To his hawk senses, the wind was a rich plethora of smells and sound. Toast burned two houses down, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee and the almost too powerful scent of rotten meat from the overflowing rubbish bins in the house just below. A mouse ducked for cover as he flew over some bushes, the creature's shrill shriek music to his ears. Beyond that, the startled cry of a budgie from a nearby tree.
Budgies — wild budgies — didn't actually live in suburbia. He circled towards it.
Blue feathers exploded from the tree as the budgie rose skyward, wings pumping frantically. He circled. If this budgie was the shapeshifter they were after, then its sudden flight didn't make sense. All it had to do was sit quietly in the tree and he probably wouldn't even have seen it. His hawk sight was keen, but he wasn't capable of seeing past the thick, dark canopy of the treetop.
He watched the budgie's flight for several more seconds, and then he slowly winged after it. Every sense he had suggested this bird was their shifter. Just as everything suggested this sudden retreat was a setup that smelled worse than Stephan's gym shoes in summer.
Still, he had little option but to follow. He'd tried once before to catch a felon in his claws and had almost killed the man. Hawk claws were meant to rake and kill, not gently capture. Of course, killing might be considered justifiable in this case, but he wanted answers as well as her death. He needed to know why she was killing people like Miranda — people who had done nothing more than survive the odds to be born.
They winged their way along the Western Freeway and across to the industrialized suburb of Altona before the budgie finally began to descend.
He circled, watching the small blue bird arrow through a broken side window of what looked like an abandoned factory.
The smell of a trap was so strong he could practically walk on it. He drifted down, watching the factory, trying to see if there was anyone else about. Two cars were parked around the back of the building, which meant the budgie could have a friend waiting below. He circled down, shifting shape as he neared the ground.
The hood of the gray Ford was warm to the touch and had been driven very recently. The other car was cold, suggesting it had been here for a while.
The wind tugged at several loose sheets of metal along the factory's roof and whistled through the many gaps in the walls. The building had been abandoned for some time. Why, then, were the murderous budgie and her friend here?
He pressed the locater switch on his viaphone, and then he drew his gun and slowly approached the door. The handle turned somewhat stiffly, and the door opened with the slightest of creaks. He moved inside quickly, dropping to one knee to present less of a target, and quickly scanned the darkness. The windows that weren't broken were caked with dirt and cobwebs, and the few beams of light that managed to filter through them did little to break the blackness. He could barely see more than a few feet ahead.
He rolled his shoulders slightly, trying to ease the tension in them. Once his eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, he moved along the wall. There were several large shapes across the other side — offices, by the look of them. There was also what looked like a set of stairs, leading down into a deeper pit of darkness.
He'd find the budgie there, instinct suggested. But he'd also find the trap.
He checked the two offices, but they held nothing but a scattering of broken furniture and years of dust. If there was anything in this old warehouse to find, it was definitely on the floor below. He stopped in the doorway of the second office, studying the stairway to his left.
He should call for backup, but in this thick silence, his voice would carry all too easy. He could text, of course, but he'd never really mastered any sort of speed with text, and it would take him longer than he suspected he had. They had to know he was here — if he didn't make a move and appeared to be waiting for help, they'd surely leave. He couldn't cover all exits, couldn't stop two of them, and while he could fly fast, it was doubtful he'd be able to out fly a car intent on losing any pursuit. Meaning they might lose their only opportunity to get close to their murderer. He had no idea what game she was playing right now, but he had a feeling it was one he had to continue to the end.
He edged down the stairs. The darkness wrapped around him, so blanket thick that he could barely see the steps. The wind didn't extend this far, and the still air smelled old.
When he reached the bottom step, he stopped. Though he could hear no sound, awareness washed over him. Someone stood close.
He swung, sweeping with a booted foot. His kick sliced through the thick darkness but connected with nothing more than air.
A malevolent chuckle ran around him. He moved right, keeping his back to the wall and his gun set on stun and ready to fire.
Sound whispered across the silence. Footsteps, moving through the darkness. The back of his neck began to itch again. The air stirred and he dove away, catching a brief glimpse of a knife as it sliced through where he'd stood only seconds before. He hit the ground, rolled back to his feet, and fired.
The pulsating light of the laser briefly illuminated a bloated, red-veined face, but the stranger moved far too fast, and the shot missed. Footsteps slithered away.
He backed to the wall. Breath stirred the silence, its rhythm rapid, as if full of terror. Or excitement.
Another footstep scraped across the silence, this time only yards away. He dropped to a crouch and crept forward. The harsh breathing continued, each intake of air a whisper of pain. This wasn't the budgie, but her friend with the bloated face.
He rose and swung his fist. It connected with a wall of flesh that felt as solid as a brick wall. A stomach, not a chin. The man had to be huge.
There was a grunt of pain and then air stirred. He ducked. The knife sliced passed his chest, the tip of steel nicking one of his shirt buttons. Obviously, they were trying to hurt rather than kill him.
He stepped back and fired the laser. In the brief flare of light he saw a bulbous nose, mismatched eyes and ragged, flapping lips. All on a figure over eight feet tall. The man looked like a cross between a giant and an ogre.
The shots hit the stranger's shoulder. The big man grunted and stumbled away, right arm flapping uselessly. Gabriel sighted the laser on the sound of his footsteps and fired again.
The man hit the ground with a thump and didn't move. He listened to the silence for several seconds, wondering where the hell the budgie was, and then he moved cautiously forward. A human form loomed out of the darkness. The stranger was a mountain, even lying down. Gabriel nudged him with a boot. He didn't move.
This close, he could see the rise and fall of the stranger's chest, giant bellows that struggled to work. Gabriel frowned. It almost seemed as if the weight of his flesh pressing down on his lungs was almost too much to move. He might die if he remained in that position for very long.
Air stirred, warning him of movement behind him. He ducked, but not fast enough. Something smashed into the side of his head and the lights went out.