Free Blood Winter by Diana Pharaoh Francis Page A

suit. They swiftly worked their way down toward the shots and the fight.
    The hail of bullets burned faster, and the sounds of fighting escalated. Suddenly, it seemed as if it wasn’t just two wolves but an enormous pack. The wailing became unceasing. The sound hurt deep down in Max’s being, hooking and tearing. Her vision blurred, and it was like trying to look through underwater murk. Perfect . Tyler sure as hell couldn’t blame this on her. But he would.
    There seemed to be only one throat making the wailing noise. So once they strangled it, they should be able to see. Max turned to Oak, who was on a branch just below hers.
    “Oak?” Max whispered.
    His face turned up at her. There was something odd about him. Max squinted and blinked, and for a moment, her sight cleared. Oak’s eyes were disks of shining pearl. Shit . That couldn’t be good.
    “Stay here,” she said.
    “Where are you going? You can’t see. Can you?” The last was hopeful.
    “Better than you,” Max said. She could still make out shapes. That with occasional real glimpses might be enough. They sure as hell couldn’t sit in the tree till they became targets.
    What was odd was the absolute lack of sound from anything human. The fact that the rapidly fired bullets seemed to be hitting things and weren’t ricocheting randomly suggested discipline.
    She slipped the drover’s coat off to keep it from tangling in her legs and eased forward. She leaped to the next tree, scrabbling as she hit with her forearms instead of her hands. She grappled her way onto a branch and skirted around to the other side, feeling her way carefully.
    The tree stood on the edge of a clearing. Max could just separate the sound of rushing water in a creek from the wailing. She blinked and shook her head, trying to clear her vision. It didn’t work.
    The smell of rotting death smashed her in the face like a bat. It was a cold, claustrophobic smell, stagnant and sticky. She fought the urge to throw up, swallowing hard. Movement sounded all around, thrashing and scraping followed by a low snarling.
    She froze at the sound of someone moving along the tree line. Whoever it was stopped a few feet away. He was human and stank of sweat, grime, and gunpowder.
    “Liam, this mist is chewing through my boots and gaiters. I’m gonna have to get up a tree in a minute.” Pause. “Yes, sir. No, sir.”
    There was a military snap to his voice. He remained where he was and began shooting again. He was firing some sort of submachine gun. Maybe an HK. But how the hell could he still see?
    Max blinked and shook her head, trying again to clear her vision. She picked his shape out from beneath the scrub. He seemed to be wearing camo and was lumpy all over like he was dressed as she was in a tactical vest and a lot of weaponry. He shot his weapon in careful spurts.
    He swore. “Dammit! Why won’t those things just fucking die?” A few seconds later, he gave a harsh bark of laughter. “Right, Dawson. You could scare them to death, maybe.”
    Max blinked and squinted and finally caught a better glimpse of him. He was wearing camo greasepaint and a military helmet with a set of heavy earphones over it. A microphone branched down along his cheek. That answered the question of how he and his buddies could still see. The headphones were smothering the blinding sound.
    She dropped silently to the ground. In a quick move, she snatched him around the neck, yanking away his helmet and headphones and catching him in a sleeper hold. He stiffened and twisted, but she had supernatural strength. In a matter of half a minute, he slumped. She picked him up and hoisted him over a branch to get him out of the mist. Then she felt around on the ground for the helmet. She pulled the headpiece off and pulled it down over her own ears.
    Instant relief. The wailing cut off abruptly, and her ears were filled instead with the crackle and hiss of the radio and the sounds of breathing and sputtering voices from