No Such Thing As Werewolves

by Chris Fox

  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’s have come herself, but the Director has forbidden her access.”

  He passed the paper to Bridget, who took it hesitantly. It was difficult not to scramble backward from the man. She still remembered when he and his team had taken her down after she’d shifted. Utterly without mercy.

  Bridget examined the paper. She expected more glyphs from the inner chamber, perhaps some bit that Sheila was struggling with. To her shock, she saw a line of Egyptian hieroglyphs. They took her back almost a decade, to the days when she and Sheila had passed messages back and forth using such notes.

  He does not know this message’s true nature. The day will come soon when you will be free. I will help you.

  That was only a rough translation, of course. Hieroglyphs were less precise than that. But they had a spin on them that Bridget and Sheila had cooked up, a way to tweak the basic meaning of a glyph to include more modern context. They had created the system back in college as a kind of prank. She’d never expected them to use it again.

  “Tell her I’ll need some time to consider this but that most of the message is clear to me,” Bridget said, handing the paper back. They’d never let her keep it. “Was there another reason you came?”

  “Yes,” Jordan said, nodding at the camera. “For starters I wanted you to know that the camera is off for the duration of this discussion. I’ll catch hell for it, but I’m past caring.”

  “So anything we say is private. Why risk the Director’s wrath? This seems a lot like aiding the enemy, and I can’t imagine they’ll go easy on you,” she said.

  “It is aiding the enemy,” Jordan agreed. He sighed heavily. “At this point I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing. Sheila is convinced some sort of apocalypse is coming. I faced Professor Smith in San Diego recently, and he said much the same, that the werewolves are our only chance.”

  “You saw Blair?” Bridget asked, trying not to sound too eager. A surge of elation passed through her. He was alive, and Mohn didn’t have him. Otherwise Jordan would have said captured, not faced.

  “He’s alive and well. And has some damn-scary friends,” Jordan said, cracking the first genuine smile Bridget had ever seen him give. “My team came home empty handed. He got away, but I’m almost positive he’s coming here.”

  “To wake the Mother,” Bridget said. She could hug Jordan, though she doubted he’d react well to that. “He’s always been resourceful. I’m sure he’ll make it back here somehow, and I doubt you’ll be able to keep him out of the pyramid. He’ll find a way.”

  “I have a feeling you’re right,” Jordan admitted. He didn’t look terribly concerned. “When he comes, we’ll do everything we can to stop him. You know that, right? He was seriously wounded in San Diego. He might not survive an attempt on the pyramid. Especially not with all the ordnance that Mohn has moved in. We’re prepared for war, Bridget. And I’m the guy they’ve put in charge of the battle. I can’t let him get to the Mother. I know you and Sheila disagree with that, but I’ve been given a job and I have to do it.”

  “So you never question orders, then?” she asked, wielding the accusation with the expert skill she’d learned first dating Blair a
nd later, Steve.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Jordan growled, though she wasn’t sure if he was angry at her or with himself. “I don’t know if stopping Blair is the best decision, but that’s the job I’ve been tasked with, and I’ll do it to the best of my abilities. Mohn isn’t some soulless corporation. We believe we’re doing the right thing. Sheila has me questioning things, but if we’re in the wrong here, it’s through ignorance, not malice.”

  “Then why are you here?” Bridget asked. Then she hurriedly raised a hand to forestall him. “Not that I’m not grateful. I haven’t had any company in weeks. It’s just that if you’re so determined to stop Blair, and you know I want the same thing he does…well, I guess I just don’t understand your motivation.”

  “I promised Sheila I’d deliver that note,” Jordan explained, darting a nervous glance at the door. “Beyond that? I think you’ve been given a raw deal. I like you, Bridget. You’re smart and capable and you get results. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now you’re suffering for it. Me? I think you can be trusted, and I think it’s the worst kind of idiocy to lock you away. I’ve seen what female werewolves can do. You could shred this place like paper if you really wanted out.”

  “You’d be smart to kill me,” she said, shocked by her own honesty. But Jordan was being honest. Didn’t she owe him the same? “You know I’ll help Blair if given the chance. So if you think I can break out of this place, doesn’t that make me a threat?”

  “Absolutely,” Jordan admitted, smiling again. It looked good on him, and it almost gave her hope that they could be friends. “But I’m drawing a line in the sand. I’ve had to compromise on some pretty core issues since working for Mohn. This isn’t an area I’m willing to budge in. Like I said, I like you, Bridget. I hope we don’t end up on opposite sides of this. That could be messy.”

  Chapter 69- First Wave

  The ancient wooden chair creaked alarmingly as Trevor lowered himself into it. He banged a knee tucking it under the narrow desk, stifling a curse at the sudden pain. Calling the ‘office’ a closet would have been generous back in the states. Harry Potter had more room under the stairs at the Dursleys’.

  The center of the desk bowed under one of the massive CRT monitors that had been phased out nearly a decade ago. Stacks of unpaid bills flanked it, and a huge black tower competed for space with his legs under the desk. Trevor stabbed the power button on the bulky machine, the noisy fan firing up like a jet engine as the thing whirred to life.

  “You are a dangerous man, Trevor,” a voice purred from behind in heavily accented English. The floor creaked, and a soft hand rested on Trevor’s shoulder. “Liz used to tell me stories about you.”

  Conflicting emotions bounced about in his head like marbles in a blender. On the one hand, he was preoccupied with the end of the world. He needed to know if the sunspot had burst yet. The CME’s first wave could already have happened, and if that was the case, they had no more than two days before the second knocked out most of the world’s power.

  On the other, it had been a very long time since Trevor had enjoyed the touch of a woman, particularly one as gorgeous as Cyntia. He knew almost nothing about her, though she seemed to know a great deal about him. The Windows ‘98 logo appeared on the computer screen as the system booted, and he took the opportunity to face Cyntia.

  “Dangerous to a six pack of Guinness and an unlucky trout, maybe,” he said, giving her a wry smile. He wasn’t very adept at flirting.

  Cyntia was gorgeous, in the same way a tiger could be called gorgeous. Short, voluptuous, blond, and dark skinned. Yet, like a tiger’s, her beauty was somehow calculated, lulling a man into a stupor just before she struck. She gave a throaty laugh as if he’d just said the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

  “There are pictures of you with guns on Facebook. Pictures of you hunting large beasts. Even if that were not so, I saw you on that Tarmac. I would not have wanted to fight you,” she purred, resting on the arm of the chair. He was all too conscious of her leg pressing against his arm. “Were there more room, I’d sit on your lap, and you could scratch behind my ears.”

  A very awkward situation began to arise. Trevor glanced down at his crotch and then past Cyntia to the living room, where Blair and Adolpho were chatting. He looked up at Cyntia with his best grin. “If there was enough room, maybe I’d let you.”

  The desktop finally appeared, giving Trevor an easy escape from the fire filling his cheeks. He scanned the sea of scattered icons, horrified by the mess. Eventually he found the little blue E. Not his favorite browser, but it would work. He opened it, waiting far too long for it to load. When it did, he browsed to Gmail and opened his account.

  “You’re very tense,” Cyntia murmured, hands kneading his shoulders. It was heaven. “What are you looking for?”

  “Nothing, I hope,” he muttered back.

  The browser was agonizingly slow, but eventually his email occupied the screen. He scrolled through advertisements and a few joke emails, praying he wouldn’t see anything from David. Oh shit. About midway down the page was an email with the subject First Wave. His heart sank. It was from yesterday morning.

  “You just tensed even more. Whatever it is cannot be so bad,” Cyntia murmured. She was really good, but even her magic hands were not going to take his mind off this.

  Trevor clicked the email, holding his breath as the screen loaded. It was brief and to the point. First wave detected. Based on initial readings, this is the largest CME in recorded history. Have warned Washington, but gotten no response. Second wave within 48 hours.

  “Cyntia, we need to get everyone together. We’re in deep shit,” Trevor said, turning to face her. She seemed to pick up on his anxiety, rising from the arm of the chair.

  “I’ll tell Adolpho and Elmira you wish their attention,” she said, squeezing past him and back into the living room. He was fairly certain the squeezing had nothing to do with the cramped quarters, but far be it from him to complain.

  He trailed after her, into a room cracked and faded from too many years of use. There were a few white spots where pictures had probably lived, but the place was bare now. He didn’t want to know the circumstances that had led to the werewolves taking this apartment. He seriously doubted they were the original owners.

  Adolpho and Blair were involved in a rapid exchange of Spanish that flew completely over Trevor’s head. Blair sat on a ripped recliner, while Adolpho occupied the edge of the couch closest to it. Trevor settled onto the far side of the couch, its cushions long since compressed into flat squares about two shades less comfortable than concrete.

  Cyntia disappeared into the bedroom, appearing a moment later with Liz and Elmira in tow. Trevor followed Liz’s gaze, which landed on Blair as she entered the room. She gave a slight smile, and he knew her well enough to know why. She liked the guy. The idea of them together made him happy. They were both good people, and he had the feeling Blair would treat her right. He didn’t think either would admit it, but there was definitely a spark there. Sooner or later they’d slow down long enough to act on it.

  “Cyntia says you have urgent news,” Elmira growled as she stalked to a brown recliner. She sat delicately, a queen granting audience to her court.

  In contrast, Liz plopped down on the couch next to Trevor, elbowing him in the gut. “Has it happened?”

  “We’ll get there. Blair, maybe you should start by explaining why we’re in Peru. Otherwise what I’m about to share won’t make a whole lot of sense,” Trevor offered, turning to the anthropologist. Blair gave a short nod and licked his lips before speaking.

  “I was the first person to be turned to a werewolf,” he began, gaze roaming about those assembled. “It happened in an ancient pyramid that we just recently discovered. This pyramid was left behind by a culture we don’t even have myths about. They predicted a coming apocalypse, something that would wipe out mankind. They created us to serve as champions, to hold back an ancient enemy, and to
save those we can.

  The room was silent, all eyes on Blair. Trevor gauged their reactions carefully. There was no disbelief, only curiosity. Cyntia didn’t even have that. She crossed the room silently, settling on the arm of the couch next to him. She rested a hand possessively on his shoulder. He wasn’t really sure how to react, so he didn’t.

  “The person who prepared all this is called the Mother. As far as we know, she’s the first werewolf, the literal mother for our entire species,” Blair explained.

  “Is? Not was?” Elmira interrupted, hands gripping the arms of her chair as she leaned forward. Her eyes glittered with an intensity Trevor expected from CEOs or judges.

  “Yes, is. She’s still in the pyramid, in some sort of stasis chamber that’s kept her alive for many thousands of years. Possibly tens of thousands. That’s why we came,” Blair explained, his hand finding Liz’s. That drew a smile from Trevor. “We’re going to wake her before this apocalypse arrives. She might be the only hope of mankind’s survival.”

  “This ancient enemy,” Elmira said, eyes narrowing. “What are they, and why have they not revealed themselves?” That she seemed to accept the Mother’s stasis surprised Trevor, though in light of them all becoming werewolves, perhaps that was to be expected.

  “The dead will walk. They’ll attack every last living thing, killing us all if they aren’t stopped,” Blair said, eyes daring anyone to laugh.

  “Zombies?” Adolpho said with a snort.

  “We’d have said the same thing about werewolves not so long ago,” Cyntia retorted, hand tightening on Trevor’s shoulder. “The world is not the same. If we exist, why not zombies?”

  “The question still remains,” Elmira broke in. “Why has this ancient enemy not appeared?”

  “That’s where it gets even stranger,” Liz interjected, releasing Blair’s hand as she spoke. “The zombies are created from a virus, a virus all of us know. HIV. Apparently it’s lain dormant for thousands of years but has become active again over the last few generations. Soon a solar event will occur that will activate this virus. When it does, every last person with HIV will die. Their corpses will rise as zombies, tearing apart cities across the globe.”