Cult of the Moon by Devin Hanson

Author:Devin Hanson [Hanson, Devin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B0C2LF26L6
Published: 2023-07-31T05:00:00+00:00

16.

T o the west, floodlights bloomed in the darkness, lighting up the bleak concrete edifices of the twin towers and the surrounding complex. Below us, the werewolves slowed their gallop to a cautious jog. The newcomers began to arrive from the south. They had come a long way in a short time, and their numbers were strung out somewhat.

As we watched, the two groups merged. It wasn’t an organized horde. There were surges of motion within the pack as the creatures snarled and bit at each other. A frisson ran through the pack as a larger werewolf bulled through the others and cuffed down the squabbling weres.

“There, you see that?” I pointed. “There’s a thrall!”

“Really? Where?” Sam leaned over to look.

I tried to point out the big were, but after a few seconds, I wasn’t sure myself which one was which. “Damn it. It’s gone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” was Vassar’s opinion. “We could not act now anyway. It is enough to know there are thralls among them, and gives us our plan of action.”

“Find the thralls and kill them,” Sam said.

“Yeah. If the thralls act the same way as they did in the mountains, they’ll sit apart from the fighting. If we’re lucky, we can spot them from the helicopter.”

Red and blue lights showed up in the streets below us. A dozen cop cars came streaming out of a parking structure and split up to start blocking streets leading toward the prison.

“Prison threat protocols,” Sam explained. “They’re cordoning off the surrounding blocks. That should keep civilians away from the area.”

“They better hurry,” Vassar grunted. “The attack is beginning.”

He was right. The pack of werewolves was beginning to move. I thought I spotted at least one more thrall among the pack, snapping at the flanks of one of the lesser creatures and goading them into motion. In the shifting light of the spotlight, I couldn’t keep track of any one individual for more than a few seconds.

The first of the werewolves finished climbing the steep concrete slope of the river basin. The chain-link fence at the top was trampled flat in a moment, and the dun horde surged across the railroad tracks and into the LA Department of Transportation bus lot.

I heard the wail of an alarm, audible even over the thunder of the engine overhead. Our helicopter didn’t move to follow the werewolves and just continued the slow, lazy circles over the river.

“Why aren’t we following?” I asked.

“The airspace over the prison is off limits,” Sam shook his head. “We can’t get any closer without specific flight plans pre-approved.”

“Well, we aren’t going to do any good from here,” I shook my head. “I need to get on the ground.”

Sam patched us into the pilot headset loop. “Can you set us down on the bridge?”

“With all those power lines? Forget it. The heliport is right there, anyway.”

“Will that work, Alex?” Sam asked.

“Just do it,” I nodded.

We tilted over and swooped toward the heliport. There were over a dozen landing pads on the roof, with most of them open.

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