Chapter Forty-Three – Sam

 

I awoke with a start, the smell of smoke filling my nose and coating everything. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out, but from the position of the sun in the western sky, it hadn’t been any more than just a few minutes.

Rolling over on my side, I flexed my arm, groping around for the wound. I was losing blood. A lot of it.

If I could get into my trunk, I could get to my first aid kit. I carried one with my other gear as a just-in-case measure, mostly for any kind of civilians who might get caught in the crossfire. The only problem? My pants, and therefore my keys, were sitting in the basement of a burning house.

Civilians. Caught in the crossfire. Dammit. Dammit all to hell.

I grimaced as I got onto my hands and knees and pushed myself upright. Faith was a civilian. And she was definitely caught in the crossfire now.

“You shouldn’t have let her come along,” I said aloud as I climbed to my feet, my voice doing a rough impersonation of Col. Harrington’s grating one. “The mission is what matters, not your love life.”

“Permission to speak freely?” I asked the air as I dragged myself to the car, my feet barely leaving the grassy soil with each step.

“Granted,” I replied to myself as I circled around to the driver’s side and put my elbow against the glass.

“Respectfully, sir, shut the fuck up.”

Wincing, I smashed in the window with my elbow. As much as it hurt to bust in the window like that without any kind of protection, it stung even more to know I was doing it to my baby. I reached in, pulled the release on the trunk, and trudged to the back.

First, I dealt with the wound in my side. I checked both sides, saw the clean entrance wound and the clean exit. I was already feeling better, with the chills leaving. That meant the silver hadn’t stayed in my body, thank God. It still wasn’t going to heal faster than a human’s. But I’d live, that much was for certain.

Wound dressed, I grabbed the extra clothes and boots from my bag, along with my backup cell phone, a burner just like the one we’d found behind the bookcase in Col. Harrington’s office. I pulled the new clothes on over my bloody form, trying to cover everything up. Next, I grabbed a spare knife from my bag.

I went back around to the driver’s side. After I’d brushed most of the glass out of the seat, I settled in and used the knife to pry open the wire housing and toss it aside. I grabbed the wires beneath the steering column’s housing, and went to work on hot-wiring my baby. I used the knife to strip the insulation from the wires, twisting the metal strands together. I quickly had my wires bundled together, and was striking the starter wire to the battery line. Sparks flew as I brushed it once more. On the third try, the engine grumbled to life, and I settled back into the driver’s seat. I pushed in the clutch, slammed it into first gear, and tore out of there.

I didn’t spare my suspension this time around as I raced down the dirt road.

What was a car, anyway? Even though I called it my baby, it was just an object. It wasn’t anything compared to Faith, or her safety. It didn’t matter about the look that had been in her eyes when I’d transformed back into a man. It didn’t matter that I could almost smell the loathing, and the shock, and the sense of betrayal on her face.

What did matter was that I had a plan.

Well, maybe not a plan. But a rough idea. A way to get close to Tanchovsky.

Sure, I wasn’t going to like myself after I did it. But if it meant that Faith was safe at the end of the day, I’d kiss Joseph Stalin on the lips.

Soon, I was back out at the freeway. I fought down the urge to turn left and go screaming down the highway towards Garrison. To go in, howling in my wolf form as I tore apart his small army of Renfields with my teeth.

That was a stupid idea. Even if I did make it all the way to Tanchovsky, or Augustus Ironside, Jr., as he called himself now, in one piece, Faith would still be dead. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.

But I knew someone he wouldn’t dare harm, or risk having any harm visited upon.

And, besides, I needed the rest of my loadout.

I turned right on the freeway, slamming the Camaro up through the gears as I floored it all the way back to Potterswell, and my hotel room. As I drove, I called Tabitha on my burner, had her refresh me on what I needed to do to put this bastard back in the grave. This time, permanently.

First, though, I needed to collect that little bargaining chip I had in mind.