No Such Thing As Werewolves (25 page)

“I don’t know. Blair was still working with that part, and I haven’t had a lot of luck. But the answer is in there somewhere,” she said, brow furrowing. That simple gesture said more about her level of frustration than cursing would. “I wish I had some help. There’s just too much ground to cover. I wish Blair was here. Or even Steve.”

“What if I could get you that help?” he asked. It was a gamble the Director might not like, but if it gave them answers, it would be worth it.

“Then I’d say get it. I don’t know that you’re going to find someone as good as Blair though,” she replied, turning back to the files on her desk.
 

“Sheila, come with me,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. She was already engrossed in her work again.

“Hmm? Where are we going?” she asked, finally looking up.

“I have something to show you. I could get in a lot of trouble for this, but I think it might provide the answers you need,” he said, voice low so none of the surrounding techs could hear. “Come on. Follow me.”

He offered a hand and helped her to her feet. The pair threaded back through the desks, unnoticed by the small army of drone like techs. They’d had been assigned unrealistic workloads that would consume their attention entirely. Jordan and Sheila reached the exit without being noticed. The guards snapped to attention but said nothing as they passed.

“Where are we going?” Sheila hissed, darting a nervous glance back at the guards. “I’m not supposed to leave without authorization.”

“Are you willing to take a risk?” he asked, slowing his pace to give her time to think.
 

“Yes. I’m not getting anywhere, so if you have anything that might help, I want it. I’ll take the risk.” She delivered the words with a tight nod.
 

“Good. We’re heading into the stockade,” he said, steering her toward the squat black building. It lacked windows and had one shiny metallic door. “They’ll let me in, and I doubt they’ll ask about you. If they do, you’re here to examine the prisoners, all right?”

“Prisoners?” she asked, brow furrowing again as she considered his words. The mannerism made her resemble an owl. She snapped her fingers in sudden understanding. “You caught one of them. We have a live specimen, don’t we?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” he replied, striding boldly up to the pair of guards at attention outside the stockade. These were more alert, assessing his threat level even though they recognized him, as their training demanded. He stopped before the pair. “I’m accessing the prisoners in cell six. I expect to be inside for no more than twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir,” one guard barked, words clipped as tightly as the man’s shaved head. “Per regulations, all visitors must be logged. Please sign this.” He offered a clipboard, which Jordan signed after a cursory examination. He handed it to Sheila, who added her signature. That would be damning evidence later.

“You’re clear, sir,” the soldier said, taking a step back and opening the door with a sharp hiss. He gestured inside.

Jordan plunged forward, shoulders squared with every bit of the authority he could muster. Sheila followed behind, clearly nervous. He hoped they’d chalk that up to the idea of examining werewolves. The door snapped shut behind them, sealing itself with a series of clicks. Inside lay a single long corridor that stretched the length of the building. It was lined with doors at ten-foot intervals, each set with a two-way mirror to allow the captors to observe their prisoners without their knowledge.

He strode boldly down the hall, noting Sheila’s gaze as it swept between the cells they passed. All were empty, save for the last one at the end of the hall. That’s where Jordan finally stopped, gesturing at the mirror to allow his companion to study the occupants. Sheila adjusted her glasses as she peered into the featureless cell. Two figures sat on the padded floor. They were at opposite ends of the room, clearly trying to stay as far from one another as possible.

“Is that? Jordan, it can’t be. What am I seeing?” Sheila asked, her weight sagging against him as shock overcame her.

“Exactly what you think you see. That’s Bridget. And Steve,” he explained, supporting her. Both the occupants wore plain white hospital gowns, but their faces were unmistakable. She had to recognize them. “They rose the morning after the initial attack. Steve was easy enough to take down, but Bridget took out three of my men before she could be contained. Our initial findings suggest females are larger and a great deal more violent than males, though we have no idea why.”

“I…Why are you showing me this?” Sheila asked, finally supporting her own weight. She was still watching the prisoners.

“You said you needed help. This is it. They can help you solve the language problem, to find out what we’re dealing with,” he said, leaning over to push the red button next to the door before she could protest. “Steve, I’m here with Sheila. She has a request she’d like to make.”

At the sound of Jordan’s voice, Steve leapt to his feet so swiftly Sheila stumbled back from the door. He was a different man than he had been at the initial dig site. More confident, calm, and self-possessed. He emanated strength. Bridget didn’t react at all, just huddled in the corner with her head pressed against her knees.

“Hello, Jordan,” he said, tone that of a dinner party host welcoming his guests. He took a step closer to the window. “Hello, Sheila. Are you trying to open the Mother’s sarcophagus? If so, you’re out of luck. It’s genetically locked to the person who bonded the Ark. No Blair, no Mother.”

“Why would we want to wake up whoever’s in there?” Jordan countered. “Thus far, the people who built this place have managed to unleash a plague that could wipe out our civilization unless we find a way to stop it. Do you really think waking up the woman who might have caused it is a good idea?”

“More importantly,” Sheila said, breaking in before Steve could reply, “who is the Mother, and how do you know anything about her? Or that Blair is the one who can open her sarcophagus? What the hell is a genetic lock?”

“She told me,” he said, predatory grin spreading. It took a lot to rattle Jordan, but this guy did it. “She touched my mind. She’s still asleep, but even now her will is so powerful that it bleeds out and touches everyone around her. Have you had dreams lately, Sheila? I know you have…”

“Commander Jordan, this is Ops. We have a situation. Are you on the line?” the radio at Jordan’s side blared, breaking off all conversation. He snatched it from his belt and thumbed the receiver.
 

“This is Jordan. Go ahead,” he replied, thumbing the red button to kill the feed into the cell.

“We just intercepted a local police call in a small town near the Peruvian coast. A woman claims two foreigners turned up on her doorstep in the middle of the night. One turned into a monster and killed her husband,” the voice explained. It was a balding tech named Sandoval.
 

“How is this attack any different than the dozens of others?” Jordan asked, irritation leaking into his voice. He eyed Steve through the mirror. He was certain the man, even in a sealed cell, knew he and Sheila were still there.

“Sir, they described the two people. One of them is Subject Alpha.”

Chapter 33- The Boat

Blair stared down at the white-tipped waves, hands braced on the ship’s chrome railing. Thick spray washed over him, smelling of salt and brine. It felt wonderful. It tasted of freedom. He inhaled deeply, smiling up at the moon’s thickening crescent. There was movement behind him.

“I’m sorry.” Liz’s voice was soft enough that he might have missed it if not for his augmented hearing. “About the other day, when we woke up. I mean, how I reacted.”

Blair turned to face her, reply lost. He couldn’t help but stare. The moonlight polished her eyes to brilliant sapphires and painted her river of bronze hair into platinum. She was a wholly different person than he’d met what felt a lifetime ago but was, in reality, a handful of days. The change was not just physical, though she’d changed dramatically in that way too. Soft curves had transformed into the toned muscles of a lifelong athlete, just as his own body had transformed.

The changes went deeper though. The determination and borderline hostility in her gaze had softened, hinting at a vulnerability he doubted she’d ever willingly show him, or anyone for that matter. Though he’d only known her briefly, he had the sense that she prided herself on being self-sufficient. She’d have to be to travel South America as a lone foreign woman. That took a mix of courage and savvy.

“For pelting me in the face with a rock?” Blair said, flashing a grin. He leaned back against the railing, exalting in the spray as another wave crashed against the bow of the freighter. “Can’t really blame you for that, given that you woke up naked next to a man you didn’t really know.”

The moonlight hid her blush, if there was one. She momentarily averted her gaze before replying. “Still, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You’re just as much a victim of this whole thing as I am.”

“Don’t I know it,” Blair said, snorting as she moved to the railing next to him.
 

Silence stretched as she stared out over the waves, wind playing with her hair that made his hands twitch. He wondered what it felt like. Blair glanced up to the higher deck, but other than the bearded captain steering the boat
 
they were completely alone. He was out of earshot, giving them as much privacy as they could really expect.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she said, glancing at him as she spoke. She brushed away a lock of hair that had blown into her face, “about what we’ve become and how it happened. About this pyramid and why it might have come back now. Have you ever wondered about all the myths about werewolves and elves and vampires? I think there’s more truth in them than we ever could have guessed. What if our legends are half-remembered stories?”

“I think that’s a bit of a stretch,” Blair said, caught a bit off guard by the question. During all the running, he hadn’t thought much about the origins of the werewolves. “Not the werewolves, obviously, but vampires or elves. I haven’t seen anything to suggest either exist.”

“You have to wonder at least. This pyramid turns everything we know on its head. If werewolves exist, why not other mythological creatures?” she said, delivering a slight smile. “There’s a lot more to the universe than most people are willing to admit. Do you know why I was in Peru to begin with?”

“I’ve been wondering,” Blair admitted. He turned around, resting his forearms on the railing as he turned his gaze to the ocean. It glittered under the caress of the moon, like a field of carelessly discarded diamonds.
 

“I came to meet with a shaman, a spirit guide who helps the locals,” she admitted, eyeing him sidelong as if waiting for a reaction. He said nothing. “I took ayahuasca. I went on a spirit quest.”

“So you believe in all that supernatural stuff then?” he said, before he could catch the words. Her face hardened, mask back in place immediately.

“Yeah, I believe in that woo-woo stuff,” she shot back, tone heated. “You can make fun of it if you want, but there’s a lot more to it than just superstition and mumbo jumbo.”

“Next you’re going to tell me you think the pyramids were built by aliens,” Blair said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t want to slight her beliefs, but he’d dealt with this uninformed crap for too many years.

“Who’s to say they weren’t? Or if not aliens, then something modern people would consider to be magic,” Liz said, brushing her hair from her face again.

“History,” Blair countered, moderating her tone. If he wanted her to listen, he couldn’t be an ass about this. “We know when and how the pyramids were built. We’ve even found a complex built by Pharaoh Khufu to house the workers who did it. We’ve been able to piece together their lives, from the beer they drank to the games they played. The Egyptians were very meticulous in their record keeping.”

“What about Abu Gorash?” she asked, eyes alight with triumph.

Blair was taken aback. Very few people knew about Abu Gorash, the pyramid atop a mountain, so remote that almost no tourists visited it. The stonework was so fine that it appeared to have been machined.
 

“I watched a documentary on the pyramids, on Netflix. It said that the pyramids were used as a power source and that you can still feel the electrical charge at their tips. Even if that wasn’t true, how did the Egyptians get all those stone blocks to the top of a mountain?” she said, clearly enjoying herself now. “Magic, or something we’d consider to be magic. We haven’t had any proof that it exists, at least until now. You said the pyramid you discovered is larger than the Egyptian ones and that it caused an earthquake, right? How much more proof do you need?”

“That’s true,” he admitted, considering the notion. Could she be right? It just wasn’t possible. There was too much proof showing that the Egyptians had used conventional labor to build their monuments. “It’s possible the Egyptians were aping an earlier culture, but their work is elementary compared to what we found in those mountains. Clearly this culture had technology so advanced we might call it magic, but if the Egyptians did, why was their work so primitive in comparison? Why did future cultures not use this ‘magic’?”

“Maybe some of them did,” Liz said, giving a pleased smile. “The Mayans built pyramids. The Celts built Stonehenge. What about the moai statues on Easter Island? There’s evidence all around us.”