Chapter 21 – The Build

Lydia's scream faded into a silence so deafening it was almost painful. Something warm trickled between Allison's fingers, and she grimaced in distaste when she finally pulled her bloodstained hands away from her ears. Ow. Jesus, Lydia.

Still, at least she had fared better than the boys. Both Isaac and Boyd were huddled helplessly on the floor, hands clamped firmly over their ears as agony wrote lines on both their faces. Werewolf hearing, Allison remembered with a wince. If the scream was painful for her, it would have been terriblefor them.

Lydia was slumped against the wall, legs trembling dangerously beneath her, so Allison put a steadying hand on her shoulder before turning back to the others. "Are you guys okay?" she murmured softly.

It wasn't quiet enough, judging by the way Boyd flinched and scrubbed the palm of one hand over his ear. Isaac seemed to be recovering, though, and he responded by climbing unsteadily to his feet and shooting Lydia a flat glance. Waving away Allison's offer of help, he stepped closer to the door and cracked it open, his mouth instantly tightening with worry. "There's a bunch of cars idling in the carpark," he reported. "Looks like everyone's streaming out of the school to meet them."

Allison's heart jumped and she scurried over to join him, gasping softly at the sight. It wasn't just one or two cars but rather an entire fleet packed into the main carpark of the school. "Do you think it's Peter?"

"Must be," Isaac replied, unhappily. "No one else has that many vehicles, let alone the gas to run them. Looks like he brought the whole crew."

"Guys."

"But, why?" Allison squinted, trying to make out the details. Someone stepped out of one of the trucks to face the crowd, but they were too far away for her to make out their face. "If he was going to attack us, he wouldn't knock on the front door."

"Wouldn't he?" Isaac muttered dryly. But then he shook his head. "No, I think you're right. If I had to guess, I'd say he's on another recruitment drive. He's brought everyone to scare people into joining him. Intimidation is the only language he knows."

"Guys!"

Allison jumped at the voice. Hoarse and breaking painfully, it was still instantly recognisable and it sent all thoughts of Peter flying out of her head as she spun to gape at her friend. "Lydia?"

The redhead tossed her head in reply, and her sharp eyes directly met Allison's gaze.

Allison swayed, dizzy with shock. "Lydia?" she repeated, tears springing to her eyes. "You're awake?"

Lydia smiled, but it didn't meet her eyes. "Yeah, hi, it's me," she rasped. She winced as she spoke, one hand massaging her throat, but continued on regardless. "I missed you too, Allison, and I love you, but right now we don't have time. Everyone here is in danger."

Allison blinked, brain still not functioning. "What?"

"I don't know how I know," Lydia said. Then she frowned a little and cocked her head. "Or maybe I do. Banshee, right? That's what the boy – Stiles, wasn't it? – that's what he said. I think he might be right."

"You remember that?"

A flicker of pain crossed Lydia's face, filling Allison with instant regret. "I remember a lot of things," the redhead murmured. She pressed her lips together tightly, one hand creeping up to grasp a lock of hair and give it a gentle tug. "Too many things."

Then she gave herself a shake, and when she next spoke her voice was sharper, clearer, more desperate than Allison had ever heard it. "I know this sounds crazy, but you have to believe me. Something bad is going to happen, right here. We need to get everyone out."

"Fertiliser," Boyd suddenly interjected. He straightened, gaze flitting from Allison to Lydia before stopping on Isaac. "Scott smelled fertiliser in the Sherriff's station. That's what you use to make homemade bombs."

The blood instantly drained from Isaac's face. "I'll tell Satomi," he barked, swinging the door wide open. "Boyd – look for the bomb. Allison – get Lydia out of here."

"Wait!" Allison protested, but it was too late. The boys darted out of the building almost before Isaac had finished speaking, and within seconds they had already halved the distance between the music room and the main school building. They'd never hear her, even if they wanted to slow down long enough to listen.

Annoyed, she turned back to Lydia. "I suppose we should – what are you doing?"

Lydia paused mid-stride to give Allison a startled glance. "I'm going to look for the bomb, of course. Are you really going to leave it to Boyd?"

Allison realised she was gaping again and closed her mouth with a snap. She doesn't even look scared. Since when does Lydia Martin, of all people, rush headfirst into danger? Mind whirling, she shook her head and hurried to catch up.

By the time they made it into the building, Boyd had already disappeared into its depths. Allison suppressed a wave of annoyance and focussed on beginning her own search. Wrenching open the nearest door, she strode inside then stopped, glancing around a little helplessly. "What am I even looking for?"

Lydia peered into a dark corner and answered almost without thinking. "A sealed container with a detonator, more or less. ANFO bombs aren't exactly high-tech."

Allison froze. What the hell, Lydia?

She was well-aware that she was staring at the banshee like she'd grown a second head, and after a moment Lydia noticed. The girl blinked, then cringed guiltily as a faint blush spread from her neck to her cheeks.

It only lasted a second before Lydia schooled her features into something more haughty. "Do you really want to have this discussion right now?" she demanded, pointedly ignoring her deepening flush. "Or should we keep searching for the bomb that could potentially explode at any moment?"

Strangely, Allison found herself suppressing slightly-hysterical giggles. Has the world always been this insane? she wondered, feverishly. Or have I finally cracked? Lydia Martin, with the coy smiles and the pretty dresses and the perfect hair, apparently knew how to make a homemade bomb.

Hell really had frozen over.

Still, the banshee had a point. Choking back her laughter, Allison shook her head and turned back to the room at large. "Don't think I'm letting this go," she warned, not entirely jokingly.

It didn't take long to finish their sweep of the room since most of the furniture had already been removed to make way for a handful of mattresses, so soon enough the two girls were stepping back into the hallway empty-handed.

Allison squinted at Lydia, considering. "You don't happen to know the best place to plant it, by any chance?"

"Best place to plant what?"

Adrenaline surged through Allison's veins, and in under a second she had whirled to face the newcomer, a knife clutched in each hand and feet poised to lunge.

Then she recognised the dark-haired woman shrinking away from her in fear, and Allison's fight vanished in an instant. "Bec," she gasped, resting back on her heels. "You scared the crap out of me."

Bec arched an eyebrow, her hands still raised in surrender. "I noticed," she said in a tone that was aiming for dry, but ended up a little too thin to be believable.

Cheeks burning, Allison hastily shoved her knives back into her belt. "I'm so sorry. I'm just a little on edge."

Luckily, Bec's fear seemed to dissipate as quickly as it arrived. The dark-haired woman glanced curiously into the makeshift bedroom as she lowered her hands. "Why are you back here when everyone else is out front?"

Suddenly suspicious, Allison narrowed her eyes. "Why are you?"

It was the wrong thing to say.

Allison had always liked Bec. The woman was good-natured, friendly, with an upbeat nature that set everyone at ease. Now, though, her good humour abruptly vanished and she levelled Allison with a distinctly unimpressed stare. "I was looking after the kids, Allison, and I heard doors slamming. Thought it might be Peter's lot sneaking in the back, so I came to check it out."

Oh. That makes sense. Get it together, Argent.

"There are kids in here?" Lydia interjected.

Bec leapt nearly a foot in the air, biting off a loud curse before turning to stare open-mouthed at the smaller girl. "Woah, what? You talk now?"

Lydia's green eyes flashed in annoyance and she planted both her fists on her hips. If Allison didn't know better, she would have thought she looked utterly confident – save for the slight tremble to her arm and heightened pitch of her voice. "No time for that," Lydia snapped. "There's maybe – probably – a bomb somewhere in this building. If there's kids in here, you need to get them out now."

Bec blinked, her face rapidly paling. "How do you –?" Breaking off, she glanced questioningly at Allison, who nodded in confirmation.

"Okay, okay." Pursing her lips, Bec released a long breath and glanced back down the corridor, apparently reaching a decision. "Just give me a second. Don't go anywhere."

She darted down the corridor and disappeared around a corner. Allison took advantage of her absence to wrench open the next door. It was a storage cupboard, so it only took a minute of studying the shelves for her to be satisfied that there were no hidden explosives, and she slammed it shut with a huff.

By the time she was done, Bec was leading a group of school-aged children and two older adults back down the hallway, head bent to talk to the white-haired gentleman striding by her side. "Head straight to the Preserve," she instructed, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly with one hand. "I'll catch up with you there."

The man nodded, but his worry lines deepened as Bec came to a stop next to Allison and Lydia. "Be safe," he murmured, and he waited until Bec gave him a reassuring nod before ushering the kids out the door.

Finally, they were gone. Allison thought she might feel relieved, but if she did it was immediately swamped by anxiety as she tried to figure out how to approach their monumental task.

It didn't help that Bec had immediately settled into an expression so determined that it bordered on angry. "I think we should split up," she announced. "We'll cover more ground that way. Unless you know roughly where it is?"

Allison shook her head, but Lydia hesitated, a reluctant grimace crossing her features. "I'm pretty sure…the basement." She noticed Allison's questioning stare and shrugged helplessly in reply. "That's where I started out in the…dream…vision…thing. I don't know how to explain it."

Allison paused as she considered that, then gave a shrug of her own. "Well, I don't have any better suggestions. Do you know how to get there?"

"I do," Bec said slowly, when Lydia shook her head. She sounded uncertain, like she'd rather be putting her faith in something more than a dream, but she didn't voice any complaints. "Follow me."

The older woman led the way deeper into the building, turning this way and that before stopping at a faded grey door. It was locked, but it only took one slam of Bec's narrow shoulders to break it open and reveal a dark, narrow staircase.

Allison studied the room as they carefully made their way down. It wasn't a true basement – while most of the room was underground, there were dusty windows near the ceiling that let in a little natural light. One of them was broken, and beams of sunlight were bouncing off the shards of glass to illuminate several thick pipes wending away from the boiler and rows of dusty shelves bristling out from the far wall.

Then something moved in the shadows and Allison immediately turned toward it, knives in hand and senses on high alert. Beside her, Bec suddenly tensed. "Who's there?" Bec called out, sharply. "No one should be down here."

Whoever it was didn't reply, but they shifted a little and drew Allison's gaze. She could sort of made them out – it was a man, she thought, judging by his height and the breadth of his shoulders.

Then he stepped into the light, and she hastily amended her assessment. A teenage boy, no older than herself, with bright blue eyes and a face that she would have enjoyed if he weren't flexing his clawed hands and watching them hungrily.

He's weighing us up, she realised, gripping her knives a little tighter and ignoring the nervous flutter of her heart. Trying to decide if he can take all three of us.

No point waiting for him to figure it out. Quick as a flash, she drew one arm back and flung her knife directly at his chest. She just caught his startled expression before he threw himself to the side, missing the blade by inches, and then it was on.

He lunged forward and Allison did the same, pushing off the balustrade to sail over his head and land sure-footedly on the concrete behind him. She held her one remaining knife before her like a prayer and lifted herself onto the balls of her feet, ready to spring in any direction.

The werewolf flipped back to face her, his movements almost too quick to follow, and eyed her dagger with a smirk. "Is that all you've got, human?"

"No." A long, silver blade suddenly appeared across the werewolf's throat. Its fine edge just barely cut into his skin, ready to slice right through if he so much as twitched. "She's got me."

Stunned, Allison followed the long line of the blade – wait, is that a katana? – to its owner. Bec stood on the ground floor, her stance light but sure, her irises glowing amber, the sword fitting her hand as though it was part of her.

"I've got this, Allison," Bec said, not taking her eyes off the werewolf. As though to illustrate the point, a few sparks of electricity leapt from her hand into the blade, making the boy whimper in pain. "You're supposed to be looking for something, remember?"

"Right." Allison pressed her lips together, wrenching her thoughts back to her task. With one last suspicious look at the werewolf – but, no, he wasn't going anywhere – she turned and plunged into the shadows.

Lydia appeared at her side, her jaw tight with something that might have been fear or might have been determination, Allison wasn't sure. Either way, she peered into the darkness with the same intensity as Allison, and the huntress wasn't going to turn away an extra set of eyes.

When they had nearly reached the far end of the room, Lydia stopped and stared down a pathway to her right. "There," she said, pointing into the shadows. "That's it."

Cautiously, Allison walked toward the object. It was a little larger than she had expected, but still small enough to nestle comfortably against a concrete column. "Are you sure?" Allison checked, uncertain. "It's so nondescript."

Lydia shot her an impatient look and brushed past. "See this?" she remarked, tapping the column with one finger before crouching before the box. "I'd bet you anything it's load bearing." She reached out and started fiddling with something, making Allison's heart stutter to a stop.

"What are you -?" Allison never got to finish her embarrassingly high-pitched question as Lydia finished whatever she was doing and rested back on her heels. There was something small clutched in her hand, and she looked almost…satisfied?

The redhead smirked in amusement at the look on Allison' face. "Here," she chirped, thrusting the object into Allison's hands. "ANFO bombs don't work without a primer."

Allison's glanced down at the object and hissed in shock. She'd spent enough time around hunters to recognise a detonator when she saw one. Not wanting to hold it any longer than necessary, she spotted a crowded shelf that hadn't been touched in years and slid the detonator into a small space at the back. Then she turned back to study her friend who, for some reason, seemed entirely unruffled by the fact that she had just single-handedly disabled a bomb. "How did you know how to do that?" Allison blurted out before she could stop herself.

The redhead sniffed. "It's just chemistry."

As though that explains everything. Frustrated, Allison took a deep breath and reminded herself that they had bigger problems to deal with. "We should keep looking," she finally said. "I doubt they just made one."

Whatever Lydia was going to say was drowned out by an agonised yell. It came from the direction of the staircase and Allison leapt to her feet, pausing just long enough to exchange a glance with the suddenly-pale banshee before sprinting toward the noise.

She skidded to a stop when she rounded the corner, then slipped behind the nearest row of shelves and pulled Lydia in beside her.

In front of the staircase, Bec was kneeling on the concrete ground, surrounded by two identical werewolves. She had lost her katana, but apparently not before burying the blade deep into one of the werewolves' thighs. He was gasping in pain as he clutched at the hilt, clearly working up the courage to yank it free. The other wolf – the original one, Allison thought, judging by the thin red line ringing his neck – was standing behind Bec, his ridged face twisted in fury and his hands resting on either side of her neck. Allison's breath caught when she realised his claws were buried an inch deep into her flesh.

"You alright, Aiden?" the original boy asked, not tearing his gaze away from Bec.

The other werewolf wrenched the sword out of his leg with a pained grunt before straightening, seemingly uncaring of the way his blood began to pour onto the floor. "Just peachy," he muttered. Narrowing his eyes, he hefted the katana in one hand and tested its weight, then turned to Bec with an oddly thoughtful expression.

Okay, I've seen enough. Allison's heart was hammering so loudly she was surprised the werewolves couldn't hear it, but they never so much as glanced in her direction. The angle was too awkward for her crossbow – the shelves that were giving them cover would just as thoroughly impede her shot, and she didn't have time to reposition – so she gripped her short belt-knife and pressed her lips together as she planned her approach. She wouldn't stand a chance against two werewolves, but maybe if she caught one of them by surprise…

Something gripped her shirt and dragged her backward.

"Don't," Lydia hissed, twisting her fingers deeper into the fabric. "They'll kill you both."

Allison tried to wrest away from her – she needs our help! – but at that moment Bec twisted her lip into a sneer, amber eyes glowing bright as she met the twin's stare with a glare of her own. "Go ahead," she spat. For a moment, so brief it was barely noticeable, her eyes flickered to where Allison and Lydia were hiding. "Just go."

Allison's breath froze. No. She wanted to yell. She wanted to fight. She wanted to tear the twins apart with her bare hands.

But all she could do was watch, helplessly, as Aiden snarled and lifted the sword. Her hand clenched her knife, so small and useless, while Lydia tugged frantically at her sleeve and Bec shifted her gaze to the blade.

"Allison, come on."

In in the end, it was Lydia's terrified voice that broke the spell. Choking back a sob, Allison stumbled after the redhead to the broken window, a flood of guilt crashing over her as she silently slid through the empty frame.

The last thing she heard as she rolled onto the grass outside was the sickening thud of a head hitting the floor.

Isaac pushed his way through the crowd, not even pretending to apologise when his elbow jabbed into someone's ribcage. Luckily, his victim was too absorbed in watching the scene ahead to care.

And now that Isaac was finally close enough to see what was going on, he could understand why.

Satomi was standing at the front the crowd, her arms folded sternly across her chest. Her face was smooth and expressionless, but there was a hardness to her eyes as she stared at Peter Hale, who was completely ignoring her in favour of addressing everyone else.

"I'm not your enemy," Peter announced, letting his eyes roam slowly over the crowd, pausing now and then to make eye contact with various listeners. "The people out there, who locked us in here and threw away the key, who treated us like animals, who spent the last year trying to decide whether or not we deserve to live. They are the true enemy."

"Those are dangerous words, Peter." Satomi's voice was quiet, and if Isaac didn't know her so well he would have missed the threatening edge to her tone. "You speak of war."

"That's because we are at war. And, right now, we're losing."

Grinding his teeth in frustration, Isaac did his best to tune out Peter and figure out a plan. Alerting Satomi was out the window – the way she was positioned, he'd never be able to talk to her without Peter overhearing. But he needed to get people to leave.

Suppressing a wave of panic, he ducked his head and turned to nudge his way back through the throng.

"That's not true." Satomi was projecting her voice, clearly wanting to make sure she was heard by as many people as possible. "The humans have moved past their fear of us - they want safety, not genocide. There is no need for violence – negotiations are almost resolved. I expect to be free of this place within weeks, a few months at most."

"Hey," Isaac whispered when he reached the back of the crowd, taking a small dark-haired girl by the arm. Her name was Amy – he'd done a food run with her once, and despite her obvious nerves she'd turned out to have a good head and a better knack for following orders.

She startled at his touch, but relaxed when she saw his apologetic grimace so Isaac took that as permission to lean a little closer. "I need to tell you something, but you need to stay calm, okay?" he breathed, as softly as he could. "I don't want them to notice we're worried."

His anxiety spiked when Amy immediately tensed, but it only lasted a moment before she smoothed her features and turned back to Peter, appearing for all the world to be listening intently.

Isaac almost smiled at his brief flash of unearned pride. Satomi really knew how to pick them.

" – she would keep you all trapped here for years if it kept her in power. What proof has she given of these negotiations? Does she expect you to just take her word?"

"It's possible there's a bomb on campus," Isaac murmured after a beat, ignoring Peter's grandstanding. "If you backtrack a few steps, you'll be out of sight behind the building. Then head for the Preserve, okay?"

"What about everyone else?"

It was a good question, and Isaac tried to sound confident as he replied. "I'll get them out."

Amy looked doubtful, but she must have realised there was no time for debate. As soon as Peter's eyes swept to the other end of the crowd, she stepped backward, and Isaac released a sigh of relief as she disappeared from view.

"Hey," he said quietly, reaching out for the nearest bystander. "There's something I need to tell you."

Within minutes, he had quietly convinced two more people to leave – a plump middle-aged woman and a pimply teenage boy –and sidled across to the next person in line. Six-foot-tall and tattooed, the man shot Isaac an irritated look and pulled his arm out of the teenager's grip as Peter's voice rang out over the crowd.

"I came here today to give you a choice," the werewolf declared, and his voice was so raw, so earnest, that Isaac almost believed him. Almost. "You can sit here, penned up like sheep waiting for the slaughter, putting your life and your freedom into Satomi's hands. Or you can come with me. We're leaving this prison today, and you're all invited to join us. Every last one of you."

A murmur swept through the listening crowd, and even Isaac found himself gaping at Peter, a sickly spectre of hope ballooning in his chest. A way out? How was that even possible?

Stiles, he realised, abruptly. Something to do with Stiles, it had to be.

Then the implication struck home and his stomach lurched nauseatingly. If Peter and his people escaped, if they took their anger and hatred and thirst for revenge to the outside world…the last year would all be for nothing. The humans' fears would be justified, and Satomi's negotiations would be dead in the water.

It couldn't happen.

I can't let it happen. But how?

At the front of the crowd, Peter was still talking. "Satomi says she will give you freedom. But stop and think about it, for a moment. How many rights do you think the humans will afford you, if they decide to let you leave? How many restrictions will be placed on your actions? How closely will your movements be monitored?

"Did any of you ever stop to think about what negotiations involve? There's only one reason why they've taken so long, and I think you all know it. She's selling you out, one compromise at a time. One of your rights at a time."

Isaac glanced at the large man beside him and instinctively took a half-step back. Something akin to realisation was dawning on his face, and with it came pure, unadulterated fury. His jaw was clenched, his hands slowly curling into fists, and a soft growl emanated from his throat.

Heart sinking, Isaac dragged his gaze over the rest of the crowd. Most people, thankfully, were still eyeing Peter with suspicion. But some stared at Satomi like they'd never seen her before, resentment and horror and open betrayal written across their faces, and others tensed with barely-controlled rage.

Shit.

Isaac silently slipped through the crowd, keeping his head down as he studied the sea of faces, not stopping until he spied an elderly man with grey hair and wrinkled skin who was eyeing Peter with open disgust. He'd never bothered to learn the man's name, but he'd seen him around the camp more than a few times and he carried himself with an air of having seen it all.

He was a safer bet than the angry tattooed guy, at the very least.

Isaac waited until he was directly behind the man before speaking. "Stay quiet and don't react," he breathed, barely relaxing when the man did as he was told. Succinctly, he explained about the bomb and gave the same instructions at he had to the others, but to his surprise the man shook his head.

"I'm not going to run, boy," the man whispered, not taking his eyes off Peter. "I'll spread the word, though, if you want to get out while you can. This is going to boil over, soon."

Frowning, Isaac only hesitated a moment before shaking his head. "No," he disagreed, allowing his gaze to wander over the people nearby. He didn't know many of them by name – a deliberate choice on his part, an attempt to protect his heart from inevitable pain - but he still knew these people. The beautiful dark-skinned woman ahead and to his left: she had brought him food last winter, when he was laid up with a strange virus that made him weak as a kitten. He could vividly remember her kind smile and cool hands as she pushed his hair out of his face and helped him sit. The burly man standing behind her, eyes slitted and arms crossed, every inch of him guarded: he had saved Isaac's life, once, when his temper had got the better of him and he picked a fight with one of Peter's men. It had been three werewolves to one until that man had appeared out of nowhere and taken all three down with barely a struggle. "No," he said again, more firmly. "He's recruiting, sure. But these people are a community - they won't turn on each other that easily."

The old man gave Isaac a sideways glance. "You don't really believe that."

You're right, I don't, Isaac thought bitterly. "There are good people, here, though. I'm not leaving until I've got them out of here."

"It's a nice thought, kid," sighed the old man, before gesturing at Peter with a crooked finger. "But I think you're out of time."

"What are you - ?" Cutting off his own sentence, Isaac fought back a cry as he noticed Allison and Lydia slipping into the back of the crowd. They were trying to be discreet, but their distracted eyes and nervous expressions made it obvious they'd only just arrived. What are they doing here? They should be long gone!

Swallowing against a suddenly-dry throat, he glanced back at the front of the crowd and inhaled sharply as he found himself staring directly into Peter's blue gaze. The werewolf smirked and didn't so much as blink as he flung his arms out to his sides. "So, who's with me?" he bellowed.

The mutters of the crowd cut out in a heartbeat, replaced by a pregnant pause. For a moment, no one moved, and Isaac dared to feel a sliver of hope – but then the tattooed man began to walk forward. And a blonde woman, immediately behind Satomi, who determinedly avoided Satomi's outstretched hand and broken expression. A teenager, and another man, and an elderly woman who leaned heavily on a stick as she stepped out from the crowd. Peter offered her his arm and an ingratiating smile, helping him into the arms of a vaguely-familiar Indian woman.

And that was it.

Five, Isaac thought, straightening with a flash of pride. Only five, Peter. You'll have to try harder than that.

Peter's lips were pressed together tightly, his expression severe as he turned back to the crowd. "So be it," he muttered.

Raising his hand, he made a sudden, sharp gesture in the air.

And the world exploded.