man kept his composure long enough to bring the Ford to a stop. “You got that weapon I gave you?” When Cole didn’t answer, Jessup shouted, “You got it or not?”
“I’ve got it,” Cole replied. Since he’d been holding the short wooden blade in the fist that he used to brace against the dash, he wondered if he’d ever be able to pry it from his hand again.
The helicopter’s top rotor was still waggling after the one in the tail section had been brought to a stop by digging into the ground. Its body was shaking as well, but not just from the crash. There was movement inside the helicopter, but it was tough to make out details through the cracked canopy as well as the living stain on the truck’s window.
“When we get outside,” Jessup said, “we need to keep moving or else these gargoyles will take us down. If one gets close, don’t waste time lining up a shot. Just swing. And don’t bother shooting them. Bullets will just give them a little rip and they’re used to that. We just need to point them in the right direction. Once a few of them lock up with a Full Blood, all the others should swarm in to help.”
“How do we get them to leave?”
“They’ll leave when they’re full or dead. If there’s any other way to get them to go somewhere, I don’t know what it is. Take this,” Jessup said while tossing the long fleshy sack he’d extracted from the gargoyle. “I’ll find more out there. You just need to run fast and try to get close to something that needs to be given a dose of Magic Shell.” Jessup loaded both of his pistols and removed a wooden hatchet from a set of loops on the inside of his vest. “You remember that stuff that you poured on ice cream? It hardened into a chocolate shell.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So . . . I love that stuff.” Without any more parting words, the older Skinner kicked open the truck door and jumped outside.
For a fraction of a second Cole considered taking the sane choice and staying inside the truck. That option was taken away as soon as a gargoyle that had been clinging to the roof dropped down and hooked its talons into the truck’s frame and seat to pull itself inside. From that angle Cole could see a second set of eyes placed on the upper edge of its body. Unlike the ones on its smeared face, those eyes were narrow, unblinking black slits. They were the calmest part of the gargoyle’s entire body, remaining focused intently upon their target.
Cole shoved his door open and nearly fell out of the truck in his haste to get away. He pushed the door shut at the same time the gargoyle inside launched itself at the passenger door. Both things collided, forcing the gargoyle to climb the interior of the cab and press its face against the glass.
From the outside the Ford looked as though it had grown a skin and was in the process of shedding it. Gargoyles clamped onto nearly every available bit of the truck’s surface area, pulling away to look up as if they were being peeled off by an unseen hand. By the time Cole had built up some power in his strides, the gargoyles were flapping the sides of their bodies to create enough of a breeze for liftoff.
“Look for casualties!” Jessup yelled while waving toward the downed helicopter.
Cole’s legs were churning to carry him away from the truck as fast as possible. When he looked back again, he couldn’t see a single gargoyle. Knowing better than to stop moving, he focused on the helicopter. The canopy was cracked and smudged with oil and dirt from the impact. Once the waning sunlight caught the canopy at the right angle, it shone upon the dark red hue and viscous texture of something that coated the inside of the cockpit. After so much time as a Skinner, he’d seen more than enough of it to be certain the substance was blood.
It was a helicopter similar to the one that brought Paige into Denver. During his long sleep in wing G7, he’d dreamt of that chopper plenty of times. It had landed on retractable gear, but this one didn’t have time for a proper touchdown. There were no markings. No weapons. Only a sleek fuselage and a sliding door on one side. Someone inside screamed and kicked at