Chapter Nineteen

Daylight

Angie had been a morning person before the apocalypse. Her father had drummed Ben Franklin’s “early to bed and early to rise” adage into his daughters. Keisha had never taken to it—until she had kids who were up at the crack of dawn—but Angie had always woken up early, even on the weekends. Dating a vampire had upended her schedule, so when the gunshots started just after noon it startled Angie from a deep sleep.

She rolled off the air mattress and grabbed her gun from the floor next to it. She opened the door of her makeshift bedroom and saw Keith doing the same across the hall from her.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He raised his head and scented the air with a frown. “I smell blood, smoke and gunpowder.”

The shots were too fast—like the steady pounding of a storm lashing the roof. Automatic gunfire. They’d collected a small armory, but she wasn’t certain that the group had that kind of artillery. The best they had was semi-auto, and this sounded like military-grade weaponry. Angie’s stomach twisted as the noise reminded her of her tour of duty. The building vibrated with a rumble like thunder, and Angie knew they were in trouble. Illinois wasn’t known for earthquakes, and that had to be an explosion.

“Shit. I think that was a grenade,” she said.

Keith’s wolf raged free in a bone-popping wave as he shifted and darted down the hallway. Angie’s wolf stirred in response, a twist of her guts like an angry bout of food poisoning, but she shook the feeling away. She wasn’t comfortable enough with teeth and claws yet to choose them over the familiar weight of her pistol.

Sunlight, smoke and a frigid blast of winter air met them as they rounded a corner. They paused, Keith balanced on the balls of his feet while Angie scanned for targets. The glass exterior windows were cracked and shattered, and the walls to either side of them were riddled with bullet holes.

“Get down.” Javier crouched behind a reception desk and clutched a wound in his shoulder. At least Angie thought it was Javier—the wolves were hard to tell apart when they were growly and covered in fur. In werewolf form he was varying shades of brown from tan to chocolate, but now his fur was black and matted in spots with blood.

An ominous shadow flickered past the windows, and Angie took cover in the doorway of the nearest office. Keith dove to join Javier just as a Black Hawk helicopter loomed into sight.

Angie squinted as the chopper’s blades kicked up another gust of chilly, smoke-tinged air. Before she could voice a question about what the fuck was going on, someone in the chopper opened fire. High-caliber bullets zinged past as Angie ducked behind a filing cabinet. Breaking glass and the firecracker retort of the machine gun clashed with the echoing howls of angry werewolves. When the shots stopped, Angie peered around the doorway. The hallway was clear, and she moved up to join the others.

“That’s the damn National Guard. Why are they shooting at us?” Javier asked.

Angie crept closer to the windows and looked out. The helicopter moved down and away before opening fire on another floor beneath them. Glass shattered and rained in glittering shards to the distant street below, where a throng of mobs waited, drawn by the noise.

“They’re shooting out the solar panels,” she said. “They must work for Philippe.”

The werewolves cursed in near-unison. They had focused on how to defend against Philippe and his men attacking at night, because everyone had grown used to living with the paranormal. No one had expected an attack from a normal source like a plane or helicopter.

“How do we stop them?” Keith asked.

“I have an idea. You’re with me.” Javier rose and waved Keith to join him. “Kinney, help the humans.”

Angie moved forward, her gun trained on the helicopter as the two werewolves leapt out the window. Her jaw dropped as they sailed through the air—no net, no safety equipment and no brains—and then clung to the helicopter like furry ticks.

“Holy shit.”

She exhaled a calming breath and focused on finding a clear shot as Keith and Javier scrambled inside the chopper. A man in fatigues was ejected from the helicopter and fell a long way to the ground. Angie winced; she was sure that the fall killed him instantly, but what was left was definitely zombie chow. The helicopter swerved and tilted at a drunken angle, but the sound of more gunfire caught her attention. Above? The roof and the penthouse were the only things above this floor—Omar and Naomi were in the penthouse. Angie gritted her teeth and forced herself away from the window. Hopefully Javier and Keith had an exit strategy other than crashing and burning.

The floor was deserted as she made her way through it, not another werewolf in sight. Muffled gunshots greeted her when she reached the stairwell, and Angie froze in fear—the last time she’d entered a fight on these stairs she’d ended up a werewolf.

Angie gulped a deep breath, steeled her nerves and opened the door. The werewolves occupied the bottommost of the occupied floors, meant to cushion the humans from a possible zombie attack from below. As she entered the stairwell the commotion seemed centered above her, but she’d learned her lesson about not checking her corners. A blood-spattered male werewolf lay on the landing beneath her, still as death. Angie’s gun wavered as she racked her brain to recognize the silver-and-black fur—all she could remember was Omar’s black-and-brown fur. The male didn’t seem injured enough to be dead, which meant their attackers must be using silver bullets for close range.

Gritting her teeth, she started up. She rounded the first corner and spotted two men locked in hand-to-hand combat. One of them wore fatigues, and Angie sighted on him and fired. Her target dropped and Angie approached him—wounded but not dead.

“Jared. Give me your belt,” she ordered the human.

He blinked at her. “Why?”

Angie slanted him a dry look. “Because I left my handcuffs downstairs.”

“Just kill him,” Jared said.

“He’s a drone. Mind-controlled, not evil. Use your belt to bind his hands behind his back, and take cover.”

Jared grumbled but complied. “Most people were able to follow the evacuation plan, but some are still stuck up there. Good luck.”

“Got it.” Angie moved on.

Worried about her family, she passed the communal floor and went straight to the humans’ floor. A drone turned and fired at her when Angie emerged, and pain exploded in her right shoulder. She staggered, and her wolf blazed awake with a furious howl. Angie dropped her gun and charged the drone, barreling into him like a furred freight train. She pulled her punch at the last moment, knocking him unconscious instead of shredding him like a paper doll.

Pain throbbed through Angie with each agonizing step, but she couldn’t shift back. The bullet might as well have been a silver spike through her shoulder, pinning her wolf in place. Angie snarled and collapsed against a wall as gushing blood matted her fur.

“Mom? Dad? Keisha?” she shouted.

“Angie?” Scottie replied. His voice was faint, but she started toward it as her adrenaline surged. She found Scottie crouched behind a desk wielding a makeshift club in defense of his children, in-laws and the family dog. “Angie?” Scottie repeated, his eyes wide with shock. “Jesus, you look like a were-Doberman.”

“I’m stuck. I think it’s the silver bullet. Where’s Keisha?”

“I thought she was with you?” he said.

“No. I thought she was with you. Shit.”

“Language, Angela.” Leave it to her mother to complain about expletives at a time like this. Her mother’s expression softened as she studied Angie—she braced, expecting fear or disgust, but Angie only saw worry in her mom’s eyes.

“I’ll look for Keisha,” Dad said. He took the club from Scottie. “Help Angie.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Angie rumbled. She fell into an empty chair and waved at the wound in her shoulder. “Bullet’s still in there.”

Scottie nodded, his expression slipping into what Keisha referred to as his “EMT face”. “Let me get my bag.”

Her niece Amelia crept closer. “Auntie Angie?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can I touch your fur?”

Angie laughed, though the noise that emanated from her muzzle sounded more like a bark. “Yes, honey. Here.”

She held out her good arm to Amelia, and the girl gently stroked her black fur. Sandy the golden retriever waddled closer and plopped her head in Angie’s lap. Great, now the dog was a pack member too.

Angie closed her eyes with a weary sigh, and prayed that Keisha was okay.