I took a chance, I took a shot
And you might think I'm bulletproof, but I'm not
You took a swing, I took it hard
And down here from the ground I see who you are
Chapter 16: Upshot
"Liam!" Sherry shrieked, diving out from her hiding spot to get close to him. The bullets seemed to stop, the air clearing so that all that was left was a flurry of hand-to-hand combat.
She skidded on her knees like a volleyball player next to Liam's side, examining his wound frantically. He had been caught in the crossfire. A gruesome hole was gouged into his chest, scarily close to his heart. "What do I do?" she prodded him, taking off her jacket. "Will a tourniquet work?"
His face was still contorted into his werewolf form, hairy and ugly. He groaned. "Wolfsbane..."
She knew that the bullets being used in this fight were all laced with or filled with wolfsbane. How else would they do any harm to wolves? But she didn't know what the effects were. She hastily pulled the jacket under his torso, wrapping the cloth as tightly as she could over the wound.
"I'll get you out of here," she promised, hooking her arms under his armpits and dragging him across the floor. The enemies, oblivious before when Sherry and Liam were both on the floor, now noticed that they were trying to escape.
They swung at Sherry, trying to land blows on her head, back, and belly. Furious, Sherry dug a gun out from her back pocket, firing at her attackers' legs and chests. They howled in pain, staggering backwards.
Braeden slammed two of them against a wall, fighting to defend Sherry. "Go!"
She wasted no time in stuffing her gun away again and continuing to drag Liam. The door was so far away. She was halfway there. A quarter. The door slammed shut right in front of her nose, blocking her egress.
A roar thundered through the room, shaking the foundation of the house and shattering windows. Everything fell silent.
"You've lost, Scott McCall," the flame-haired alpha cackled. She stood tall at the end of the room, not a single scratch on her sickly pale skin. Her veins seemed to pop out from behind her translucent epidermis. All around her, people were fallen. Her own pack had reduced from thirty or forty to ten, but that was a definite advantage compared to what Scott's pack had. Malia was pinned to the floor, a heavy boot pressing down on her back. Braeden was plastered against a wall, a knife to her throat. The scruffy man with the scary guns was slumped against a corner, a bloody gash marring his forehead. Derek was impaled, a shower curtain gluing him to a splintery wall. Kira was sprawled on the floor, held down by terrifyingly muscular arms. And Liam was nearly dead. "You have no idea how satisfying this is."
"What have I ever done to you?!" Scott demanded, seething. He was the only one on his team still standing. "I don't even know who you are!"
"Who I am is not important. Neither does it matter that you might have done anything to deserve this." The woman reclined into an armchair that similarly had an uncanny clean look. Like despite the battle that had raged inside this house, the armchair was the only thing that remained untarnished. "Do you realize how many forces have come up against you, only to have lost? You're just a teenage boy, yet somehow, you managed to defeat a family of hunters, a pack of alphas, bounty hunters, ancient Japanese demons, and countless psychopaths." She grinned, her teeth glinting a creepy white. "Well. Except me."
"You know that you're a psychopath?" Scott looked slightly irked. "Why don't you go check yourself into Eichen House?"
"Oh, but that's no fun, Scott! Going after you with my devoted pack and a hired shapeshifter is much more exciting!"
"You hired a shifter?"
"They're in really high demand, don't you know? Anyway, my shapeshifting friend has gone home to Sioux Falls, so you don't need to worry about him."
"Why are you doing this?" Scott bit out.
"You see, I asked myself, 'What were all those powerful forces doing wrong so they couldn't even beat a teenager?' And then I realized: They were going after the wrong person." She twirled a copper ringlet. "If they really wanted to bring you down, they shouldn't have gone after you. They should've gone after your friends."
Scott roared, his entire body shaking with rage. "You do not hurt my friends!"
The alpha smirked. "But I already have." She reached under the armchair, lifting the skirt from around the chair's legs, and pulled out an old-fashioned remote control. She aimed it at the television in the corner of the room and clicked a button. The screen swam with static, but Sherry could just make out a timer behind the noise. One minute. "Nobody is getting out of this house, Scott. Every exit is blocked. We will all die, knowing I finally beat the infamous true alpha, Scott McCall."
"You won't win if you die."
"No, but I win if you die. Say your prayers."
Scott lunged at the woman, slashing madly at her. The two of them rolled on the floor, grappling for the upper hand.
The alpha kneed Scott in the stomach standing still for a moment to land a killing blow.
Sherry had a gun in her hands. No one was looking, their eyes all fixated on the final brawl. She could end it all with one shot. She just had to hit the target.
Hit the tree. She imagined a rough, tall trunk in the place of the alpha as time slowed down to let her make her move. There was a knot in the bark right where the alpha's head was, a practical target screaming this is the bull's eye.
Her hands were stretched out in front of her. One shot or it was over. One shot and it was over. Which would it be?
Bang.
Crimson dripped like sap from the tree, but it was way off, almost a foot up the trunk. She must have been imagining it. One blink, and the tree was gone from her imagination, revealing a very much alive alpha. The bullet had lodged in the wall above her head.
"Restrain her!" the alpha bellowed, pointing at the beta nearest the door.
A moment's distraction was all Scott needed. He swung his claws up, shoving her aside and rolling to his knees. The alpha spun around, rearing for another attack, her crimson hair splaying in an arc around her head.
Thirty seconds left on the television. With every passing second, the static cleared some, the numbers becoming clearer and sharper.
More gunshots exploded, but those weren't from Sherry. The man with the scruffy beard had pulled himself to consciousness and had his gun aimed right at the alpha's forehead. A spot of red bloomed from her pale skin, the blood spreading as the alpha tumbled backward until she finally lay still on the splintery wood floor.
Then her betas all fell, one by one, as the scruffy man's gun hit them all. They barely had time to react. Malia was free to move, and then Braeden was free from her captors. Kira scrambled to her feet.
Braeden ran to Derek, her face white with worry. She tugged the bar from Derek's chest, making him cry out in anguish. Scott helped the scruffy man stand up, giving him a shoulder to lean on as he limped toward the door.
"Malia!" Sherry called, her voice weak. "Open the door!"
Ten seconds. There seemed to be almost no static left on the screen.
Malia rammed her shoulder into the poor door, the entire frame finally giving way as the whole rectangle came smashing down on the porch. Scott and the man hurried out, followed by Braeden and Kira holding up a groaning Derek.
Malia grabbed Liam's ankles, and with a heave, she and Sherry lifted the boy from the floor and clumsily, in a rushed manner, shuttled him out the door.
Five.
"How far away do we need to get?" Braeden yelled.
"As far away as possible!" the scruffy man answered.
All of them ran as fast as their bruised legs could take them. Sherry kept stumbling over rocks and brambles as she sprinted sideways, trying to keep pace with Malia.
Somewhere behind them, Sherry heard something like the loudest firework ever blow up, sending a balloon of orange fire and a tsunami of wind at the eight of them.
She fell forward, but made sure she softened Liam's landing. Years as a cheerleader made it her instinct never to let anyone fall.
Her back scraped into the roots of some rough tree. The back of her shirt tore and the air was knocked out of her chest when most of Liam's weight slammed into her.
She gasped for breath, unable to even move for a moment. Then the muscles in her back and stomach finally released, allowing her to sit up shakily and take big, rasping breaths.
Liam was completely unconscious, but he still had not shifted back into human form. Sherry cradled his upper body in her arms, yelling, "Scott! Help!"
The scruffy man kneeled next to her, examining the bullet hole. He looked at Sherry, his blue eyes frank. "He's going to be fine. I have the antidote."
Sherry nodded quickly. "Who are you?"
He held out his hand. "I'm Chris Argent. You're Sherry Ming?" She nodded again. "I heard you wanted to know about the Calaveras."
"I administered the antidote," Deaton said, "But it'll still be awhile until he fully recovers. Argent used an extremely potent form of wolfsbane."
"Last time, Derek was shot with specialized wolfsbane and he had forty-eight hours to live," Scott interjected. "He recovered really fast after he got the cure."
"Yes, but I suspect Argent has done quite a bit of work on his formula," he answered. "This version completely attacks the nervous system, sending shockwaves of pure pain to the victim's brain. Liam probably passed out when his nerves were overwhelmed - but the kanima poison mixed in likely rendered him immobile first."
"Is he still in pain?" Sherry asked, leaning on the metal table that Liam was fast asleep on. His face was peaceful, looking more human than wolf. The poison seemed to hold him in his wolf form, letting him return back to normal as its strength slowly lessened.
"I don't know for certain," Deaton admitted. "He doesn't seem to be showing any effects of it, though."
She nodded, her arms folded on the table, inches away from Liam's side. His eyes flicked around under his eyelids suddenly and Sherry jumped back, alarmed.
"He's just in REM sleep," Deaton explained. "Rapid Eye Movement. It means he's getting better."
She was still shaken. "I'm going home."
Scott grabbed her arm. "You don't have to leave."
She shook him off and left the animal clinic without another word.
A familiar glossy sedan idled at the curb outside. Braeden, still clad in black leather, leaned against it, her arms crossed nonchalantly over her chest.
"Get in," she said, motioning to the passenger side door or Derek's sleek car. "Argent's waiting for us in Mexico."
Sherry sidled over and slid in apprehensively. "Why didn't he just take me with him, then?"
"Because then you wouldn't have a ride back," she reasoned. "And I'm your protection. The Calaveras are still out to get you, right?"
Sherry sighed. "I guess."
Braeden turned up the music, something fast-paced and punk that filled up the whole car. "Do you mind?"
She just wanted peace and quiet. "No."
Braeden turned the volume up higher. "Good. Derek hates listening to music."
After over ten hours of endless driving, Braeden finally pulled over by what seemed to be a small pub-like area in the middle of the golden desert. Frontier-style buildings rose out of the sand, the corners all soft and rounded adobe and stucco.
"Follow me," Braeden ordered. Sherry exited the car, whose glossy exterior was now matte with dust and unfortunate flying insects. She kept close to the woman's side, put off by the absolute emptiness in the square.
Braeden walked up to the front door of one building that looked completely as generic as every other one and stared up into a security camera positioned near the door. A stoic guard stood by the door, his hands folded behind his back.
He put a finger to his earpiece, nodding. He opened the door for Braeden without a word, eyeing Sherry suspiciously.
"She's with me," Braeden said, as if she read his mind. She put an arm around Sherry and ushered her inside the building. The heavy door slammed behind them.
The inside was a large, empty room. The raised DJ's platform and colored light fixtures near the ceiling gave away that it was normally used for parties or raves. Braeden led Sherry into a side hallway and through several corridors easily. She'd obviously been here many times before.
The last door opened into a conference-style room, where several people were already waiting. Sherry's stomach lurched as she stared at them, a sickening realization twisting in her gut. Three people. The man who'd killed her father, the frightening woman from Stiles' detective board, and Chris Argent.
"Welcome, niƱa," the woman said, a small smirk playing across her face. The gaunt man just looked disturbingly smug and sinister. "My name is Araya Calaveras. You've already met Christopher and my nephew Sicario."
She could feel her blood boil. Sicario Calaveras. The murderer.
A/N: There will be ONE more chapter after this, and then it'll be season 5! Yay :) Should I make the season 5 in a separate story, or add it to this one? Let me know!
Don't forget to review, favorite, and follow! xx
