Primeval (Werewolf Apocalypse Book 2) Read online

  “Good.” Debarr let out his breath. It was all going to be fine.

  “And,” John continued. “If I get some snaps of the giant rats in their lair, it’ll be icing on the cake. See you tonight, Boss.”

  Steve Debarr put his head in his hands and slumped down onto the polished top of his desk. His cigar was crushed.

  Chapter 2

  11:20 a.m.

  The hotel wasn’t the best and it wasn’t the worst in the five boroughs, but it was a minor paradise to Sandy Martin. The twenty-eight-year-old woman sat in a chair, looking out the window at the people on the streets below her vantage point high above Brooklyn. Tossing a curly blond lock of hair out of her eyes, she thought, I hate to even think such a cliché, but they really do look like ants. Her breath steamed up the glass, and she backed away, settling into the leather chair.

  In the bathroom, the shower was running, and she could hear her lover singing softly. She didn’t recognize the tune, but that wasn’t unusual. They had such differing tastes in so many things, music being the least of them. Sandy just sighed and reached for the remote control. She flicked on the news.

  A talking head with a scrolling banner beneath it was yakking again about what the American government ought to do about the growing Lycanthrope population.

  The man said, “They need to be contained. I don’t really care if they enjoy being animals, that’s everyone’s God-given right – but I don’t want them as neighbors. I don’t want them teaching or trying to influence my kids. They should be contained someplace. That’s all I am saying.”

  A woman popped into view, thin, less than attractive, but more than plug ugly. She interrupted the man sharply. “You don’t understand them. Can’t you see you’re letting fear dictate policy for you? Shoving a whole segment of the population into some magical island refuge is inhuman.”

  “Well,” the man said, “they aren’t actually human when you get down to the biology of the matter.”

  Sandy switched the channel to MTV, where a couple of pneumatic women were screeching at each other in a bar on a beach in New Jersey.

  “Whatever happened to the music?” she asked nobody in particular.

  “What?” asked her lover’s voice from the bathroom. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing,” Sandy answered, lowering the volume so she could be heard over the running water. “Just wondering why there isn’t any music on MTV anymore.”

  She heard the squeak of the faucets being turned, and then the splashing stopped. She watched the two women graduate from screaming to hair pulling. In another moment, Nicole Truitt entered the room. Sandy looked away from the television, marveling for the thousandth time that this woman was her girlfriend.

  Nicole was tall and lithe, with well-developed abdominal muscles and sharply defined features. Her cheekbones could cut glass. Her dark brown hair was chopped short, military fashion, and it still dripped from the shower. Her breasts were barely contained by the white hotel towel wrapped around her mid-section. Her dark brown eyes peered at Sandy through beads of water that clung to her eyelashes.

  “Why are you watching this crap?” she asked, flopping down on the bed next to Sandy’s chair.

  “Everything else is news,” she answered. “I hear enough about the werewolves from you on your off-hours. I don’t need to hear about them when I want to be entertained.”

  Nicole snatched the remote control from Sandy and started flipping stations. She asked, “What were they saying? Anything new?”

  Sandy growled a little in the back of her throat and knocked Nicole onto her back. The towel fell open a bit.

  “We’re on vacation, Nicole. I haven’t seen you in two months, and you finally get leave for a while, but you just can’t put the snipers behind you.”

  “Stop it. That tickles.”

  “What if I do this?”

  “Stop it. You’re gonna make me pee.”

  “We have two whole days before you go back on duty, and I intend on taking advantage of that. It’s why we’re in New York.”

  “Well, I would’ve chosen someplace more isolated so we could get away from it all. The seashore comes to mind.”

  Sandy lay next to her lover, facing the ceiling, and Nicole knew she’d stepped too far. They remained in silence for several moments before Sandy broke the spell.

  “You know why we’re here,” she said.

  “Yeah. Shit. Sorry. Me and my big mouth.”

  “I still haven’t gone there, to the 9/11 site, I mean. Ever since Timmy died, I couldn’t face it.”

  “You want me to go with you today, honey?” Nicole touched her arm.

  Sandy shook her head. “No. I think I need to see it alone, be with his spirit for a while. You never knew him.”

  “But you loved him, and that’s enough in my book.” Nicole draped an arm over Sandy’s shoulders. She was still a little damp from the shower. “I can be with you if it’s gonna be tough, and it probably will be.”

  “No, I’ll go alone. Have my moment with Timmy. See what they’re putting up as a monument. Then, I’ll do a little shopping and meet you back here at five o’clock, in time for dinner.”

  “You know General Burns is in the city, too. Just down the hall as a matter of fact. The man can’t take a vacation without following us.”

  Sandy nodded. “It’s a little creepy if you ask me.”

  Nicole jumped off the bed, letting the damp towel fall to the floor. Opening the closet door, she removed a pair of jeans and a red T-shirt with a faded Tab logo on it. As she dressed, she watched Sandy in the mirror of the closet door, saw her girlfriend’s drooping face.

  Nicole said, “I think it’s more like desperation. He doesn’t have anybody except the Lycan Snipers. We were both there that day when it started in Cincinnati, and he’s developed a sort of dependency on me. I don’t think it’s anything more than the fact that the two of us understand each other so completely. No one else was with us when we were making those decisions. No one else has been with us every time we had to take out a group of the beasts. It’s not a happy place to be, you know, being in charge of killing off mutants.”

  “Nice work if you can get it.”

  “Yeah, but it changes you. I know you don’t fully understand.”

  “I try.”

  “And it’s one of the reasons I love you so much,” Nicole said with a grin. She returned to the bed and held Sandy’s hands in hers. “But it’s only a part of it. You’ve seen more of me than anyone else, even Burns. You know what’s inside me.”

  “Yeah. Beneath that hard, cold exterior is the pink heart of a bleeding romantic.”

  Nicole snorted. “Whatever. I’m just a soldier.”

  “Soldiers can have hearts, too.”

  “Not when our country’s threatened by enemies, and these Lycans are definitely enemies. They’re spreading this disease, changing it, and I don’t know how we’re gonna fight it anymore.”

  “You’ll find a way. I believe in you.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Sandy leaned over and kissed Nicole. Pulling back, she smiled at her girlfriend.

  “I love you, soldier girl.”

  “I love you too. Even if you are a civilian.”

  Sandy tossed a pillow at her head.

  Chapter 3

  11:20 a.m.

  General Taylor Burns paced his hotel room, his feet moving in perfect time to a drumbeat in his head. He had booked his reservation just a few doors down from Nicole, hoping to stay near at least one of the people in his Lycan Sniper Division. He needed that contact, that fission of possibility that seemed to get him jumping. He had the television on, almost hoping that there would be an outbreak of the virus someplace.

  He was that bored.

  Burns was a tall man, but wide at the shoulders and chest, like a middle-aged rugby player starting to go to pot. Although he was forty-nine years old, his hair had only recently started turning gray at the temples, with a few salt and
pepper waves throughout. His brown eyes sagged a bit at the corners, giving him a hound dog expression, and his southern drawl had earned him the nickname “Droopy” at boot camp twenty-eight years ago. He had put a stop to that moniker as soon as he was in charge. Now that he headed up the entire Lycan Division of the U.S. Army, he found himself with a new nickname – Duke. His broad face and crooked grin – along with that South Carolinian twang of a voice – made him almost look and sound like the great movie star circa Red River, 1948. Now that was nickname he could embrace, although he’d never admit it to the snipers working beneath him.

  The television was showing footage of a rat attack that had occurred a few hours ago in lower Manhattan. Several people had been bitten by a mass of the rodents crawling up from the sewers, driven aboveground by something. Burns hated vermin, and he scowled at the TV, then turned to the window.

  The view from the hotel was quite impressive. The skyscrapers of Manhattan towered over the other side of the East River, lined up like huge dominos. He especially liked the Empire State Building, more for sentimental reasons.

  He had once gone to meet a woman at the top, just like in that old movie An Affair to Remember. Burns wasn’t a fan of romantic movies, but he was a fan of a certain lady named Rebecca who had been his main squeeze for over two years. There had been a time when he was so happy to be by her side that he didn’t even miss being in action, something he could never see now in this eventful time. Rebecca had made him feel like Cary Grant, and he’d wanted to make a grand romantic gesture, something entirely out of character. He had even stunned himself. She had often mentioned the old movie, how romantic it was, how she cried every time she watched it. Burns had suffered through it several times, but he knew he had to do something to keep her. The longer he stayed in the Army, the further she distanced herself from him. He loved this woman, wanted her by his side for the rest of his life. He even wanted to commit to marriage.

  So, Taylor Burns rented a tuxedo, bought champagne, and asked Rebecca to meet him at the top of the Empire State Building at midnight on New Year’s Eve, just like in the movie. His hair had been cut, his face had been shaved, and he smelled like a dandy. He’d even brought flowers. When Rebecca showed up, emerging from the elevator in a white dress and long fur-fringed coat, she had looked like an angel. His heart went into his throat, and he couldn’t speak. Eventually, he stammered out something about how lovely she looked, and he presented her with the flowers. There were tiny snowflakes, little more than a mild flurry, falling from the dark sky when he got down on one knee and held the ring out for her, asking her to accompany him down the altar to a new life together. Rebecca had stammered, said a few kind things, and refused his proposal. He was left with a tuxedo, an open bottle of champagne, and a fairly nice engagement ring. She took the flowers, and his heart.

  Since that evening, nearly twenty years ago, Taylor Burns had thrown himself into the arms of his first true love, the Army. And the Army, unlike Rebecca, had reciprocated his affections. He had earned promotions, had always gotten invited to brass dinners, and he found himself well liked by the men (and later on the women) who served under his auspices. He was tough when he had to be, kind when it was required. He was a father figure to some, a complete bastard to others, and an all-around great guy when paying for the drinks. But after his day was over and his work was done, he returned to his cold, empty home. He didn’t decorate, actually shunned anything ornamental on the walls. His furniture grew old along with him – dull, sturdy, and disgustingly reliable. Sometimes he watched television, often he read, but his life was quiet and lonely.

  He thought of buying a pet once, but there was something inside him that stopped him from ever making that trip to the city pound. Pets needed you, and he wasn’t ready to open up to that kind of need again. Rebecca had soured him on companionship. He had put himself out there, bared his soul, and she had stomped that sucker flat – so flat he didn’t think it would ever rise again. So, his heart remained somewhere in the bottom of his body, and he didn’t allow it to sway his decisions. He learned to live alone, to sleep alone, and to be comfortable with solitude.

  During the daylight hours, he joked with the men (and, yes, later the women). He was a funny guy, someone with a broad smile and a warm attitude. He was the father every soldier wanted, and the man many aspired to be.

  But they didn’t know that his nights were spent in hiding from anyone who could get close to him. They didn’t know how much he drank in his house, country-western music on the radio and a beer in one hand, a stogie in the other. Sometimes, he felt like a cliché from one of those sad songs he loved so much.

  But he was fairly content. He wouldn’t allow himself to wallow in self-pity. Instead, he kept himself busy, but there was always that beer cracked open by his side and a smoking cigar within easy reach. He gave himself those two concessions. In Burns’ opinion, it was good to have a few vices. The little sins kept you removed from the big ones.

  The young people he commanded came in and out of his life. Some of them were promoted, which made him proud, as though he’d had something to do with their new positions. Some of them left the Army and went on to families and private sector jobs. He was just as proud of those kids, knowing what they wanted and pursuing it. He was always a dad or a mentor or a buddy to these men and women. But he never allowed himself to get close to them. He couldn’t let them into his life, so that they would later leave him or disappoint him or even hurt him in some way that blindsided him.

  That is, until he met Nicole Truitt on the banks of the Ohio River.

  He had been put in charge of stemming the first outbreak of the Lycanthrope Virus, and he was positioned on the Kentucky side of the Ohio River, facing the ruined city of Cincinnati. He had ordered the bridges to be destroyed, but the infected creatures kept trying to get across. Nicole had been the very best sharpshooter in the unit, and she had helped greatly in the rescue of a small group of survivors. Afterwards, these survivors had contained the genetic seeds that led to the development of a vaccine.

  Which, if you go by what the media proclaims, isn’t working so well anymore, he thought. The virus seemed to be front-page news again. At least until these crazy rat attacks in New York, right across the river.

  Burns’ commanders suspected that these animal attacks, which had been increasing in recent days, may have something to do with the virus. Doctors and scientists were investigating the huge rodents, utilizing a lot of words beyond Taylor Burns’ vocabulary. They’d figure it out. He was confident of it.

  In the meantime, he found himself on vacation with Nicole and her “friend” Sandy. Burns had watched the two of them together, the way they looked at each other, the way they touched. Maybe he was becoming a dirty old man, but he suspected they were lovers.

  He had been on tour all over the country with Nicole Truitt, and he was beginning to experience pangs for her that felt distressingly like paternal sentiment. He found himself joking with her, telling her about his past and Rebecca, even allowing her to tease him like an affectionate daughter – albeit one with a disarming proclivity toward automatic rifles. He was opening up to someone, and she was withholding something from him; he was certain of it. In a way, it hurt his feelings, even though he told himself that he shouldn’t worry about it.

  The most disturbing thing was that he was starting to worry about Nicole when they went into hostile situations. When they had invaded a nest in Louisville, he’d ended up watching her back more than he should have, and she’d ended up saving his ass when an eight-foot-tall female Lycan sprang out of a closet he had forgotten to check. Nicole had put two bullets in the monster’s skull before yelling at him, berating a superior officer for missing it.

  And now, he was in a hotel room across the way, looking at the Manhattan skyline, missing the Twin Towers, and wondering if his affection for this young woman would endanger their continued partnership. She was his best shooter, and he could hardly afford to lose her. Worse
yet, she was the only person he had allowed into his life in any real manner in over twenty years. If he lost that sense of camaraderie, he’d be back in his home, lonely, smoking, drinking, and pacing.

  Exactly as he was doing now.

  Well shit, he thought.

  He sat on the side of the bed, wondering what the girls were doing down the hall. Were they watching the news as he was, hanging on every story, waiting for the cue to spring into action? There had been another attack, in the financial district this time. Two dozen rats came out of a toilet in a pub and started biting the people discussing business deals over early martinis.

  And a Lycanthrope had been spotted.

  “Well, well, well,” he said with a grunt, cigar in the corner of his crooked mouth. “Looks like we’re going on another werewolf hunt.”

  He waited for the phone to ring, trying not to think of the two women who were probably in the middle of some pillow-fighting, nightie-wearing, teenaged boy’s porno fantasy. He concentrated on the television news. Wondering if this was just a lone wolf running around, following the trail of the rats, or…

  He noticed the sunlight streaming in the window. He made a disgusted sound, frustrated with the irresponsibility of the news reporters. It couldn’t be a real sighting. There wasn’t even a full moon for another six days or so. Probably someone caught sight of a large dog or one of those pinko hippies who refused to yield to modern times or modern haircuts.

  Unless the Chapel had discovered another way to keep their animal forms, unaffected by the lunar cycle.

  Still, he continued to watch the idiot box, wishing he’d brought a book to read.

  Chapter 4

  11:30 am

  Michael Keene let his eyes adjust to the brighter light ahead in the tunnel. He’d come up from the underground too quickly before, and he’d nearly blinded himself when the fluorescent subway platform lights seared his eyeballs.