No Such Thing As Werewolves

by Chris Fox

  “We lack the time for me to relieve you of your ignorance. Suffice it to say that you were given a great gift which allows you to draw on the light of the moon,” Ahiga explained. “This energy fuels your shaping, to suffuse your body with the strength of the wolf. In the case of males, it also allows us to shape our surroundings. You have probably already experienced this at least once. If you haven’t, you soon will.”

  “What you’re describing sounds like a virus,” Liz interjected, tamping her cigarette out on the railing. “It infects the host and modifies our DNA somehow.”

  “I do not understand this word, virus,” Ahiga said with a shrug, clearly irritated by the idea of not knowing something. “The Mother created the gift. She understands much that I do not. You speak as she does. She, too, is a healer, a learned one.”

  “What about the voice in our heads?” Blair asked. “It’s taken control of me at least once. Will that keep happening?”

  “We call it the beast,” the old man explained. He rose smoothly to join Liz at the balcony. “It is imparted by the gift. The Mother imbued it with what she called racial memory, though I do not fully understand what she meant by that. The beast is a part of you, both servant and protector. It may seize control in the beginning, but as your will grows, it will yield. Its knowledge can help protect you, if you are wise enough to listen.”

  “Wise enough to listen?” Blair snapped, surging to his feet and taking a step toward the old man. “It used me to slaughter an entire village. Dozens of people. That’s what you think we should listen to?”

  “Their deaths are insignificant if they birth the champions we need to protect us.” The old man rose smoothly to his feet, now just a step away from Blair. His acrid breath stank of decay. Of age.

  “So that’s what this is about,” Blair said, finally understanding. His eyes narrowed. “You want us to make more werewolves. A certain percentage of people killed come back. But most don’t, right? What is it, one in ten that survives? The rest just die. That’s it, right?”

  “More like one in twenty. Less for those killed by weaker bloodlines,” Ahiga confirmed. Something unnatural smoldered in his eyes, something Blair could feel. “It is a price we pay gladly, for the alternative is unthinkable. If we do not cull them, the enemy will subvert them, increasing their own strength. Of course, you cannot know these things. You have no understanding of the horrors to come. You speak from rationality, wrapped in ignorance of the world’s true nature. Make no mistake, whelp. The ancient enemy is coming, and its will is terrifying.

  “Already, you can feel its touch on your world,” he continued, shifting his attention to Liz. “You are a healer. Tell me, do you know of a disease that attacks the body’s ability to defend itself? It would have appeared within the last two or three generations, probably on the continent across the eastern ocean—the birthplace of the ancestors.”

  “HIV,” she answered without hesitation, straightening from the balcony. “You’re talking about HIV. The first case was discovered in the late nineteen-sixties. It came from South Africa, and the vast majority of the world’s outbreaks are on that continent.”

  “This disease, this HIV. Let me tell you about it,” he growled, taking a step away from Blair to face Liz. “Before I do, I raise a question. How could I possibly know so much about this disease having so recently wakened? Ask yourselves that as I tell you of this disease. It is transmitted through blood or semen or saliva. It weakens the victim so that they are more susceptible to other sickness. Then, after months or even years, the victim finally dies. Does this sound like your HIV?”

  Liz gave Blair a worried look; then she turned back to the old man. “It does. It sounds exactly like HIV, right down to the place of origin. So how do you so much about it if you’ve been asleep?”

  “Because the disease is older than your entire civilization,” he answered, raising his arms for emphasis. “It is older even than I. The Mother knows of its creation, though she seldom speaks of it. Ask yourself, if this disease is so ancient, why did it only just now appear? What is now different about the world?”

  “There are a lot of differences,” Blair countered angrily. “Whatever you’re getting at, just tell us. We don’t need this cryptic bullshit. Why has the virus suddenly come back?”

  “Plants require the sun for nourishment. Your science tells you this, does it not?” the old man asked, infuriatingly calm as he settled back into the chair.

  “You’re talking about photosynthesis,” Liz interjected from the balcony as she tamped her cigarette out on the railing. “Yes, we’re familiar with it.”

  “This disease is much the same. It requires the sun to survive. It absorbs energy, using it to fuel the destruction of the host. The stronger the energy, the faster the death,” Ahiga explained. The old man glanced out the window, in the direction Blair knew to be the moon. “Imagine if the energy from the sun, the lifeblood of this virus, were to suddenly and dramatically increase. What might happen if the disease accelerated? What if it could kill every last host in a single day?”

  “That’s horrible,” Liz said, her concerned glance sweeping the pair of them. “If that’s the case, every HIV patient in the world could die. We’re talking millions of people.”

  “You do not yet grasp the full horror, girl. What if the afflicted became a tool of the ancient enemy? They are called deathless for a reason, for after the death of their host they will continue on. A vast army of undead corpses intent on wiping out all life. I can tell you with certainty this will happen, though I know not when,” the old man said with a deeply troubled sigh. “The day must be near, or the Ark would not have initiated itself. We will see a gradual shift for a lunar cycle. Perhaps two. Then there will be a sudden explosion of light from the sun. The disease will flourish. This is why we must awaken the Mother. The champions must be there to oppose the enemy, and she must be here to lead us.”

  “So let me see if I understand this correctly,” Blair said, voice heavy with sarcasm. “The sun is going to go into overdrive, and that will kill every HIV patient in the world. Their bodies rise as zombies, becoming some sort of some evil army. You want to make a bunch of werewolves to fight them, slaughtering your way though the populace to do it?

  “That’s the heart of it, yes.”

  “Get the fuck out of our hotel room,” he growled, close enough to violence that he knew Liz could feel it. He shot her a glance.

  “Get out, before we throw you out,” Liz hissed, taking a threatening step toward the old man. “Or you’re going to regret making more werewolves. We might not know as much as you do, but we can still use our claws.”

  “You fools!” Ahiga roared, shooting to his feet. He bared his teeth in a snarl and raised a single hand.

  A dazzling wave of silvery blue light burst from his palm. It washed over Blair, sinking into his muscles like acid. He screamed, long and loud, until no more breath would come. Then he collapsed bonelessly to the carpet, paralyzed. A moment later, Liz thudded to the floor next to him. Ahiga squatted next to Blair’s head, grabbing his chin roughly in one hand. “You know nothing, whelp. Now we are going to have a talk about manners and about priorities. Yes?”

  Chapter 37- Old

  “You do not have the luxury of obstinance, whelp,” Ahiga hissed, hauling Blair’s limp form up until their noses nearly touched. “You lack the time to adjust to your circumstances. I am the teacher, you the student. You will learn, whether you wish it or no. You will stifle your impertinence, and you will listen. I have much to teach and precious little time remaining to teach it. So while you lie there, consider the wealth of powers I command, the myriad of things you cannot possibly understand. In my age, we respected our elders, even if we despised them.” He released the pup, allowing Blair’s body to crash to the floor.

  Ahiga rose and strode purposefully to the door, pausing to turn with his hand resting on the handle. “I give you this simple gift, whelp. Investigate the disease. Study the sun. Learn t
he truth of my words. If you are honest with yourself, you will have no choice but to accept that the ancient enemy is coming. That everyone and everything you know is on the brink of destruction. When at last you accept these things, your beast will help you seek me out.

  “Do not meander in this quest,” Ahiga continued, shaking from the strain of keeping them both paralyzed. If it weren’t for several recent nights under the moon, he’d have been forced to release them. “If you tarry too long you will force my hand. If needed, I will find and kill every last thing that you love. Your family. Your friends. Whatever it takes, whelp. That goes for you as well, female. Help this whelp find wisdom, or I will see that your worlds burn before everyone else’s.”

  The door clicked open, and he exited the room. A heartbeat after the door clicked shut behind him, Ahiga collapsed against the wall, spent from the energy required to overpower the impudent whelps. It underscored just how frail he was now, how much he had lost during his long slumber. He was weaker than he should have been, even given his low reserves. There was only one possible cause. Age. When he’d taken up stewardship all those millennia ago, he’d been a young man in the prime season of power and life. Yet the centuries had leeched that vitality from him, had pushed him to the very end of a life span all others would call eternal. The sacrifice had been necessary. Someone had to remain behind, to awaken the Mother when the time came.

  Ahiga staggered to his feet, weaving like a drunkard down the plush carpet. He already knew where the pup would go next. A city called San Diego. There was much to prepare before meeting him there, where he would stand ready for Blair to accept his duty. If he did not, the fool would learn that Ahiga made no idle boasts.

  Chapter 38- Two Words

  “Sit down, Jordan,” the Director ordered, tone lacking its usual steel. He gestured to a nylon camp chair across from his plastic desk. The room was a hastily erected caricature of the man’s San Francisco office. It was flanked by identical white file cabinets, all of which were sheltered by an unadorned dark canvas pavilion. It was exactly his style, out in the open where everyone could reach him quickly.

  Jordan did as ordered, waiting patiently as the older man shuffled through a ream of file folders. Most probably detailed recent attacks, but he studiously avoided looking. The Director scrubbed fingers through manicured hair that had more salt than pepper. Jordan remembered when it had been the other way around, just a handful of years ago.

  “You know why I called you here,” the Director said, eyes watery as they met Jordan’s. He looked so weary. “Allowing Sheila access to Subjects Beta and Gamma was an inexcusable lapse in judgment. They are both considered compromised, so sharing our limited intel with them could have catastrophic consequences. What if they can communicate with others of their kind, spreading word of our ignorance and weakness? What if Beta had gotten loose and killed the both of you? We’d have lost a command officer and our best remaining scientist. For what? It was a bad call, Jordan.” Then he fell silent, waiting.

  “It was the right call,” Jordan replied unapologetically. He leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk’s cool plastic. “We’ve learned more about their language in the last week than we did the four prior. Steve has been invaluable, and Bridget’s been pulling her weight. That knowledge could be vital to stopping this thing.”

  “What happens when Bridget goes berserk and tears Sheila apart?” the Director barked, slapping the desk and shooting to his feet. He was silent for a moment, eyes promising a venomous death if Jordan uttered a word. Then the Director quietly placed his palms on the desk in a rough parody of Jordan. His voice made the high altitude chill even frostier. “We know nothing about them. What they are. What they can do. That’s why they’re in isolation. Can you imagine what might happen if they got access to the pyramid? There could be weapons of mass destruction in there. It might even be that we’ve already found it. Or rather her.

  “These visits with Sheila stop, now. I know you disagree. I don’t care. You’re putting the welfare of the human race in the hands of unknown variables,” the Director said, gaze steady. His voice was still calm, despite the gravity of his words. “I’m going to tend to that situation personally. To cover up for your lapse. I want two words, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jordan agreed placidly, fuming inside. Arguing would change nothing.

  “Good, because we have work to do. Are you up to speed on the spread?” he asked, nodding at the global map. A new pin had been added to London. Another in Dubai. The steady march of red covered far too much of South and Central America. It had begun to bleed into North America as well.

  “Yes, sir. I’m up to speed. We’re not going to get a handle on this, not without a whole lot more firepower,” he said, hating how much it resembled an excuse. He straightened in his chair, holding the Director’s gaze. “These things can devour a squad, taking shot after shot and not going down. We’re just outclassed. Even if we weren’t, if we could take them down without losing a fistful of men, they’re just spreading too quickly.”

  “I know.”

  The simple admission was deafening. It staggered him.

  “We’re losing, Jordan. There are too many of them and not enough of us. We only have one chance. Find Subject Alpha. So that’s what you’re going to do. I’ve pulled in every resource I can. R&D has created some pretty amazing toys. There aren’t many, but what we have is going with you,” he explained, stepping out from behind the desk and leaving the pavilion’s temporary shelter from the heat. “Follow me. I’d like your assessment of the new hardware.”

  Jordan followed mechanically, still shelled from what he’d just seen. He knew things were bad, but this…

  The Director set a brisk pace across the packed dirt path. His tie fluttered in the wind, and his form was nearly obscured by the dust kicked up from a passing jeep. He strode past Ops, ignoring the steady stream of black-clad soldiers filing in and out. They left the smoother path for the rougher terrain that had been set aside for troop maneuvers. The Director’s goal seemed to be a blue canvas pavilion that had to have been erected in the last twenty-four hours.

  Several men in black tank tops and matching fatigues were unboxing unfamiliar ordnance. It looked like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. Yuri was the center of the activity. He’d stripped down to his fatigues and was seated atop a pile of small crates. His legs were already covered in sculpted matte-black body armor, and two men were lifting a chest piece into place.

  “What are they working on?” Jordan asked as they closed the distance to the pavilion. He ran a hand across his brow, removing a sheen of sweat that the brisk breeze had neglected to remove.

  “Something you’ll be very interested in, I think. It’s the centerpiece of our new arsenal,” the Director answered, keeping his measured pace. He was unaffected by the chill. “It’s the X-12 personal body armor created by R&D. I brought in the two prototypes we’ve created. They quadruple a man’s strength, allowing you to bend steel. Top speed of forty miles per hour. They have induction coils that slowly recharge through skin contact. If you don’t tax them too heavily, they’re powered almost indefinitely.”

  “What kind of ordnance do they pack?” Jordan asked, assessing the armor as they neared the pavilion. It was bulky enough to throw off a man’s center of gravity. That could probably be compensated for with practice, but the armor would require an experienced pilot to be of real combat use. Did something this new even have pilots?

  “Each one has a shoulder-mounted Raptor missile launcher with four rounds,” the Director explained, pointing to the unit mounted to the armor’s right shoulder as they stepped under the pavilion. A small space heater mitigated a bit of the cold. “Each wrist is equipped with a pair of twelve-inch titanium spurs for close combat. Beyond that, the armor is designed to carry handheld weaponry. The rifle of choice is a .50 caliber, and the armor can fire it while running.”

  Jordan gave a low whistle. A .50 caliber rifle could core a
tank, but they usually needed to be anchored in place to be fired. Snipers normally stuck to stationary vantages, making them vulnerable. If the armor could fire accurately at a run it would be a formidable weapon, maybe even one that might have a chance against the werewolves shredding his forces.

  By the time they reached the pavilion, the pair of soldiers had encased Yuri in armor. The arms were less bulky than the chest and seemed to provide a full range of movement, while the helmet was a featureless black faceplate. The corporal rose from the pile of crates, taking an experimental first step. He wobbled but kept his footing. An armored arm snapped into a salute when its owner noticed Jordan and the Director. His two companions rapidly joined him; their boyish grins faded into surprise when they realized the base commander had snuck up on them.

  “At ease,” the Director said, waving dismissively. He crossed to an open case, hefting the large rifle cradled in black foam. It was similar to the one Jordan had used when Subject Alpha first escaped the pyramid, but it was heavier and had a longer barrel. Too heavy for a man to fire without breaking his collarbone. The Director offered it to the corporal, who seized it awkwardly in one armored hand, something Jordan wasn’t sure even he could manage. “Yuri, why don’t you show the commander what the armor can do? See that hawk circling the ridge? Take it out.”

  The Russian flashed through the dust, leaping into the air and landing with a crunch on a boulder nearly thirty feet away. He cradled the rifle effortlessly in his right hand until he snapped the stock up to his shoulder and sighted down the scope. He tracked his target for roughly two seconds; then the rifle boomed. A two-foot gout of flame erupted from the muzzle, but Yuri’s shoulder barely moved as the projectile turned its target into a cloud of greasy black feathers nearly two hundred yards above them.