White Winter (The Black Year Series Book 2) by D.J. Bodden

Author:D.J. Bodden [Bodden, D.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-03-10T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

“Is everyone okay?” Frank said.

There was a general chorus of assent.

“What did we just hit?” Jim asked.

“The person who triggered the bomb,” Jonas answered.

“Well, hell! Let’s get out there!” Billy said, unstrapping himself.

Outside, the werewolf clawed through the steering wheel and lateral airbags of her car, kicked out the driver side door, and launched herself out.

“She’s running!” Jonas said.

“You two,” Frank said, pointing at the soldiers nearest to the door, “Process the scene, see if there’s any evidence we can grab, I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

“Yes, sir!” they said, getting out and closing the door behind them.

“Is Madoc tracking her?”

“He’s already talking to the driver,” Jonas answered.

Frank banged the steel partition between the cab and the driver twice, and the van started moving. “Where’s she headed, kid?”

The werewolf had transformed and was running northwest on Clarkson Avenue, a dark shape managing 20 to 25 miles per hour over and around traffic. Even with the siren, the van was barely keeping up. “She’s running toward Brownsville and Van Dyke,” Jonas said.

Frank got on the radio and started talking with Chief Grady.

Billy was tapping his rifle with his index finger. After a minute, he said, “Isn’t Van Dyke that place Eugene said to avoid?”

“Eugene told us to never go there, period. What’s the plan, Frank?” Jim said, his face serious.

Frank gave him a sharp look. “Why are you asking?”

“Because this reminds me of that time we chased that Nigerian into a basement in Mogadishu.”

“Is there any war you two haven’t been in?” Jonas asked.

Jim shrugged. “He’s got an inflated sense of duty, and I’m crazy,” he said. He turned back to Frank. “But not Mogadishu crazy, Frank. How ’bout it?”

“Say again, Ops?” Frank said, putting his hand to his ear.

Billy tapped his rifle. The driver hit the siren again.

“She just climbed into a window on the 12th floor of 325 Blake Avenue,” Jonas said.

Jim leaned forward. “Frank-”

“She killed five of our guys, maybe more.”

“Better than twelve,” Jim said.

Jonas could see Frank’s knuckles turning white around the handset. He exhaled. “We set a perimeter, wait for backup.”

“Because it’d be stupid to go in after her.”

“Yeah, who would do that?” Frank said, giving Jim a tight smile.

Billy took his hand off his rifle and pulled out a can of dip.

♘

The neighborhood was watchful. Jonas didn’t know a better way to describe it. The sidewalks were empty, partly because it was after dark and partly because the average temperature had dropped 25 degrees in three days. It was cold enough to kill, but people - kids younger than him sometimes - sat on the front steps of buildings in heavy coats and gloves or looked through the glass of entryways, watching and weighing what they saw.

They double-parked in the bike lane on Mother Gaston Boulevard, in front of an empty playground with several basketball hoops. They’d opened the steel shutters on the left side of the van. Billy, Jim, and the soldier called Carlyle had turned around in their seats; Jonas was still seeing things through Madoc; everyone else could see from where they were.

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