by Chris Fox
He dropped the last of the soldiers into the pit, surprised at how little exertion it took, especially because he’d been at this for hours. That seemed a solid estimate based on sun’s position just over the western peaks. He was stronger now. Tougher. Both were tied to the thing inside him, though he couldn’t begin to understand how or why. It shouldn’t be scientifically possible, not based on his admittedly limited understanding of genetics.
He needed room to think, to study this and get his mind around it. Unfortunately, he still had work to do. One body remained, one that he hadn’t been able to force himself to move. Liz. Despite giving its word to save the pretty young doctor, the beast had savagely murdered her and then fed upon her corpse. Just like it had every other person it encountered. He’d been a fool to trust it, but there had been no other option. What could he have done against trained soldiers armed with state-of-the-art weaponry?
You accuse me unjustly, Ka-Dun.
Blair froze. He’d heard the same voice just before the chaos of combat. He’d been too busy to really think about it then, but now he had nothing but time.
“What are you?” he asked, studying the pile he’d assembled next to the pit. There were eight matte-black rifles with thick stocks and short muzzles. He had no idea what they were called or what sort of bullet they fired, though he was confident he could learn to use one if he had to. Next to them was a smaller pile of pistols, also matte black. They were metal, as he’d imagined, but lighter than expected.
I am a part of you, Ka-Dun. Imparted by the Mother’s blessing when you accepted the Mantle of Champion.
Blair’s lip curled up at the irony. “Champion? You murdered an entire village, and you used my body to do it.”
Necessary work, Ka-Dun. We must prepare for what is to come.
“You said you were going to save her,” Blair hissed, a single tear sliding down his cheek. It was the first he’d shed since the day he’d found out about Bridget and Steve.
I have honored our accord, Ka-Dun.
“Get out of my head,” Blair snarled. “If you can’t do that, then at least be silent.”
As you wish, Ka-Dun.
Blair wasn’t sure how he knew, but something told him the beast had retreated. He was left in awful solitude, alone to contemplate the horror before him. He needed to add Liz’s body to the pile, but how could he face those lifeless eyes? Knowing he was responsible for her death made that unbearable. He knew almost nothing about her, save that she was American and had come here to investigate the grisly murders he was inadvertently responsible for. Where had she come from? Would her people send someone to look for her and the men she’d been with? What would they do when they arrived? He shouldn’t be here when that happened. Otherwise, those people would probably die too.
Blair turned from the pit, already under assault by an endless army of buzzing black flies. There was probably more he could or should be doing, like planning his escape from the area. Maybe gathering supplies or looking at a map. Right now he just needed a drink. Surely there must be a bar in this little town, assuming it had survived the chaos and blood of the past day.
He picked a path through the debris, back to the dirt track masquerading as a street. His hands were tucked in the pockets of the tattered grey overalls he’d found after he’d awoken. They were too large, as was the bright red shirt. He felt like a scarecrow in them, especially with the length of cord he’d used as a makeshift belt. The clothing was far baggier than it would have been the day before, except in the arms and chest, where it was tighter than it had a right to be. That shouldn’t be possible, but then neither was being turned into a werewolf after opening a pyramid from the Mesolithic. Mummy curse, eat your heart out.
The sun sank behind the jagged western peaks, painting the sky with reds and golds. He wondered if Liz would have thought it beautiful. A particularly morbid thought.
“God, but I need a drink,” he muttered, casting the woman from his mind as diligently as he’d done with Bridget. It was becoming a habit.
Blair stood in the middle of the road, studying the cluster of buildings around him. The trouble with Peruvian villages was that they didn’t label buildings properly. He was used to homes and shops being clearly defined, but these people didn’t seem to differentiate. They were just as likely to sell corn cakes out a side window as they were to have dinner in the same building. They didn’t distill alcohol that he knew of, but where there were people, there was booze. He’d just need to find it.
He scanned the row of ramshackle houses, looking for anything that stood out. A squat building was wider than most of the others. Its shutters had been repaired recently. Some of the slats were lighter in color, as if they had just been added. Maybe the owners had a bit more money than their neighbors, and if that was the case, there might be something to drink inside. If not, maybe he could scrounge some food. That was probably important too, though he felt strangely satiated despite not having eaten since the previous morning. He refused to consider the reason why.
Blair picked his way up the path to the doorway, a simple set-up covered by a grey blanket with embroidered red edges. It, too, was new, probably a recent and treasured addition. He pushed it aside and ducked into a single large room. Nearly a dozen chairs were arrayed in a horseshoe around a ring of stones used as a fire pit. A metal spit charred black by repeated use straddled the stones.
Long shelves lined opposite walls. They were made from older wood, bowed in the middle from crockery, bottles, and a wide assortment of kitchen tools. One of the shelves had a half-dozen dark bottles. The unlabeled glass wasn’t familiar, but the wax-sealed corks certainly were. Someone had a taste for wine, quite surprising in this part of the world. He’d expected beer or perhaps stronger liquor, but certainly not wine. It had probably travelled a long way to end up here. That didn’t matter. Whatever it was would do nicely.
Blair shuffled across the dirt floor to the shelf, hefting one of the bottles. Dark liquid sloshed inside. Red of some form. He preferred that to white at the best of times, and given the circumstances, its resemblance to blood seemed fitting.
“Now to open you,” he muttered, scanning the gloom for a corkscrew. It stood to reason there would be one. How else would they open their wine?
His search revealed a pitted iron corkscrew on the bottom shelf, just under the wine. It was stamped with a JR, probably a long-dead maker’s mark from when the thing had been cast decades ago. The tip was stained, a battle scar from opening hundreds of bottles.
Blair sagged into one of the chairs, strength flowing from him as the weight of events pressed down on his shoulders. How the hell had he ended up here? Where was here, exactly? And where was he supposed to go now? How could he even begin to quantify what had happened to him?
He set the bottle between his legs and began twisting the corkscrew. It bit eagerly into the cork, which pulled free with almost no effort. That was going to take some getting used to. He’d never been strong, but now that he was, he rather liked it.
Blair lifted the bottle and savored a mouthful of the dark liquid. It was harsh. Not quite ready to be consumed, probably a Cab or some similar cousin. It didn’t matter, though. He gulped it down like it was water after a trek through the Sahara. It washed down his chin and neck, staining his newly acquired clothing. Again, he didn’t care. All that mattered now was obliterating his consciousness, even if only for a few hours.
“Arrrrrroooooooooo!” The otherworldly howl tore through the twilight. The bottle tumbled to the earthen floor, forgotten.
The cry was close. Terrifyingly close. He recognized it instantly, though it had been years since he’d gone to Canada. He and Bridget had gone to hear the wolves, and their song had been amazing. This was a deeper, more primal version of that same song, as if it had been born in the throat of a much larger animal. There was only one thing he could think of that might make such a sound. It was a werewolf. But if he’d just heard the howl, then that meant he couldn’t be t
he werewolf, didn’t it? Maybe he wasn’t responsible for all these murders.
Sudden relief washed over him, lessening the guilt he’d been wrestling with. If he wasn’t the werewolf, someone or something else was. Then it hit him. That something would be hunting for the closest prey it could find. Him. The wine was already fogging his mind, making him sluggish.
Should he hide? Would it even matter? Wolves could track by scent. That meant the beast could find him if he remained here. But was running a better option? If he fled, the beast would hear him. It would be on him within moments if he left the safety of the house. No, remaining was his only option. The beast might find him if he remained. It would definitely find him if he fled.
Blair crept to the shutters facing the street. He held his breath as he gently pushed a slat, moving it just enough to peer into the gloom. Night had not truly fallen, but the mountains denied the village the last of the sun. Anything could be moving out there, and he’d never know it. Was the beast listening to his heartbeat even now? After experiencing the things he’d experienced, he knew that was possible.
Wait. Maybe he could tap into that now. Part of him resisted, for acknowledging the changes meant accepting what he’d become, accepting that he was the monster that had brought these people to their end. But if there was another werewolf, didn’t that mean it might be responsible? That triggered more questions. Where had it come from? Had it been unleashed in the pyramid somehow?
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. He could hear the beast’s heartbeat now, low and heavy. Slower than he’d have expected but also terrifyingly powerful. It was approaching.
25
Your She
Blair froze. The creature was out there in the gathering darkness, hunting him. He could feel it, somehow. There was more than just the heartbeat. There was a scent. Powerful. Earthy. Feminine in some bizarre way, though why that would matter he couldn’t possibly imagine. Just the ramblings of a mind desperately seeking escape from a situation over which it had no control. What the hell was he going to do?
He peered through the slats in the door, out at the road, the squat houses now nothing more than looming shapes. The sun had fully surrendered, leaving fading scarlet in its wake to the west. The moon wouldn’t rise for hours. That too, he could feel. It was an itch between his shoulder blades. He could point to the exact spot the moon would rise over the jagged peaks to the northeast, though such knowledge didn’t help his immediate situation.
Something moved in the street, not more than a dozen paces away. It was large. Taller than a man and far, far broader. Blair silently cursed the darkness. This creature might mean the end of him, but if that were the case he wanted to at least see the architect of that end. He wanted to know what he could about it before it tore him apart and feasted on his corpse.
Blair stared through the wooden slats, unable to look away from the figure. Something glittered in the darkness. Eyes, pale and yellow, like tiny reflections of the moon. There was no source of light to reflect, no illumination of any kind, yet they glowed with their own amber malevolence. Another mystery he wouldn’t live to solve.
“Arrrrrooooooooo,” the beast howled a second time, raising its head skyward and unleashing an eerie song that was at once beautiful and terrible. It called to him in a way he didn’t understand, and for an eternal instant he longed to join it, adding his voice in a terrible choir.
Somewhere in the distance another howl answered. Then another. Then a third. They mingled and flowed, a melodic choir that froze his blood and quickened his heart. It was powerful. Mesmerizing. Yet it didn’t quiet the sudden terror. How many of these things were there? Where had they come from? Had they been trapped in the pyramid, freed when he touched the statue? No, some part of him sensed that wasn’t the answer. So where did they come from?
The howl ended, and the amber eyes turned on his hiding place once more. The beast whiffed the night air with powerful nostrils, surely tracking his scent in the same way he picked up hers. That awful gaze locked on him, and he knew with terrible certainly he was about to die.
It bounded forward on powerful legs, clearing twenty feet in a single jump. Two more hops brought it to the rubble-strewn yard outside the building, a mere handful of feet from the door he cowered behind. The beast tentatively sniffed again, as if it were seeking something. But what? She—he was sure it was a she now—seemed confused by his scent.
Then her eyes narrowed. Midnight lips rose as she bared ivory fangs. The beast lunged, arm punching through the shutter with blinding speed. It shattered into splinters, peppering his face and neck with tiny wounds as he tumbled backward. Only his newly acquired reflexes saved him. Claws rent the air mere inches from his face as he scrambled back, desperate to avoid the horrible monster. The werewolf, a part of his mind admitted.
It leapt through the window, landing heavily on the dirt floor next to him. Blair rolled, barely avoiding another swipe as the creature advanced. It blurred toward him, a terrible and ancient god that moved faster than any mortal could possibly react. Yet react he did. He narrowly avoided another swipe, flipping to his feet and leaping over a tree-trunk arm covered in scarlet fur. The beast lunged again, powerful jaws snapping shut on the space his neck had just vacated.
Blair dropped to his knees, rolling forward between the beast’s legs. It pivoted, faster than he could scramble away. Lines of fire tore into his back as a swipe finally landed. He could feel the hot blood fountain from the wound, smell its metallic tang as droplets hung frozen about him in the air. The moment stretched, just as it had when the helicopter appeared. Everything but him slowed a crawl, including the werewolf.
It lasted only an instant, then time sped up and the blood hanging in the air splattered to the dirt. A detached part of him knew the wound wasn’t fatal, but it was enough to slow him. That meant death, especially given that he wasn’t fast enough even before he’d been wounded. But it didn’t mean he was going to go quietly. There had to be something he could do.
He shot a quick glance around the room, taking in every detail. The shelves lining the walls provided nothing of use. The plastic chairs were no better. Four wooden pillars, each about eight inches thick, supported the roof. He didn’t recognize the dark wood, but that hardly mattered. Even if they’d been cut from oak, the beast would shred them like paper. He could use that to his advantage.
Time returned to its normal flow. Blair stumbled to his feet, charging the nearest load-bearing pillar with the beast in pursuit. Claws raked the air behind him, the force of the blow fanning his back with a slight breeze as it sailed by. He dove for the pillar, grabbing it with a well-muscled arm. His new strength still surprised him as he swung around the pillar, positioning it between him and the werewolf. The creature barreled into it, snapping it like kindling.
The roof groaned above them; then plaster and timber rained down from above. A beam slammed into the beast’s back, knocking it atop Blair and pinning them both to the ground. A cacophony of splintering wood and tumbling shingles drowned out his agonized scream as the beast’s full weight pressed down on his wounded back. Fire surged through him, just barely preventing him from passing out from pain.
Then there was silence. Was the beast dead? Could it have been that easy?
No, Ka-Dun. She lives and will be upon you in moments. It is wise to flee from an enraged female, but she lacks the energy for sustained combat. If you are canny, you will best her.
The werewolf stirred, knocking aside the beam that pinned it as easily as a parent could heft a sleepy toddler. Rubble shifted, partially burying Blair as the beast rose to its feet. There was no fleeing, no escape. She was faster and much larger than him.
He could feel her tensing above him and sensed the blow an instant before it landed. That foreknowledge didn’t save him. The beast’s clawed fingers punched into his back, ripping past his spine and emerging from his chest in a spray of gore and pain. She hefted him into the air as life bled from him. All he could do was stare at
the bloody clawed hand protruding from his chest, fur slicked with his blood. It was a bad way to die. Fuck that. He wasn’t going out, not like this.
Yes. Channel your rage, Ka-Dun.
Something rippled within him. Something bright and potent and heady lay within his grasp. Blair seized it, channeling the rage until heat suffused his entire body. His muscles were suddenly aflame, swelling as they had just before the helicopter had cut down Liz. The memory of her being flung against the wall like a discarded doll compounded the rage, drawing it into a single point—the fist protruding from his chest.
No. He was not impotent. If he was going to die, he would sell his life dearly. The beast had destroyed his life, his career. Murdered an entire village. Possibly killed his oldest friends and colleagues. It was going to feel a tiny fragment of the pain it had inflicted.
The energy rolled through his body. Muscles swelled. Silvery fur burst from his skin, writhing like a million tiny snakes. His face throbbed as bones cracked and popped. Fangs burst from his jaw as a muzzle forced itself free of his face. He knew what was happening. The change was the same as before, but this time it came much, much faster.
Even as the process continued, Blair attacked. He gathered his legs under him, planting his feet against the beast’s belly. He kicked off with all the force his new muscles could muster, legs tensing like powerful springs. The beast’s clawed hand ripped free of his chest with a squishy pop, and Blair tumbled into the rubble near its feet.
The area around the wound burned, and a quick glance revealed muscle and skin knitting back together with shocking speed. He didn’t have time to revel in the miracle.
Blair seized the end of a thick beam with both hands, heaving it skyward with the incredible strength imparted by the strange metamorphosis. The oak connected with the beast’s shocked face, its expression comically human as it watched Blair struggle to his feet. The force of the blow lifted the female off its feet, despite its massive size. It flung the beast in a long arc, knocking it free of the rubble and into the street some thirty or forty feet away.