Chapter 53: Accrochage*
Bullets whizzed. Mouths snarled. Whimpers echoed. Grunts choked.
It was a mess in the woods. Werewolves sped through the timberlands to charge at the heavily armed hunters. The barks on the trees oozed blood as bodies crumbled to the ground, eyes rolled up as their killer stepped over to find a new prey.
Chris Argent was up in a tree, bow ready and steady, as he aimed below at the savage crowd. Locked on a target, he let go and the arrow pierced the skin of a werewolf. It gasped for air, a chance to live for another minute. But, the werewolf's knees buckled as the poison spread through his veins, blackening quickly. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Another werewolf spotted Chris' post and sprang up into the tree. Quickly, Chris reached for a new arrow and plunge it into the werewolf's paw. The werewolf howled. Snarling, it snapped back and whacked it's hand at Chris. The hunter twisted out of reach, but lost his balance. He slipped off the tree limb and down to the ground, landing hard on his back.
The werewolf leapt down near him, teeth gnashing and ready to taste blood. Chris felt the blood drain from his face when the werewolf jerked and dropped. Chris craned his head back to see Gerard holding a smoking gun.
"Get up," ordered Gerard.
Chris pulled himself up, taking out his gun as Gerard took another aim. "I'm going to head to the west," said Gerard. "You move further north. Remember, find the boy. And shoot."
"I know," Chris answered and he parted from his father.
Gerard watched his son march through the madness. Carcasses of werewolves and hunters were strewed everywhere on the forest floor. Gerard, however, did not feel anything different. He stepped over his former companions and moved across the forest, slashing anything that came near him.
He was on a mission.
BREAK
He was on a mission.
To bring back the two idiots that ran off into the city. Derek snatched his jacket from the hooks and marched to the door. Melissa was at his heels.
"Stay here," growled Derek to Melissa.
"I'm coming with you," Melissa insisted.
"No. You're not," he said. "I can't have you play tag-along. I'm not risking another life under my watch. No, Isaac!"
Isaac, dark circles under his eyes, appeared. "What?"
"Stay here with Melissa," Derek ordered. "Guard her. Don't let her leave!" Derek jerked the door opened, the steel door slamming back. He soberly looked at Melissa. "I'll bring Scott back. I promise."
Derek turned and marched down the hallway as Isaac closed the door, locking it.
Once outside, Derek gave a big whiff of the air. He smelled Stiles instantly. That awful, cheap cologne stung the nostrils. However, Derek didn't need their scent to help him locate the two idiots.
He knew exactly where Stiles and Scott were heading.
BREAK
The bell shrilled in the basement, bouncing from wall to wall. Anders and Sean glanced upwards at the sound of the doorbell.
Anders leaned in to Sean. "Should we answer that?"
Sean shook his head. "No. Probably some salesperson or kids goofing off."
Anders rested in his seat, but the doorbell went off again. The sound more obnoxious as the person held it down longer. Anders and Sean again glanced up at the ceiling with questionable looks.
"Probably just double checking," insisted Sean.
But, the ringing persisted. It echoed in their ears, drumming and hammering in their minds. The men tightened on their guns in annoyance. Sean growled softly at the consistent shrill as Anders jumped to his feet.
"I'm answering it!" he announced. "Tell them to fuck off."
Anders tucked his gun in his belt buckle and threw his shirt over the gun to conceal it. He marched up stairs as Sean moved in front of the panic room. The lights were dimmed and he couldn't get a good view of the dark outdoors.
Anders flicked the switch and the lights glowed the room. The bells' shrill kept echoing around the house and Anders, cursing under his breath, checked through the peephole.
A boney boy with brown hair and round brown eyes stood outside on the porch. His arm outstretched to the doorbell, holding it in place as he waited, glancing about his surroundings.
Anders huffed and opened the door. "What the hell are you doing? Stop that!"
The boy removed his hand from the doorbell. "Sorry about that, but no one was coming."
Anders examined the boy's features. He looked familiar, but he couldn't quite point it out why. "I ain't buying anything, so run along." Anders said as he waved his hand.
The boy drew in a sharp breath. "Well, I wasn't really selling."
"Huh?"
"Sorry."
Suddenly, the face dawned on Anders. Before he could whip out his gun, something attacked him from behind. Arms wrapped around his neck, dragging him back further into the house. He went in for a yell, but the mysterious stranger's hand covered his mouth.
The boy followed into the house, closing the door behind him. Anders tried to throw the stranger off his back, but without much effort. He twisted his back to try to grab the stranger, but it didn't work. With no other option, he slammed his whole body into the wall.
A whimper slipped from the stranger. He needed to slam the intruder again, but the stranger figured it out quickly and called in for reinforcement.
"Stiles!"
The boy from the porch ran forward and, fist raised, pummeled his knuckles into Anders' face. It was the last thing Anders saw.
BREAK
"Did you see that!"
Stiles gleefully pointed to the unconscious hunter. Scott rubbed his lower back. He was positive a bruise was going to form in the morning.
"Yeah, I did," Scott replied, but then heard a parade of footsteps. "Shh! The other is coming!"
Scott and Stiles tucked themselves away as the other hunter emerged from the basement, gun drawn. Scott heard Stiles inhale and his heart rate increased. The hunter prowled the house, fully armed and ready to strike at anything that moves.
Studying and pondering his options, Scott quickly gestured for Stiles to move back. Quietly as possible, the two tiptoed backwards as the hunter turned in their direction.
As the hunter grew closer, Scott wolfed out. Stiles held his breath. Then, Scott motioned to the light switch. Stiles, understanding, reached for it. His fingertips brushed it and soon, the lights vanished and darkness enveloped them.
Not a single shot rang out.
Stiles heard a sound beating before flipping the switch back on. The bulbs blinked and spilled a golden light on the room. The hunter was on the floor, motionless, and Scott stood by his head, the werewolf hairs retreating back under his skin.
"Wow," gasped Stiles. "That was easy."
"Which might explain why I feel weird about this whole thing," said Scott.
Stiles agreed with the odd feeling as he had it too, but they didn't fled the house. Instead, together, they made their way to the basement. A place Scott was unfamiliar.
The stairs creaked underneath their feet, but Scott insured Stiles there were no more hunters in the house. He can't sense their heartbeat, but it didn't ease Stiles' mind. The basement was dark and dungy, reeking of mildew. The weapons lined up on the wall and the torture-looking objects that rested in nearby corners didn't help with calm either of their nerves.
But, upon seeing the panic room, Scott knew he found Allison.
"Allison!" he cried and he banged his palm on the door. He cursed and immediately lifted his hand off the door, cradling it.
Stiles glanced down at his friend's hand. It was red and blistering. "What happened?"
Scott cringed. "It's silver. Pure silver."
Stiles studied the panic room. "Guess it's not a panic room for robbers," he said, he knocked on the door. "Allison?"
No response.
Stiles glanced back at Scott, who yelled louder. "Allison! It's Scott! Are you in there? Are you okay?"
Still no response and Scott couldn't hear or sense anything inside. "I-I don't understand."
Stiles backed away from the panic room. "It's a trap...Oh shit! It's a trap. I told you! I so told you!"
"No! No! It can't be! I heard her! I sensed her here!"
Stiles wrung his hair. "Well, do you sense her now?"
Scott concentrated, but all her heard was static. Nothing. "No. I can't hear anything."
"Maybe because she was never here. Like they put in a recording device? Or something?" said Stiles. "We have to go! Before they come blasting us to pieces."
Scott sighed heavily. What went wrong? He could have sworn he sensed her here. The two friends started heading to the staircase, knowing time was of the essence, when a thud echoed around them in the basement.
They both paused.
"Did you hear that?" Scott asked.
Stiles nodded. "Yep.
They both looked at each other. "Someone's in there!"
They hurried back to the panic room, Scott avoiding contact. Stiles started banging on the door again, calling out to Allison.
"Allison! It's Stiles. Tell me you are in there."
But no response came, but they didn't deter. Stiles checked the password pad, studying it carefully. "We can only open it with a key."
"A number key?"
"Yeah, since you know them the best," said Stiles. "What do you think it is?"
"I don't know!"
"Well, then we will be here for a good, long while until Allison speaks," Stiles knocked on the door again. "Allison, if you know the pass code, tell us now!"
Stiles placed his ear against the door and listened carefully. "Someone is in there," he said to Stiles. "I can hear some mutterings."
Scott tried to sense it, but again, it's only static. "I can't hear anything."
"The silver might be throwing your senses off," suggested Stiles. "Like blocking it or something."
Stiles cracked his knuckles and lowered himself onto one of the guards former chairs. "Let's see,…if I was a bloodthirsty manic hunter," he murmured, "what would be my password?"
"Blood?"
"Number wise Scott."
"Oh."
Stiles stared at the pad for a good few moments before typing in one sequence. It was rejected. Scott paced back and forth, his nerves troubled by not managing to help the situation.
"Is there a way to crack it? Do we need the absolute code?"
Stiles gaped at him. "Of course we do! If we try to break in, it'll permanently lock itself. This is a high-tech panic room system. It's not a simply hacking job. It's more complicated."
Scott's nose flared as he exhaled. "Well, we gotta get out of here before those hunters wake up."
"Tell me about it," muttered Stiles.
"Maybe Allison's birth year?"
Stiles typed in the year. Wrong. The two friends tried another sequence, but were rejected. Stiles, every now and then, heard some more mutterings and a thud against the walls of the panic room. Scott yelled in frustration.
"Allison!" he cried out to her, but it was useless. They were outside and she was inside. "Stiles! There has to be another way!"
Stiles threw up his hands! "I'm not a magician!" he implored. "It's a complicated sequence. It's not like I can type in one-one-one-one," Stiles jabbed the one button four times, "and open sesame!"
Stiles pound the enter button to demonstrate his frustration as well. The panic room made a great huff and the door popped opened. Stiles flew back, shocked and scared at the sudden movements from the panic room.
The door slid opened and revealing Allison, tied to a chair and mouth covered, on the floor. Her brown eyes widened at the sight of Stiles and Scott.
Stiles hurried over and helped her up as Scott, cautionously, came over and removed the ties from her hands and mouth.
The moment they undid the tape from her mouth, Allison thanked them. "They're going to kill everyone!" she gasped. "My dad…he tricked me down here!"
"I heard," said Scott. "It's why we are here."
"Scott! They're coming after you! They want you dead."
"We know that," said Stiles. "Didn't you get the newsletter?"
Scott punched Stiles in the shoulder. He helped Allison up to her feet as she raddled on about her family's plans. But, Scott already knew.
"Yes, my Dad did the same thing to me," said Scott. "He got Derek to take my mom and I into hiding."
"Along with me," piped Stiles, who massaged his shoulder.
"Scott," said Allison. "My Dad…he said you need to die. He said—it would end this curse."
"I—"
The sound of a gun being clipped got the attention of the trio. Their eyes darted to the stairs to see one of the hunters standing, conscious. A mad look in his eyes told them that he wasn't going to let either of them upstairs without a fight or, worse, without one of them being dead.
He cocked his gun. "Goodbye Mr. McCall."
BREAK
Harold plunged his claws through the chest of a hunter before the hunter could kill Flynn. He yanked his claws out of the hunter's back, the blood polishing his long nails. Flynn rolled away from the falling dead and got to his feet.
"Thanks," he said.
Harold nodded. "Sure. Behind."
Flynn duck as Harold rolled over Flynn's back and kicked the hunter right in the gut. The hunter flew backwards and slammed against the tree. Harold sensed the collapsed hunter. He still had a pulse, but was unconscious to do anything for another hour.
"Sire!" cried Flynn.
Harold looked up and saw a hunter's gun aimed at him. The hunter pulled the trigger. The bullet sped in Harold's direction, but Harold moved his shoulder back in time. The bullet brushed past him and embedded into the bark of a tree.
Flynn pulled out a small tree from the ground. With his strength, he threw the small tree, roots and all, like a spear at the hunter. The hunter was pierced and gurgled blood up before falling and sliding down the slope.
Few hunters managed to arrive at Harold's post. His small band of warriors lowered themselves further into the woods. Harold knew his father would be upset if he learned of their change of location, but his fellow werewolves needed help below.
Harold charged into the forest with Flynn beside him. They both dodged bullets and fought at each hunter that came across their paths. Flynn was agile and expected nearly every hunter's moved. He exploited every vein in the hunters he left behind him. Harold's kills were swift and easy. He had no need to show off his kill.
Not in the far distance, Harold saw Harvey fighting his own battle. He was up against two hunters. Harold felt pity for the hunters as he saw Harvey's devil smile. As both hunters charged at him. Harvey jumped up and side-kicked the hunters in the neck. The hunters flew up in the air, one doing a complete cartwheel, before landing in a heap at Harvey's feet.
Harvey looked up and saw Harold. He switched to his wolf form and sped over to his brother, returning to his human form. "I thought you weren't supposed to be down here?"
"Change of plans," said Harold. "Look out!"
Harvey let his claws on his feet loose and high kicked an approaching hunter. The hunter fell.
"Where's father?" asked Harvey.
"North," replied Harold. "He's fine!"
BREAK
Henri stood at the position Harold left him. He didn't join the fray. Instead, he watched and prayed for two sons. He knew Harold wouldn't follow the orders. Before he even sensed Harold on the battlefield, he knew Harold wouldn't keep his promise to stay away.
But, he was no longer concerned with that matter. He sensed an enemy approaching. He gestured his two guards to check the area. As they jumped from their position and moved to the forest, they were gunned down. They cried out as their eyes rolled into the back of their heads. Their veins darken. Black blood oozed from the bullet wounds while their skin shriveled.
Henri blinked and looked back to the forest as an elderly, bald man stepped out. In his hand he held a gun aimed directly at Henri's beating heart.
BREAK
Harold slid into the hunter's legs as Harvey sunk his teeth into the hunter's flesh. The hunter screamed. Harvey pulled away, blood dripping from his lips. The hunter's hands shook as he touched his now bitten shoulder.
In a second, the hunter turned the gun to his head. "God forgive me."
The hunter pulled the trigger and his brains exploded onto the dead leaves that became the hunter's pillow. Harvey shook his head disappointingly at the hunter.
"There are much worse things being a werewolf," he muttered.
"Harvey!"
Harvey broke the hunter's weapon and returned to Harold's side. Flynn called out positions. Harold grabbed his brother and hoisted him up. Harvey extended his claws. The elder brother threw his brother. Harvey flew through the air, up into a tree where a hunter was hurrying placing a bow in his crossbow. However, Harvey struck his claws into the hunter's chest.
The hunter didn't get a chance to whimper before sliding off the tree limb and falling to his fateful death. Harvey jumped back down next to Harold.
"Good throw!" Harvey commented.
"Practice makes perfect," said Harold.
Harvey glanced around the forest. Few soldiers were scattered amongst the bloody field and werewolves dominated the majority of the fighters.
"It's dying down," stated Harvey.
Harold noticed it as well. Hunters were slowly retreating back, firing with their backs turned to the werewolves. Flynn climbed up a tree to get a better lookout position for the werewolves below. Harold ushered him back down.
Harvey, his chest heaving, looked back. "We ought to go find father. Give him an update."
Harold agreed and they both retreated while the rest of the werewolves charged forward to the scared, battered hunters.
BREAK
Gerard sneered at the sight of Henri, unarmed. "What? No more werewolves to sacrifice?"
Henri remained calm and smirked. "No need," he answered. "You have no more bullets."
Gerard frowned and pulled the trigger at Henri. The Original Alpha didn't flinch. The gun was empty. Frustrated, Gerard tossed the gun aside.
"Doesn't matter," he said. "Let's do it the gentlemen way."
Gerard pulled out his machete. Henri stepped down from his position, becoming leveled with the headhunter. He eyed him, disgusted.
"The Devil in human form," Henri concluded. "Creating hell on Earth."
Gerard's mouth twisted in an ugly form. "Says the creature birthed in Hell," he spat. "A monster!"
Henri stepped forward, calmed and composed. "Funny," he said. "I hear the same thing about you."
Gerard didn't move. He kept a firm grip on his machete, ready to jam the sharp tip through the werewolf's chest.
Henri never looked at the machete. His eyes remained hooked onto Gerard. "Word is that you've killed some of your own men," he said, jeering at the aged hunter. "What kind of hunter would slay his own men? What kind of human would slaughter the very people he swore to protect?"
Gerard shrugged. "Necessary deaths," he said. "I did what was needed."
"How noble of you," teased Henri, "to sacrifice your morality to achieve a pointless goal."
"Pointless!"
"Of course," Henri sighed. "As long as my grandson lives, werewolves will exist."
Gerard sneered at the Alpha, a vein in his neck pulsing. "I can kill him."
Now, Henri chuckled at the hunter's statement, rolling his eyes. "I've already seen you try," he said. "And, it failed miserably."
The hunter frowned. "Scott—the freak of nature," Gerard murmured as he waved his machete in little circles in front of him. "There were a few mishaps, but he's not invincible. He can still die. Maybe not through the First Human Blood, but I'm sure beheading will work."
The Alpha's jaw cracked. His lip curled back as fangs poked out. He stared crossly and snarled. "Fortunately, you won't ever get the chance."
A sly smile grew on Gerard's face. "Why not?" he sneered. "Did you hide him from the world? Send him away? That won't stop me. In fact, it hasn't."
Henri's hairs began to prickle out from underneath the skin.
"You thought you outwit me, but you didn't," continued Gerard, tauntingly. "I know where he is. I know he hides in the Hale loft. In fact, I already sent an army there about a hour ago."
"Him and everyone else there," Gerard said, grinning from ear to ear as the Alpha's face burned, "are dead!"
Eyes turned blood red as Henri shed his human form into a gigantic hound. The long snout pointed up to the sky, the tuft of dark hair coating the whole body tripled the size of an average wolf.
Gerard stepped back at the sight, but held his machete up. Brown locked on red, Gerard gave a roar and charged at the werewolf. Henri leapt up into the air, his feet pounding the Earth as he bounded to the hunter, teeth gnashing.
They collided.
Henri knocked the hunter off his feet, pinning him under one thick paw. Gerard swung his machete around and stabbed it into the paw. Henri howled and clawed Gerard's face. Flesh ripped open, blood trickling across his face as Gerard slashed madly at the werewolf.
Yelping, the werewolf jumped off and Gerard, blood smearing across his eyes, saw the werewolf turning back around to him. He had a short amount of time. Gerard saw the sharp teeth, snapping in the direction of his throat. He raised the machete as the werewolf shot at him.
In one quick jab, Gerard saw his machete's tip jam into the werewolf's coat of fur. A whimper died out of its mouth as the end of the machete popped from the other side. The werewolf fidgeted. Then shivered.
Gerard yanked the machete back and the werewolf dropped like a broken puppet. Soon, the fur retreated into the skin, the red eyes dimming into a dull grey. Rested below at an erratic angle was the Alpha of Originals.
The hunter laughed. He got him! He killed the Alpha!
Gerard leered over his victory as Henri's chest heaved quickly, bouncing. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll be reunited with the rest of your family soon. I promise."
Henri's eyes widened, struggling to follow Gerard's footsteps as the hunter went back into the woods, content with his successful kill. And, Henri, his last grasp of breath was used to say the one word.
"Scott…"
*supposedly means clash in French
