The Best Medicine Ch. 03

"Take the Princess, a satellite phone, and whatever weapon you need, and go hide in the woods as soon as we draw their fire."

"Why don't we just stay in the car?" Vanesse whimpered. "We're safe here and . . . and --" Her eyes glazed over as she looked to the sky. "Something's not right," she whispered. "Something up there . . . it's dead."

Trina stuck a 9mm pistol and some extra clips into her belt and grabbed a machete. "Dead? What the --" She paused. "A zombie? In a helicopter? No --"

"Vampire," Alani whispered.

"Alani," came Farmer's voice, "Mind throwing up a screen?"

Alani's eyes began to glow as she rolled down the window a crack and pointed outside. As the helicopter returned, a blast of snow shot upward, forming a white mushroom cloud. Under normal circumstances, it might have been pretty.

'Forgot she was a water elementalist,' Trina thought, her mind as cold as ice. 'No more drama. I have work to do.' "Princess, we can't stay. We may be safer for now, but if they surround the vehicle, they WILL get in."

"Well, this should give them something to think about," Jack said as he opened up the back of the SUV and got out, a long metal tube in his hands.

"What's that?" Vanesse asked, peeking over the seat.

Trina's face did not change, though she was surprise. "It's a rocket launcher. When the projectile comes out, run for the woods in that direction," she said, pointing at cover that was only about six feet away.

"Aren't we going to help?"

"No, we're going to run. You getting killed runs contrary to everyone's objectives."

'When did my life become an "objective" for you?' Vanesse thought, a moment of sadness filtering into the chaos around her.

Up in the helicopter, Abraham Holmes was not a happy camper. First, someone from his forward team had started firing early, well before the chopper was in position for its strafe. Secondly, Natasha had frozen up a minute earlier, muttering something about "being seen," and now someone was blinding his chopper with powdered snow. He was fairly certain that snow was supposed to fall, not erupt like a mushroom cloud.

"Pull around!" Christopher Knight shouted over the noise. "I think I can get the SUV --"

"They'll have something planned," Abraham replied. "And why the hell didn't anyone tell me they had a spell-caster?"

"How often do you see lycanthrope spell-slingers? It's like one out of a couple hundred. The only spell-caster they were supposed to have was the necromancer, and she's untrained."

"No," Natasha said, dressed in tight-fitting body-armor that actually made her seem scarier than normal. "Her light is brighter now."

Abraham resisted a growl. It had taken long enough to interpret her directions, he certainly was not going to try and translate Natasha gibberish on the fly. It had taken long enough to translate her vague babblings about the Princess's location into "Yellowhead Highway." Instead, he scanned the ground. "Where the hell did they --" He stopped as the snow cloud cleared. "EVASIVE MANEUVERS!" he shouted.

The pilot yanked the cyclic to the left and just managed to avoid a fiery plume of smoke as a rocket shot upward.

"Fuck!" Jack was yelling. "Last time we buy artillery from the damn Russians. It didn't arm!" He reached into the vehicle and grabbed another rocket.

"Run!" Trina shouted, dragging Vanesse from the car and pushing her towards the deep woods. And as the two elves began to run, Trina began to listen. From above, the screeching of the helicopters engine and the pounding of the rotors were like drums and a steel guitar, warming up the crowd for the main show. She wanted to hear the music. She wanted to feel it in her blood. Around them, they heard the constant percussion of gunfire and the lyrical screams of warriors performing their craft.

The werewolves of the Dark Hunt found themselves in the fight of their lives. Most of them were soldiers, turned by Abraham or his lieutenants, and they were used to fighting with military precision. The problem they had was that due to the relative rarity of werehyenas in the world and especially in the Americas, the wolves did not know how to fight them. It was like an Olympic fencer finding himself in a Texas bar brawl. Both sides were good at what they did, but the werehyenas enjoyed it a hell of a lot more.

Farmer had switched to her half-form, a monstrous combination of human and hyena. Her hands were still nimble enough to manipulate her firearms, a shotgun named "Power" and a pistol named "Glory." The shotgun did not have range for what she wanted, but the pistol could jack up that helicopter if she could get a clean shot. She was maneuvering herself to keep the airborne machinery in view. She could tell that it was flying low over the treetops, so it was unlikely that it was going away. Then, Farmer got an idea that made her hyena head grin.

"Sir, we've got a problem," the pilot of the chopper was saying. He had blinking lights, and he knew that the tail rotor had clipped a tree, and he was having difficult controlling the vehicle.

"Get it back under control," Abraham growled into his microphone. "We are not landing on top of angry werehyenas without backup."

Natasha was staring off into space, incredibly calm given the circumstance. "She is coming."

"Who's coming?" Christopher asked, looking out that side of the helicopter.

"The laughing death."

"What the hell are you --" Then he saw something moving in the trees. "You've got to be shitting me?!" His shell-shocked eyes saw, to his complete amazement, a werehyena clinging to the top of a tree. And even in the chaos, he could see that it was smiling at him.

Farmer launched herself from the tree and grabbed the landing skid of the helicopter, digging her steel-like claws in and crushing the metal beneath them. Her other hand wildly pulled her pistol out and started firing into the belly of the bird.

"Fuck!" Christopher shouted, leaning out to try and get a clear shot, but he had to duck back when the maniacal werehyena unloaded two rounds towards the open door. He would not be able to kill her, as he was armed with iron bullets meant for the Princess, but --

"We are going down!" the pilot shouted

Abraham was angry. This had gone straight to hell and fast. He made sure that his belt line was secured, then started going into his half-form.

Natasha was staring at him through her helmet. "Wolves are predators of the land, not the sky."

"Tell that to the hyena chewing on the fuselage," he growled, then slid the door open on his side. He reached down, grabbed the skid, then swung into action.

The pilot's plan to find a safe place to bring down the helicopter, which was beginning to leak fluids that it rather needed, was being somewhat disturbed by the fight taking place underneath. Abraham's body-armor was specially designed to expand and still protect him in his half-form. Farmer had no such protection, but she generally did not need it. The two alphas weres kicked, clawed, and punched at each other.

Abraham, with his life-line, was able to take risks that his opponent would not. Or so he thought. He attempted to swing and dig both feet into his adversary's midsection, and the werehyena simply let go and wrapped itself around his waist. Both his hands were clinging to the skid, and they would fall if he let go with one to dislodge this . . . thing. The werehyena sank its teeth into a gap in his armor.

The werewolf screamed, then forced itself to release one hand briefly, elbow the savage being in the head, then reestablish a grip. The blow did not even phase the hyena, so he knew that more drastic measures were called for. He let the life-line do its job, letting go with both hands.

The helicopter listed violently as the weight of the war occurring underneath shifted. Abraham Holmes was fighting for his life in a way that he had not had to do for many years, but he was determined to win it. His jaws latched on to his opponent's head, shredding the fur and denting the bone. He also reached behind his back for a little equalizer.

Farmer was digging her claws into the sides of the werewolf's abdomen, intent on ripping his guts out. But when she was able to dislodge her head from his maw, she saw too late that she was in trouble. The werewolf plunged a taser into Farmer's side and let it rip, sending electricity coursing through Farmer's body. She let out an angry, pained bark just before she lost control of her arms and plummeted to the ground.

Abraham knew that the fall would not kill the werehyena. Lycanthropes were notoriously hard to kill without silver, fire, or decapitation. But he had bought himself another day. Unfortunately, the chopper was still going down, and he was underneath it.

Farmer hit the forest floor with a sickening thump, but was quickly picked up by Alani who had been watching the whole fight with fear and admiration. Her boss was as insane as she claimed. The helicopter was smoking overhead and sped off over the forest. They could run, but they would not be able to hide from Farmer once she came too. The matriarch had their scent now.

While all this had been going on, Trina had been hauling Vanesse through the woods, taking time to stop and look around for their hunters.

"We should be helping," Vanesse gasped as she leaned against the tree. "Some of Joker's Wild were hurt --"

"Our only concern is making sure that you stay safe," Trina replied, listening for telltale sounds of music that meant that someone was coming.

"They're good people, and they've protected us. We can't --"

"We can and we will. You are the heir to the throne. You're life is too valuable --"

"Not more valuable than theirs! Farmer and Jack and Alani and Doreen and Ace and Bud . . . they're fighting for us!"

Trina fixed her eyes on her Princess for a moment. "They're fighting to keep you safe, just like I will."

"I can't do this," Vanesse said. "Freeze to death out here? If our side loses, they'll come after us and we'll die anyway. They shouldn't be willing to give their lives for me. Not when I can do something to help."

"Your Majesty --"

"Don't call me that! You're my friend and I need you to support me in this."

"My job is, as always, to keep you safe," Trina said.

Vanesse gritted her teeth. 'How much of this is her duty versus how much is because of our fight?' she thought. Regardless, she could not walk away. "My parents would not have run."

"Your parents are dead," Trina replied hotly. "And if I let you die, then I failed everyone who ever cared about me. Now let's go. I think --"

Vanesse shook her head. "Lady Trina Cresole, I order you to take me back so that I can aid the wounded."

Trina stopped, as frozen as the ground around her. She had given her Word to protect the Princess, but she could not disobey a direct order. And it was the first time that the Princess had ever issued an order to her.

"Take me back," Vanesse whispered, hating beyond reason that she had just used her royal power to command her best friend. But the need to stay and make sure that the riders of Joker's Wild were all right . . . that Farmer was all right . . . had clouded her judgment just long enough for the words to escape.

"As you wish," Trina said, feeling like she had just been slapped. Without another word, she turned and headed back towards the fighting.

It took them a while, but the sounds of gunfire had mostly given way to the sounds of howling, snarling, and the barking-laugh of the hyenas. The helicopter they had seen skimmed the trees overhead, but Trina felt confident that no one had seen them. The craft seemed to be having control issues anyway.

Suddenly, two snarling werewolves burst from the underbrush. Trina cursed herself for having missed the sound of their footfalls in the snow, as she had been distracted by the pounding noise of rotor blades. She shoved Vanesse behind a tree, then she began to dance.

Vanesse watched her friend surge into action, jumping up out of the snow, kicking off of a tree, then catching one of the werewolves with a vicious spinning kick. The blow knocked the attacker back, but did not put it down. Werewolves were damn tough.

The wolves split, attempting to put one of them on each side of the battle-dancer, but Trina was having none of it. Making sure to keep herself between the wolves and her Princess, she drew the pistol and machete from her belt and put them both to use. The gun was loaded with standard lead bullets, mostly because Joker's Wild did not plan to fight any one specific kind of opponent, but the bullets could still do a lot of damage, certainly enough to put one down and let Trina take the long blade to it.

The Princess hated the helpless feeling that was more entrenched in her bones than the cold. In the last three days, she had experienced more violence directly than she ever had in her life. She did not know what to do or how to react. The energy that she had absorbed was trickling out her ears, but she had no idea how to use any of it to help.

Trina had yet to use the gun, relying on the machete to keep her adversaries at bay. They had managed to put some scratches on her arms, but she had cut one of them in the leg and was looking for an opening on the other. She let one of them move into her blind spot, listening to the battle's rhythm for a quick uptempo, the delicate crunching of snow leading to a charge. When she heard it, she timed it carefully, ignoring Vanesse screaming at her about the attack.

At the last possible moment, she lept straight up in the air, flipping in the air, then kicked the werewolf in the back of the head and sending him sailing into his compatriots arms. Trina stepped forward and shoved the machete into the werewolf's back, driving so hard that it punctured the chest of the wolf on the other side.

Vanesse had never heard anything as horrible as the howling given off by the impaled wolf, but she was about to hear something even worse. While she had seen guns fired before and had seen the damage they could do, she had never seen them used like Trina did. The elf bodyguard put the pistol to the back of the first werewolf's head and fired twice, sending a large amount of skull and brain matter spewing over his compatriots face. Then, with unblinking eyes and a beautiful face covered in blood, Trina gave the same treatment to the other wolf. And Vanesse lost her lunch completely when Trina yanked the machete out and decapitated the enemy combatants with merciless efficiency.

"We need to go," Trina said sternly. "Unless you've come to your senses and are ready to run?"

Vanesse was bent over at the waist, her stomach heaving as she tried to regain her internal balance. "I . . . No. I want to help. Let me see your arm."

"Save your --"

"Give . . . me . . . your . . . arm," Vanesse said, trying to find a growl of her own while surrounded by real animals.

Trina did everything she could to give off disapproving vibes, but the Princess ignored her bodyguard's eyes and body language, concentrating instead on the gashes in her arm. Farmer had talked to her ad nauseum about anatomy in the last few days which, in combination with Lillian's advice, was already making her feel comfortable about her healing ability. This was simple. This was flesh that needed to be mended. She closed her eyes and let her energy flow, stitching up the wounds that were letting life blood out.

But as Vanesse healed, she felt something that had not been there before. There was a barrier of cold that affected only Vanesse's psyche, not her skin. It was like a wall, however thin, was erected between the Princess and her friend. The woman who, for reasons that Vanesse could not truly fathom, loved her.

"Don't give up on me," she whispered.

Trina's stoic face barely twitched. "We need to keep moving."

"Trina --" the Princess started to say, then found herself trailing after the battle-dancer as she made her way through the snow for the werehyenas.

They found a pile of bikes not far off the road, and the wounded members of Joker's Wild had been brought there. Some of them looked surprised to see her, including Doreen. The young werehyena was acting as guardian for her fallen comrades, but she obviously wanted to join the fight.

"Vanesse, I thought you --"

"I spent enough time hiding from the world. I'm not running when my friends are in trouble." That was when it hit the princess. These were her friends. Her kidnappers had become the only people in the world she actually liked and trusted. Except --

"Trina, weren't you supposed to take her out of here?"

The battle-dancer glared and said, "She ordered me."

Vanesse was getting angry. She was trying to the right thing and she was trying to be brave, and Trina was mad at her? She turned her back on her friend and went to the first wounded werehyena that she saw, drawing out the silver like she had drawn the iron out of Trina days earlier. She started to close up the wounds, but --

"Don't bother," the wounded man said, getting to his feet and flashing rows of sharp teeth. "The rest will heal before I even get back into the fight.

And that was how things went, with Vanesse countering the werehyenas' silver poisoning and then letting them go out into the forest. After ten, maybe twenty minutes, the tide of the fight had obviously turned towards the defenders. The werewolves were facing an opponent that simply would not stay down and had a reckless disregard for their own safety.

Vanesse was healing a wiry and particularly scruffy werehyena who had been shot in the kneecap when the forest behind her erupted in a snarling mass. Four figures dressed from head to toe in body armor strode or stumbled out of the woods. One of them was leaving a trail of blood, but he still had an air of danger too him.

But it was the smallest of the four that drew Vanesse's eyes. That one . . . oh, that one reeked of the dead. That figure swam in the gray matter that separated the day of the living and the endless night of the dead. Vanesse had sensed that creature before . . . vampire.

"Well, it seems that this may not have been such a wasted trip after all," one of the masked attackers said. He looked over at the wounded member of the party while simultaneously drawing a pistol. "Allow me."

"Run!" Trina shouted for what seemed like the millionth time. "Get the wounded guy out of here!" she added, looking as much at Doreen as Vanesse.

"But there's --" Doreen started to say, then saw the look of pleading on the battle-dancer's face. This whole mission had become about protecting the Princess, and for Trina it was beyond personal. It was her life's work.

"Please," Trina whispered, just before lunging into battle once more.

"No! You can't make her do this alone!" Vanesse screamed.

But what the Princess did not know was that Farmer had given out her own orders. They had taken the Princess, and they were responsible for her. Besides, she would get back to help as soon as she found a place to stash Vanesse.

Trina did not like the music anymore. There were too many voices . . . too many instruments making noise. But there was also one island of silence. That was the one that made her nervous.

The attacker who had spoken fired off several rounds toward Trina, but the elf heard the bullets coming, and she was not there to greet them.

"Fuck, she's fast," another one said. It was the helicopter pilot, who had managed to bring the wounded chopper down before the four beings on board fled. He reached for his own gun, a move that became frantic as the battle-dancer cartwheeled towards him, jumping up and planting a heel in his face-mask and causing it to crack. He stumbled back, but managed to dodge the machete looking to make his head and his neck distant relations.