will look like if the Full Bloods have their way.”

“Why would they want things to be like this?” Milosh asked.

Paige flipped her sickle in her hand. Although her fingers weren’t as nimble as they’d been before her injury, they compensated by closing around the handle with an even stronger grip than before. “If we live until tomorrow, we can ask them.”

“If there’s any of those Full Blood assholes left to ask,” the Amriany snarled.

“That’s the spirit.”

They drove to the paint store to pick up the bait mixture that had been mixed up earlier. It was stored in all the containers they could scrounge from nearby houses and garbage cans, ranging from plastic water bottles to canteens and an insulated iced tea jug. Anything that could hold the viscous mixture without spilling it or allowing its scent to sully the air before it was needed was put to use. As they piled back into both trucks, those containers were divvied out to Skinner and Amriany alike.

“Come here, mole man!” Bill shouted.

Sighing reluctantly, Burke approached the passenger side of the red truck. The closer the Mongrel got, the more the bristly hairs along his back stood up. When he was within a few feet of the window, he was splashed with a slimy load of the pungent bait mixture. He bared his teeth, which only allowed some of the rancid gel to trickle into his mouth. “That shit’s gonna make me puke!”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Bill said. “Run around town and find as many Half Breeds as you can. Shouldn’t be hard with that stuff. Get them to follow you, and bring them to us. When it looks like we can’t handle any more, take them to the reservoir. Got it?”

The Mongrel grunted. “Could have warned me before splashing that shit on me.”

“Would that have made it smell any better? Just don’t do any tunneling or you’ll wipe it off.”

Paige unscrewed a plastic container she’d taken from Ginger’s kitchen that had been used to hold the pretzel sticks she and the other Skinners had devoured. “And tell Quinn to send any of the others over to us so they can do the same.” When she saw the resistant look on the Mongrel’s face, she added, “You said you guys wanted to help. This is what needs to be done.” Some of the howling in the vicinity stopped and was replaced by excited, panting breaths. “I’d be quick about it too. Sounds like someone’s already picked up our scent.” With that, Paige turned the container over and dumped its contents onto the side of the truck.

“You’re not getting that shit on my baby, are you?” Al said from the driver’s seat.

“Not at all,” Paige told him. “Get moving.”

The truck lurched forward, forcing her to sit down and brace herself with her feet against the interior of the bed. As they picked up speed, she let the large empty container roll around near the tailgate so she could pick up the water bottles. She tossed one to Milosh, who was in the back with her, and handed another to Bill through the little sliding window that opened into the cab. He took it and jammed it into the cup holder so he could tend to his hunting rifle. It was a large caliber model that Paige didn’t recognize, although she was certain Cole would have known it just by the scope. The sickle was trapped beneath her foot like a long-lost friend.

On the edge of the parking lot, Quinn threw a fit as Jesse doused her in more of the bait mixture. Nadya waved to Paige and climbed into the green pickup. By the time Al rounded the next corner, Jesse was gunning the other truck’s engine and heading for the opposite end of town.

Gail ran up to the red truck on Paige’s side, moving on all fours with every bit of the feline grace that her form suggested. When she looked up, she snarled in a voice that was barely understandable through her needlelike fangs. “Bait,” was all she said.

Paige obliged her by squirting some of the stuff onto the Mongrel. Farther down East Court Street, larger paws scraped against the cement. She drew her Beretta and braced herself against a pipe that had been welded into the bed to be used as a handle. “All of you, go!”

Gail scampered past the truck to rush headlong into the approaching Half Breeds. The werewolves barked at her and bared their fangs, allowing strings of drool to trail from their mouths as they lowered their heads and quickened their pace. Even with her unnatural speed, Gail was barely able to veer away from the creatures before being clipped by greedy, snapping jaws. Three of the five Half Breeds veered off to chase her, while the others charged at the truck. Once they got a healthier whiff of the bait Paige had applied to the pickup, they became so anxious to chase it that their paws slid against the gritty street in their haste to circle around it.

By the time they made it to South Kentucky Avenue, Al had quite the following. Half Breeds relentlessly pursued the pickup, sideswiping telephone poles and streetlights in their haste to try and keep up with his erratic driving. More werewolves joined them as the main group fanned out and put some real steam into their strides in an effort to catch up.

“I think maybe you didn’t think this through,” Milosh said.