CHAPTER 19
THE PACK
POV: Elodie Fray
Location: The Limestone Cavern Entrance
Track: Seven Nation Army – Skáld (Viking/Dark Folk Cover)
Sensory: The hot spray of arterial blood, the deafening echo of gunfire in a confined space, the smell of wet fur and cordite.
Mood: Primal Rage they are here to terminate.
It is a Belgian Malinois, lean and muscular, its brindle coat blending perfectly with the shadows of the forest floor.
The only things visible are the flash of yellow eyes and the wet, white gleam of teeth bared in a silent snarl.
Time warps. Alaric told me about this. The silence between the notes. But this isn't silence. It’s a roar. The blood rushing in my ears sounds like a waterfall. My heart isn't beating; it’s vibrating, a hummingbird trapped in a ribcage of bone.
I am standing in the mouth of the cave, shivering in my thin shirt, the SIG Sauer raised in a two-handed grip. The metal bites into my palm. The dog is twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten.
It launches. It leaves the ground, a horrifying arc of muscle and teeth aimed directly at my throat.
Don't think. Rhythm. One. Two.
I press the trigger. CRACK.
The sound is catastrophic. In the enclosed entrance of the limestone fissure, the gunshot doesn't just ring; it slams into you. The muzzle flash blinds me for a microsecond, a strobe light of violence.
I miss the head. But I hit the chest. The bullet catches the beast in mid-air. The impact arrests its momentum instantly, twisting its body violently to the left. It drops to the snow with a wet thud, yelping once—a high, sharp sound that cuts through the adrenaline—before thrashing into silence.
"One," I whisper, my voice trembling.
"Elodie! Adjust left!" Alaric’s voice rasps from behind me, weak but urgent.
I snap my aim to the left. The second dog is already flanking. It saw its packmate fall and didn't hesitate. It used the distraction to circle the ridge, coming at me from the blind side of the rocks. This one is bigger. A German Shepherd mix, heavy and dark.
It scrambles up the loose shale, claws digging for purchase. I fire. CRACK. Dirt sprays three inches from its paw. Miss. Panic. The word flares in my mind, bright and hot. My hands are shaking. The recoil threw my aim off. CRACK. Another miss. The bullet ricochets off the limestone wall, sparking.
The dog is on me. It doesn't jump for the throat. It goes for the weapon arm. Jaws clamp down on my left forearm.
I scream. The pain is absolute. It’s not sharp; it’s crushing.
It feels like my arm is being put through a meat grinder.
The weight of the animal slams me back against the cave wall.
My head hits the stone, stars exploding in my vision.
The SIG clatters from my hand, skittering across the rocky floor.
"NO!" I kick out, driving my boot into the dog's ribs. It grunts but doesn't let go. It shakes its head violently, tearing at my flesh, trying to drag me down to the ground where it can finish me. Warm blood—my blood—soaks my sleeve instantly.
I reach for the gun with my right hand, but it’s too far. The dog growls, a deep, vibrating rumble that I feel in my own bones. Its eyes are locked on mine, devoid of soul. Just hunger. Just training.
Show me the monster.
I stop pulling away. If I pull, he rips the muscle.
I lean in. I drive my arm deeper into his throat, choking him on his own bite.
With my free hand—my right hand, the hand that Alaric marked—I reach down.
I don't reach for the gun. I reach for the knife on the dog’s collar.
No, not a knife. A jagged rock on the floor.
I grab a fist-sized stone. And I bring it down. CRUNCH. I hit the dog right between the ears. It yelps, its grip loosening for a fraction of a second. I hit it again. Harder. Screaming with the effort. CRUNCH. And again. CRUNCH.
The light goes out of its eyes. The jaws go slack.
The heavy body slides off me, landing in a heap at my feet.
I stand there, panting, my left arm hanging uselessly at my side, blood dripping from my fingertips onto the white snow.
I look at the rock in my hand. It is coated in dark fur and brain matter.
I drop it. I vomit. Dry, heaving spasms that tear at my stomach lining. I just beat a living thing to death with a rock. I am a pianist. I play Debussy. I worry about chipped fingernails. Not anymore.
"Elodie..." Alaric is crawling toward me. He has dragged himself halfway to the entrance, leaving a smear of red behind him like a snail trail. He holds the flare gun—our last resort—in a shaking hand. "The gun... get the gun..."
I stumble toward the SIG. I pick it up. My hands are slick with blood, making the polymer grip slippery. I check the chamber. "I have it," I gasp, wiping the blood from my eyes. "I have it."
"Third one," Alaric wheezes. "Where is... the third one?"
We listen. Silence. The wind whistles through the pine trees. The snow falls softly, indifferent to the carnage. There were three dogs. I killed two. Where is the Alpha?
"There," Alaric whispers.
He doesn't point. He looks up. On top of the ridge. Directly above the cave mouth. The third dog isn't attacking. It’s waiting. It’s spotting.
And then, the voice. "Call it off, Breaker. She dropped the K9s."
Human. The handlers have arrived.
I flatten myself against the cave wall, hidden by the shadow of the overhang. "Stay back!" I scream into the darkness. "I'll kill you! I swear to God, I'll kill all of you!"
A laugh floats down from the ridge. Cold. Professional. "We know you will, darling. We saw the handiwork on the drone feed. Brutal stuff. Vance was right about you. You're a natural."
"Who are you?"
"Does it matter? We're the cleanup crew. You're the mess." A pause. "Toss the weapon, Miss Fray. Send the Director out first. We need to verify he's dead before we package you. Do that, and we won't let the last dog chew on your pretty face."
I look at Alaric. He is slumped against the rock wall, his face grey. He looks up at me. His eyes are clear. Resigned. "Give me the gun," he whispers.
"What?"
"Give me the gun, Elodie. I'll draw their fire. You run deeper into the cave. There might be a back way."
"There is no back way! It’s a dead end!"
"There is always a way," he insists, holding out his hand. "Give it to me. I'm dying anyway. Let me buy you five minutes."
"No."
"Elodie, don't be sentimental. It’s math. One life for one life."
"I don't care about the math!" I hiss, crouching beside him. "We are a duet. We finish the song together."
I grip the SIG tighter. "How many rounds?" Alaric asks, seeing he can't move me.
"Seven. Maybe six."
"They have automatic rifles. Body armor. Thermal optics." He reaches up and touches my cheek with a bloody finger. "Aim for the legs. The femoral artery. Or the neck. The armor covers the chest."
"Okay."
"And Elodie?" "Yes?" "If they take you... if they get close..." He looks at the gun, then at my temple. "Don't let them take you back to the lab. You know what they want. You know what the Trust represents."
He is telling me to kill myself. If it comes to it. I swallow the lump in my throat. "I know."
CRACK-THUMP. A bullet hits the rock inches from my head, spraying stone chips into my hair. "Time's up!" the voice yells. "Suppressing fire! Move in!"
The forest erupts. Automatic fire tears into the cave mouth. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT. The sound is deafening. Bullets ricochet off the limestone walls, buzzing like angry hornets. I curl into a ball over Alaric, covering his head with my body, squeezing my eyes shut. The noise is physical. It hurts.
They are advancing. I can hear the crunch of boots on snow, getting closer. Thirty yards. Twenty.
"Now!" Alaric yells. "Return fire!"
I pop up. I see a shape moving in the trees. White camo. I fire. Bang. He ducks. Bang. I hit a tree. Bang. I see him stumble. Leg hit?
"Contact front!" the mercenary yells. "Flashbang! Out!"
A metal canister clatters into the cave entrance. It rolls toward us. "Cover your eyes!" Alaric screams.
I bury my face in his chest. BANG.
The world turns white. Even with my eyes closed, the flash sears my retinas. The sound is a physical punch to the gut, blowing out my eardrums. I hear a high-pitched ringing. Eeeeeeeeeeeee. I can't hear. I can't see. I am disoriented, nauseous.
I feel Alaric moving beneath me. He is trying to sit up, trying to shield me. I blink, forcing my eyes open. Through the blurry, swimming vision, I see them. Two men. Standing at the cave entrance. Assault rifles raised. And the third dog, straining on a leash.
"End of the line," one of them says. His voice sounds like it’s coming through water.
I try to raise the SIG. My arm is numb. It won't obey. The gun slips from my fingers.
"Secure the target," the leader orders. "Put a bullet in the Director."
The second man steps forward, aiming his rifle at Alaric’s head. Alaric looks at me. He doesn't look at the gun. He looks at me. "I love you," he mouths. No sound. Just the shape of the words.
I scream. It is a sound of pure, unadulterated grief. I throw myself in front of him. If the bullet comes, it hits me first.
The mercenary hesitates. "Clean shot blocked. Moving to adjust."
He takes a step forward. Inside the cave. His heavy boot lands on the center of the limestone floor. The same floor we have been sitting on. The same floor that sits atop a hollow ridge.
CRACK. It’s not a gunshot. It’s the sound of the earth giving up.
The vibration of the flashbang. The weight of the bodies. The structural weakness of the limestone. It all reaches the breaking point at once.
The floor beneath the mercenary drops. Just drops. He disappears with a startled yell.
"What the—" the leader starts to shout.
Then the rest of the floor goes. The ground beneath me and Alaric tilts violently. It crumbles like dry bread. Gravity takes over.
I reach for Alaric. He reaches for me. Our fingers brush. And then we fall.
We fall into the dark. Down. Down. Away from the guns. Away from the snow. Into the belly of the mountain.
The sensation of falling is terrifying. The wind rushes past my ears. Debris rains down around us—rocks, dirt, snow. I scream, but the sound is swallowed by the void.
SPLASH.
The impact is brutal. Cold. Freezing. Liquid. Water. We fell into water.
I go under. The shock of the ice-cold water forces the air from my lungs. I am thrashing in the dark, disoriented. Which way is up? I kick out. My boots are heavy. My clothes are heavy. My injured arm screams in agony.
I break the surface, gasping for air. It is pitch black. I can't see anything. "Alaric!" I scream. My voice echoes. We are in a large cavern. An underground river.
"Alaric!"
Nothing. Just the sound of splashing water and falling rocks from the hole far, far above us.
A faint circle of moonlight shines from the ceiling of the cavern, fifty feet up.
I see the silhouette of the mercenary leader looking down.
He fires a burst into the hole. Zip. Zip. Bullets hit the water near me.
I dive. I swim underwater, blindly, letting the current take me away from the light. I surface again, twenty yards downstream. "Alaric!" I whisper-shout, panic clawing at my throat.
Something bumps against me in the current. Something heavy. I grab it. Leather. It’s Alaric.
I pull his head above water. He isn't moving. He isn't breathing.
"No," I sob, kicking my legs, fighting the current, dragging his dead weight toward where I think the wall is. "No, you don't. You don't die in a hole."
My hand touches rock. A ledge. I haul him up.
It takes everything I have left. I scream with the exertion, my muscles tearing, but I drag his upper body onto the rocky shelf.
I climb up beside him. We are lying on a narrow strip of rock in the crushing dark.
The water rushes past us, black and hungry.
I put my ear to his chest. Silence. No heartbeat. The shock of the cold water stopped his heart.
"Start," I command. "Start!" I stack my hands on his chest. I push. One. Two. Three. Four. CPR. Rhythm. Stayin' Alive tempo. Or Rachmaninoff. Push. Push. Push.
"Come back to me!" I scream, my voice echoing off the cavern walls. "Come back, you son of a bitch!"
I pinch his nose. I cover his mouth with mine. I breathe air into his lungs. I taste the blood. The river water. I pull back. Push. Push. Push.
"Please," I beg. "Alaric. Please."
A minute passes. Two minutes. My arms are burning. I am crying hysterically. He is gone. The duet is over.
Then... A shudder. A cough. Water erupts from his lungs. He retches, rolling onto his side, hacking violently. He sucks in a jagged, desperate breath.
"Oh, God," I sob, collapsing over him. "Oh, God."
He coughs for a long time, spitting out water and blood. Finally, he stops. He lies there, shivering uncontrollably. His hand—his freezing, wet hand—finds my knee. He squeezes.
"Still..." he wheezes. "Still... playing."
I laugh. It sounds like madness. "Yeah. Still playing."
We are trapped in an underground river system. We have no weapons (lost in the fall). We have no light. We are freezing. And the men with the guns know exactly where we dropped.
But we are alive.
"Current..." Alaric whispers. "Follow... the current. It leads... out."
I help him sit up. "Can you move?"
"Have to," he says.
We stand up in the pitch blackness. I wrap my arm around him. He leans on me. We begin to walk along the narrow ledge, following the sound of the rushing water deeper into the earth.
Above us, far away, the dogs are barking. But down here... Down here, it is just us and the dark.