The sound began in Maxwell's metal fillings as a vibration filling his mouth with the taste of iron and electricity, reminiscent of licking a battery. With all of the activity and engines roaring around him, the sound was never clearly audible. It lurked behind the other noises and presented itself more like an energy pulse, as though a jet had broken the sound barrier overhead in the upper atmosphere. But even though Maxwell couldn't say what it was he actually heard, there was no mistaking it. No pretending it was in his imagination. It twisted his guts and made the muscles in his legs go numb.

It affected the others too.

In his periphery, he saw R.J. and Nikki drop to the deck as though they were taking cover from a missile strike. Kendall grimaced, his features distorted with raw terror, a fear that hadn't been there when Emily put a knife to his throat. Maxwell couldn't see Emily's face but her whole body tensed.

Then Kendall did the unexpected: he bolted. Bursting from Emily's grip, he raced headlong down the dock toward the sea. He got about twenty feet before he stumbled to his hands and knees. Blood rushed down the front of his shirt from where the slit opened up his neck. Heedless of the wound, he continued clawing his way down the pier.

There was something fascinating about his raw determination to get away at all costs—no price was too high to pay, not even his own life. Maxwell could have stayed glued to the tragic scene, if bedlam wasn't erupting all around them. The Zodiacs were retreating, their engines blasted full throttle. Out on shore, the tactical teams were going berserk, abandoning their equipment and scrambling away. Most made a run for it but a few of them dove into the water only to be pulled under by their assault gear.

A body dropped straight down into the parking lot, as a helicopter gunman fell to his death. An Apache veered off sharply and went back the way it came. The second one lost control and altitude. It skidded slowly on its side falling through the air like it was bouncing down a staircase until it landed among the docked ships further down the quay and exploded in a massive ball of fire.

Maxwell had never experienced anything like it on the battlefield. Some horrific weapon must have been triggered. Whatever it was, the attacking forces were so scared of it they were willing to risk it all to get away. Should he flee too?

But why surround Amy so closely, then target her with such a doomsday device?

Amy.

Maxwell had seen something similar to this once before. Down in the bunker, the very first time they watched her transform. The beast had roared and people had crawled over each other to try and get out. They clawed at the locked metal door until their fingernails broke and bled. If not for years of mastering self-control, he would have been in the fray that day with only one thought in his mind: get away from that hellish thing. Get far away.

It wasn't the military that triggered the weapon—the beast was out.

But then in the distance, he spied her. Sixteen year-old Amy, small and bright compared to the large black clad men and not a wolf at all. She sprinted for the road, heading after her would-be captors.

***

Alicia half ran, half stumbled down the road. Her pistol hung loosely in her hand, forgotten. The feds were far ahead of her, their black body armor disappearing in the distance. She reached the car and practically collapsed on the hood. Her ears were still ringing from the propane tank explosion. A raw burning in her sinuses made it feel like her nose should be bleeding but it was dry.

The only thought she was able to hold onto was how grateful she was for being alive. The blast had blown her off her feet and when she came to, everybody was running away. Only a few of the government thugs were still about but the confusion was so great they seemed lost and aimless, more concerned about their panicked brethren than some sooty woman walking zombie-like through their warzone.

The Holy Beast wasn't in sight. On some level, Alicia knew she had to find her but that was for some later date. She couldn't save anybody. Not until she saved herself.

Alicia found herself at the rental car, the bright, hot metal burning her cheek and temple, her awareness trickling slowly like waking from a deep sleep. What would she do now? Brett had the keys.

As though the thought had summoned him, Brett came into view. He was jogging up around the high bank and through the brush. He'd looked better. A gash ran down one side of his forehead and his hands were bound behind his back. His eyes were wide with shock.

"What happened?" she asked when he was close enough.

"Military grabbed me." He turned and presented the zip-tie locking his wrists together. Alicia drew her knife to cut him free. "Showed up out of fucking nowhere. Knocked me down before I knew what was happening."

Brett rubbed his hands and forearms working circulation back into them. They got in the car. He started the engine and put the air conditioning on full blast, while rolling all the windows down. They sat there sucking in the cool air. Neither one of them was in a hurry to leave.

"Did you hear that?" He said slowly, as though he was admitting something he'd rather not confess to.

"Hear what?"

"I don't know how to describe it. It was the worst thing I ever heard. It was like the sound Godzilla would make, or the devil, or something. It scared off the military."

"Did it?" They must have hit him on the head pretty hard. But something had scared them, she realized, thinking back to the abandoned Humvees she passed on the way to the car.

Brett seemed to be taking deep breaths, inhaling directly from the steering wheel like it was some kind of respirator. When he composed himself a little he said, "I got that one. She must have been advanced recon, I guess. Thought she was just a tourist or something, then you drew on her and I realized she was there for the girl." Brett turned and smiled at Alicia, the memory of his valor wiping away the fear and exhaustion.

"I saw." Alicia returned his smile, or a weak shadow of it. She still hadn't shaken off the weight that seemed to sit on her chest. Still he had earned some credit. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Brett turned to the wheel with a smug grin and shifted into reverse. "You know nothing, John—" His words ended abruptly in a gagging fit as a long, silver blade tore through his throat.

Brett dropped limply against the steering wheel, revealing a dirty wild-eyed man. He loomed in the driver's window like a giant, the sun glinting off his sweaty black skin.

He let go of the sword and aimed a semi-automatic pistol. Alicia flung the car door open and threw herself on the ground as a slug thunked through the armrest by her head. Like an animal, she scrambled into the weeds and the dark the hollow at the side of the road, while more bullets soared past her.

***

Emily struggled through a blur of tears as thick as mucus. A migraine drilled at a spot behind her left temple. She wanted to wipe her eyes clear but her hands were coated in blood. The knife was still held in her slack fingers as though attached by some magnet bond.

When the sonic weapon went off, it turned her brain into jelly. The knife had been mostly a bluff—a bluff with a razor of reality buried deep in her conscience. Had he called her on it, she would have surrendered...probably. But in that moment, as her world was spinning out of control, shit-for-brains in the Brooks Brother suit pulled away. Emily was certain he was planning a sucker punch, so she drew the blade sharply through his skin before he could get the upper-hand. And she'd killed.

Again.

How many more deaths would she rack up? She literally had blood on her hands now. It was almost funny.

Emily lurched off the dock not seeing the step down to the ground. Blinking through the tears, everything was smeared like a drawing that had ran in the rain. The parking lot seemed desolate. The weapon must have gone off by accident and caught the idiots by surprise. The commandos were mostly gone. A few hesitated on the high ground surrounding the lot like bored boys waiting to be picked up from soccer practice. She didn't see anything that might be Amy.

An arm grabbed her by the elbow and she thrust the knife in its direction. Her wrist was caught in an iron grip and her arm shuddered with the abrupt stop.

"Calm down, Em," Maxwell said. "Where the hell are you going?"

"I have to find Amy and get her out of here." She struggled to free herself but he didn't give an inch.

"That girl is dangerous." He looked out toward the road as though something in the distance caught his attention. "Just as dangerous as the wolf."

"So are you going to kill her? I don't care what you say, she's just a child.  Do you want to kill that child?"

"No. I don't want to kill her." Max let her go. He sounded tired. More tired than she had ever heard him before. He wasn't this weary when he was boiling with fever, fading out on her sofa, with Emily pressing a cold cloth to his brow.

"So let me help her." Something brushed her eyes. She pulled away but he made a cooing noise and Emily realized he was wiping away the thick tears with a hanky. They weren't really tears, but some thick discharge that was already turning crusty. What the hell had the government used on them? When she could see again, he began to clean off her hands.

"You should help yourself," he said. "The government is going to keep going after her. And honestly, if you're with her, I don't think they're the ones that you have to worry about."

"I have to try to get her somewhere safe. She should have a fighting chance at a life. Like you gave to Aaron."

"Why does it have to be you, Em?"

"If not me, who else will?" She had seen where the road to practical self-interest led. Lauren epitomized it. It was a world where the only person looking out for you was yourself. It was a world without loyalty or love. It was a world too lonely to live in. "Will you stop me?"

Max took a business card and a pen from his suit jacket and quickly jotted something down. When he handed it to her there was a Florida address written down under the word, "Davenport."

"He's an old associate of mine. Freelance now. I'll let him know you're coming. Get Amy down to Ft. Lauderdale and he'll get her out of the country. I'll take care of things here and try to buy you some breathing room. That's the best I can do."

She didn't know what to say so she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.

"Get going," he said. "Before I change my mind.

***

Author's Note: I'm sorry. I really wanted to get all of the remaining five parts up but it was too long to get the editing done in time. The last two will have to wait until next Friday.

So Amy seems to have saved the day. I hope people weren't looking forward to a long, drawn out bloody battle. Although two characters are dead so far in the chapter. Anyone disappointed a main character hasn't met their maker (yet)?

Also, I know there's a bunch of references to the first book here, and I'm not sure if readers will remember them but they're not critical.