Charging forward, Hale dropped down and slid to a stop behind the fallen trees and the four people hiding there. Bringing his weapon up to his shoulder, he fired a quick three-round burst at each of the supernaturals. He’d hoped to make them duckfor cover, maybe even back off a little, but neither one did more than flinch.
Growling in frustration, Hale glanced at the four people he was trying to save. One was a sheriff’s deputy, bleeding heavily from a wound in his right shoulder and another from a through-and-through shot in the left thigh. Someone had wrapped a belt around the man’s leg as a tourniquet, which was probably the only reason he was still alive.
The three civilians were faring better, but not by much. There was an older man and two boys that barely looked out of their teens. The man had a laceration across the forehead and blood soaking through his jeans while one boy was cradling his left arm to his side like his shoulder was dislocated. The other boy appeared uninjured but was glassy eyed as he absently stared down at the blood smeared here and there across the orange hunting vest he wore.
Hale popped off a few more shots at the supernaturals, hoping to keep them at bay. Providing cover so the four people with him could escape wasn’t going to work. The deputy would have to be carried, and while the older man might be able to walk, he was going to need some help. That left one kid with a bum arm and his traumatized brother to handle the deputy.
Not good.
“Trey. Carter,” he said into his radio. “I needbackup ASAP! I’m pinned down by two of the bad guys with four injured people we need to get out of these woods.”
“Sorry, but I’ve got two bad guys of my own to deal with and half a dozen walking wounded,” Trey said.
“What about you, Carter?” Hale asked, pausing as one of the supernaturals darted closer to take cover behind a tree. Hale cursed silently as he recognized the man.
Darijo Tamm.
“Um…Carter has left the building,” Trey said. “He got into hand-to-hand combat with one of the bad guys. His eyes went blue, and he completely lost it. He disappeared a few minutes ago, apparently planning to chase down bad guy number five and dismember him one body part at a time.”
Hale cursed again, this time out loud. Whatever was going on with Carter, it was getting worse. And with Trey busy, there’d be no help coming anytime soon. He was on his own when it came to facing Tamm and the other supernatural, not to mention saving these people.
Another blur of movement caught his eye, and Hale jerked his head up to see Tamm’s buddy moving to the right, probably trying to get around to their flank and pin them down in crossfire.
Hale didn’t pause to think. He simply stood up and snapped his carbine in that direction, firing athree-round burst at the moving target. The first round missed, but the second and third struck true, one in the supernatural’s exposed bicep and the other right in the side of his neck. He went down hard, his forward momentum causing him to tumble head over heels until he slammed into the base of a thick pine, the impact jarring loose a shower of needles.
Hale thought for sure the supernatural wouldn’t be getting up after that, but he did. The man staggered to his feet, a faint trail of blood running down his upper arm and neck. He shook his head hard—like someone trying clear the cobwebs after getting punched—then he turned and stared at Hale with the most vicious expression he’d ever seen.
“What the hell is that thing?” a soft voice murmured, and Hale turned to see the kid with the bum arm staring wide-eyed at the supernatural he’d just shot. “Why isn’t it dead?”
Hale didn’t have an answer. At least not one that would make sense.
More bullets suddenly came his way, forcing him to duck and reminding him that they didn’t have much time to find a way out of here.
“If I distract them, can you and your brother carry the deputy?” Hale asked, looking at the kid.
The boy cast a terrified look at the older man, who bore enough resemblance to the kids to make Hale think the man must be their grandfather.
“I can take of myself, Brody,” the gray-haired man said firmly, clearly picking up on his grandson’s concern. “You get the deputy and your brother out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”
Brody didn’t look so sure, but he nodded and grabbed his brother’s shoulder, desperately shoving him toward the injured deputy.
“What are you going to do to distract them?” the man asked Hale. “I’m not very fast at the best of times, and I’ll be slower now. If they chase us, I won’t make it very far.”
“They won’t be chasing you. I promise,” Hale said.
“How do you know?” the man asked.
“Because they’ll be more interested in me,” Hale told him.
The man regarded Hale dubiously for a moment, then looked at his grandkids, who were crouching there with the deputy’s arms draped over their shoulders.
“Okay,” Hale said, yanking another magazine out of his vest so he’d be ready to reload. “When I make my move, wait a couple of seconds, and then get away from here as fast as you can. You should be out of the woods in less than a mile.”
Hale didn’t wait for a reply but simply gave them a nod, then jumped up and ran straight toward Tamm and his buddy. The news helicopter zipped overhead again even as he pulled the trigger on hisM4, alternating back and forth between the two supernaturals, aiming in different locations with every shot, hoping to find a weak spot.
He didn’t find any.
While the rounds definitely knocked the supernaturals backward a little bit—and apparently hurt like hell if the grunts of pain were any indication—none of them did much damage. Even a head shot seemed to bounce off of them.
