Immortality's Touchstone

by Mark Tufo

  I smiled at the remembrance. I think it was a pseudo-fantasy of every couple to ship their thirteen-year-old off to some obedience training school or something and then receive them back when they were twenty. When they had returned to civility and all those fucking alien hormones that had gummed up the works were flushed out. Had a feeling that Azile would hunt me down way before that happened though, and she was way scarier than a ‘tuded up teenager, unless of course the little shits had inherited her powers.

  “Great. I wonder how many times they’re going to turn me into a newt.” I packed up my meager supplies, patted my belly, took one more long look, sighed mightily and started out. Not sure if it was my subconscious or not, but for a few hundred yards I was heading west. I made up most of the distance fairly quickly; it was that last mile that was going to take hours. Werewolves were everywhere. I could not for the life of me find a valid reason as to why I was set on continuing this mission. The upside was non-existent; Lunos and Magic Man would be deep in the eye of this storm. And swirling all around the tempest were a thousand or more werewolves. Maybe in some strange, alternate world, I would be able to get past that many eyes—but never that many noses. I guess Old Ones smelled pungent, like ointment and pepper.

  That got me to digress. Shocker, I know, but I’ve said it before, stress does that to me. Much easier to think on a past event than deal with the crappy present. The previous night, when I had found the lighter, I had also come across a small metal container. Not much bigger than a hockey puck, I’d unscrewed the top and inside there was a white, lotion-type substance. Guys will understand this. I was alone and I had lotion...If I’d had some tissues, the perfect storm would have formed. Then I took a whiff of the lotion and realized it had menthol in it. Fucking curled my nose hairs I’d taken such a large inhalation. “Oh, nooo. Not you again, bastard,” I told that container and screwed the top back on. I’d been fourteen; there was little that sex-addled brain couldn’t manifest into something erotic. I think the Sears catalog had come, and BY GOD! They had women in bras. It was like the holy grail of porn back in my youth.

  I’m surprised my crotch didn’t just explode violently, blowing the front of my jeans out like I’d shoved a grenade down there while I waited for my parents to go out. With catalog in hand, I retreated to every teenager's home away from home: the bathroom. It happened so fast I don’t even remember getting naked. I was, umm, getting ready to get down to business when a small container caught my eye.

  “Hmmm...Vicks VapoRub.” I unscrewed the top, grabbed half a handful, and smeared it all over my crotch like my junk was a sundae and the Vicks was whipped cream. Everything was good to go for about twenty seconds, then, well, things took a dramatic turn for the worse. The cooling sensation became a burning hot magma event on my privates. I was furiously using a towel to wipe the excess off. Too late, though; the damage had been done. I was awkwardly trying to get on the countertop and get my crotch under the faucet, since young males don’t know a lot about bathtubs. I’m ashamed to say it took me a lot longer to remember the shower than it should have. By the time I figured that out, I had fat tears rolling down my cheeks. I was convinced my dick was going to fall off, in fact, I almost wished it would. For ten full minutes I stood in the shower with my pelvis thrust forward while a steady stream of cold water rinsed over my blistered stuff.

  Magma cooled to bacon grease which yielded to freshly nuked hot pocket filling which eventually gave way to a sidewalk on a hot summer day. Finally, I got to a point where I could get out of the water, though I had no desire to resume my previous activities. I put the lid back on the jar of demon cream, dressed and went back to normal activities. I must have checked my bagpipe fifty times that night, thinking at some point it was going to blacken and puff like a charred hotdog. My dad must have thought I’d drank two gallons of water with how many times I went into the bathroom for half a minute. Just want to add, in case you were worried, that everything worked out just fine and I did finally get some alone-time with that catalog the very next day...although, there was an unfortunate accident where, umm, so much had been, err, saved, that when it made its glorious exit, it obliterated the entire two-page spread.

  There was no amount of clean-up that was going to keep those pages from sticking together, and nothing could remove the telltale stain. With a great sadness to the parting of our company and the loss of more happy rendezvous, I tossed the catalog in the outside garbage can. It was a week-long dry spell until my father’s National Geographic came in. The generations of kids who could surf the online buffet could never understand the struggles we suffered before the advent of the internet. And then I thought of the poor bastards today; not so much as a fucking Swim Suit Issue. What the hell do they use? I wasn’t sure, but I had to believe they’d figured it out on their own. Anyway, I’ve nurtured a serious aversion to menthol, with good reason, for most of my life. Can’t tell you how many times Tracy had tried to put some on my chest whenever I was sick and had a cough. She must have thought I was even more insane with how vehemently I had argued against her using that Beelzebub-balm on me. I was terrified some would somehow migrate south...and I shudder to think of those ramifications.

  And just like that, I’d brought it full circle. I’d figured out, in my own, spectacularly logical way, why Azile had put the Satan-salve in the bag. If I dabbed that on, there was no chance the werewolves would smell me. But I could only imagine that they would wonder what that other overpowering stench was. It was either that, or Azile had somehow figured out my past problem with the ointment and was just having a go at me. It certainly wasn’t above her to do something like that...no, right now the stakes were too high. The joke was most certainly going to be on me if the werewolves were attracted to me like bears to a honey pot.

  I swallowed hard as I grabbed a handful. I applied some to the back of my ears and wiped a liberal amount on my boots. I stood up only to realize I now had to take a world class piss. “Oh fuck no. These hands are not going anywhere near there. You’re just going to have to hold it.” I was not happy with myself. “Once wasn’t enough?” I was speaking directly to my crotch. I think it shrugged. I moved closer to the very outer fringes of the encampment. Not much foot traffic; this was where the werewolves came to take care of some of their basic needs. It smelled very much like the cesspool it was becoming, although that wasn’t stopping a couple of them from rutting. I could hear the animalistic sounds of their copulations not more than twenty yards to my right. I could only hope they were using protection. No one needs a litter running around, especially if they weren’t prepared for it. Being a foot soldier doesn’t pay well.

  The true test was coming; that I’d not been noticed alongside a roadside latrine that had never been cleaned while two beasts consummated in the bushes was not a great test of Azile’s gel. The sun had realized it had become an enemy of mine and decided now might be as good a time as any to call it quits. The darker it got, the more grateful I became. I’d hardly been moving, but with the coming of the darkness, I’d darted from tree to tree to conceal my approach. This side of the camp was bathed in natural light, which meant not much at all. It was cloudless, but I guess for now the moon was on my side, so had not yet shown. She was a traitorous bitch though, and would not stay away long. Whatever this was that I was doing, it needed to happen in the next few hours. I had plenty of time to ponder the stupidity of this venture as I picked out my next hiding spot. I hadn’t even an inkling of a fucking clue as to what I was going to do after the dart-and-skulk maneuvers. Most times I usually had the ghostly mirage of a design. The phantasm of a plan. The illusion of an idea. You get the picture.

  This time, I was drawing blanks. “Better than shooting blanks,” I grimaced.

  “How fucking old are you?”

  “Not so old that that shit isn’t going to be funny.”

  “Have you always been so juvenile?”

  “Of course, I’m a guy.” The menthol rub was working better than I c
ould have hoped for. I’d seen a few of the werewolves wrinkle their snouts when they caught wind of it, but for the most part, they plain just ignored it. I had become a black hole of scent. The deeper in I went the slower my forward progress. There were just so many of them; there was hardly a tree free of them. For whatever reason though there were more campfires going here and as such they tended to congregate around them. Gave me a couple of advantages as they became night-blind, and obviously, they weren’t moving about much as they sat around and told stories about whose tail was bigger and who had fewer fleas, that sort of thing.

  I heard the fluttering of tent material long before I saw it. If it hadn’t been for a slight breeze, I would have passed it on by. It was off to my right and through a thick nest of beasties. I could just make out a tan colored structure. “Tent” meant “important person”, and there were only two of them in this entire camp. I needed to get there, it just wasn’t going to be possible with what seemed like Manhattan’s entire population walking around. I needed to stay put until most of them went to sleep. That was all well and fine for now, but directly in front of me through the woods I could see the first soft glowing of the horizon, heralding in the moon’s arrival.

  “Couldn’t be fashionably late?” I asked her. A loon laughed off in the distance. By the time the werewolves turned in for the night, the area looked like it was lit with an overabundance of nightlights. What I wouldn’t have paid for this much lighting on those nights I needed to use the restroom and my feet had magically found the steel corners of the bed or more likely the legion of Legos strewn about the floor. I’m not sure if there is a more intense sharp burst of pain then stepping on that plastic cinder block of doom. What I did notice was that as the night progressed, more of the werewolves reverted back to their natural form. It seemed that only the guards stayed in their more terrifying incorporation. Save the rifle, backpack, axe, decent clothes, and some rugged good looks, I blended in fairly well.

  Okay, not at all. Most of the people looked feral; they were naked and didn’t give a shit, they were caked in dirt and their hair was so long it made it difficult to tell male from female, I mean except for the plethora of breasts swaying about. You’d think that would actually be pretty cool, but yeah, not so much when your life is hanging in the balance. I could get down to the basics just as easily as the rest of the people here—the problem was having to hide my rifle. That was the only thing that kept a measure of balance in this equation, and even that wasn’t too much.

  “Fuck it.” I found a decent stretch of bushes to stash my stuff. I was just pulling my shirt over my head when I began to wonder just how many times I had said “Fuck it.” Probably more times than should be allowed and still stay living. Most that follow this route ended up getting a Darwin Award for finding the most unique way to exit this life. And that’s saying something. If you can do something that the billions before you could not, well, even if it costs you your life, you have left a legacy. Although, I never want to be the man that suffocates under a five hundred pound pile of elephant shit, even if it makes the record books. I got down to the coating God gave me and then grabbed some handfuls of dirt and rubbed it around my body. This was where I was convinced that the bush I was halfway under housed a pretty virulent strain of poison ivy. I was not a fan of the gritty feeling the dirt was giving me; I made sure to keep it away from moving parts, like elbows, under arms, and most definitely thighs. I had a moment of doubt when I stood and pushed my boots under. I could deal with my tallywacker fluttering about, but having exposed feet out in the wild? Well, that was a whole other basket of head-fuckery.

  I put more of the lotion on and grabbed my hand axe. I’d seen some of the other people carrying things about; I didn’t think this would look too unnatural. I wrapped my belt around the blade, hoping to make it look like some other type of unwieldy tool I had no name for, should someone ask. Again here was something else I hadn’t thought through. I was halfway to the tent when I figured if I got into trouble and I needed the blade in a hurry, I was going to be in a bit of a spot. “Yeah–hold on a sec...I just have to unravel this leather strap that is hiding the sharp edge of my weapon.” I’m sure most murderous attackers would be happy to wait. I was about ten feet from the rear of the tent; maybe the guard there could not smell what or who I was, but he sure as hell could see me.

  “State your business,” he grumbled.

  “It smelled like shit over here...I figured this was the shitter. What the hell did you eat?”

  His massive head swiveled in the traditional puppy-tilt kind of way. Thirty seconds into my ploy to become one of the natives and I was already far along the way to blowing it.

  “It is that way.” He pointed to the back of the camp. “Leave here now. No one is allowed to come near.”

  “You should call your friend over,” I said, pointing to the other guard. “I found something Lunos will be interested in.”

  The other guard was drifting over. Guard duty sucked. Almost one hundred percent of the time it was the most boring gig ever. You basically stood there for hours on end making sure nothing happened. And in the vast majority of cases, nothing ever did. So here was a fellow soldier saying he’d found something for their leader to see, of course, that would garner attention, especially since I was showing it to them first; most likely they would have never otherwise got an opportunity to see it. I was struggling with the belt, kind of like I figured I would. Yeah, I was fucking nervous. Then it all kind of came to me.

  “I think I found something that belonged to the Old One,” I said in hushed tones. The two werewolves leaned back, almost as if by the very force of that name. Then they leaned in, as I more calmly removed the strap. The silver blade gleamed brightly in the moonlight. Pretty strange to hear werewolves “ooh and aah”. The nearest guard had got even closer, like maybe he was far-sighted and wanted to get a better view. I swung that thing so fast and so hard I drove it halfway through his forehead, neatly cutting it in two. I looked to the second werewolf, who was having a difficult time reconciling what he was seeing. I gave him a look like the axe had a mind of its own and I couldn’t be held accountable for the devious things it did.

  He let out a short, strangled bark. I had swung up, hoping to lop the bottom of his jaw completely off; instead, I got it lodged deep into his neck. His Adam's apple and a three-inch thick slab of wet meat were now flapping in the breeze. Copious amounts of blood poured from the wound. He staggered back, taking a half-hearted swipe at me. He stumbled and fell to one knee before falling all the way back, his large paws clamped around the wound. His breathing was extremely fast, his chest rising and falling at an unnatural speed. If he had any anger directed at me, it quickly melted to fear. I looked around, quickly trying to figure out if his initial warning had been heeded. I left him gurgling in his own blood—part of me wanted to be merciful and finish him off, but I was under a serious time crunch—or so I told myself. Part of me wanted him to suffer, to realize in his last few tortured moments how wrong his choices in life had been. I moved close to the tent and dragged the edge of my blade on the material, doing my best to not go fast and make the sound of the fabric separating any louder than it needed to be.

  Who knew it wasn’t going to matter? Green Man was sitting in a large chair, a table next to him with six candles burning brightly on it. The kicker was that he was facing the back of the tent, and more specifically, me. I had not been expecting the alien slant of his features; his face was smooth and rubbery looking, like wet clay. It looked like Salvador Dali had sculpted it. The only thing that led credence to him actually being human was a long white beard.

  “You’ve come this far, Michael, don’t be shy,” he said almost grandfatherly. After I had poked my head in and realized I’d been discovered I’d pulled out quickly. “If you attempt to run, I will have a hundred of my followers here before you can blink. They love a good chase.”

  It did not sound an idle threat. I cautiously poked my head in again,
looking for the spring mechanism inside to snap my neck like a huge mouse trap.

  “I assure you, it is just you and me,” he said as I crawled in and stood. “And before you go getting any wild ideas about attempting to attack me, know that I am completely protected. It would prove futile and...somewhat painful for you.”

  Again, I didn’t think he was bluffing. He looked entirely too calm and sure of himself.

  “Sit, sit. It hurts my neck to keep looking up like this.” He motioned to a small wooden chair that somehow I hadn’t noticed before, off to his right. I did what was prudent and sat. “Would you like something to drink?”

  Of course, my first thought was he was going to poison me but then I thought he could have easily killed me half a dozen times in that first minute.

  “What are the odds you have beer?”

  He laughed. “Sadly, no. Lunos told me you were...um, unique. I am glad that I finally got to lay eyes on you myself.”

  “You knew I was coming?”

  “Not until very recently, but when I saw the opportunity, how could I refuse? You are what legends are made of. Are you not? A vampire from a by-gone era who, apparently, cannot be stopped by death. That is a tale we will need to discuss sometime.”

  “So what are we planning on discussing tonight?” I was getting the feeling that the longer I stayed, the harder it was going to be to get out.

  “I would very much like to talk about the age you come from. I see surprise in your features. I suppose you thought I was from then as well. Sadly, that is not the case. Though I have extensively studied old texts I have found. Your old government was kind enough to keep huge information repositories in the event something cataclysmic, like a nuclear war, was to ravage your land. I know this might be too soon for you, but I find it extremely amusing that zombies, basically hordes of corpses with rotted brains and a carnivorous slant took down the so-called architects of the world.”