by Chris Fox
He considered the H&K USP .45 caliber, but the pistol would take too long to load. Most of the rifles needed more room than the garage would afford. That left either the Remington pump-action shotgun or the Browning A5 his dad had given him for his sixteenth birthday. He settled on that one, its wooden stock familiar as he removed it from the wall and grabbed a box of shells.
Trevor poked his head through the gun safe’s door. His jaw dropped when he saw the ruined door leading into the house. The frame had held, but the werewolf had battered the center portion until both metal and wood were giving way. A large hole gaped in the middle, not large enough for a person but certainly getting there.
He slid a trio of shells into the side of the shotgun, cocking the bolt after each one. The motion was automatic, learned over thousands of hours of shooting. It was the gun he was most familiar with, and it packed one hell of a punch at short range. Trevor tipped the box’s remaining shells into his jacket pocket, advancing slowly toward the door as he prepared to defend himself.
Maybe falling back into the gun safe right now would be the smartest thing, but this was his home, damn it. He wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Besides, his sister was still inside that thing somewhere. Maybe she could fight it for control. If not, he just prayed he’d be fast enough to retreat into the safe. The idea of being trapped in an airtight box wasn’t appealing, but if he needed to retreat that would be better than dying.
The beast’s monstrous head and shoulders plowed into the door, ripping steel as it forced its way through. Trevor didn’t think. He brought the stock smoothly up to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel, aligning it with the beast’s face. The gun coughed, kicking into his shoulder as the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the garage.
The beast jerked backward, one eye exploding into ruined gore. The furious howl it gave was deafening as it went berserk, tearing apart more of the door in an attempt to reach him. Trevor fired again. The beast’s other eye disappeared, the howl going from furious to agonized. Tough to fight when you’re blind.
Then his jaw sagged. Flesh and bone vibrated as the thing’s face began to knit back together. Both eyes scrunched shut, and when they opened a moment later, the beast glared furiously at him through both eyes. The only trace of the damage was the blood-matted fur covering its face.
The beast roared, bursting through the remains of the door in a shower of metal fragments. Trevor recoiled, shielding his face as the shrapnel whirled past him. Something bit into his arm, but he ignored it. He was already moving toward the gun safe, conscious of the enormous form so close behind him that he felt hot breath waft over his neck.
Trevor went low in a baseball slide, flipping onto his back and aiming the shotgun at the thing’s knee. He fired, a momentary surge of triumph filling him as the beast’s knee exploded. It stumbled, catching itself with ungainly arms. That only bought him seconds, but he hoped it would be enough.
He scrambled inside, staggering to his feet and yanking the door. The heavy metal closed slowly, inching inward as he strained against it. The gap closed to just a few inches. He pulled harder, willing it shut. Furry claws appeared, grabbing the door the very instant before it would have slammed shut. They arrested the door’s momentum, and it began to swing open.
Trevor darted a glance at the wall full of weapons, but they may as well have been miles away. He’d never have time to load them. He was going to die.
48
Blur
Blair sat down in the leather-backed computer chair, swiveling it to face the twenty-seven-inch iMac dominating the cherrywood desk. He’d always preferred PCs, but Macs were more common in the academic world, so he had no problem firing up the machine and launching Safari. He typed, “Mayan glyphs” into the search bar and then browsed the top several results.
The first link showed the glyphs at Tayasal, a small island in Guatemala that had once served as the capital of the Mayan empire. He studied the style of the glyphs with an eye for the patterns he’d seen on the pyramid in Cajamarca, noting distinct similarities. The language was certainly less complex, but there were similar markers in the same way that Latin words had crept into English. The similarities were hardly definitive but suggested that the Mayan language might have its roots in the language of the ancients.
He leaned back in the chair, absently running his fingers through his hair as he studied the images. What was the connection? The pyramid had been buried, and the two were separated by a dozen millennia. How was it even remotely possible that the Mayans knew anything about the ancients? The question was maddening because to even approach an answer would take a team of scientists months of research. Months he didn’t have.
Be wary, Ka-Dun. The Ka-Ken stirs.
His concentration shattered as an all-too-familiar howl sounded from the kitchen. Blair shot to his feet, spilling the chair onto its side. Trevor’s form flashed by the doorway as he pounded toward the garage. Blair was still deciding what to do when Trevor barreled the other direction, back into the kitchen where the howl had originated. There was a clatter of keys; then Trevor sprinted past again.
A moment later a hulking auburn form pounded past with murderous intent. Blair was sure she was going to kill her brother unless he did something.
She is suffused with power, Ka-Dun. You will not find it easy to invade her mind this time. Shaping will be of little use. You must best her in combat if you seek to save this unblooded, and that is nearly impossible against a raging Ka-Ken.
“She’s larger, stronger, and faster. I can’t win that fight,” Blair said, hurrying to the door and peering down the hall. The floor was littered with plaster, and the linoleum had been scored in many places by sharp claws. The werewolf beat at the heavy door Trevor had managed to close behind him, but it didn’t look like getting through would take her long.
Larger and stronger, yes. You can be faster than any female if you will it so.
“Faster, how?” Blair asked, wincing as Liz-wolf’s fist punched through the door leading into the garage. At least she hadn’t noticed him yet.
You must blur. The ability enables you to move faster than the eye can see. It is taxing, but when facing a female in combat, it is our only hope of victory. You have already tasted the power, though you still lack conscious control.
“Worth a try, I guess,” Blair replied. He was tempted to ask the beast how to activate the ability, but he knew all he’d get back was some cryptic Yoda crap. He stepped into the hallway and took a deep breath. The werewolf didn’t even glance at him, instead shattering the door into kindling as she burst into the garage.
Blair shifted. It came easily now, his body tearing through his clothing with shocking speed as it rearranged itself into a now-familiar lupine form. Damn it, he should have taken his clothes off first. Oh well.
He had to admit that he enjoyed the rush of strength, the sharpened senses. He felt invincible. Could he be killed? He’d never seen a werewolf die, but he reasoned that if one took enough damage, it could be killed.
We can die, Ka-Dun, if we lack the energy to heal or if we suffer grievous-enough injury.
“Great,” Blair said, imagining what the much larger Liz-wolf could do to him. He peered around the corner again in time to see Liz-wolf’s head and shoulders disappear through the remains of the door. A shotgun roared in the garage. The noise was deafening to his augmented hearing, and he stumbled backward with a wince.
Liz-wolf’s head rocked backward, but that was the only visible effect. A second shot came a moment later, resulting in a similar jerk. Then Liz-wolf went berserk, tearing through the doorway and into the garage. Her nails skittered across the concrete as she chased Trevor out of sight.
Blair followed, pausing in the ruined doorway to survey the garage. A pristine white Mustang from the ‘60s was flanked by a number of workbenches. On one of them, a black car-sized tarp sat neatly folded next to a can of wax and a white rag. A third shotgun blast roared, drawing his eyes to the far side
of the garage. Liz-wolf tumbled to the ground in a spray of blood and a crack of bone as Trevor scrambled through a narrow doorway with a steel frame set into the concrete wall.
He reached out and yanked on a thick metal door, frantically struggling to pull it shut as Liz-wolf regained her feet. She bounded forward, seizing the edge of the door just before it could slam shut.
If she got it open, Trevor was a dead man. Not only would they lose their only ally, but Liz would never forgive herself for the attack. Blair had to stop it, for both their sakes. He sprinted forward, willing himself to move faster. He had no idea what he was doing, no idea how to harness the strange abilities he’d been cursed with.
Perhaps it was his need, or conviction or just damned luck. Regardless, his limbs filled with liquid warmth. It was like the fire of the change, but instead of pain, he felt something akin to massive adrenaline. It was heady. Powerful. And with it, he moved like the wind. Or rather the world slowed to a crawl.
He had an eternity to study the situation, to decide what to do. Blair was moving normally, but the rest of the world was bathed in molasses. Liz-wolf’s muscles tensed, and the door inched open with agonizing finality. Blair sized up the room again, forming a plan.
He blurred forward, the world slowing still further as he seized the tarp and leapt into the air. He unfolded it, roughly forming a bag. Then he slammed it down over Liz-wolf’s upper body. It came down to her waist, obscuring both her arms and murderous fangs.
He landed nimbly and then delivered a vicious kick to the same knee Trevor had shot just a few moments before. Liz-wolf toppled to the ground, tangled up in the tarp. Blair leapt into the air as she began to rise, coming down on her back with his considerable weight. She was off balance from her wounded leg and what he hoped was unexpected blindness, and the move knocked her into the wall so hard that cinder blocks shattered under the blow.
Blair clung to her back, arms encircling her over the tarp. A sharp tearing sounded, and Liz-wolf’s head tore free from the tarp. Murderous amber eyes gazed back at him over her shoulder as her lips came up in a snarl.
“Uh oh,” Blair said, panting now. He felt like he’d run a marathon, limbs trembling from the exertion of the blur.
Liz-wolf gave a furious roar, leaping to her feet with Blair still on her back. Her arms strained against his, flexing with incredible strength. Then she gave a sudden burst, ripping from his grasp and tearing away the remains of the tarp. He tumbled to the garage floor, his elbow coming down painfully. Before he could rise, Liz spun, raking at his chest with wickedly sharp claws.
What fear for one’s life could do was amazing. The blur returned, sending Blair straight up. He seized her suddenly sluggish wrist with both hands. He twisted in mid-flight, maneuvering behind her and raking into her back with his own claws. The wound sent forth a stream of blood and knocked Liz forward a step. She recovered quickly, turning to face him as he danced backward to gain room to breathe. He was more agile than her, but he’d delivered his best attacks and she didn’t seem even slightly phased.
She launched a flurry of swipes, claws touching nothing but air as he flowed desperately around each attack. Frustration lit Liz-wolf’s features as she fell back a pace, dropping into a low crouch. She studied him, slowly circling. Every few seconds, her gaze would dart to their surroundings, scanning the garage as if seeking a weakness she could exploit. Was she trying to flee?
Then she vanished, body melting into the deep shadows cast by lonely halogen lights Trevor must have turned on when he’d entered the garage. Blair froze, straining to catch a hint of her heartbeat. It should thunder in his ears, but instead he heard nothing. There was the cry of a bat somewhere high above. A neighbor’s dog barked in the distance. There was nothing else.
The massive metal door swung silently open, drawing Blair’s gaze. Trevor emerged with a rifle slung over his back, a black pistol belted to his waist, and a pump-action shotgun cradled between his arms. He snapped the shotgun to his shoulder. Just a few feet from Blair’s face, the mouth of the barrel was huge.
Trevor’s finger began to tighten on the trigger. Blair blurred. He rolled forward, coming to his feet behind Trevor as the shotgun roared. The blast rang Blair’s ears like a gong as the stench of gunpowder renewed.
“Trevor,” he roared, voice deep and bestial. It was the first time he’d spoken as a werewolf. “It’s Blair. I won’t hurt you. I can help you stop Liz.”
Trevor spun, already bringing the shotgun to bear. Blair was faster. He seized the barrel in one furry fist, aiming it at the ground.
Trevor began to reach for the pistol holstered at his side but hesitated. His gaze held fear, but it was steady. Every part of his body was loose. Relaxed. It was the same way Jordan had moved, back in Cajamarca. He sounded calm despite the fact that his sister and her houseguest had just turned into monsters. Definitely not your average astronomer.
“How do I know you won’t tear me apart the second I let my guard down?” Trevor asked.
“Because we’re talking right now. If I wanted to kill you, then you’d be dead,” Blair replied, releasing the shotgun and taking a step backward. He raised his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture, palms out. “Liz is out of control. Her body is full of too much energy. Radiation, I think. I experienced something similar, but I’m in control now. She will be too if we give her time to burn off that excess.”
She does not burn her reserves nearly so quickly as you do. Be wary, Ka-Dun. Such feats of speed are costly. Your strength wanes. You must conserve it for the trials ahead.
The beast’s logic made sense. How much juice did he have left in whatever metaphysical battery powered his abilities? How quickly could the moonlight recharge him? The answers were essential to his survival.
“All right,” Trevor said, lowering the shotgun. “What do we do?”
“We survive,” Blair said in a low growl, stalking to the doorway of the house. He scanned the garage, but nothing stirred. It was far too quiet, the stillness just before a predator strikes. “Liz disappeared somehow. I have a number of abilities I don’t fully understand, so it stands to reason that she does too. There’s a division between the sexes. We can cover the specifics later, but the bottom line is I don’t know what she’s capable of. I do know she’s larger, stronger, and just about impossible to kill.”
“I almost took her face off with a shotgun, and she was fine just a few seconds later. We need to incapacitate her, but I have no idea what that’s going to take. She can grow back an eye. Can she regrow limbs?” Trevor asked, putting his back to the wall near the door leading into the house. It gave him a vantage of both doors, probably a smart move.
Any wound can be healed, no matter how grievous, so long as you expend enough energy.
“As long as she has energy, she can knit herself back together. I’m not sure we can kill her,” Blair rumbled, shifting his attention to the shattered door leading into the house. It gaped ominously. Everything was still, other than their heartbeats. No cicadas. No bats. Nothing. The whole yard outside was holding its breath, fervently attempting to avoid the notice of the predator lurking in its midst.
“Regenerating takes time though, right? At least a little. If we can disable her long enough to restrain her, we can give her time to regain control,” Trevor said. It made sense.
“Now we just have to find her,” Blair growled.
“We won’t have to. She’ll find us,” the wiry man replied, feeding shells into the shotgun.
49
Feed
Liz railed within the confines of her own mind, helpless to stop the beast from slaughtering those she cared about. She’d hurled her will at the thing when it first pursued Trevor, to no avail. It had batted aside her attempts to wrest control, like a parent controlling a child’s tantrum. Later, when the beast had been about to enter the gun room, she’d tried again. This time she’d reached into reserves she hadn’t known she possessed and had managed to force the beast to pau
se. It had bought a few precious seconds, seconds during which she could have killed her brother.
Then Blair had attacked and the beast had regained control. She’d watched helplessly while it attempted to kill him, cheering every time he melted away from an attack with inhuman speed.
The beast was patient, though. It had somehow melded into the shadows, wearing them like a cloak. It slinked back into the house. Watching. Waiting. Studying. It now lurked in the hallway just beyond the shattered door leading to the garage, massive body invisible in the gathered darkness. Even Blair’s heightened senses seemed unable to detect it. If only she could do something to betray the beast’s presence.
It cannot be, Ka-Ken. We must feed, and soon. The male will give us the greatest strength, but the unblooded will suffice. He could prove a valuable ally if his blood is pure. He is near kin to you. The danger is less.
She considered reasoning with the beast but discarded the notion as foolish. It respected strength. The only way she was going to regain control was to take it by force. If it could be cunning, so could she. Liz offered no protest, merely watching. The beast would be distracted when it attacked. She could make her move then and, hopefully, wrest control.
The beast whiffed the air, inhaling deeply as it sorted the myriad of scents. Sweat. Fear. Gunpowder. It flowed to the doorway, wrapping the shadows more tightly about it. They clung to its fur, blotting out all light. It was an incredible ability, and even amidst the horror of her situation, she couldn’t help but marvel at it. How was it done? Her brother would probably talk about refracting light or some other equally scientific explanation. He might even be right.