No Such Thing As Werewolves (12 page)

Picking up a strange metal canister corroded by rain, Ahiga knelt. What had its purpose been? The memories he’d pilfered allowed him to decipher the odd writing.
Coke
. That was the word formed by the glyphs used by these moderns. The word meant nothing. He dropped the can with a clink, shaking his head. Mankind had spread like a cancer, leaving refuse in their wake. That would come to an end soon, for good or ill.

Ahiga shielded his eyes from the sun’s harsh rays. Wispy clouds danced below him, wreathing the mountain as if paying homage. He stared past neighboring peaks, toward the distant valley where the Ark lay. He’d managed to brew such a troubling predicament. He must return and wake the Mother. Yet, getting inside would mean battling the soldiers. His strength had waned during his long hibernation. Did enough remain?

A sudden tremor brought him to his knees, spilling his limp body on the ground mere inches from a fall that would kill even him. Ahiga struggled to pull himself away from the abyss, but his body refused to obey. Energy raged through him, a bolt of lightning in reverse. Instead of striking, it departed. A beam of silver poured from his mouth, streaking through the sky, toward the distant Ark. It moved so swiftly that in a single heartbeat it had passed beyond his enhanced vision.

Ka-Dun, it cannot be.
The voice of the beast inside him carried more alarm than Ahiga’d ever heard, despite being bonded for centuries. He shared the panic, for the impossible had occurred.

“It cannot, yet it is. Someone has taken the access key,” he said, hot shame pushing back the chill wind. His failure was complete.

Only one of the blood could have wrested the key, and then only if they knew the ritual.

“It is so,” Ahiga agreed, finally rising to his knees. His body felt like a wrung out wraf. “Someone was found worthy. I am no longer guardian.”

There was only one course now. He must return and find this new guardian, or the Mother would never awaken. This strange new world would burn.

Chapter 14- Blair’s Funeral

“We shouldn’t have just left him there,” Sheila said. Her hot tears rained on the dry soil. She knew she was hysterical, but didn’t she have a right to be? Blair was
dead
.

“I understand that,” Jordan replied, his tone thick with uncharacteristic patience. Damn, she hated the man. He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We didn’t have a choice. We don’t know what killed him. What if it turns out to be an airborne pathogen? Pulling back was the right thing to do. I’ve already arranged for a team to investigate, and quarantined us from the rest of the soldiers until we know we’re safe to be around. We’ll have you back in the inner chamber inside of forty-eight hours.”

“Is
that
what you think we care about?” Bridget hissed, rising from her blue canvas camp chair and glaring at the big man. “Blair is
dead
. We don’t know how or why. He was more than a friend…to all of us.”

“You have my sincere condolences. Professor Smith was a brilliant man, and we all feel his loss. Keenly. I’m not trying to trivialize that. At the same time, I still have a job to do. That job is protecting the living,” Jordan replied, removing his hand from Sheila’s slumped shoulder. Its weight had actually been reassuring. Jordan shook his head, turning from the group and striding off into the night.

Bridget rested in a neighboring chair. Her legs were pulled tight against her chest, and her head was down so her hair screened her face. Alejandro and Doctor Roberts sat at the far side of the pavilion. They conversed in low tones and significant glances. Were they worried that she or Bridget might do something crazy? Good. Let them know a shadow of the pain she labored under. It
wasn’t
ok.

“I’m going for a walk,” Sheila announced, rising suddenly to her feet. She just couldn’t be around these people and their lingering looks.

“Can I go with you?” Bridget asked hesitantly, glancing up with swollen eyes.

That took Sheila aback. The two hadn’t been friends for almost three years. They weren’t active enemies, but their decade-old friendship had died the moment Bridget betrayed Blair. The man had never been the same. Right up until the end, she’d seen the pain in his gaze whenever it landed on her former friend. Horrible bitch.

“Why not?” Sheila agreed, surprising herself. Maybe she just didn’t want to be alone. Or maybe she wanted to be with someone who knew Blair as well as she did. Or, maybe, she just wanted to get Bridget alone so she could choke the smugness out of her.

The pair left the pavilion in silence, neither speaking of a destination. It wasn’t long before they found themselves on the western side of the pyramid. The ancient structure was bathed in moonlight and would have been beautiful under other circumstances. Almost luminescent, the stone drank in the light. The workmanship was incredible, as were the pictographs, all fantastic colors and bold symbols. Yet it no longer held any joy for her.

“I want to go back inside,” Sheila said, not sure if that would help but desperate for anything that might salve the wound. She started forward without waiting for Bridget’s reply.

“Sheila, wait.” Bridget grabbed her shoulder. She pointed at the mouth of the tunnel leading into the pyramid’s cavernous depths. “Jordan left Yuri to guard the entrance. He isn’t just going to let us inside. You know that.”

“Sure, he is.” Sheila growled, plunging forward with quick, deliberate strides. No ignorant soldier was going to stop her.

The shorter woman fell wordlessly into step beside her as they stepped beneath the oppressive stone tunnel. Yuri lurked in the darkness near the doors, arms clasped behind his back. His submachine gun dangled from a strap over his shoulder, and he still wore his sunglasses. Who wore sunglasses at night? Especially when they were on guard duty.

“Should not be here,” he rumbled, taking a step toward them as they approached. A slight red glow came from behind his glasses. Apparently they were more than they appeared. “Return to the camp site. Pyramid off limits.”

“No it isn’t,” Sheila said, moving around him, toward the doorway. He stepped into her path, raising a hand to stop her. Sheila batted his hand aside, taking a step backward. “Don’t touch me. I’m going inside. So is Bridget. You might be able to stop one of us, but not both. Not unless you’re willing to shoot us. Are you?”

Yuri looked decidedly uncomfortable, raising a hand to adjust his glasses as he considered the answer. “Is dangerous inside. Why go?”

“Because our friends’ bodies are down there, discarded like garbage. Steve and Blair deserve better than that. They deserves a funeral.” Bridget interrupted, stepping up to join Sheila. She thrust a finger up at Yuri. “If you want to run back and tell Jordan, go right ahead. We’ll be inside, but unless you’re going to physically restrain us, you can’t stop us. We know this is a signal dead zone, so it’s not like you can use a radio.” Bridget plunged past him into the darkness, leaving the bemused soldier in her wake. Sheila smiled grimly and followed.

“Wait,” Yuri called. Sheila paused, turning to face the man. “Ten minutes. Get down, find bodies, come back. Smith was good man. You’re right. Deserved better.” Maybe he was human after all.

The air was slightly warmer inside, making the hair stand up on Sheila’s arms for some reason. Something was different. The air was charged, like the night sky just before a bolt of lightning, or just after. What did it mean? She considered asking Bridget, but anger kept the words firmly lodged in her throat.

“You hate me, don’t you?” Bridget asked, bracing as if she were expecting a blow as they advanced up the corridor. Their footsteps echoed dully around them, the only sounds as Sheila considered her reply.

“Yes. I hated you before, and I hate you more now that he’s dead.” She admitted, eyeing the shorter woman’s silhouette in the shadows cast by the headlamp. Bridget winced. Good. “Does that surprise you? Do you even know why?”

“I can guess.”

“Then guess. I want to hear it from you,” Sheila demanded, burying her grief in anger.

“You always liked Blair. I mean romantically,” Bridget whispered, hair screening her face. It was an image the men
loved
.

“God, no. You couldn’t have it more backward. I had a thing for Steve, especially in the beginning. You remember how confident he was, how he kept court in the lecture hall during lunch,” Sheila said slowly, to keep the anger in check. “When you chose Blair, I figured I had a shot. We actually started to get close for a while there, spent a lot of time together.”

“Then I ruined that, just like I do everything else.”

“Yeah, you did. Good thing for me, though. I guess I dodged a bullet. I had no idea what Steve was really like,” Sheila said. She wasn’t going to sugar coat this. “I still remember when you had the affair. You two did it right under his nose. He was the
very last
to know. Why, Bridget? Blair wasn’t enough for you?”

“You have no idea what it was like,” Bridget said, meeting Sheila’s gaze with a sudden ferocity. She paused, headlamp casting odd shadows in the corridor. “He was completely wrapped up in his work. He didn’t come to bed. I barely saw him for months. Steve was there. Whatever I needed, he dropped his work to make it happen. One day…well, it just sort of happened.”

“Happened to destroy Blair,” Sheila barked, starting down the corridor again. Bridget could come or not; she didn’t care. “He was never the same. You know you’re the reason he quit fieldwork, right? And that he hasn’t been in a long-term relationship since?”

“I didn’t.” Bridget answered, sudden fire apparently sapped by guilt.

“You broke his heart and took away his best friend in a single day. What did you think was going to happen? Then you show up here and start fawning over him, acting like Steve is dead. Did you really think you could have them both? God, what the hell is wrong with you?” Sheila said, finally having an outlet for the anger that had been building for three years. “What did you think your flirting with Blair would do? Did you even stop to think how it might affect him? Or Steve?’

“You’re right. I’m a horrible person,” Bridget said so softly the soft wind whistling through the tunnel nearly stole the words. “I never meant for any of it to happen like it did. I loved them both, you know. I feel like I’ve lost them.”

“You didn’t deserve either of them, you miserable bitch,” Sheila hissed. She was lashing out, but damn if the woman didn’t deserve it.

“Don’t you think I know that? Blair only came on the dig because I asked him to. He’s dead because of
me,
Sheila. I killed him as much as anything in that pyramid,” Bridget said, voice cracking as tears blazed a trail down her dust-caked cheeks. She sagged to her knees in the middle of the corridor, sobs wracking the tiny woman.

Sheila couldn’t explain why she did what she did next, but she sank to her knees and gathered Bridget into her arms. She let Bridget sob into her shoulder, and before she knew it, she was crying too. They poured out their grief in a cathartic release, trembling and crying as they clung to each other. Somehow it bridged the gap between them, beginning the healing that might mend their friendship.

It made Sheila vulnerable, and she almost confessed her secret to Bridget, that a disease was eating away at her. Every day the HIV made it harder to get out of bed.

The moment was broken as a feral and panicked shriek echoed up from the bowels of the pyramid. The sound rolled down her spine with icy fingers, reaching into the primitive animal that ruled all mankind. Run, it said. Run fast and far, and do not look back.
 

“What was that?” Bridget asked. They pulled away from each other, touching gazes under the thin illumination of the headlamps.
 

“It must have been Steve. We should go see if he’s ok…” Sheila trailed off as a bestial howl rolled up from the depths. It was raw and visceral, like that of a wolf circling its prey, only much, much deeper. As if it were coming from the throat of a considerably larger creature.

“Run,” Bridget screeched, lurching back the way they’d come. She stumbled, head careening into the wall. Bridget’s headlamp clattered to the stone, casting crazy shadows as she scrambled back up the corridor.

Sheila froze. She wanted to follow, but she couldn’t move. Some corner of her mind cataloged and labeled the emotional response. Her brain’s limbic system was cutting off the flow of blood to her pre-frontal cortex. Her animal instinct had taken control and was tending to her survival. It knew that if she moved, she might advertise her presence. But Sheila knew it was wrong. She had to move.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she began to tremble. Something was moving down in the darkness, in the central chamber. She’d been in enough tombs to sense such things, to feel the flow of the air. The thing was moving quickly. Sheila scanned her immediate surroundings with her headlamp. The walls were lined with large statues, anthropomorphic gods from a bygone age. It was her only chance.

She dove at the wall, huddling beneath the protective arms of a statue. Her trembling hand rose of its own accord, switching off the headlamp and plunging the corridor into near darkness. All that remained was Bridget’s discarded headlamp some twenty feet closer to the exit. The lamp cast a steady beam of light against the wall next to it, creating a puddle of illumination.

Something clicked against stone with a steady cadence, tapping its way closer. Movement. A massive shadow flitted by her hiding place. Sheila wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, but even that small freedom was denied her by the terror. She couldn’t even breathe. The noise might be the end of her, slight as it would be. With the grace of a predator the shadow landed near the headlamp.