Free Primeval (Werewolf Apocalypse Book 2) by William D. Carl Page B

need it now.
    He said, “Doesn’t look like your friend is here. He has a dog?”
    Michael nodded. “Old man by the name of Jones. He has a little brown and white mongrel. They keep each other out of trouble.”
    He stepped across the room, peering down at the stained mattress. When he flashed his light across it, the stains went from an indistinct dark color to a bright red. Michael put his hand to it, drew it back, and showed his wet, stained fingers to John.
    “Blood. Still wet. Whatever happened didn’t happen very long ago. I just saw the man this morning.” He wiped the blood from his fingers onto his dirty jeans.
    “I’m thinking this tour’s about over,” John said, ashamed when his voice cracked. “What do you say? Time to head back to the surface?”
    “I should look for him,” Michael said. “He’s really old. Fairly sick, too.”
    “With that kind of blood loss, he’s probably fairly dead,” John said, trying to sound as if the whole situation wasn’t scaring the shit out of him. “Not to sound cruel, but maybe we should watch out for ourselves. How many of those rats did you say are down here?”
    “The underground is full of them. The closer you get to the sewers, the more you’ll see.”
    “And the sewer is … where?”
    Michael pointed, “Just past that wall.”
    “Okay, yeah, we need to get topside right now. Sorry about your friend, but I don’t want to face another mutant. I’m sorry.”
    Michael nodded. “All right. I’ll get you back to the surface. Then I’m coming back and looking for Jones. The poor guy’s had a hard enough life, and now this. I hope he’s not wounded.”
    They turned toward the door of the little room, to face a pair of glowing yellow eyes in the blackness of the corridor. They were positioned higher up than the rat’s, a good foot and a half off the ground. With a low growl, they advanced forward, slowly, toward the light.
    Michael lifted the tennis racket above his head, and John scanned the room for some kind of weapon – any kind of weapon – but he saw nothing. He turned back to the creature that stepped out of the darkness and into the beam of his flashlight.
    It was a dog, or it had once been a dog. It stood almost three feet high on twisted, gnarled legs. Its snout was huge, out of proportion to the rest of its body, and sharp teeth poked out of its slavering maw from every direction – too many teeth for one mouth to contain. Its brown and white fur was patchy, long in some areas, almost piebald in others. Its talons clicked on the brickwork as it stalked towards them, its head lowered, the hackles on its back rising. It growled low and deep.
    “Jake?” Michael said. “Oh my God, it’s Jake.”
    Then, the beast lunged towards John.

Chapter 12
     
     
    12:35 p.m.
     
    Nicole dialed Sandy’s Blackberry number again as more footage of destruction played out on the flat-screen television in her hotel room. Once again, there was no answer. She bit her lip, blinked her eyes to prevent tears from emerging. She couldn’t show this kind of weakness in front of her superior officer. She wouldn’t allow herself to openly display emotion like that.
    General Burns was on his cell phone, sitting at the little desk in the room and taking notes on hotel stationary. He grunted every once in a while. Nicole knew he’d fill her in when he was ready. In the meantime, she turned her attention back to the television, a hand in front of her mouth as she watched the footage.
    Buildings were on fire, as were several cars. In the streets, amidst the black smoke and the running, panicking people, towering Lycanthropes loped, grabbing at helpless victims and burying their muzzles in the screaming pedestrians’ throats and chests. At their feet, huge rats scurried, occasionally followed by something bigger – mutated dogs and cats – that snapped at the vermin. Most of the footage was taken live from the air, the cameraperson safe within a helicopter, but