by Chris Fox
Bridget’s creamy face paled. She shot Blair a worried look and then turned back to Liz. “Of course. There’s still a lot you can teach me.”
“Great. Cyntia, why don’t you help Blair get dinner started? We can spar later. Bridget and I need some time alone.”
Chapter 7- High School Bullshit
Liz stepped across the glowing line into the circle, dropping her sports bra onto the stone outside, along with the rest of her clothes. She rolled her neck, unlimbering for the fight. Then she shifted, marveling in the miracle of it.
The process still hurt. How could it not? Bones snapped and popped as her body re-arranged itself, limbs lengthening and muscles swelling. The worst part was definitely the muzzle splitting her face, and she teared up briefly in the same way she had when a girl had broken her nose back in the fifth grade.
When the process was complete she'd gained over three feet in height, and a thick auburn pelt covered her nakedness. That had been a mercy when she first started, but constant combat and the burdens of leadership had burned the embarrassment out of her.
She paused, turning to face the shorter woman. Bridget had dark wavy hair, beautiful eyes and a dazzling smile. There wasn’t a wasted ounce anywhere on that perfect body. She could see why Blair was interested, but it still stung. Liz felt frumpy beside her.
"I'll be the target," she said, walking to the middle of the ring. The lights began pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
Bridget shifted as well, becoming a majestic silver just a few inches shorter than Liz. She stepped into the ring, but the scenery didn't change. That was a first.
The ring senses purpose, Ka-Ken. Liz's beast rumbled. You seek a direct confrontation, a battle of strength. Trickery is not needed, and so the ring offers no distraction.
Was she really picking a fight over a man? Maybe. It seemed like exactly the sort of thing she'd have chastised her brother for doing, a fistfight over a girl. Her desire to do exactly the same thing was testament to how much the virus had changed her.
"So have you known Blair a long time?" she asked, turning to face Bridget as the smaller wolf wrapped the shadows about her. She was gone a heartbeat later, undetectable save for her disembodied voice.
“Yes, for a long time now. We went to Stanford together. Him, Steve, Sheila and I,” Bridget's voice explained. It circled slowly around Liz as Bridget moved. “We dated for three years, most of it spent at school or later at a dig site in China.”
There was a moment of silence and then a flash of silver as Bridget lunged from the right. Liz flowed into one of the combat forms the Mother had taught her, catching Bridget's neck with one hand and her right arm with the other. That left one of Bridget's arms free, and she raked Liz's chest in a spray of blood.
Liz responded by slamming Bridget's face into the obsidian, then rolling away and disappearing into the shadows. Now it was her turn to attack from the shadows. They'd alternate until they grew tired, the idea being that they could practice both attacking and defending. Liz had taken to the exercises with a surprising fervor. She really enjoyed losing herself in the activity, the primal joy of combat. Usually she did, anyway.
“But you broke up?” Liz asked, circling Bridget. Her opponent shifted slowly, ears twitching as she sought Liz.
“A long time ago, yes,” Bridget said, dropping her gaze to the stone. If werewolves could have blushed, Liz had the feeling that Bridget would be. “Steve was his best friend, and Sheila was mine. Blair took a job heading up a dig and it took all of his time. He didn’t come to bed. Didn’t eat with me anymore. I didn’t see him for months. Steve…”
A wellspring of rage bubbled up in Liz as she understood where Bridget was going with this. She lunged from the shadows behind Bridget, wrapping one arm around her to pin both arms while the other tore out Bridget's throat. Liz shoved Bridget to the stone and then rolled back into a crouch while she waited.
“You slept with his best friend?” Liz asked, more than a little satisfied by the amount of blood. What a mind fuck. That explained so much of the subtext, why Blair seemed interested in Bridget one moment and angry the next. “I’m amazed he still speaks to you.”
Bridget struggled to her feet, the terrible wounds healing almost instantly. Her ruined throat knitted itself back together as she slipped into the shadows.
“So am I,” Bridget agreed, sounding embarrassed as she circled Liz. “I don’t deserve it. I cheated on him. The worst part is that when he came to the dig…I abandoned Steve. We’d been on the rocks for a while, but that’s no excuse. He was dying from radiation sickness, and I ran to Blair for comfort. I didn’t deserve either of them. I still don’t.”
“But you’re pursuing him anyway?” Liz asked. She kept her tone even, but was willing to bet that Bridget sensed her disapproval.
“I shouldn’t, but Liz, I can’t help it. I love him. I always have. Even when I was with Steve I never stopped loving Blair. If he told me to leave him alone I would, but he hasn’t. You can’t blame me for trying,” she said, voice still moving as she continued to circle. Liz got the sense that she was looking for some sort of absolution, but she wasn’t the one who could offer that. “I know it’s wrong. I know I should just let him go, but I feel like I have a second chance. To be a better person. The woman he deserves. He’s an amazing man.”
"A man you don't deserve," Liz growled, flexing her claws. "If you hurt him again, there will be hell to pay. I promise you that."
Chapter 8- Mother's Return
“You are a very stupid man, Blair Smith,” Cyntia said, nose slightly upturned like some South American parody of a Valley girl. The statement was made while she filled a battered pot with water, then set it gently on top of the Coleman camp stove they’d liberated from the installation outside. The Mohn Corp soldiers who'd occupied it were all dead, slaughtered by the Mother in her seemingly infinite fury.
“You won’t get an argument from me,” he agreed, opening the dented cabinet that they’d used to store their dwindling supply of food. Well, processed food anyway. They could always go hunting, but that still felt incredibly odd despite the fact that Blair enjoyed it. “How about beef stroganoff tonight?”
Blair picked up a large packet and tore the seal. He set it on the marble next to the camp stove, marveling at the veins of gold that shot through the rock. Its value was incalculable and it could be found throughout the Ark.
The powdery substance inside the packet smelled like preservatives, but at least it was better than the smell of his own sweat. He would have made time for that shower, except that he had a feeling Cyntia would have insisted on joining him. She had an odd idea about what constituted boundaries.
“Do you know why you are a very stupid man?” Cyntia asked, unperturbed by his attempt to change the subject.
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” Blair said, suppressing the sigh. It was like a bad anime show, one male character surrounded by women. There was Jordan of course, but somehow he managed to sidestep this crap. Blair missed Trevor.
“You are a fool because Liz desires you. She is a much better match than that little vixen with the shifty eyes. Liz is strong. You need a strong woman, Blair Smith,” Cyntia explained, lowering the temperature on the camp stove as the water came to a boil.
“I’d love to hear you call Bridget weak to her face,” Blair retorted, pulling the mouth of the packet wide so that Cyntia could pour in the water. Once it was full, he used the strip at the top to reseal it. It would cook for the next few minutes, but the others would arrive long before then. Their enhanced senses allowed them to smell cooking anywhere in the Ark.
“You dance about with words. Do not play such games. You know I am right,” she said, giving him a measured glance. She began setting bowls around the wide marble table. It was flanked by a pair of benches cut from some sort of foam. There was enough room to seat twenty, so they only took up a very small corner.
“You’re right,” Blair admitted, surprising hims
elf. He picked up the packet of stroganoff by the top edges and carried it to the table. “Bridget is bad news. I know that."
Cyntia stopped, turning slowly to face him. She gestured with a fistful of plastic spoons. “Then you have no business cavorting with her. She is a harlot. You should tell her you will never be with her again.”
Realization struck like a bolt of lightning. He’d never told Bridget to leave. Or even to leave him alone. He’d accepted, even welcomed the attention. Why? It wasn’t fair unless he wanted to get back together with her. Did he?
“Stroganoff again?” Jordan boomed as he strode into the chamber. He was almost as menacing in human form, all muscle and stubble. “What I wouldn't give for a sixteen-ounce cut of prime rib.”
“You are a stupid man too, Aaron Jordan,” Cyntia said, a grin slipping into place. She sat languidly at the table, placing the last spoon next to her bowl. “But you are very easy on the eyes. Not so easy as Trevor, but he would not mind me looking, I think.”
“There you go again,” Jordan said, sliding his massive frame onto the bench across from Cyntia. He shook his head, giving her a warm smile. “You’re a passable soldier, but you’re not at all my type.”
“Stroganoff again?” Liz said, striding into the room with the grace of a panther. She really was beautiful, in a wholly different way than Bridget. Liz’s long copper hair was more honest, her sapphire gaze something he could imagine waking up to. That said nothing of her figure, even wrapped in the baggy green fatigues that Mohn had unintentionally provided. She was a lot taller, almost eye level. That had really grown on him.
Bridget strolled in afterwards. She darted Blair a shy smile, then quickly looked away.
“Yes, it is just about ready. Sit and I will serve you,” Cyntia said. She took the role of hostess very seriously, something that could almost never be said of her. She popped open the packet, using a large plastic spoon to ladle the steaming stroganoff into bowls. It smelled heavenly despite being freeze dried, but it didn't satisfy the primal urge for meat that he'd been saddled with since his transformation.
Liz and Bridget dropped onto the bench next to Jordan, so Blair slid in next to Cyntia. He picked up his spoon, but it would be several minutes before the food was cool enough to eat. “It’s been a week now. I wonder what things are like back in the states.”
“Bad,” Jordan said. He shoveled a spoonful of stroganoff into his mouth. “Oww. Hot. Yeah, it will be bad. The power would have gone out even without the second wave. It takes people to run power plants and zombies would have made that impossible. So you’ve got isolated groups everywhere because no one can communicate. Food will be a serious issue. So will medicine. Not to mention the zombies themselves.”
“I could have told you that. I watched The Walking Dead, too,” Bridget said with a little smirk.
“The writers of that show were wise men,” Jordan replied, shoveling a second spoonful.
“I have to wonder how far the werewolves have spread,” Blair added. He took his first tentative bite. Still hot, but good. “Peru was the epicenter and we still have problems with zombies. There were less werewolves in the United States, especially the east coast. They’ve got to be in bad shape.”
A figure glided into the room, snuffing the conversation like a candle. The Mother had returned. Her ivory garments were spattered with blood but were otherwise undamaged. He still hadn’t figured out how she shifted with her clothes. Was it the garment or some power? A waterfall of silver locks flowed down deceptively delicate shoulders, framing an oval face set with emerald eyes. She was both breathtaking and otherworldly.
“You still insist on eating that goop,” she snorted, sitting cross-legged on the bench next to Blair. She slapped a haunch of meat from what he guessed might be a goat on the table before her. “We are carnivores. We eat meat. You need to hunt.”
She seized the haunch with both hands, ripping off a mouthful and chewing blissfully as the rest of them gazed on in a mixture of horror and jealousy. His stomach rumbled.
She opened her eyes and blinked twice. “Why are you staring at me?”
“It’s not important,” Blair interjected, surprised again at the vast gulf between the Mother’s culture and their own world. “We found survivors in Cajamarca and did our best to set up a sanctuary for them. While we were there we ran into something strange. Zombies that were faster and stronger than the others. A more evolved version of the walkers.”
“Evolved,” the Mother replied, cocking her head as if tasting the word. She picked a piece of fat from between her teeth before continuing. “That doesn’t quite fit. They have fed upon the flesh of others, which gives them strength. The more they feed, the stronger and smarter they become. This is why they were a more challenging opponent than the shamblers you first encountered."
“How large can they get?” Liz asked.
“I’ve seen a deathless 30 spans high, this one a primate from the Cradle. It took Ra two millennia to grow it and me another six to destroy it,” she said. Blair’s jaw dropped at the cavalier way she discussed such a time span.
“Mother, I know this might be rude but how old are you?” he asked, bracing himself for a possible explosion.
“I have seen the length of an entire longest count, roughly twenty-four millennia,” she said, continuing her meal.
Blair wasn’t the only amazed face. “We must be like children to you. The oldest living human is barely a century. Our entire recorded history is around five thousand years. You’ve seen nearly five times that amount of time.”
“Not truly,” the Mother replied between mouthfuls of raw meat. “I was only awake for eleven millennia. I slept for thirteen between ages, when the sun was dim and cold. But enough of me. Tell me more of your journey. You say you’ve helped these survivors find sanctuary? How many are there?”
“We only located a handful, but there are almost certainly others,” Liz interjected, eyeing the Mother as she waved steam away from her bowl. “We wanted to stay and find more, but you insisted we return. I’m still not sure I agree with that. We should be out there protecting people, but instead we’re back here relaxing.”
“I understand your feelings,” the Mother said, heaving a sigh. She stopped eating and divided her attention among them. “You want to protect and that is to the good, but you must learn to take a longer view. I’m afraid I do see you as children, though there is no insult in that. You think in years or perhaps in decades. I ruled this continent and the one to the north for sixty centuries, and spent another fifty in the land you call Africa. I have learned the ugly patterns of our race. The people in this city are important, but not nearly so important as your learning to hone your abilities. I cannot risk you being overwhelmed when you are untrained. That is why I needed you to return, why you are not there protecting those who cannot protect themselves.
“Fear not, though. On the morrow we will return to Cajamarca and I will create champions from those willing,” the Mother explained. “They will help protect the city as you watch over this Ark.”
“Can’t you watch over the Ark?” Bridget asked, eyeing the Mother sidelong. “I mean, you’re stronger than all of us. We could help the city while you protect this place.”
“Would that I could,” she said, heaving another sigh. “The central chamber is damaged nearly beyond repair. I must create new control rods and I can find the material I need in only one place. There is an island to the east, far out to sea. I must find a ship and journey there to obtain the stone. We will need the Ark’s full strength in the years to come. Tomorrow I will return to Cajamarca. Liz and Blair will remain. The rest of you will accompany me.”
“Mother,” Cyntia said, clearing her throat before continuing. “I wish to search for Trevor, the friend we lost during the second wave.”
“This is the one you fear may have fallen prey to the deathless?” the Mother replied, smile melting. She rested a sympathetic hand on Cyntia’s shoulder. “It is possible the man yo
u knew still exists, but that is extremely unlikely. You are most likely to find a shattered husk with no memory of the man he once was. If you must seek your lover then do so, but steel yourself for what might come. The path you choose is difficult to walk.”
“Thank you Mother,” Cyntia replied, eyes falling to her bowl.
“So you want me to go with you?” Jordan asked. It was the most uncomfortable Blair had ever seen him. Not surprising. The Mother had ripped his arms off just a few weeks before.
“Yes,” the Mother said, giving a mischievous smile. “I can smell your fear, but you contain it well. I know you remember well our last encounter, but rest assured, you are one of my children now. I would have you serve as Ka-Dun to Bridget. Ka-Ken need the support of a Ka-Dun and I believe Liz has already laid claim to Blair.”
The table fell silent. Blair’s cheeks heated and he suddenly found his stroganoff very interesting.
Chapter 9- Return to Cajamarca
Jordan slung his pack over his shoulders, cinching the straps around his waist and chest. It carried perhaps two hundred pounds of ordinance, enough to make him the center of a massive fireworks display, should it come anywhere near open flame. He studied his reflection in the mirrored door. His close cropped hair was orderly, his black t-shirt comfortably tight. He looked the same. But he wasn’t.
He’d died back there, torn apart by the Mother when she’d shredded Mohn’s forces. Curiously, of the two hundred people she’d killed he was the only werewolf to be found. There were many sets of tracks leading away, but he had no idea where the others had gone or why. Perhaps it was some animal instinct, some survival reflex that made them flee a predator like the Mother. One he apparently lacked.
He touched the smooth stone door and it slid silently open, revealing the colorful corridor he was already growing used to. He strode boldly down the western passage, passing small diamond-shaped lights every ten feet. They afforded an excellent view of the hieroglyphs, though he appreciated them more for the tactical knowledge they might provide than any beauty they might possess. Many recounted battles with the zombies.