Damned if you do, blown up if you don't.
The other survivor backed up, away from the barn doors, reaching for the gun in his holster as he tapped frantically at his phone.
"It's Kowalski. We found him, sir, in a barn just north of mile forty-one."
Levi's ears, sharper than any human's or ordinary wolf's, picked up the reply.
"Good. Don't move in until backup arrives."
"We already did. Reynolds' call."
The first goon had the grenade launcher now and was retreating slowly, step after step, into the open dirt space in front of the barn as he reloaded the grenade round. There was nowhere to hide there, not even shadows.
"What? The idiot. Put him on," said the voice on the phone.
"Can't, sir. He's dead."
The other voice snarled a curse. "Of course he is. Have you got the target pinned?"
"I can't say for sure, sir," Kowalski said cautiously.
There was another sound, one from inside the barn, a soft metallic noise. Levi jerked his gaze over, but from his vantage point, all he could see was the driver's side of the gold car. What the hell was the girl doing over there?
The man on the phone spoke again. "Just-hold on. Backup's coming."
"ETA?"
"Half hour. Keep him there."
"I'll do my best, sir." Kowalski hung up.
This was bad. It was very bad. Even in his wolf-form, he understood that. He was fast, but fast enough to close distance on the one with grenade launcher before he could shoot? He didn't think so. At least it wasn't an RPG-that would have blown clear through them to the other side of the barn-but what the hell was Mortensen thinking, arming his men with that?
He was thinking he was facing a werewolf. Levi answered his own question. And really, as far as that was concerned, the M79 was a pretty damned good choice. It was small enough to shove in a car, and it wouldn't take down a house, but its stopping power was something that not even Levi wanted to test.
If they hadn't wasted their first shot on the door, this might have already been all over. Lucky for him that good help was hard to find.
Levi couldn't even see the patch of barn floor where he'd set his gun from his vantage point behind the bulk of the Skylark. Not that it mattered. With the man with the grenade launcher peering through the doorway, he wouldn't want to take bets on whether he could make it to the gun and shift back to his human shape before he got blown away. Hell, the man could get tired of waiting and just start letting loose. Grenades weren't exactly precision weapons.