by Chris Fox
She is strong, Ka-Ken, but not nearly so strong as you. Her lineage is further removed from the Mother, your progeny’s progeny. Her mastery of our skills is wanting. Use that to defeat her.
The female leapt into the air, coming down at Liz in a mass of claws and fangs. Liz vanished, pulling the shadows close as she rolled to the right. The midnight came down in the spot Liz had occupied, spinning as she tasted the air with her nostrils. Her eyes scanned ceaselessly, but they found nothing.
Liz waited until her opponent’s back was exposed and then lunged from the shadows. She wrapped an arm around the female’s throat, plunging the claws of her other hand into the small of the female’s back. She let the beast guide her, slicing muscle until her hand settled around the lower spine. Then she snapped it with a crack that echoed across the Tarmac.
The female fell limply to the asphalt, paralyzed from the waist down. It was a calculated move, nonlethal but humiliating and a swift end to the fight. The gamble was that her opponent would be able to heal from it. If they were going to rescue the Mother, they needed allies, not more corpses.
The midnight surprised her, sweeping an arm around and seizing Liz’s ankle. The next thing she knew, she was on her back. Her opponent’s wet, furry body crashed down atop her. Fangs savaged her shoulder, drawing a cry of pain. Fury surged through her. She could have killed her opponent. This would end. Now.
Liz seized the midnight’s head in both hands, jerking it away from her. She held the jaws apart and used her legs to launch herself and the midnight into the air. She had superior mobility and used it to great effect, landing on the midnight’s back as they came down hard on the Tarmac.
“Yield, or I’ll tear out your goddamn throat,” she hissed, meaning every word. Her opponent went limp.
Liz rose and took a step back. She flexed her right shoulder, which was already beginning to heal. The midnight hobbled to her knees and turned to face Liz. She kept her head down. “You’ve bested me. Control of the pack is yours.”
“I don’t want your pack,” Liz shot back. The pain was fading, but the dull ache had soured her mood. “Give us a place to stay, and we’ll be out of the city tomorrow.”
“Where are you going?” the midnight asked, peering up at her with amber eyes that mirrored Liz’s own. She rose shakily to her feet. Apparently the spinal injury had healed.
“We must wake the Mother, the woman who gave birth to our entire species,” Liz growled. She looked around, taking in the faces of everyone around her. There was a mixture of awe…and fear, especially in the midnight’s companions.
67
I Know Spanish
Blair’s tenth-grade Spanish was no match for the dark-furred female’s outburst, but he recognized the tone. This was a challenge, pure and simple. Winner takes all.
It is so, Ka-Dun. Females are ever the pack leaders. We males are shapers and advisors, gifting them with our wisdom. We guide and reason, but the rule is theirs.
The gender roles were reversed from Western society, but they made perfect sense. The reversal provided a natural set of checks and balances. He wondered if the virus’s creator had intended that. Of course she had.
He was shocked at the speed and brutality of the combat. There was very little finesse, just raw power as Liz-wolf casually stepped into the shadows and then emerged to rip out her opponent’s spine. Her poor opponent put up a little resistance after that, but the auburn werewolf batted her down as though she were a kitten tussling with a mountain lion.
Just like that, it was over. The black-furred werewolf assumed a submissive pose, and the two shared a brief conversation, again in Spanish. Blair understood exactly one word—donde. Where. He assumed the black-furred woman was asking their destination, but that was the limit of his frustratingly inadequate knowledge.
The two werewolves who’d arrived with their beaten leader began to approach. The first was a small blond female, still a head and shoulders larger than Blair but almost a foot shorter than Liz. She was hesitant and kept her distance. The male’s fur was similar to Blair’s, but where Blair’s was silver the newcomer’s was more of a smoky grey.
The grey made a wide circle around Liz and her defeated opponent, clearly picking a path in Blair’s direction. A small army of dogs trotted in his wake, complete with everything from a Chihuahua to a pair of Rottweilers. Blair could dimly sense their minds, though he made no move to engage them. That might be construed as hostile. Instead he too moved in a wide arc, meeting the newcomer forty or fifty feet from Liz.
Blair brushed the sodden hair from his face, thankful that he no longer wore glasses. There was no way he’d have been able to see in this rain. Instead, the downpour was merely annoying. He peered up at the grey male, surprised by how little intimidation he felt. Here he was, in human form, a little shy of six feet, confronted with a seven-foot werewolf with a good two hundred pounds on him.
It is natural, Ka-Dun. Your lineage is pure. You are the Mother’s direct progeny. None stand higher. This one is a pale shadow, four or five generations removed from your own. Even now he trembles in awe and fear at your strength. Such is both right and proper, a measure of your higher birth.
That might have been the most the beast had ever spoken, so Blair lent the words great weight. A werewolf’s pedigree must be of utmost importance in determining status. It probably also determined relative strength, if the fight between Liz and the black-furred female was any indication.
“Me llamo Adolpho,” the grey rumbled, giving a slight bow. A white terrier hurried forward to sniff Blair’s foot.
A fresh surge of frustration heated Blair despite the chill of the air. He was going to have a very difficult time functioning here without speaking the language.
Take the tongue from this one’s mind, Ka-Dun.
Blair’s jaw fell open as the implications hit him. I can learn Spanish from his mind?
Just so. Give me control, and I will guide you.
So Blair did. Invisible and intangible but no less real, a tendril of humming energy stretched from his mind. It caressed the grey’s mind. At first the male stiffened, fists balling as he looked about him as if in search of an assailant. Then he relaxed. Blair’s probe slipped through the grey’s permeable defenses and into his mind. Up to that point he was more or less in control and understood completely what was happening.
Then Blair’s will exploded into hundreds of tendrils. Thousands. They slithered past colorful memories, latching onto some while ignoring others. The densest collection plunged deep into the man’s past, revealing images of classrooms and first steps. The places and moments he’d likely learned most of the language he now used.
Each tendril sent pulses of light flowing back into Blair, faster than he could track or comprehend. They came faster and faster, a burning heat inside his skull. He scrunched his eyes shut, sagging to his knees as he cradled his head in both hands. He had no idea how much time had passed when he found himself panting in the rain.
Blair looked up to find the grey, Adolpho, in a nearly identical pose. He too had fallen to his knees. He peered up at Blair with frightened, watery eyes. “What did you do to me?”
“I, uh…Are we speaking Spanish?” Blair asked lamely, staggering to his feet. Adolpho followed, just as shakily.
“Yes, it’s the only language I know,” he replied. Some of the earlier warmth had left his voice.
Blair was being an asshole. He’d just violated the man’s mind without asking, something Ahiga had implied was taboo among werewolves. Blair offered a hand. “I’m sorry about whatever just happened. I’m still learning about our abilities. My name is Blair.”
Adolpho’s furry hand engulfed Blair’s, but the handshake was gentle enough. “I understand. Every day, the beast teaches me something new. It was only recently I learned to command my pack.”
The mention seemed to open a floodgate, and dogs of every size approached, tails wagging as they sniffed at Blair. He couldn’t help but laugh. He had
n’t owned a dog since he’d been a kid, but he’d always had a soft spot for them.
“That’s amazing,” he said, kneeling to scratch behind the ears of a golden retriever. “How do you do it?”
“I just…do.” Adolpho shrugged. He dropped to a knee, putting his face closer to Blair’s. “The beast tells me that you are strong, that you are near to the Mother, and I should obey you.”
“Mine said pretty much the same thing. It also suggested I could learn Spanish, so that’s why…well, sorry again. About invading your mind without asking,” Blair said. The scent of wet dog was overpowering, but rather than finding it repulsive, he found it comforting.
“It is, as I understand it, your right to do so,” Adolpho shrugged. Then he shifted, shrinking down to a mousy man just over five feet tall. He had wide hazel eyes and a tangle of dark hair, which the rain quickly plastered to his scalp.
One of the dogs, the small white terrier, pulled over a backpack and deposited it at Adolpho’s feet. The mousy man reached inside and pulled out a bright yellow poncho that he quickly shrugged into. It probably didn’t keep him warm, but it kept the rain off and covered his nakedness.
“Handy, having a clothes caddy,” Blair said, unable to suppress a smile.
“So who are your friends? The red female is the strongest I’ve ever seen,” Adolpho asked, gesturing toward them.
Blair turned to find that both Liz and the black-furred female had returned to human form. The female was a tall brunette, just over six feet. She too had donned a poncho, and was offering one to Liz. She pulled it on gratefully, though it left most of her creamy legs exposed. The blond werewolf finally approached, shifting as she did.
By the time she reached the other two women, she was a short, tanned Brazilian with blond hair that spilled down to the small of her back. She was gorgeous, walking with the sensual grace of a dancer. The Brazilian crouched next to the pack where the ponchos had originated and withdrew one. Her next words caught Blair completely by surprise.
“Hello, Liz,” she said, smiling up at the tall redhead. She pulled the poncho over her shoulders and stood up. “It’s been a long time. You look well. I guess we both do.”
Blair turned back to Adolpho. “The woman is Liz, though I’m sure you just heard that. Looks like your friend already knows her.”
“That’s Cyntia,” Adolpho said, nodding toward the blond woman. “She used to be dumpy and shy, but after she changed…well, you know better than anyone what it does to our bodies.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Blair said, giving the man a conspiratorial grin. The mousy man shared it.
“So who is the scary-looking man with the rifle back by the airplane? He doesn’t smell like a wolf,” Adolpho said. He was peering at Trevor, though the earlier smell of alarm had faded. Trevor, on the other hand, still smelled wary.
“That’s Trevor, Liz’s brother. He’s just as scary as he looks, werewolf or not,” Blair explained. He began to walk toward Liz and gestured for Trevor to do the same.
Trevor sized the situation up for a moment longer. Then he slung his rifle over his shoulder and picked up his pack. He trotted over, reaching Liz and her new companions about the same time Blair and Adolpho did.
“Blair, Trevor, this is Elmira and her pack. The blond woman is Cyntia, but I haven’t met the man with Blair yet,” she said, pointing to each person in turn.
“Adolpho,” Blair supplied, nodding in his direction.
“You must be Trevor,” Cyntia said, beaming a smile in Trevor’s direction. Blair had seen a lot of crushes in his time, and this was one of the worst. Cyntia apparently already knew Trevor. However, judging from the confused look on his face, he had no idea who she was.
“Yeah, and you are?” he asked, rubbing at his goatee with one hand as he peered down at her over his glasses. His hat had kept them mostly dry, but they were starting to fog up.
“I’m a friend of Liz’s,” she said, offering Trevor her hand. He took it, and her smile widened. “We used to study together, and sometimes we’d go out to clubs.”
Liz smiled at the two of them, evidently pleased by the interaction. “Cyntia Facebook stalked you, Trevor. She made me promise to bring you down to Brazil so we could go dancing.”
Trevor turned scarlet, even in the rain. Cyntia just managed to look horrified, dropping her gaze and Trevor’s hand. Blair suppressed a laugh. It felt good. The interaction was the most normal he’d seen in days, despite the epic werewolf combat just minutes before.
“I, uh, hate to be a bad guest,” Trevor said, turning toward Elmira. He was still blushing but obviously pretending he wasn’t. “My smartphone doesn’t work here, and I really need to check my email. It’s very, very important. Do you guys have Internet access?”
“Yes, back at our home.” Elmira nodded, the gesture more regal than any made by her companions. “Please, come with us. We will give you shelter and food, and you can tell us more about this Mother you seek to rescue. You will have our aid if you wish it.”
68
Hope
Bridget itched. She could feel it between her shoulders, on her calves, along her scalp. It had begun days ago, and though she was denied any way of knowing the time, she sensed that night had fallen. She felt the moon, even inside this cell.
It had made her strong, stronger than she’d have believed possible. Bridget no longer feared the manacles. She could snap them, high tech compression bands or no. She could also tear the sealed door from her little white prison, bursting into the hallway and surprising the guards.
So why didn’t she? Bridget itched for battle, for the blood of those who’d imprisoned her. The feeling was primal, bestial, and yet it felt so natural. Was that a part of her transformation? What had she become?
She didn’t know. Bridget resumed her pacing, careful to keep her most prized possession hidden under the humiliating white gown with the open back. The book Sheila had sent was the only reason she was still sane, the only thing to occupy her mind through weeks or maybe months of captivity.
She’d poured over the glyphs for hours every day, studying patterns and making guesses. Sometime after the first few days, the language had begun to coalesce, and she finally had a working translation. If only she’d had a pen to record her findings. For now such knowledge had to live in her head, though very soon it would be useful.
She paused her pacing, grabbing her belly with a sharp groan. She leaned against the wall with her free hand, sweat breaking out on her brow. This was the second time today, and the third in the last two days. It would pass in a few moments. At least, it had before.
Agony faded to a dull ache, and Bridget gave a sigh of relief. What was happening to her? The pain was getting worse, and the episodes were longer, albeit still just a few seconds.
Ka-Ken, you must feed. Soon the energy will overwhelm you, and I will be forced to assume control. That will be messy, as I will be driven to kill indiscriminately. It will be easier if you select a target, perhaps one of the warriors outside your cell.
“Kill?” she murmured. Other than the night she’d first shifted, she’d had little experience with the beast and certainly hadn’t killed anyone. The prospect horrified her, yet there was also a part of her that found it exciting. She wanted to kill, to take her anger out on a target. “What if no one comes in? Will I go mad or burn up or something?”
No, Ka-Ken. When the energy overwhelms you, I will shatter this cage like kindling. The warriors outside will be the first to die, though certainly not the last. I will tear through this camp like a whirlwind, bringing death to those who dare imprison us.
“How long do I have?” Bridget asked. This could be perfect. She wanted out badly, but she was no killer. Not yet, anyway. The beast could do it for her, get revenge for Steve’s death and her imprisonment all in one blow.
Another moonrise, no more. Then I will be forced to assume control.
“Can you get me inside the pyramid?” she asked. She wasn’t sure
what she could do there, but now that she understood the language, she could study the writings in the inner chamber. Who knew what that could reveal or allow her to do?
I sense your need. You will not be able to wake the Mother, but you can draw on energy from the Ark. If you must fight these warriors, your best chance of victory is battling them there. When we escape I will draw them there and then cede control back to you.
Knowing the alien consciousness that lurked in her head could read her thoughts was bizarre. Yet she treasured it. The beast had been her only companion over the last few weeks, and after she’d recovered from her initial fear, she’d spent long hours learning from it. She’d gained a much better understanding of exactly what the werewolves were and more of what they were capable of. She was just scratching the surface of that understanding.
Someone approaches, Ka-Ken.
The beast was right. She heard footsteps approaching, up the hall. Too measured to be Sheila. But who else would visit her? More soldiers? That made no sense, not unless they’d thought of something else they wanted from her.
The door gave its customary hiss, admitting a familiar black-clad man built like a mountainside. Jordan had a sidearm belted around his waist but was otherwise unarmed. The soldiers who’d been allowed in the room thus far all bore wicked-looking rifles. Yet he didn’t smell afraid. Of course, a rock was more likely to be afraid than he was. He probably frightened death.
The close-cropped stubble along his scalp had given way to a knot of curly blond. It softened his appearance, though only by a hair. It was a good look for him.
“Hello, Bridget. I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes,” he began, reaching into a pocket and withdrawing a white piece of paper that had been folded in half. “I’ve come with a message from Sheila, among other things. She seems to think this will mean something to you and said you could pass a response back through me. She’d have come herself, but the Director has forbidden her access.”