Extinction Agenda

Chapter One

St. Louis, Missouri

Paige stood on a highway overpass, wrapped in two T-shirts, a tactical vest, and a light jacket, all of which was all topped off by an olive drab canvas coat that came down to her knees and was tied shut with an old belt. It was just past sundown, and the wind tore across the Mississippi River to become even colder than when it had started rustling on the other side. In the distance, car horns honked and tires screeched across slippery roads that were even more poorly tended now that the salt trucks had been attacked by a large pack of Half Breeds. That alone wasn’t enough to call in the heavy artillery, but the Full Blood sighted by the scouts across the border in Cahokia, Illinois, raised all the red flags needed to bring the Skinners there.

“How many times do I have to clean this place out?” she grumbled while checking one of the many handguns strapped beneath her arms or clipped to the mesh belt holding her coat together.

The man lying on the shoulder of the overpass might have gone completely unnoticed by a casual observer if he hadn’t shifted on his stomach and scraped his legs against the ground. His back was covered by a thin layer of snow that blew off him like ash. He twisted around to prop himself up on his elbow so he could look up at her. “Wasn’t just you the last time, you know.”

Paige lifted a pair of compact binoculars to her eyes and scowled through them. “Yeah, right, Cole. I also know that you and Rico spent a lot of time at strip bars or in jail. Real productive. Still beats Chicago at this time of year. Sometimes there’s barely any snow around here. Everyone used to panic at the first sign of a flake. One time,” she chuckled, “there were school closings because the forecast was for it to be cold. Wasn’t cold yet. Just forecasted to be cold. Wish it was that easy to get out of class when I was going to school.”

“Little Paige Strobel in her pigtails and backpack. Mmmm.” Cole’s thoughts were cut short by a quick thump of Paige’s boot against his ribs. He could barely feel the blow through his two flannel shirts and T-shirt but wasn’t about to ask for a follow-up shot. Even if she’d put some real mustard behind the blow, his outermost layer would have absorbed it on its own. The long coat he wore was tailored from strips of Full Blood hide and allowed him to shrug off direct shotgun blasts. It was confiscated from him when he was taken into custody, but had recently been returned, thanks to some impressive connections in the official chain of command.

“Look sharp,” Paige announced. “Your boy’s headed for the river.”

Cole stretched out one arm to support the rifle that was held steady by a collapsible stand situated near the edge of the overpass, giving the smooth black barrel of the Brown Precision Tactical Elite plenty of clearance above the snow. The rest of the sniper rifle was coated in a similar black Teflon finish, so only the lenses of the scope would reflect anything from the few functioning streetlights in the area. He gazed through the scope and gripped the rifle behind the trigger so he could slowly pan along the nearby shoreline.

They were on the outskirts of downtown, with the Gateway Arch to their left and several layers of highway overpasses behind them. Not long ago there had been more riverboats connected to illuminated piers. Most were casinos and the rest were restaurants or tourist traps. One of the casinos was still open and even had a good crowd inside. The restaurants were open as well, but not doing a lot of business. In the months following the Breaking Moon, people were still willing to make the occasional attempt at a normal life no matter what else was going on. Still, even for a cold winter night, St. Louis was close to deserted.

“I don’t . . . wait a second,” Cole said. “Now I see him. Look at that guy move!”

Below the overpass were several low buildings and a wide expanse of parking lots normally used for busy summer days, festivals, or to contain overflow from sporting events. Since the werewolves had claimed the streets, open spaces that backed onto walls or the river were avoided at all costs. Because of that, the figure running from the direction of the arch had nobody to get in his way and only a few derelict cars to vault over as he dashed toward the water. Light from the highway and riverboats gave the snow a dim glow that radiated up to the night sky. When the figure hit the ground and spun around to glance toward the overpass, Cole lifted a hand over his head and waved without taking his eyes from the scope. “Hey, Frankie.”

“He doesn’t like being called that,” Paige reminded him.

“That’s why I didn’t say it too loud. How many is he bringing to the party?”

She lowered herself to one knee beside and slightly behind him, sighting through the binoculars until she spotted several shapes rustling through the shadows. “Four. Maybe five. They’re coming straight for him.”

Frank was a Squamatosapien, and like most Lizard Men, didn’t enjoy the cold. It wasn’t his natural habitat, but he wasn’t about to curl up and die after being caught too far away from Florida during the winter months. His heavier breathing and steps might have cut down on his sneaking ability, but the steely chill in the air added fuel to his fire when he ran. Like any other Squam, he could cover plenty of ground in a short amount of time and wasn’t hampered by the dark.

Through his scope, Cole could see the vaguely luminescent sheen on Frank’s eyes as his tear ducts squirted a substance onto his eyeballs that allowed him to see scents. After snapping his head around to catch sight of the Half Breeds, the Squam crouched down and drew his entire body into a compact bundle. He waited for the last second before exploding in a flailing tangle of arms and legs that extended just a bit farther than human proportions. The moment his first toe touched the ground again, his legs aligned for a perfect landing and his arms swung at his sides to preserve his momentum.

The Half Breeds tore past a squat rectangular building at the edge of one lot that had been used to sell parking passes, then put Frank in their sights, fanning out so two could dart ahead and another three could scramble over a chain-link fence surrounding the lot. The werewolves were moving erratically to swarm around the lot and building, and their target allowed his head to hang in a classic submission gesture that sent a message to any animal with a predatory lineage. Since Half Breeds were among the most powerful predators out there, he knew they would take a straight run at him as soon as they got a clear field in front of them.

“Are those the new rounds?” Paige asked.

“Yep.”

“Why aren’t you firing yet?”

“Because I want a clean kill,” Cole told her.

“You’re not just going for head shots, are you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Are you just saying that to shut me up?”

“Yep.”

Before Paige had a chance to fire back at that, Cole zeroed in on the Half Breed that looked to be the leader of the pack. Tracking so many of them over the months following the Breaking Moon, he’d come to recognize their behaviors with ease. Just as that creature was about to bark the command to charge, Cole released the breath he’d been holding and squeezed the trigger. The Brown Tactical bucked once against his shoulder and spat its round through the air. Not only was the rifle custom built to fire a .50 caliber round, but the bullets were lovingly crafted by the Skinners themselves.

Although Cole had spent plenty of time at firing ranges when researching the video game shooters he’d helped design, that experience paled next to the crash course he’d been given by the snipers of the Inhuman Response Division. Although refusing to become official members of the IRD, he, Paige, and a few other Skinners had signed on as specialists with the military fire teams assembled to deal with threats like werewolves and Nymar. As it turned out, his video game experience had sharpened his reflexes and eye-hand coordination, making him proficient with sniper rifles. Either that, he’d thought, or his instructor had been boosting his ego by telling him as much. For the moment, his skill level was high enough to put a round just behind the shoulder of the lead Half Breed.

Not only did the werewolf drop, but its front end slapped against the ground and skidded as being smeared against the cement by a cruel, invisible hand. Its front paws scraped the ground and its head twisted around to send a piercing wail through the air. The bullet that caused all the commotion was a Snapper round. Since Teflon-coated rounds could punch a hole through them that was too clean to put a Half Breed down, and hollow points would only flatten against their skin before penetrating, Rico had taken it upon himself to build Snapper rounds. They were Teflon-coated hollow points filled with a mixture of diluted fragments melted down from the Blood Blade. Initial impact triggered an internal support to collapse, which delayed the flattening of the hollow point just long enough for it to crack open after making it through a Half Breed’s exceptionally tough hide. Then the round broke open with its titular snap and let the Blood Blade infused poison flow. Combined with the innate punch of a .50 caliber round, it was enough to drop a Half Breed no matter where it hit. Unfortunately, due to the limited supply of the poison and the time it took to craft the rounds, Snappers weren’t exactly standard issue.

Cole’s mouth formed half of a small grin as he pulled back the lever to chamber the next round. While the other Half Breeds were looking around for the source of the shot, he took quick aim at a cluster of three and fired. It was a grazing shot that didn’t allow the Snapper to do its thing, but produced a cool metallic explosion in the snow just past a werewolf’s head.

“They’re scattering,” Paige said.

“Ready on the backup.”

Hearing that through her earpiece, Paige dropped her binoculars and picked up an M-4 assault rifle without much of anything by way of special modifications. The overpass was about 250 meters from the Half Breeds, which put them within the weapon’s effective range. As soon as Cole fired his third Snapper into the flank of a Half Breed, Paige pulled her trigger in a quick rhythm that sent the M-4 rounds sparking against concrete, thumping into snow, and clipping the occasional werewolf. Blood was spilled, but not nearly enough to put the creatures down. However, she’d accomplished her goal of scattering the creatures before they overwhelmed Frank, which also gave Cole a chance to shove three more rounds into his rifle.

“There’s more on the way,” Frank said through his matching earpiece.

“Stay put,” Cole replied. “Just for two shots.”

Without a single word in protest, Frank remained where he was and watched as the Half Breeds scrambled to regroup and charge at the only target they could see. Even from a distance it was obvious that the Squam was coiling for a burst of movement. His entire body compressed until the tips of his splayed fingers dipped beneath the snow like a lineman getting ready for the quarterback to snap the ball.

Rather than try to find a single body through his scope, Cole picked a spot between the Half Breeds and Frank. The Half Breeds were hungry and too riled up to try anything more sophisticated than a head-on run at their target. As soon as Cole spotted something at the lowest edge of his magnified line of sight, he exhaled and squeezed the trigger. By the time the Brown Tactical bucked against his shoulder, a Half Breed was charging across the center of his sights. The Snapper round punched a hole through the back of the creature’s head, emptied the contents of its skull onto the ground and sent the werewolf skidding on its chest for another few feet. Cole opened his other eye so he could see the entire shoreline while retaining a hazy view through the scope. His next shot was taken quickly, using pure video game reflexes. His instructor would have slapped him on the back of the head for taking it, and Paige would have given him another jab for wasting a Snapper round, but none of that was necessary. His round tunneled into a Half Breed’s shoulder, doing enough damage to send the creature spiraling onto its side as it headed toward Frank.

Now that the two shots had been taken, Frank sprang into action. He leapt straight into the air to avoid the last uninjured Half Breed and came down with one large foot on top of the one Cole had winged. Although they couldn’t be seen from a distance, the Squam’s nails sprouted into claws, which he drove in between the wounded Half Breed’s ribs. The werewolf howled in pain as those claws sank home and the poison from the Snapper ripped through its system.

“You got that last one?” Paige asked.

Cole and Frank answered with a simultaneous, “Yeah.”

She set her rifle down and picked up the binoculars. Within seconds she spotted the others Frank had warned them about earlier. “I see two more.”

“Only two?” Cole asked. “No prob.”

“No. Two more packs,” Paige clarified. “One coming in from the arch and the other from those trailers.”

Cole looked toward the Gateway Arch and spotted a cluster of werewolves moving along the Riverfront. The other pack was swarming over and around a row of trailers left there after a festival that marked the city of St. Louis’s last attempt at conducting business as usual. The festival hadn’t been the bloodbath some people predicted, but it was cut short when three people went through the Breaking less than two hours after the music started. They were gunned down before they could hurt anyone, the festival was cancelled, and the trailers set up to sell apple cider and caramel apples were left behind as temporary obstacles for the werewolves that came toward the Riverfront and veered off sharply before getting anywhere close to Frank.

“Shit,” Cole grunted. “Frank, try to draw those things to you.”

“What more do you want me to do?” the Squam replied as the surviving member of the first pack lunged at him again.

Cole fired his third round at the Half Breed, but only caused a burst of snow to explode within two feet of the creature. “The other packs aren’t headed for you anymore. See if you can draw them away from those riverboats!”

The casino and restaurants were the main reason the Skinners were there. Despite added security to protect those who’d decided not to heed the countless warnings from local police and newscasters, packs of Half Breeds had claimed the Riverfront and killed dozens of people. Now, whether there were people in sight or not, the werewolves had become smart enough to know the boats were a perfect source for a quick meal.

After cursing incoherently into his transmitter, Frank leapt away from the Half Breed, dropped into a crouch as soon as he landed, then sprang forward into an even higher jump that carried him along the frozen bank of the river. He barely sounded winded when he said, “The others had better be close.”

As soon as Cole was finished reloading, he found Frank through his scope and fired at the first hint of movement to come up behind the Squam. The Half Breeds had gathered too much steam, however, and his shot only caused another pretty pop in the snow. “Shit,” he said while lowering the rifle and flipping the safety. “They’re moving too fast for me to catch them.”

“There’s a big cluster behind Frank and to the left,” Paige announced.

Cole’s thumb flipped the safety off and he pressed his cheek to the rifle while keeping both eyes open. As soon as he found the group she was talking about, he sighted through the scope and fired two quick shots into the mass of fur and gnarled muscle. The Half Breeds scattered amid a series of grating yelps, leaving three of them behind. Two staggered and fell over, while the third hobbled and gnawed at a fresh wound in its flank that must have been put there by a round that went through one of the other two. Cole put it out of its misery with a shot straight through its face, which was a beauty to behold.

“I’ve got three Snappers left,” he said. “Should I load ’em up?”

“Don’t bother,” Paige told him. “Listen.”

A low rumble filled the air, which Cole could feel almost as much as hear. As the rumble became more rhythmic, a voice crackled over their earpieces.

“Raven One approaching. Targets in sight.”

Seconds later a sleek helicopter roared over the Skinners’ heads, then angled out toward the water. Cole saw that it was the same type of aircraft that had been brought down when he and Jessup had met up with Rico in New Mexico. After working more extensively with the IRD in recent months, he knew it was a modified NH90 Tactical Transport. It roared down to where most of the Half Breeds were gathered, hovering about twenty feet off the ground while a large barrel extended through the third window along the helicopter’s curved frame.

“Frank, clear out!” Cole shouted almost loud enough for his message to make it to the Squam without the earpieces.

Frank skidded amid a spray of dirty snow, changed direction and started retracing his steps. The Half Breeds closest to him scrambled and adjusted their course as well. So far, none of the werewolves were paying any attention to the helicopter. Leaping over the Half Breeds, Frank cleared a path for the aircraft’s gunner to open fire. The belt-fed machine gun sprayed hot lead onto the Riverfront, hitting more snow than Half Breeds as the helicopter swung around to keep the creatures from racing toward the riverboats anchored less than a block away. Rather than scatter again, the Half Breeds leapt up to sink their claws into the side of the helicopter.

“Can you take any of them out?” Paige asked as she watched the helicopter through her binoculars.

Cole looked through his scope but was having a hard time keeping the bobbing aircraft in view. “It’d be a wild shot. Even if I hit one of them, there’s a chance I could punch through the helicopter.”

“Shit. This is why we should always work up close,” she grunted while packing up the few things she’d brought along. “I told these Army guys not to rely too heavily on guns, but do they listen to me? Nooooo!”

“So they are Army?” Cole asked while securing his rifle. “I still haven’t gotten a straight answer on that.”

“You know what I mean. Let’s just get down there before somebody hits Frank.”

The Skinners carried their equipment to a four-door car with Illinois plates. Since it wasn’t a Cavalier, Paige didn’t seem to care whether she drove it into a wall. Since it wasn’t their old Cavalier, specifically, she barely seemed to care what model or make it was. Once their stuff was loaded, she climbed in behind the steering wheel and started the engine. The moment his back hit the seat, Cole was reaching for his safety belt.

Near the Riverfront, the chopping sound of the machine gun competed with the thumping of the helicopter’s blades as Half Breeds barked and screamed up at the aircraft. Soon those sounds were joined by the screech of metal being peeled away and the whine of an engine straining to compensate for additional weight. Cole looked back and saw several werewolves dangling from the helicopter and kicking as they were lifted farther off the ground.

“They’re trying to bring it down,” he reported.

Paige shook her head and gritted her teeth while driving to a nearby off-ramp. “Of course they are. They always do. Why the hell do they make us give those stupid briefings if nobody listens to us about little things like how fast Half Breeds are or how high they can jump?”

“Because Adderson already thinks he knows everything?”

Most times, just hearing the name of the man in charge of the IRD was enough to make Paige’s mood worse than usual. “Bingo,” she said. “Keep them updated on what we’re doing. Hopefully that’ll keep them from shooting us.”

“Raven One, this is Cole. Paige and I are driving down to the Riverfront.”

When there was a long pause before he got his answer, Cole rolled his eyes and added, “Over.”

“Maintain a safe perimeter until we clear these things out. Over.”

“Frank’s still down there!”

“I think they know where I am,” Frank said through the earpiece. This time his voice was strained, which meant he must have been doing a lot more than running and jumping.

Cole didn’t have to search for long before he spotted Frank hanging from the rear leg of a Half Breed that had embedded its claws into the lower edge of the chopper. After a few pulls and a couple sharp jabs from his claws, the Squam convinced the werewolf to let go so it could twist around to snap at him. He pushed away from it as soon as he started to fall. Both he and the Half Breed dropped toward the pavement, but only Frank was agile enough to turn in midair to land on his feet. The Half Breed thumped heavily on its side, and would have broken its legs if they hadn’t already been snapped along with the rest of the bones in its body during its initial transformation. Despite the awkward landing, it flopped over and stood up so it could howl and roar along with the rest of the creatures.

“Come and get me,” Frank hissed. “Now!”

It was tough to read expressions on a Squam’s face or in a voice that sounded like two dry blocks rubbed together, but there was no mistaking Frank’s urgency. Paige focused even harder on the road and swerved toward the Riverfront. The helicopter gunner unleashed a steady torrent of automatic fire that should have shredded the Half Breeds. Although some of the creatures fell and were subsequently hacked to pieces by the large caliber rounds, most of them were batted around and enraged by the insistent gunfire. Those were the newer breed that had thicker hides and matching sets of tusks protruding from upper and lower jaws. Paige steered directly toward them, knowing that Cole would brace himself for the inevitable impact. Before they got close enough to worry about scraping creatures off the windshield, the car’s headlights splashed over a tall figure that landed in front of them.

Frank was dressed in thick canvas pants and several layers of thermal material that encased his body without doing much to hinder his movement. The headlights illuminated the pale yellow and tan scales covering his arms and glinted off of his darker yellow eyes. When Paige threw the car into a sideways skid, he moved back far enough to clear a path and then opened the rear passenger door to climb inside. “I think this is all we’ll flush out tonight,” he said, “but that gun won’t kill them all.”

“I know,” Paige replied while slamming the car into a lower gear. She tore away and headed back to the ramp and onto the highway. Not only had the IRD set up roadblocks to keep the overpass clear, but the helicopter swung around to fire at the remaining Half Breeds until the wave of creatures moved away from the Skinners.

Even after the roadblock, traffic was light on I-64. Once St. Louis and the river were behind them, Illinois stretched out ahead. A year ago Cole would have been glad to be back in the state where he’d spent the initial part of his career as Paige’s partner. In more recent times, however, the two of them had wandered so much that it hardly felt as if they had a home anymore. What hit him even harder was that if they returned to Chicago, they wouldn’t have anywhere to go. Rasa Hill was gone, and even Steph’s Blood Parlor had been torched during the Nymar uprising that resulted in most Skinners being placed on federal and state Most Wanted lists.

After the events surrounding the Breaking Moon, Cole and Paige hadn’t settled in one place long enough to call it home. The IRD provided them with quarters when they were close enough to a base within Adderson’s jurisdiction. Every now and then Cole found himself thinking back wistfully to the weeks he’d slept in an old walk-in freezer at the condemned restaurant he’d only known as Rasa Hill. To this day he still wasn’t certain if the faded lettering on the front of that building spelled Rasa or Raza.

“You are quiet,” Frank said.

“I’m driving,” Paige snapped.

The Squam pulled in a rasping breath. “You are always quiet. I meant Cole. Being silent this long usually means something’s wrong.”

Cole looked over to Paige, who seemed to have expected his glance. They didn’t have to say a word to each other before she let out a heavy breath and nodded to him.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you can say it to me,” Frank told them. “I deserve that much for putting my life on the line as living bait for you and those soldiers.”

“Not living bait,” Paige told him. “Scout.”

“Scouts run ahead and look for things,” Frank grunted. “I have to dodge bullets and hang from helicopters.”

“Scout plus?”

Although Frank’s yellow eyes were covered by translucent lids, they were still capable of conveying plenty of emotion. When Cole glanced back at the Squam, he could relate all too well to the frustration he saw in them.

“The answer to your next question is no,” Cole told him. “Being with her never gets any easier.”