No Such Thing As Werewolves

by Chris Fox

  He studied the ocean around them, casting his will still further north until he located the land they would arrive in. It had housed a great empire in his day, but the climate had shifted dramatically over the millennia. Arid plains were now choked with jungle, and only a few cities dotted the land. That was good, in a way. It limited the destinations the whelp could be seeking. The tall structures dotting the beaches must be this Acapulco he had plucked from the whelp’s mind. Their vessel crawled sluggishly toward it, perhaps a day or two away from the crowded port.

  It would cost him, but Ahiga could move far more swiftly than they. Wolves were strong swimmers, especially when fueled by the power of the moon. He would reach this city on the heels of his quarry. Ahiga released the vision, returning to his body with a dizzying sense of vertigo.

  He opened his eyes, unsurprised to find the child slack jawed and gaping at him. Her chin quivered, eyes even larger. She backed a step away, turned abruptly, and started sprinting across the sand to her parents. She began to wail, terrified by the vision he’d shared with her.

  Ahiga smiled and then rose from the spiral and strode toward the water. He hated swimming, especially across such a vast distance. Would that he possessed a slipsail. He chided himself for the thought. There was no sense lamenting what he did not have.

  Ahiga dove into the water, energy flowing through his body as he began the change.

  Chapter 35- Acapulco

  Blair peered through the filmy cab window as it rumbled to a halt outside the Crowne Plaza, a towering structure with sloped sides, a little too reminiscent of a pyramid. Palm trees decorated with streams of hanging lights blazed away on the walk outside the building, which perched in opulence on the boardwalk along Av Costera Miguel Aléman, the main artery running through Acapulco. A 747 dipped across the sky, disappearing somewhere to the north.

  “This is it,” Liz said, squeezing Blair’s arm. She leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Cuante le debo?” The two had a rapid exchange. The driver seemed angry, and Liz had gone tense. Blair wished again that he’d paid a little more attention in his high school Spanish classes.

  “He says it’s thirteen pesos for each of us, and he won’t take the money we brought from Peru. He will take American currency though,” she explained, opening the cab door and slipping out. She leaned her head back into the car. “I’m going to run inside and grab the package my brother sent. Then we can pay the cab and get our room. I told him you’d stay here.” She slammed the door, hurrying up the walk and disappearing through the glass doors into the hotel.

  Slay this wretch, Ka-Dun. He should be honored to render service for the blooded. If he will not serve in life, let him serve in death.

  “I’m not going to kill the man to save a few pesos,” Blair whispered under his breath. The driver had sharp ears, his gaze shooting up to the rear-view mirror when Blair spoke. Man probably thought he was crazy. He might not be wrong.

  They waited in silence for an eternity, just Blair and the driver. The cab had been considerably more crowded, but apparently theirs was the man’s last stop. The system was an odd one. The cabs just kept picking up passengers until they were full, more like a bus than an American taxi. Of course, they were also really cheap, which was a very good thing for people with limited means. What little cash they had wasn’t going to get them far, unless Liz’s brother had sent them enough to afford airfare to northern Mexico. Staying at the Crowne Plaza seemed an unnecessary waste, but because Liz’s brother was paying for it, Blair supposed he shouldn’t complain.

  He lost himself in the drone of car horns and the steady stream of drunken tourists winding their way down the boulevard. This city had a reputation for never sleeping, and from what he saw of the clubs they’d passed, he found the reputation to be well earned. Hundreds of bikini-clad women and bare-chested men clogged the streets as far as the eye could see, most cradling brightly colored plastic glasses. It reminded him a great deal of the Vegas Strip, though most of the people were darker skinned and probably didn’t speak much English.

  Within minutes a familiar heartbeat approached. Blair looked up to see Liz, her bulky white blouse and matronly skirt decidedly out of place amidst the frolicking tourists. She clutched a rubber-band-wrapped bundle in one hand, pausing to withdraw a twenty-dollar bill as she stopped next to the cab’s now open window. Blair popped open the door and joined her on the curb as she settled their fare with the driver. He handed back a wad of brightly colored Mexican bills and then sped off before Liz had a chance to count them. The battered cab left a cloud of acrid exhaust in its wake, disappearing into the cacophony of the busy thoroughfare.

  “How much did your brother send us?” Blair asked as the two headed up the walkway, toward the lobby.

  “A thousand dollars,” Liz answered, pausing to thread around a cluster of drunken teenagers. “That should be enough to get us some new clothes and tickets to Tijuana. Trevor will meet us at the border into San Diego. From there we should be able to find a lab and hopefully get some answers.”

  “You think it will be that easy?” Blair asked, dropping his voice as the sliding glass doors closed behind them. The lobby was like a library compared to the oppressive noise outside. “I’m still not sure they’re going to let me on a plane without some sort of identification.”

  “You’ll find that Mexico is quite a bit different than the states,” Liz said, beaming a grin at him. It was the first time he could remember her smiling. “The corruption here is more or less the same, but they’re a lot more blatant about it. If we slip the clerk some cash, they’ll overlook your lack of ID, at least as long as we’re only flying within the county. I do think it will be that easy. Mohn has no idea where we are. We’ve got money, and we’ve got a plan. Things are going to work out.”

  Blair returned the smile, though privately he still had his doubts. He trailed after Liz as she strode boldly to the concierge. He was a short, wiry man with slicked-back hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His clothing was in sharp contrast to the tourists’, a white dress shirt with the first two buttons undone and a pair of tight-fitting black slacks. He leaned forward on the marble countertop, ready to serve as they approached.

  “Good evening, Ms. Gregg,” he said with the grace of one well trained to serve. He gestured toward the elevators on the far side of the lobby. “I’ve taken the liberty of preparing your room. Take those elevators to the seventeenth floor and turn right. You’re in 1706. Is there anything else I might provide to make your stay more enjoyable?”

  “Is there a place we can pick up some clothes? I know it’s late,” Liz asked, gesturing at her travel-stained blouse.

  “Of course, Ms. Gregg. The hotel gift shop is open until eleven p.m. You’ll find suitable attire there. Toiletries are available in the room, and if you need anything further, please don’t hesitate to call the front desk. We’re happy to provide you with whatever you require,” he said, clearly admiring Liz’s figure. Not that Blair could blame the man.

  They walked to the center of the marble floor, traffic flowing around them as they got their bearings.

  “There it is. I’d kill to get out of these clothes. Let’s see what we can find,” Liz said, heading in the direction of a large shop with wide windows. Through the glass, he could see an array of t-shirts, stuffed bears, and all the other crap one would expect of a tourist trap.

  Fifteen minutes later they boarded the elevator with an armload of bags. Blair had selected a black shirt with palm trees and the word Acapulco emblazoned across the chest. A pair of sandals and comfortable swim trunks completed his purchases. All the other bags belonged to Liz, who’d bought two full changes of clothing and a green bikini that he hoped she would have a chance to wear. The elevator dinged, and the doors slid closed. It rose smoothly, numbers ticking by until it stopped on the seventeenth floor. They exited onto a plush green carpet that could have been installed the day before.

  Blair picked out a sign that indicated their block of ro
oms lay to the right. They wound up the hallway, too exhausted to speak as they passed the last fifty feet to relative safety. He could scarcely believe it when they reached the matte-black door with a bronze placard that read 1706. Liz slid in the white keycard, and a green light above the lock flared. She pushed the door open, revealing a spacious room with two queen-sized beds. Blair tossed his packages on the floor near the closest bed, flopping onto the floral comforter and relaxing against the pillows. Liz sat heavily on her bed, massaging her neck as the door clicked shut behind them.

  “I can’t believe we made it,” Blair said, rising restlessly to his feet. They were here; why couldn’t he enjoy it? He crossed the room and pulled open a white curtain to reveal a narrow balcony with two patio chairs and a small glass-topped table. The city blazed beneath them, thousands of tourists completely unaware that a pair of werewolves had just arrived in their midst. “So, your brother is going to meet us in Tijuana, right? Have you told him about our…situation?”

  “Sure, I told him we’re werewolves,” Liz said, rolling her eyes. She removed her hand from her neck and rose to join him at the balcony. He slid the door open, and they stepped into the balmy night. The city flowed below them, and they took in the noise of car horns and laughter. Neon lights and people flirting. “How would you react if someone told you that? Trevor is the consummate scientist. He’s even more of a skeptic than you are. He’ll believe it if I can show him proof, but if I told him now, he’d just assume it was the ayahuasca.”

  “He knew why you went to Peru?” Blair asked. The way she’d described her brother, Blair expected him to be straight laced and anti-drug. Most of the academics Blair knew were like that, at least the ones involved in the hard sciences and higher math. A few were ok with marijuana, but they wouldn’t be caught dead near anything more exotic.

  “Yeah, and he isn’t much surprised. Trevor is no saint either. Besides, in this case he knows it wasn’t for recreational use. I came down to get my head on straight,” she said, trailing off. Her eyes narrowed, back straightening as she turned to face the door to the hallway.

  Blair cocked his head, listening. What had she heard? There it was, footsteps approaching. It was possible the passerby was just some hotel guest finding the right room, but they’d both seen too much to assume that to be the case. Besides, whomever it was moved with near silence, breathing and heartbeat measured. Controlled. The footsteps stopped outside their door. Liz and Blair both jumped when three sharp raps sounded.

  “Should we run?” Liz mouthed. She pointed over the balcony, clearly contemplating the impossible. Seventeen stories. Their healing was miraculous, but could they recover from something like that?

  “No one knows we’re here except your brother, right?” he whispered. She nodded her agreement.

  Another series of raps. Blair steeled himself and crossed the room to the door. He stared through the peephole, intrigued by the figure on the other side of the door. It was a tall man in his late fifties with long silver hair and weathered features. His eyes were a sharp clear grey and held the weight of ages. He’d seen those eyes before, but he couldn’t recall where.

  “Please open the door. I know you’re standing there,” the man said, words precisely clipped as if they weren’t in his native tongue. Blair couldn’t place the accent.

  He rested his hand on the knob, hesitating before turning it. The door clicked open, and he stepped back to get a better view of the man. There was something infuriatingly familiar about him, but Blair just couldn’t place it.

  “May I enter?” he asked, sketching an odd little bow.

  “Who are you?” Blair demanded, tensing and readying to shift if need be. He doubted the man worked for Mohn, but trust was a precious commodity. He was aware of Liz behind him. Her heart beat swiftly as she moved closer to the door.

  “My name is Ahiga,” he said, delivering another shallow bow. “I am a champion, like you. What you know as a werewolf.”

  Chapter 36- More Questions

  Blair shifted his gaze to Liz, arcing an eyebrow. She gave a tight nod, standing on the balls of her feet as if prepared for a fight. He turned back to Ahiga, opening the door wide and gesturing for the old man to enter. The old man moved with the grace of a predator, stalking a path to the plush chair in the corner.

  Atop the chair, the old man drew his legs underneath him as Blair and Liz each sat on their respective beds. He took several moments to compose himself, avoiding eye contact until he’d finished. Then those piercing grey eyes flashed up, hard as ice.

  “How did you find us?” Blair asked, seizing the initiative. The old man’s gaze tightened as he discarded whatever he’d been about to say.

  “With great difficulty,” he admitted, frown creasing his weathered face. “I have spent nearly an entire lunar cycle chasing you. This is a delay we can ill afford. Events spiral out of control. We must wake the Mother so preparations can begin.”

  “Yeah, you said pretty much exactly the same thing back in Peru. When you got inside my head,” Blair shot back, spearing the old man with his gaze. He crossed his arms, leaning back into the pillows. “We’ll get to that. First, answer my question. How did you know how to find us here?”

  “I plucked the destination from your mind,” the old man explained. His expression softened, just for an instant. “What I have done brings me great shame, yet I had no other choice. I had to find you, Blair Smith. Through happenstance, or perhaps fate, you have become the locus of events. The arbiter of the future, to either usher in an age of darkness or be the last guttering candle sheltering mankind from its black embrace. Melodramatic, I realize, but true nevertheless.”

  “You’ve been here about two minutes, and I’ve already had enough of this Yoda crap," Liz interrupted, snatching her purse from the bed as she stalked to the balcony. She withdrew a pack of cigarettes she’d bought in the gift shop, tapping one into her hand. It was the first time Blair had seen her smoke. A nervous habit? “I’ll accept that you're from the past, some immortal werewolf or something. What I don’t buy is that you have some benevolent purpose. You've turned us into killing machines. We slaughter relentlessly. Without mercy. Why? What could they possibly have done to make you want to kill them so indiscriminately?”

  “I understand that it is difficult to understand. Your culture clearly places a high value on life, something that I would normally say is laudable,” the man said, crossing his arms as he stared dispassionately at Liz. Blair got the sense that he was annoyed, though he seemed like he was struggling to contain it. “You cannot possibly understand what is coming, why our kind were created, or what we shield the world from. I will answer all your questions, but all you need understand right now is that every moment is precious. We must return to the land you call Peru. We must go now.”

  Blair leaned forward, catching the old man’s gaze. “If waking this Mother is so important, then convincing me to help you is critical, right? You want my help? Then you’d better become a whole lot more talkative. Answer our questions; help us understand what we’ve become. How to control the thing inside us. Then maybe, just maybe, talk about helping you. Right now we don’t know you, and we certainly don’t trust you. You could be lying to get us to wake this woman so she can end the world. Hell, it seems like we’re already off to a good start, and we haven’t even woken her up yet.”

  “You are right,” the old man replied, heaving a sigh. He wore the weariness of a man assigned an impossible task with an unrealistic deadline. “I have gone about this badly, but I was woefully unprepared for such a turn of events. When the Ark opened, I was to wake the Mother from her slumber. It was my purpose, the reason I was left as guardian. I spent countless centuries meditating, drawing upon the Ark’s latent energy to fuel my body. Even still, time has ravaged me. My survival was a near thing.

  “When the Ark finally initiated itself, I made the gravest of errors,” he said, expression portraying self-inflicted agony now. “I crept to the surface to have
a look at this new world. I wanted to see what remained. I told myself I’d wake the Mother upon my return. Yet when I reached the surface, the soldiers of Mohn were already there, waiting. Somehow they knew of the Ark’s return before it happened. I wished to stay and fight, to drive them from the Ark, but my body bears the terrible weight of years. I fled, ceding control to them.”

  “So you were locked in the pyramid from the very beginning? That must have been thousands of years,” Blair asked once the man paused. He leaned back into the bed, relaxing slightly. He didn’t trust the old man. The story sounded plausible, but it did nothing to explain why they’d been transformed into werewolves or why they were compelled to slaughter everyone around them.

  “Yes, thirteen thousand by your calendar. Half of the longest count,” he said, running bony fingers through his hair. “It was a terrible price to pay, but someone had to be there to wake the Mother. The Ark was damaged, you see. It no longer possessed the capacity to steward the Mother. It needed a living caretaker, one who could activate her rejuvenator at the proper moment.”

  “Great, so you don’t need us,” Liz said, leaning back against the balcony. She took a long drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke over her shoulder. “Just head back and do your job. Wake this Mother and let her do whatever it is that you feel is so important.”

  “I cannot,” he growled, eyes smoldering as a glimmer of life returned. “When this whelp grasped the Mother’s Hand he bonded with the Ark. That link overrode my own, and I am too weak to forge another. Only he can deactivate her rejuvenator.”

  “Ok, so that explains how you found us and what you want from us,” Blair said, back stiffening at the bite of the man’s words. What right did he have to be angry? He wasn’t the one who’d been turned into a killing machine against his will. “Now let’s talk about what we want from you. We need to understand what we’ve become. What happened to me when I touched the statue? Obviously it changed me, but how? Into what?”