by Jan McDonald
Lane noticed immediately. “Pull over, Beckett, I’ll drive. Where the hell are your contacts?”
“I just hate poking my finger in my eyes every goddamn morning. Okay, okay, I’ll pull over.”
He stopped his car and got out, slamming the door as Lane slid her slender frame into the driver’s seat. He climbed into the passenger seat and reached into the glove compartment for his sunglasses.
Sabine claimed his attention, “So … you can be in the sun?”
“Yes. Don’t worry, we’re not about to turn into the contents of an egg timer. It’s more than uncomfortable even with the sun block but my eyes are sore because my retinas react badly to ultra violet light.”
Sabine seemed to be considering the information. Eventually, she relaxed into her seat and said to Beckett, “Then I think maybe you can help him.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: DARK MEMORIES
Sabine had protested loudly as Beckett and Lane strapped Jude to a table with huge leather straps at intervals up his body. His feet and wrists were strapped to the edge of the table and there was a heavy strap around his head. Lane had responded with impatience.
“Look, if you are going to stay here, and I recommend it, you are going to have keep out of our way. Yes, it looks horrible, but really, do you want him rampaging around the place until some hot shot copper shoots him? You want that?”
Sabine calmed and shook her head. She had seen Abram gunned down when at the height of the rage cycle. She owed it to him to let them do what they thought necessary for Jude.
“I’m sorry. But it’s what will happen if we don’t contain him,” continued Lane. “He’s going to be hard to control when he wakes and I don’t particularly want to become meatloaf. Look maybe it would be better if you went with Angel, have a coffee or something but just don’t leave.”
Sabine left in search of Angel, annoyed at being sent out of the room but beginning to believe in Lane.
Jude began to moan. Beckett and Lane were instantly at his side. Lane looked anxiously at her watch. “Jo will be here very soon, I don’t want to drug him again unless I have to. He’ll be out for hours.”
“I thought he’d be out longer than this,” replied Beckett.
Lane nodded. “Yes, I know.”
Jude spoke suddenly, “It’s over for now. I can feel it.” He opened his eyes and tried to move his head. “I can break these straps but I’d rather you just removed them.”
Beckett read him. He started to unbuckle the strap around Jude’s head.
“What the hell are you doing, Handsome?”
“It’s all right. He’s going nowhere.”
“Thanks,” said Jude. “I’m afraid you haven’t seen me at my best.”
Beckett laughed harshly. “Depends which way you look at it.” He released the remainder of the restraints and Jude sat up. He looked down at his muscular bare chest and gingerly touched the wounds along the length of his ribs. He put his hand to his face. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a spare razor?”
Then as suddenly as he’d awoken, he slammed his fist into the table. “I don’t know what the hell you think you can do. You’ve seen what I am for God’s sake. There is only one thing that will stop me from killing someone.”
His train of thought progressed and he stood up abruptly. “There was a girl … I remember a girl. Where is she?” he demanded.
Again Beckett was tracking his thoughts. “It’s okay. You didn’t harm her, she’s here. Wouldn’t leave you actually. I’m afraid she doesn’t quite trust us. How about you Jude? Do you trust us?”
“I don’t know yet. Do I have a choice?”
“Not in my opinion,” said Lane flatly. “Shotguns can be rather messy. Think of the poor sod that finds you. It won’t be pretty.”
Jude’s eyes displayed his curiosity. “And just what do you think you can do?”
Lane sat in a club chair in the corner of the room, pulled out a packet of cigarettes and lit one, flicking her gold lighter into life with what seemed nothing more than thought.
He became irritable and Beckett moved in front of Lane, ready for any sign of an attack.
Jude arched an eyebrow at Beckett as he transferred his attention from Lane. “Sorry. Look, let’s not mess about. Tell me if you think it’s hopeless and I will take care of the situation myself. Regardless of the mess.”
Voices on the street outside alerted Lane and Beckett to the arrival of Darius and his charge.
Beckett looked directly into Jude’s eyes. “I promise that if nothing can be done, I’ll help you. No need for a mess.”
Jude nodded. “I believe you. So what now?”
Lane was about to speak but Beckett pre-empted her.
“Now, I want you to allow me access to your mind. It will help to know how this happened to you. I know, I know, you can’t remember what happened, but that’s the point. You’ve locked it away so you don’t have to deal with it, but if you’ll allow me, I can retrieve that information and help you deal with it.”
“You know, when you speak like that I can almost believe you’re just a therapist, Beckett, not a bloody vampire.”
“Maybe it’s because I’m a bloody vampire that makes you trust me. I sense you do.”
Lane stood, clicking her nails together as she smoked. “I’ll be outside.” You sure you can do this, Beckett? she thought.
I can do this, Legs. I need to do this.
Lane nodded her understanding and left.
Outside in the hall, Darius was introducing Angel and Sabine to Jo Timberwolf. They all looked up at Lane’s approach. Jo moved forwards, his leathery face creased in a smile that reached his silver eyes. He pulled Lane to him and embraced her fondly.
“Hello, Lane. I was about to say you haven’t aged a day, but that would be somewhat lacking in taste. You do look good though. And this …” he gestured around him. “This must be your brainchild. You told me about how you wanted to create a sanctuary for innocents caught up in the strange world of yours. That was ten years ago, and now I see you have achieved your goal. It’s impressive. As is this young man. We have had a very interesting journey.”
Lane kissed the old Navajo on his cheek. “Jo. This is so good of you. I don’t know enough to do this without you. Skinwalkers are unfamiliar territory.”
He nodded, his expression serious. “When can I see him?”
“Soon. My friend and partner, Beckett, is with him at the moment, trying to determine the source of the problem. We believe it was in Afghanistan.”
If he was surprised, Jo didn’t show it. “Go on.”
“He’s ex Special Forces. He came home from a deployment in Afghanistan recently. Not the first time he’d been there. Well, he went to pieces and was discharged from the service on health grounds, Beckett has been treating him for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but we’ve come to understand the true diagnosis. Although ‘understand’ isn’t strictly the right word.”
Jo nodded thoughtfully. “The behaviour of Skinwalker is close to the symptoms of what you call PTSD. An easy mistake. Your friend, is he like you?”
Lane nodded, “Yes, I’m rather afraid he is.”
“There is more in your voice than friendship, Lane. You deny your true feelings, I think.”
Lane glanced uncomfortably at Darius and steered Jo away. “He’s … vulnerable. Right now, he’s accessing Jude Mason’s locked away memories and pain, searching for the source. I believe it’s important.”
“The Ancient Ones know what is important and only if they decide to protect this man will they allow your partner to access this part of his mind. Come,” he said, linking his arm through Lane’s, “tell me about him.”
There had been little resistance to Beckett’s probing and searching through layers of memory and experience, pleasure and pain accumulating into what had made the man Jude Mason. He came suddenly to a barrier, an effective wall of protection that took him several minutes to breach. He took in a sharp breath as the surge of horror and
pain washed over him. He steadied himself and pushed forwards.
* * *
It was dark and Sergeant Jude Mason was floating towards the ground. He was parachuting into the White Mountain region of Afghanistan and could see the rough terrain in an eerie green light. Night vision goggles gave him sight of the rugged cliffs and barren landscape littered with valleys of course gravel and boulders. The mountain tops shone white in the green hue, a legacy of the harsh snows of the Afghan winter. The sight was familiar; once again the regiment had been deployed to clear the now infamous caves of Tora Bora.
Since Bin Laden’s demise the Al Quaida hierarchy had fallen apart and the footsoldiers were disorganised and in disarray. One by one and in small groups they had travelled back to the region only six kilometres north of the Pakistan border to inhabit the caves once again.
Contrary to popular belief that the caves of Tora Bora were a huge underground complex of passages, bunkers and weapons storage units they were in fact a labyrinth of natural caves and connecting tunnels in the jagged cliff faces. Intelligence and counter intelligence had been confusing but he had been there back in 2001 when the much written about ‘Battle for Tora Bora’ had taken place. A joint mission from Special Forces from both the United Kingdom and the States had resulted in the routing of the Taliban from the area and the near miss on Bin Laden.
The ground connected with his boots and he rolled away from the impact, dragging the parachute towards him. He hit the release button and took the ground running low. The others of Alpha Two Four were approaching and wordlessly they began the hazardous climb to the first cave entrance.
Insurgents and Taliban had retaken the caves in 2007 but had rapidly been sent packing by others like him. This mission would be quickly over and he would be redeployed again. Confirmed intelligence out of Pakistan had shown a regrouping of Taliban and new insurgents once again in the cave complex in the White Mountains. This time it was solely a Regiment mission. He had an illogical sense of foreboding contrary to the nature of the job or him.
Ordered by a series of gestures from Lieutenant Ben Baxter they converged on the cave entrance now littered with evidence of previous occupation. Inside the first passage a faint glimmer of a distant light fired an alarm in his chest. They were on.
More gestures from Baxter caused them to separate where the tunnel diverged, effectively dividing them. He and Carl Thomas went left, Baxter and Dave Burton right. As they took the tunnel slowly and soundlessly the glimmer of light became brighter and low voices speaking in various dialects could be plainly heard.
Jude’s finger’s tightened around the trigger of his MP5 sub machine gun, comforted by its presence against his body. Thomas was striding ahead; stupid bugger was constantly taking risks. Problem was it was more than just his life at stake; he had to toe the team line. ‘In theatre’ was no place for a maverick. When they got back Baxter was going to insist the colonel do something.
Without warning Thomas had pulled the pin on a tear gas grenade. That wasn’t in the programme, and the consequence of breathing in the gas in the confinement of the tunnels was likely to cause damage to more than the Taliban. He grabbed at his gas mask and his sudden movement caused Thomas to spin around.
Jude gestured angrily at him and was answered with a casual wave of the hand before a shrug as he put the pin back into the grenade and stowed it back on his belt. As he turned into the tunnel again Thomas’s foot connected with a stray rock and he slipped. He grabbed at the rock face to steady himself but the noise had been enough. The voices stopped suddenly and there was a tell tale crunch of boots on the shale floor of the tunnel which had suddenly opened out into another cave.
The fire fight was sudden and over quickly, the Taliban weapons and skill unequal to those of the Regiment. The familiar sound of running footsteps announced the arrival of Baxter and Burton at the same time as lights in another tunnel to the rear of the cave told them more insurgents and Taliban would be on them in moments.
There was a sharp pain in his chest accompanied by intense heat and a feeling of light headedness. He looked down at the place just to the left of his heart where the bullet had penetrated at the edge of his vest. He was shot.
Blackness engulfed him and when he was next aware of his surroundings the bodies of the other three lay in a bloodied heap with entrails seeping into the cave floor. He struggled to his feet, thinking fast, assessing his options. Three bearded insurgents, dirtied and bloodied from weeks in the caves and the gun battle that had just taken place, loomed in front of him. His instinctive grab for his gun proved futile. The insurgent in the centre of the group laughed, showing blackened teeth through the dark stubble, and waved his gun at him. He threw it to the floor behind them and in a moment they were transforming.
Coarse hair was sprouting along the line of their cheekbones and covering their cheeks. Their eyes took on a wild look and somehow seemed to be changing colour, becoming almost luminescent. Their jaw line seemed to be pulsating and as he stood transfixed their teeth became savage points in slavering jaws.
They were on him in a heartbeat and the one that had taken his gun was ripping into his chest with teeth and claws and as consciousness threatened to leave him again he threw his arm up in defence and the brutal jaws that had been aiming at his throat connected with the fleshy part of his upper arm. It was all he needed to roll out of range and grab his abandoned weapon. The first werewolf got the first bullet between the eyes, the second and third right over the heart. Others were reaching the scene and they too were transforming before him.
The bloody Taliban were breeding werewolves as weapons. An army of werewolves would soon come from the few in front of him.
The grenade was in his hand before he had conscious thought and as he hurled it into their mist he leaped into the tunnel one second before the explosion ripped through the cave.
Blood was pouring down his arm and from the bullet wound in his chest but Jude Mason was on his way out of the tunnels and into the reassuring cover of darkness before the rest of the insurgents could gather their wits.
He didn’t stop until he was way out of range and then only to tie a tight bandage ripped from the bottom of his jacket. The bullet had passed through him on his left side and although he had originally lost a lot of blood, the bleeding had almost stopped. The severe arm wound was the result of him losing a mouthful of flesh to the slavering jaws of the werewolf.
* * *
There was a tight feeling and a sharp pain in Beckett’s chest and as he opened his eyes to face Jude, he saw that explanations would be unnecessary. Jude had been a part of the whole process and had relived every moment with him. Beads of perspiration stood out on his brow and he was visibly shaking.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SHAMAN
“Bastards! A goddamn army of werewolves!” Jude spat. “Doesn’t help me now though does it?”
Beckett was shaken by the experience and could feel Lane in his head, steadying him, supporting him. Okay Handsome. You did great. Now walk away from him, sit in the chair in the corner and get yourself together. Her voice was as audible as if she had spoken from within the room. He obeyed readily.
“It may not have any relevance to us but to Jo it may mean a whole lot,” Beckett said to Jude.
On cue the door opened and Lane entered with Jo at her side. The gnarled old shaman held out a hand to Jude and nodded at him. “Wolf is strong in you. You have been bitten by one who was Alpha and ruthless. It is well the Ancient Ones have brought me to you. But you have to open your mind and your heart to the healing that will take place and you must banish the thoughts of taking your own life for that darkens your soul and makes it vulnerable to wolf. I have hopes for your recovery because there is one who prays constantly for your soul.”
He patted the back of Jude’s hand and gently released it. He turned to Lane, “I believe we should begin right away. There are two ceremonies that will take place to banish wolf from his soul, known to my people as Anaa’ji, Th
e Enemy Way and Hozhooji, the Blessing Way. These ceremonies cleanse and heal the soul and allow it to continue its earthly journey. The Holy Ones will be invited to come and play their part and if it is their will, great healing will take place. If not, then your friend must resign himself to continue his journey as Skinwalker.”
Lane nodded her understanding, she had witnessed The Blessing Way ceremony performed by Jo and understood the significance of the Enemy Way ceremony. She stood back next to Beckett as Jo explained them to Jude.
“My people are known as the Dine or what you know as the Navajo nation. These ceremonies have been handed down to us by the Ancient Ones, the Anasazi. They were given to them by the Holy People and are not used lightly. The Enemy Way ceremony has long been used for warriors returning from war, to cleanse them of the blood and the death, to exorcise the ghosts of those they have killed. Sometimes it is used to banish evil from a soul, such as the evil that has attached itself to your soul in the form of wolf. The ceremony will aid in the banishing of wolf, but you have to be strong. Wolf will fight for its survival and only one of you may come through this.”
Beckett was pale and was about to interrupt Jo when Lane’s voice in his head restrained him. Leave it, Beckett. To question him will undermine Jude’s confidence in him. He knows what he’s doing.
He remained silent, eyes on Jude’s face which was expressionless, giving nothing away and he was reluctant to read him again so soon after the terrors he’d seen unleashed.
Jo’s voice was low and steady, hypnotic almost with its Native American inflections as he continued to explain the ceremonies.
“The Enemy Way will drive out evil, but you should remember that Wolf is not by nature an evil creature, taking life only to survive. It is the element of evil men in Skinwalker that makes it evil. Wolf will struggle against this evil just as you will struggle against wolf.”
Jude had said nothing and showed no emotion whilst listening to Jo, and then he said, “I will do whatever you tell me I must do, Sir.”
