by Chris Fox
She scanned the beach to the west. A two-lane road dotted with gas stations paralleled it. To the north lay a smattering of buildings maybe twice as large as Villa Milagros. There would be a phone there. Maybe even police. The hike was a good ten miles, most if it through thickly tangled bushes or over rocks that would soon grow intolerably hot. Wonderful.
Hot, coppery anger flooded her. She didn’t even have shoes. It was time to get some answers.
“Hey,” she said, steeling her courage and hobbling toward the man. She prodded him roughly with a foot and then hopped to a safe distance. “Wake up. I said wake up.”
“Wuzzat?” the man asked, drowsily sitting up. He patted the ground next to him as if he were searching for something. Glasses, probably. Liz knew what that was like. Speaking of which, where were hers? And how could she see so clearly without them?
“Wake up,” she demanded with all the authority she could muster. It wasn’t easy when naked, lost, and covered with blood. “Where the hell are we? How did I get here? There’s plenty of rocks, and I’m going to start aiming for your head if I don’t get some answers.”
His deep brown eyes blinked into focus as he drank in her legs and ever so slowly lifted his gaze to her chest. He was blushing by the time he reached her face. In other circumstances she might have welcomed the attention, but right now the behavior only stoked her anger.
“I, uh, I don’t know. Look, I know this has got to be confusing,” he said, averting his gaze as he rose gracefully. At least he had manners. “Your name is Liz, right? You’re a doctor too? A medical one?”
“No,” she snapped, hackles relaxing slightly. There had been such strange nightmares, but they grew more distant as the sun picked skyward through the clouds.
“No? I could have sworn that Jefe guy introduced you as Doctor Liz. Anyway, my name is Blair Smith. I’m an anthropologist, well a teacher with an anthropology degree, anyway. How much do you remember from the clinic?” He spoke gently without looking at her, as if placating a wild animal. Did she really look that hysterical? Maybe she was.
“I…” she trailed off, tugging at the thread of memory. “Jefe drove me up to Villa Milagros. The villagers were dead. Killed by…” Killed by what? Fangs flashed in the jumbled corners of her mind.
“Killed by me,” the man interjected, heavy eyes finally returning to her. His face was stone. “Or by something inside me. A monster. The same one inside of you. I realize how crazy that sounds, but it’s true. We’re dealing with something I can’t even begin to comprehend, much less explain.”
“Yeah, great. Monsters. Got it. How did we get here? Why did you kidnap me, and for the love of God, where are my clothes?” she growled, anger surging as the tirade gained momentum. She didn’t know what was happening, but this man was at the heart of it. She fished a rock from the ground and hurled it at his face. Much to her surprise, it hit, snapping his head back as his mouth filled with blood.
“Oh my God,” she said, horrified by her own actions. It didn’t matter what he’d done. This wasn’t like her. She looked around the brush-covered hill for anything to staunch the flow.
Blair’s face twisted, and he took a threatening step toward her.
“Don’t. Do. That. Again,” he said, taking another step forward. He was taller than her and obviously stronger, but she didn’t budge. There was a curious lack of fear. “Whatever happened to me also happened to you. Where do you think all that blood came from? Look at yourself. Take a long look, Liz. You might not be a doctor, but you’ve been to college, right? Examine the fucking situation.”
She did. She was naked, but so was he. He was covered in blood, but so was she. Whatever was going on had affected him just as it had her. If he’d wanted to kidnap her, he’d be clothed and would probably have a gun. He’d also have bound her. The anger ebbed, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
“Tell me what you mean by monsters. Explain everything. Talk slow, like I’m stupid,” she said as calmly as she could manage.
“It’s complicated.”
“So uncomplicate it. How about something simple? Where are we?” she asked, anger returning in a sudden surge. She actually took a step toward him. They were inches apart now, each refusing to back down.
“I don’t know,” he growled, glaring down at her. “I was just woken up, remember? How the hell do I know where we are? And what is it you think I did, exactly? Carry you naked down a mountainside and roll you around in some blood?”
Liz didn’t have an immediate answer, and that just made the anger worse. She wanted answers and he didn’t have them. Yet he was the only target for her rage. She seethed silently.
“Listen, I know this is all a lot to take in, but we don’t have time for you to get hysterical. Think you’ve got it bad?” he blared, voice thundering over the waves. “I’m in a foreign country. I don’t speak the language. I’m naked. I have no money. My friends are dead. Oh, and I’m a fucking werewolf.”
She just stared, counterargument dying unspoken. His lip was knitting itself back together, the flesh literally closing before her eyes. Blair started to cough, raising a hand to his mouth. When the hacking ceased, he showed it to her, palm up. There were two broken teeth, clearly expelled from his mouth. In their place were two brand new replacements, clear and white in stark contrast to their neighbors.
“Wha-what just happened?” she asked in a tiny voice, though she was positive she didn’t want to hear the answer.
“You can probably answer that better than I can. That isn’t the only thing. Look,” he tugged at the remains of the bandage around his midsection, exposing smooth, pale skin. “If that isn’t proof enough for you, think back to that clinic. Do you remember the helicopter? Your friend dying, the guy in the leather Jacket?”
“Jefe,” she muttered, mind tangled in what she’d just witnessed. Spontaneous regeneration happened in starfish, not people. Even then, reforming a limb took days. The amount of energy required to do it instantly was nearly incalculable. It was impossible, but she’d just seen it.
“Yeah, Jefe,” Blair continued, seemingly oblivious to her stupor. He started pacing the rocky terrain, studying the area below them. “You know what they sent after us. Soldiers. Why do you think that is? Why do you have no memory of coming here? I’ll bet you had nightmares. Violent ones. Deny it, if I’m wrong.”
The fire inside her sputtered out, smothered by the weight of his words.
“I can’t,” she admitted, hating him for the truth. She sank into a crouch, hugging her chest to her knees. “What I just saw is impossible. And I did have nightmares.”
“That’s something, I guess,” Blair said, hopping atop a small boulder. She tried not to watch him, but even given the circumstances they were in, it was hard not to notice the way the muscles bunched in his legs. Such an odd thing to feel at a time like this. He turned a steely gaze on her. “I was called in to a dig site a few weeks back. Up in the mountains, near a mine.”
“Yanacocha,” she said, staring him in the face. It made ignoring…other things it easier. He seemed to be doing the same, eyes focused on her face. “It’s the largest goldmine in South America.“
“Ok, Yanacocha. We were studying an enormous pyramid, bigger than anything ever discovered on this continent or any other.” He shaded his eyes against the sun. He watched the town to the north. “We have no idea who built it, and the structure demonstrates command of a technology we can’t begin to understand. It changes our whole understanding of the ancient world.”
“So let me see if I have this straight,” Liz broke in, fanning an ember of her earlier anger. She gently stoked it into indignation. “You want me to believe that you were studying some pyramid built by aliens? If this thing is so gigantic, why wasn’t it discovered before? Some random kid in Georgia would have found it with Google Earth.”
“Why do people always assume its aliens?” Blair rolled his eyes. “We don’t know what culture built it, but it was humans, not little green men.
I don’t know much about them yet, or why they disappeared. What I can tell you is that they designed a pyramid that can cause earthquakes.”
“And werewolves,” she added, answering his eye roll with one of her own. “So our mysterious lost people of Atlantis made werewolves? Seriously? What next, sparkly vampires? I believe in some things people think are pretty out there, but come on.”
“Listen, lady. You do whatever the hell you want. I’m done trying to convince you,” he said, sliding off the rock and moving toward the town in the distance.
“Where are you going?” she called, rising and trotting after him. She didn’t trust him, but she also didn’t want to be alone. Especially alone and naked.
“To that village. I need clothes. And a phone.” He paused, turning to face her. “I don’t know what’s happened to us, but I intend to find out.”
“Exactly how are you going to do that?” she asked, planting her hands on hips, like weapons. “Are you a doctor? Can you sequence DNA? Because if you can’t, you’re going to fail.”
“I’m guessing you can? I thought you weren’t a doctor,” he countered, turning a glare on her.
“Grad student. I’ve had a lot of training, and I understand how DNA works. If we can get to a lab, I might be able to get us some answers.”
“Great. First we’ll get some clothes. Then we’ll find a lab,” he said, turning back toward the village and setting a ground-eating pace down the rocky hill.
She hobbled after him, favoring her right foot and abruptly realizing she didn’t need to. The pain was gone.
“My foot,” she said, lifting a leg to inspect the sole of her foot. “The wound. It’s gone.” She ran a hand over smooth, unbroken skin.
“I told you. Whatever this is, we’re in it together,” Blair said, neither turning to face her nor slowing. “The faster we reach that town, the better. We can be there by nightfall, but we’re both going to look like lobsters. Wish I had some sunscreen.”
Chapter 28- Sunburned
Blair dropped into a low crouch in the deep shadows next to the salt-weathered fence. He rested a hand on one of the rough slats, peering at the ramshackle house and the deserted highway behind it. A wan glow came through what he took for a kitchen window, thick with the kind of filmy grime that built up near the ocean. The rest of the place was dark, and the only sound was the pounding of surf in the distance. Even the wind was barely audible, though he felt its salty caress. They were cloaked in darkness, save for the fat sliver of moon just above the horizon. He stared up at it, fixed on its surface, iridescent like he’d never been before.
“Yeah, I feel it too. Makes me itch for some reason,” Liz said, settling in next to him as she peered up at the moon. They were still naked, though the darkness mercifully obscured certain details.
The hike had been difficult, and not solely because of the blistering sun. She was beautiful. Long copper hair and…And he needed to focus.
“Wish I understood what the hell is going on. Nothing makes sense anymore,” he said, unsure if he meant the attraction or the moon. Perhaps both.
“If my brother were here, he’d have some sort of theory, but I haven’t the faintest idea why I can close my eyes and point straight at the moon. I mean, I get that we’re werewolves so it sort of makes sense. I just don’t get why. Anyway, I don’t see any cars coming. Do you think we should knock?” Liz asked, rocking back and forth on her heels in the soft sand. It had the appearance of a nervous habit.
“You know more about local customs than I do. If this was California, the owners would either call the police or come out with a shotgun. How will they react to a pair of naked strangers on their doorstep? How do we explain what happened?” he asked, voice pitched low even though there was little risk of being heard over the waves.
“I’ll tell them we camped at the beach and were robbed while swimming,” she replied, evidently having given the matter thought during their mostly silent hike. Liz rose to her feet and started for the front door. “Come on. I doubt they’ll answer with a shotgun, and even if they do, what choice do we have? It’s getting chilly this close to the water, and I don’t like the idea of another night outdoors.”
“All right,” he agreed, loping after her through the thick sand. At least it was better than the rocks. “I’ll let you handle the talking. Just be ready to run.”
They rounded the fence, crossing the cracked cement walkway. It led past an old pickup truck to a shadowed porch. He wished he knew what time it was. Eight? Nine?
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Liz hissed, turning as if to go.
“We have no choice,” he hissed back, threading a way up the driveway and past the truck. “Come. On. I can’t do this alone. I need you to translate.”
She froze for several agonizing heartbeats and then followed Blair up the driveway. He stepped aside just before the porch so she’d be the first to reach the door. She gave him a tentative glance, somehow visible despite the near darkness. Then she seemed to find her courage, and she gave the plywood door three sharp raps. A tense breath later, light flared within. A muffled Spanish voice called out and was answered by a woman. Footsteps approached, two sets.
The floor creaked on the other side of the door. Then a bolt clicked. The door creaked open, revealing a bleary-eyed man topped by a graying rat’s nest that hadn’t seen a brush in years. He flicked a switch next to the door, and the porch light flared to life. Blair blinked away spots as the old man studied Liz’s naked form. He gave a little frown and then called something in Spanish over his shoulder.
A portly woman in a floral dress advanced up the hall, calling something back to the man Blair assumed to be her husband. She stared suspiciously at Liz, gaze darting to the man as if to confirm he wasn’t enjoying the sight. The man opened the door a bit wider and turned his attention to Blair, face hardening as he did so. Not surprising. Finding a lone naked woman on your doorstep is more curious than disturbing. Add a man into the mix, and that whole impression changes.
There was a rapid exchange in Spanish between the old man and Liz, and then he stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. Whatever she’d said had worked. The woman’s expression went from hostile to sympathetic. Liz bobbed her head gratefully as she ducked inside. He moved to follow, but he found the man’s arm blocking his path. The old man’s face was harder than granite, and he raised a finger first to his eye and then to Blair. I’m watching you. Great.
To make matters worse, the itching between Blair’s shoulder blades had gotten worse. He didn’t need to turn around to know that was the part of his body being caressed by the moonlight. Well, why not? If he was a werewolf, then it made sense. The scientist in him demanded answers, though. He wanted not just to know how a werewolf could exist, but also how or why the moon would matter.
The old man finally moved his arm and waited patiently as Blair ducked under the door. The floorboards creaked as he made his way up the hallway and into a tiny kitchen. Liz was already seated at a table just large enough for two, with a frayed gray blanket wrapped around her shoulders. That hadn’t taken long. An old thirteen-inch television droned quietly on the counter behind them, featuring an attractive Latina reporter in front of some store.
The husband thumped down the hall, passing Blair and heading into the house’s one, small bedroom. He emerged a moment later with a thin green robe that Blair gratefully accepted. It only hung to his thighs, and it itched, but at least he wasn’t naked any more. The old woman scurried across the linoleum, grabbing him by the arm and hustling him to the chair across from Liz.
“Gracias,” he said, exhausting his supply of Spanish.
“De nada,” the matronly woman replied with a smile, turning to rattle off another flurry at Liz.
“She says we can stay the night. Tomorrow she’ll bring us to the police station so we can tell them we were robbed,” Liz replied. Blair heard her heart speed at the word “police,” and he couldn’t help but shiver when he realized what
he was doing—hearing heartbeats.
“Mira. Mira,” The old woman said, face going pale as she gestured at the television. Blair didn’t need to understand Spanish to get the gist of what the reporter was saying. She was gesturing at a storefront. The metal bars outside the door had been bent and the door itself ripped off its hinges. Something massive had broken its way inside the shop.
“Oh my God, Blair. You don’t think?” Liz whispered, eyes finding his.
“Maybe. Ask them where that is,” he replied grimly, still watching as the reporter solemnly relayed a story he feared he would understand all too well.
Liz obligingly spoke to the woman in Spanish, but it was the man who answered. His voice was hostile, and he gestured accusingly at the pair of them. His wife reacted, blinking rapidly as though seeing them for the first time.
“Blair,” Liz began, heart racing as she prepared to bolt. She pulled the blanket tighter as if that might offer some protection. “They want to know why we’re not sunburned if we spent all day walking. He says we’re lying, and I don’t think I can convince them otherwise.”
Now that she’d called attention to it, Blair realized he wasn’t burned. Neither was Liz, and her skin was fair enough that there was no way to explain it. Their mysterious new ailment was the only answer. Werewolves healed their own wounds; perhaps they could heal sunburns too.
The man darted across the kitchen, reaching into the nook next to the ancient white refrigerator. He emerged with a shotgun, which was promptly leveled at Blair’s chest. Blair tensed but was careful to make no threatening gesture.