22

The passage beyond the sealed door makes the unfinished prison level look like a palace. Wide tire tracks run the length of the tunnel, coating the concrete floor with dirt and grime tracked in from repeated trips delivering construction materials and supplies. Maker leads the way along with Sonoma, dogging her heels to keep a close eye on her. At first you'd been afraid that the two would kill each other, but necessity has kept them together as a team—guide and muscle—at least until the prisoners have been freed. What happens to Maker after that depends on Sonoma's check on her temper. Inferi and Havok gather their small group of misfit "Metalheads" around her to protect the elders clustered in the center of the group, and at Sonoma's insistence, you and Bly guard the rear.

"Smells like burnt oil and sweat."

You sniff. "Well, the sweat's definitely us, but this tunnel's not ventilated well at all. Reminds me of the smell in some of Haven's old ruined gas stations."

Bly pauses in her tracks, squinting to see in the dim light back the way you came. The tunnel is dark enough that you can no longer see the doorway. "There's someone back there," she says. "Multiple someones. Pass it up the chain; we can't afford to be surprised."

I pass the info to the wolves ahead of me at Bly's request, telling them to pass it forward to Sonoma.

I take the message to Sonoma myself, leaving Bly to cover the back line for the moment. Spreading word of an attack might cause a panic.

We can deal with any potential attackers. The door behind us is a choke point; only so many soldiers could have passed through so quickly.

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"We've got this," you say, surprisingly confident given recent events. "No need to scare the others if we're wrong."

Bly gives your arm a quick jab. "I mean, I appreciate your faith in me, but still…if the troops from above catch up to us, they're not going to be packing the same pop-guns our guards were assigned. By now they know that the shock collars are deactivated. They won't rely on that trick any more."

A soft "thumph" of air echoes from behind you in the passage, followed by several more in rapidly repeating rhythm. Seconds later, a clattering rain of cylindrical canisters peppers the pack from the front of the caravan to your position at the rear. As they hit the ground, each of them hisses and emits a cloud of light red gas. Your eyes start to water and seconds later you can barely see. That's when the gunfire begins.

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Chaos destroyed the order of your escape within seconds, as is its nature—fear turning into panic, panic turning to desperation. Desperation makes werewolves sloppy as easily as it does men. You and Bly held off over a dozen soldiers by yourselves as the elders and non-combatant wolves fled toward the surface, away from the explosions and gunfire. Even you had to marvel at Bly's ferocity as she channeled her inner rage into a tightly-controlled whirlwind of destruction. At last, even Bly had to admit defeat—there were simply too many soldiers, more of them filing in through the door by the second. When you were certain the other wolves had gotten a good enough head-start, you and Bly turned and ran after them, doing everything you could to ignore the sharp stings of bullets piercing your backs. On all fours, your wolf forms are much faster than the humans; now that you've held them off, they'll have a hard time keeping up with the escaping prisoners.

"We're almost to the surface!" Maker calls back. "We should have transports waiting there!" She pulls a thick hood over her head as she runs, shadowing her grimacing face. That's odd, you wonder. What does she have to hide?

At long last you can see sunlight spilling into the tunnel. Your heart races with hope. Or is that the adrenaline? Doesn't matter.

"How?" you can hear Sonoma ask between panting breaths. "How will she know where to pick us up?"

"I sent an encrypted message from the control room. She was watching the—"

A single sharp report erupts from the exit, cutting off Maker mid-sentence. She flies back, tumbling into Sonoma and nearly knocking her down. She rises again on unsteady legs, a ferocious look on her face.

"Sniper!" Inferi yells. "Keep moving; I've got this!" In stark contrast to her lumbering awkwardness on two feet, the brutish wolf is surprisingly agile on all four, dashing with liquid grace toward the sniper, narrowly dodging their carefully-timed shots. A cry echoes through the tunnel as Inferi pounces, tearing the rifle from the shooter's grip with her fangs. As you and the others race past, you watch Inferi grip her victim's unconscious body in her teeth, holding her up by the leather straps of her backpack. You notice immediately that the sniper is dressed differently than the soldiers. Does she work for the military or are there other forces in play here?

"What are you doing? Leave the sniper there and let's go!"

"Good idea, Inferi! We could use a hostage!"

"Good idea, Inferi! We need her to give up tactical info."

I let her do what she wants. I don't have time to get involved.

Next

Inferi shakes her head, jiggling the sniper's body. You can barely hear her voice, muffled by her burden. "Hostage."

You shake your head furiously, but by then you've passed her. You've let her know how you feel; if she gets left behind it's her own damn fault. Someone needs to watch over actual werewolves rather than carry a human hostage, and you can't waste time babysitting Inferi.

The bright sunlight beyond the passage temporarily blinds you as you emerge, and when your vision returns you almost wish it hadn't. Hundreds of humans and armored vehicles surround the hole, and the rattle of their gunfire shatters your concentration. You close your eyes and focus on regulating your breathing. Haven, I'm back in Haven again, you think, suddenly overcome by irrational fear and terror. Suddenly, the hulking mutation of Williams is back, hacking and slashing anyone within reach of his claws. You watch your packmates die all around you as smoke drifts over the battleground, shrouding the ghastly visions. You can still hear the screams, smell the blood, taste the flesh as you fight for your life….

You open your eyes. No Williams. The taste of flesh fades. Your packmates and the prisoners are still fleeing for their lives, but no bullets seem to be touching them. Desperately confused, you scan the ground ahead. The humans are attacking each other! A small explosion rocks a mottled green jeep and its driver flies out of his seat toward you, propelled by concussive force. He lands at your paws, eyes glazed over with half a leg missing. Blood soaks into your fur as you pause to read the lettering on his ruined body-armor. "HSM." What could that mean? You've certainly never seen markings like that on US military uniforms.

You'll have to puzzle this one out another day; this may be your only opportunity to escape while the humans are distracted by each other. A bullet whizzes past your ear and you launch yourself forward again, the dead man forgotten as you whip your gaze back to the humans—dozens of whom have stopped fighting each other in order to focus on a common enemy. An explosive detonates to your right, tearing one of the werewolf prisoners apart, his limbs blown back and hanging at unnatural angles as he collapses. You rush past the body, willing your mind not to dwell on the fact that only random chance chose him over you. Train hard all your life, make all the right decisions, and in the end none of it matters when your luck runs out.

"Over here!" you hear Maker yell over the clamor of gunfire. "Our ride's here!" She's waving you around the two battling factions to a nearby wooded area. Half a dozen cargo trucks have begun to pull out of the foliage and several men hop out of the back doors carrying heavy cylindrical objects on their shoulders. When you catch up with Maker, she lowers her voice and says, "This will be tight; I wasn't expecting so many humans. General Rivera will be pissed." She's almost completely covered up now, her head and shoulders fully covered by a thick hood. If you didn't recognize her voice you'd never have known it was her. She notes your expression. "I can't be seen," she says by way of explanation. "I've worked too closely with Rivera and there are cameras out here. The last thing any of us need is to lose our wolves on the inside because I took a stupid risk."

As the prisoners start to reach the cargo trucks, your allies waiting for them crouch down with their strange cylinders and fire them in a wave, rocket-propelled explosives arcing overtop the werewolves and trailing a line of smoke as they crash down on both of the battling human factions. The humans scatter as vehicles explode and shrapnel flies through the air, slicing and tearing any fragile flesh it can find. The wolves have clustered into factions, their eagerness to reach the relative safety of the trucks triggering a primal instinct to protect and assist those most important to them.

The elders of the Circle could use my help and their wisdom may come in handy for the future.

I assist Inferi's group of social misfits since no one else seems willing to. Their muscle will likely prove useful.

The prisoners aren't in any shape to fight; I help them into the trucks. They'll probably be quite thankful later.

Loyalty and responsibility to the Haven pack over all else. I concentrate on helping as many Haven wolves as I can.

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