19

We're getting close," Sonoma says. "The reek of those unwashed elders is stronger than a backwoods shit-house."

It's been almost fifteen minutes since you and Sonoma were separated from the rest of the pack by the metal emergency door, and this is at least the sixth time the packleader has made such a proclamation since then. You're not sure whether the drugs in her system have heightened her sense of smell, but when you lift your nose to the air and flare your nostrils, breathing in the stale, recycled air of the Nail's lower levels, you smell nothing but the metallic aroma of blood and musky wet fur. A clearly-reasoning mind would likely conclude that the scent originates from the two of you, but you're not going to say that to Sonoma. Not yet at any rate. As halls and doors fly by at a dizzying velocity, you wonder again why Maker's disembodied voice hasn't seen fit to offer you directions. Has she been captured? Is it then just a matter of time before you and Sonoma are snapped up as well?

You stop in your tracks, Sonoma following suit several strides further down the hallway. She turns, and you swear you can see fear in her eyes before her muzzle scrunches up and the weakness has been throughly hidden by a veil of bravado.

"What? Why have you stopped?"

Sonoma sniffs the air and her muzzle twitches in irritation. "I thought I could smell them, but—" She stops and sniffs at you. "It's just us. I can barely think with this drug in my system." She kicks the wall hard enough to leave a small dent. "I can't smell anything but us!"

You give it a shot, hoping to catch a scent in the air that she missed, but eventually you come to the same conclusion.

"Let me think now that we're stopped." Sonoma squints, and the bony ridge above her eyes forms a shallow "V" as she wracks her memory. "We were…we started in the main entrance hall when we were cut off…." She growls, raking a single claw over her vibrating gums. "We should be in the north security quad, I think. Let's move on and pay attention. I'll try to orient myself."

The two of you move forward, slower this time, and before long Sonoma heaves a sigh of relief and irritation. "I don't know how we did it, but we've doubled back around to the south. I'm such a fucking idiot! If I'd been paying attention we'd be out by now!"

"We're all running hot. Don't beat yourself up over it."

"You're right, running around like a fool was a bad move. But now we can focus."

"I wasn't making any better choices. We're both to blame."

"You're right. You're a fucking idiot."

Next

Sonoma grinds her teeth, and for a moment you think she's about to attack you. After a few seconds of indecision, she speaks. "I can admire the balls it takes to say that to my face, Holstein. Both of us are right, and maybe I needed to hear it. But fuck this pity-party; blame is a luxury we can't afford until we're out of this mess."

Once she's able to focus herself, Sonoma sets off on a bee-line toward the exit, noting landmarks that you'd previously passed which she missed entirely in her drug-induced frenzy. Every so often you see her twitch as her feral side attempts to reassert itself, but for now she's maintaining admirable control.

"Hey! Over here!" an echoing voice yells from around the corner not far ahead.

Sonoma growls. "I can't tell if it's friend or foe. Scents are too mixed down here now. Recycled air. Be ready for anything."

Heart filled with trepidation, you round the corner, hoping for the best but prepared for the worst.

Next

"Holstein!"

It's Bly, and all the others are here too! You've never been so glad to see her!

"We thought we'd never see you again!" Bly says. She embraces you, taking a brief second to nip at your neck. "I kept us waiting here, hoping you'd make it out before we moved up." She winces and lowers her voice. "They wanted me to lead them when Sonoma was gone." She pauses. "I'm not the savior type."

The seemingly endless parade of hallways and locked doors has emptied you out into a large reception room. The walls here are painted a pristine white and the air is lightly scented with clover. The center of the room is dominated by a large, tastefully-appointed desk.

"No more waiting," Sonoma growls. "We've held the escape back for long enough. If we don't get this done soon, there won't be a future for any of us. There should be a set of stairs on the other side of the room, or an elevator if Maker can make it work."

As if summoned, Maker's voice crackles to life in stereo, bouncing between the two opposite walls. "The freight elevator will be fastest. I've pinpointed an escape vector that General Rivera didn't anticipate we'd need and I can use the elevator to get you there. The surface levels are crawling with troops and I won't be able to keep them back for much longer. You'll need to make several trips, so get moving, ten at a time."

Next

Shepherding well over a hundred werewolves through the freight elevator ten at a time would be the definition of tedium if it wasn't for the constant threat of impending peril from the floors above. You'd been among the first ten wolves sent ahead to scout and secure the landing, along with Sonoma, Bly, and Inferi's enforcer Havok. A part of you still cringes internally after remembering how he 'greeted' you in the prison cafeteria, but so far Havok's proven surprisingly capable.

When the elevator doors opened you were surprised to walk into what looked like a dingy, unfinished warehouse. Two large table saws and stacks of metal beams lay derelict, brooding in the silent, dull illumination of scattered lighting fixtures above. They smell of oil and earth—not a hint of rust or decay. The beginnings of several rooms have been laid out, but the drywall and metal stud framing are incomplete, leaving the entire floor open and strangely eerie in contrast to the almost alien modernity of the ninth floor's concentric rings of cells and hallways. What were they building here? Another prison? A lab? Hopefully you'll never have to find out.

Havok dips a meaty finger into a coffee cup, his claw digging a hole in the bottom, letting out a steaming stream of brackish liquid. "They were here," he grunts. "Not long ago, either."

"They probably expected us to climb right up to the top," Sonoma says as she helps the next batch of wolves off the elevator. "Maker was right—we need to do something unexpected." She raises her voice. "Can you hear me, Maker? Where do we need to go?"

A speaker in the elevator crackles to life and the voice that emerges sounds different than before; it's tinny and buried under waves of static. "Head directly away from the elevator to the far wall," Maker says. "The building plans show an access tunnel they used to get the construction equipment to the lower levels. They plan to turn it into something—I can't tell if it's a ventilation system or waste treatment—but for now it's our best hope to get to the surface."

"Wait, they just left access to the surface down here, unguarded?"

"There won't be any more speaker grilles in the unfinished sections. How will we talk to you?"

"This has got to be a trap. Are you sure we're not walking into an ambush?"

Next