No Such Thing As Werewolves (33 page)

“He’ll believe us,” she said, quietly but with the determination Trevor had always loved about her. “I trust him more than anyone. He’s my brother. Look what he’s already done for us.”

“All right,” Blair said, lowering his hand. “Trevor, I don’t know your sister well yet, but I’ve come to trust her. If she thinks you’ll listen, then I’ll tell you the truth, but you’re not going to believe it.”

“Try me,” Trevor said, shifting to face Blair as best he could from the driver’s seat. “We’re not going anywhere until I at least know how you’re connected to those killings.”

“You want to do this, or should I?” Blair asked, turning to Liz. Then the oddest thing happened. Their gazes locked over the rim of their respective sunglasses. Something crackled between them, static electricity, maybe? He had no idea what to make of it.

“It’s your story,” Liz answered, electricity dissipating. She turned to face him. “Trevor, everything he’s about to say is true. You know I wouldn’t lie to you. Hear us out.” She turned back to Blair. “Go ahead.”

“I was called in to study a pyramid in Peru, the oldest ever found anywhere. It appeared all by itself about two months ago,” Blair began, slouching back into his seat. The tension bled from him, as if telling his tale set him free somehow. “The people who built it are far more advanced than anything we’ve ever seen. And before you go there, no; there was no evidence of aliens. No gate with a wormhole to another world. But these people accomplished things we can only guess at.”

Trevor quietly turned back to the road, flicking off his hazards and turning his blinker on. He waited for an opening and then gunned the engine. The Rover roared back into traffic as Blair continued.

“I was called in to find a hidden central chamber the Peruvian government suspected was there. They were backed by the Mohn Corporation,” he said, pausing for a reaction.

“I’ve heard of them. Private mercenaries. Contractors, they call themselves.”

“Mercenaries with an agenda,” Blair gave back. “They were the ones running the show, not the Peruvian government. They knew about the pyramid before anyone else and had already checked the place out before they brought my team in. They held back a lot of important information, like the radiation coming from the central chamber. I watched a good friend wither into a madman.”

Trevor stayed in the slow lane, angling toward the 805 exit. The man seemed earnest thus far, but Trevor had a feeling there was still a bomb to be dropped.

“When I finally solved the puzzle, I sprung a trap. I was injected with something. Something lethal,” he continued, pace slowing as he neared a topic he clearly didn’t want to discuss. “Trevor, I died. My heart stopped. When I woke up, I was in a clinic with your sister. We were attacked by Mohn, but we got away—”

“Bullshit,” Trevor said, drifting past a black Mazda and back into the fast lane. “You don’t just ‘get away’ from Mohn, particularly in a backwater like Peru. If they wanted you dead, they’d have killed you. So how did you ‘get away’?”

“You asked how we were linked to the attacks. Whatever I was injected with turned me into something. It altered my DNA, if your sister’s theories are right. Mohn didn’t let us get away. I tore them apart and they ran,” he finished, turning to stare out the window as if waiting for condemnation.

Silenced reigned for a long time as Trevor considered the story. It was implausible for a lot of reasons, but it didn’t sound like a lie. It
couldn’t
be a lie, because Liz wouldn’t lie to him, not once he’d confronted her like this. She was scared in a way he’d never seen.

Then there were the attacks, grisly murders that reporters couldn’t explain. Like animal attacks but on a scale that made no sense. As outlandish as Blair’s tale was thus far, it
could
explain them. Still, something bothered him.

“So you turn into some sort of creature,” Trevor allowed, glancing over his shoulder. “Did you kill all those people, then?”

“No,” Blair said, a little too quickly. “A percentage of those killed come back as the same kind of creature. That’s how the attacks are spreading, at least that’s our best guess.”

“So what kind of creature is this, exactly?”

“Trevor,” Liz interrupted, squeezing his hand in exactly the same way he’d done. “This is the part you aren’t going to believe.”

Chapter 45- Reconciliation

Bridget rose to her feet and began to pace again. It was a precise twelve steps from one corner of the unrelieved white wall to the other, twelve shuffling steps forced by her manacles. The room wasn’t tiny, but it was completely barren. No decorations. No furniture. Nothing to entertain a mind that had grown desperate from boredom.

The only thing she had to stare at was the black serial number etched into the thick manacles binding her wrists. 2746891. The silver sat atop some sort of rubber compression bands, noticeably stronger than the originals. If she stretched or flexed, they moved with her, ostensibly to prevent her from tearing them off if she shifted.

Mohn Corp. had performed extensive tests of her abilities after Steve had disappeared, and she’d been warned that the manacles were tough enough to withstand her incredible strength. She didn’t care to test the theory. Where would she go even if she could somehow break free? The place was, no doubt, ringed with soldiers, and even if she got past them, there was nowhere left for her.

Blair might live if he’d risen in the same way she had, but she had no way to find him. What would he say if she did? Steve hadn’t returned after the horrible day where they’d removed him, though in a way that had been a relief. He’d ignored her, refusing to speak no matter how many times she approached him.

Could she blame him? Not really. She’d grown attached to Blair again after his arrival. All the old attraction had come flooding back, and even in Steve’s deranged state, he must have been aware of it. Steve had been dead to her. He’d wasted away, a shell of his former self. A man who’d fawned over her for years was suddenly cold, angry, and even violent. Yet that changed nothing. She’d been horrible, both to him and to Blair.

It was funny, really. Here she was, in the midst of the worst personal crisis of her life. She’d become a mythological monster and was locked away from the world, probably never to be released. Yet what really haunted her was her treatment of the only two men she’d ever really loved. If she had to do it over again, what would she do differently? Nothing. That was the truly agonizing part. She was trapped in a web of emotions, one of her own making. She loved them both.

Bridget froze, head cocked toward the door. Footsteps echoed in the hall outside. Two pairs were approaching, a soldier to escort and one real visitor. But who were they allowing to see her? Or was it time for her execution? More tests, maybe? The possibilities danced before her as she squatted down into the least threatening position possible.

The seal around the door hissed as it popped open to reveal one of the black-clad soldiers, a bearded man with dark skin. His eyes were glued to her chest through the embarrassingly flimsy gown they’d given her. She’d grown used to that reaction, but that they couldn’t be more professional still irritated her. Were there really that few women in camp?

The soldier held the door open, eyes still fixed on her breasts as Sheila stepped into the room. She looked so odd in her black fatigues and white tank top. Were they mandating uniforms even for the research team now? And why had she come?
 

“Make this fast,” the soldier said, finally prying his gaze from Bridget’s chest as he stared disapprovingly at Sheila. “I’ll be right outside. If you’re not out in three minutes, I’m dragging you out.”

“I understand,” Sheila answered, patting his arm. “Thank you so much for this. I’ll be quick.”

The soldier slipped from the room, shooting Bridget one more leer before the door snapped shut with another hiss. Sheila met her gaze, nodding to the camera. Then she stepped forward, gathering Bridget’s much smaller frame into a hug.

“They can’t know you have this,” her former friend whispered, pressing a small bundle into her hands. Bridget slipped it inside her gown, dropping into a crouch to further hide it. It was small but thick. A book, maybe?

“So you’re probably wondering why I came to see you,” Sheila said, much louder for the camera’s benefit. She leaned against the wall next to the door. She ran the back of her hand across her forehead, cheeks still flushed from the cold. Bridget had almost forgotten how wintery it was outside.

“I’ll admit I’m surprised,” Bridget replied, pressing her back against the wall and cradling the book under her gown. “I know we worked together for a while when you came to see Steve and I, but all that stopped. I thought you were done with me. You said you hated me.”

“I did. For a long time, I did,” Sheila said, her back sliding down the wall as she settled opposite Bridget. “You know why. Not just what you did to Blair, but also what you did to Steve.”

“So why come, then? Nothing’s changed there. I can’t erase the sins of the past.”

“Perspective, that’s what changed,” she said, scrubbing a hand through dark-brown hair that had recently reached her shoulders. It looked much better long. “I started thinking. What would I have done in your shoes? If Steve had wanted me, I’d have taken him. But what if Blair had wanted me too? What if I’d been the pretty one? The one all the men fawn over.

“I can’t honestly say I’d have done anything differently than you. Maybe I’d have been you if our roles were reversed,” she continued, seemingly unable to make eye contact. “When you died, I really questioned my actions. Should I have cut you off, or tried to understand you? Then you came back. I had a second chance. I watched you closely while we were working together, the way you were around Steve now. You genuinely feel guilty, don’t you? I can see it weighing on you.”

“Yes,” Bridget replied without hesitation. “It eats at me. I was weak. I’ll admit it. I liked the attention, from both of them. And I love both of them. How fucked up is that? I can’t pick. I want them both. Now I have neither.”

“I’m sorry for that,” Sheila said, finally meeting her gaze.

“You mean that, don’t you?” Bridget asked, utterly shocked by the statement.

“You made a real mess of things, but we were friends for over a decade. You’re not a horrible person, Bridget. Maybe a little self-centered, but no one deserves what you’ve been through.”

“I—Sheila, I don’t know what to say. What changed your mind?”

“My health is deteriorating,” Sheila said, as if talking about the weather. “This was probably going to be my last dig, no matter what.”

“Cancer?”
 

“No, HIV. I’ve had it almost three years,” she admitted, using the wall to help her back to her feet. “I’m not going to die or anything, but the disease has really made me question my own mortality. My symptoms were mild until about six months ago, but since then they’ve been getting steadily worse. I can barely get out of bed a lot of days.”

“Sheila, HIV is treatable. You can get help,” Bridget said, eyes tearing up. She’d just regained her friend and felt like she was already losing her. “Can’t you talk to Mohn? There must be something they can do.”

“I’ve been to all sorts of doctors, tried all the latest medications. It does provide a lot of relief, but I’m tired all the time,” Sheila said, pausing. She cocked her head and gave a warm smile. “I’m not going to be able to do field work forever. I want to spend what time I have left doing the things I love. Learning and discovering, just like we always have. So that’s what I’m going to do. I just needed someone to know, and despite everything that’s happened, you’re still my best friend.”

“That means more to me than you’ll ever know,” Bridget said, overcome with emotion.

The door hissed a third time, popping open to reveal the soldier again. “Come on. I could get in serious trouble for this. You’re done here.”

Sheila turned to the man with a nod, one teardrop sliding down her cheek as she exited. She didn’t look back as the door closed, leaving Bridget in silence.

Bridget glanced up at the ever-present camera, shifting against the wall until she faced away from it. She carefully removed the bundle from under her gown, making very sure to interpose her body between it and the camera.

It was a pocket sized leather-bound book, the sort of journal Sheila loved to use. A small letter was tucked inside. Bridget carefully removed the yellow paper, quickly scanning the contents.

Bridget,

I came to make peace today and hope I was able to do that. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find the words, so hopefully I did. That wasn’t the only reason I came to see you. I’ve learned some truly frightening things since we last spoke.

Using Blair’s notes and our work with Steve I have a pretty good understanding of the inner chamber now. I believe I’ve puzzled out why this exists. Something horrible is coming. I believe it’s tied to the Galactic Procession. Every 13,000 years something strange happens with our sun. I don’t know what or how, but this ancient culture warned that it could end all life on the planet.
 

They believe that werewolves were our only chance of survival. They refer to them as champions and that they’re our only defense against whatever catastrophe is coming. That’s why I had to see you. You’re one of them now, and if the ancients are right we’re going to need your help.