Mayan Afterglow

by A. S. Fenichel

“Not human and no longer wolf. Mutations,” she said, her voice rising with panic.

  Ian saw movement in the rearview mirror. A closer look revealed another werewolf on the trailer, its claws digging into the Harley.

  “That’s it. Take the wheel.”

  “What?”

  “Take the damn wheel,” he repeated pulling a pistol from the console between the seats.

  She did as he said.

  “When I shoot, you turn the wheel and shake it loose.” He didn’t wait for an answer. He checked the chamber and once assured of the semiautomatic’s readiness, he opened the window and began firing directly into the face of the beast.

  Aileen turned the wheel first right then left.

  The creature screamed in pain. When it lifted one paw, its body careened off the hood and smashed against the rock wall to the left of the road.

  Ian wasted no time. He turned around and fired at the other beast. It leapt off the bike toward the truck. He fired two more shots while it was in midair. The impact crashed the werewolf back against the bike and then forward between the trailer and the truck. The trailer thumped over its body but the hitch held.

  Dropping back into the driver’s seat, Ian took the wheel and handed the pistol to Aileen. “Good driving,” he said as he closed the window against the biting cold.

  “Good shooting,” she remarked.

  “Why did you call those things werewolves?” he asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “What else would you call them? They’re no longer wolves, though I suspect they were at one time. They’ve been altered to serve the Darkness.”

  “The Darkness?” His voice bit with ridicule. “Please don’t tell me you’re a religious freak.”

  She laughed. “I never really believed in anything before December,” she said.

  “And now?”

  She shrugged again. “Now things are different. Now I have seen evil that can only be answered by good. My little talent for healing has evolved, and I can shoot lightning from my fingertips. I have seen things that make my skin crawl and been subjected to torture that no one should survive. Everything is different now. If that is your definition of a ‘religious freak’ then I must be one.”

  He took his eyes off the road to glance at her. A tear rolled down her cheek. His chest tightened, but he said nothing.

  They drove in silence for hours. He usually didn’t mind the quiet but now he yearned to hear her voice. By midday the snow was heavy and visibility in the mountains was nearly zero. His thoughts wandered back to the argument in the cave.

  Finally he said, “What is a ‘jump bolt’?”

  “Where did that come from?” she asked.

  “I was too angry when you mentioned it before to ask. Now I’m asking.”

  She shook her head. “It’s an electrical charge that creates a temporary hole in two planes of existence and allows matter to move between them.”

  In spite of his skepticism, he asked, “And Mictlan can create these holes?”

  “Yes.”

  “So why can’t he get through one of them?” Ian asked.

  “He can’t create a bolt big enough for his mass on his own. He needs to get power from somewhere else or someone else.”

  “He didn’t look that big to me.”

  “He can look anyway he wants to, but he is enormous in reality,” she said.

  “Reality,” he scoffed. “Okay, so he’s bigger than he looks and he needs you to get through. So why didn’t it work? He had you, and he didn’t get through.”

  She turned toward him. “I think because I wasn’t strong enough and also the time was cut short by you. Mictlan thought bringing me to my place of birth would boost my power and it would be enough to create a big enough bolt.”

  “Why Mexico?”

  “It’s where the great temple is. It’s where this must end. There he can pull enough power from me to get through.”

  “I don’t understand. If you can help him get through, why go?” Ian asked.

  “Because, he can’t be killed when he’s in his world. I need to bring him through to where he’s mortal,” she said.

  “And you think you can kill him?” He tried to keep the doubt out of his voice but failed.

  She didn’t answer for a long time. “I really have no idea. I only know that I have to try.”

  “Aileen, I’ve been nearly all the way across the country and I only saw those ‘werewolves’ once before. Now I’ve seen them twice in less than twenty-four hours. Do you have an explanation for that?”

  “He sent them. They’re trying to stop me or maybe to capture me again. He will send worse things through,” she said flatly.

  “Because you’re the sole fighter for good in this battle against evil.” The sarcasm dripped from his words.

  She grinned. He could see it out of the corner of his eye.

  “Let me ask you something, Ian Scott.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “When you set out from the desert did you know where you were going?”

  He thought about that. “Not really. I just had to go east.”

  “Had to?” she asked.

  He shook his head and leaned forward to wipe the fog off the inside of the window. “I don’t know why. At first I thought I should go and find some other survivors but every time I got on the bike it pointed me east and then north and then to the cave. Last night I was going to leave. I knew the snow was coming. I could smell it. I got on the bike to push it out so I could load it on the trailer and then I was driving east again. I knew exactly the way, but I didn’t know where I was going until I rolled into the driveway where I found you and the other guy.”

  “Mictlantecuhtli or Mictlan if you like,” she supplied. “Don’t you think it strange that you were there just when I needed you?”

  He shrugged.

  “Do you know what your name means, Ian Scott?” she asked.

  “My name?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Scottish, I think,” he said.

  She used the sleeve of her coat to wipe the fog from her side of the windshield. “Ian is Celtic for John. I It means ‘gracious God’ and Scott signifies a ‘wanderer’.”

  “So?”

  “So isn’t it interesting that you should be named a wanderer for the grace of God?” she said.

  “I think that’s a stretch, Aileen.”

  She chuckled. “I knew you would.”

  After a long pause he asked, “What does your name mean?”

  She was smiling again. “Ironically it is also Celtic. Aileen means ‘light’ and Grant is the word for ‘great.’”

  “Great light,” he translated, trying to be cynical but even he was a bit daunted by the coincidences.

  The snow was piling up on the roads. They had made it to I-90 west. It was treacherous driving, especially since the roads were littered with abandoned cars. Most of them had been pushed to the sides but some still remained barriers to be driven around.

  “Should we stop?” she asked.

  “Where? The snow will be higher the longer we wait.”

  “I still think we should stop.”

  “It’s your party,” he said as if the consequences of stopping were of little interest to him.

  Chapter Four

  They turned off the highway somewhere in a small town in western New York. The power plant had stopped running long ago leaving the town completely dark. The truck made the only tire tracks in the foot of snow collected on the roads. Ian drove slowly.

  “Look,” he said pointing.

  Nearly covered in a snowdrift was a small brown sign. “Lake Cabin Lodge—½ mile” and an arrow directing them to the right.

  “Sounds good to me,” Aileen said.

  It took another ten minutes to plod their way out of town. Some of the snow had drifted above the truck’s wheel well and getting through had been difficult.

  The Lake Cabin Lodge was an enormous log cabin set in the woods just outside town. S
now piled up around the foundation and drifted onto the wraparound porch. The only light came from the Chevy’s headlights. Strands of Christmas lights hung haphazardly from the roof left for nearly a year.

  Her stomach tensed at the sight. All those people, she thought for the ten thousandth time. They were all preparing for the holiday. No one believed the predictions. No one made preparations. But what could they have done?

  Nothing.

  She tore her gaze away from the ruined decorations.

  Ian turned and clutched his backpack. He reached inside and handed Aileen some items. “Here, you may need these,” he said.

  Aileen took the flashlight and pistol he handed her. The gun felt heavy in her hands.

  “Do you know how to use one of those?” he asked.

  “Point and shoot?”

  He chuckled. “Pretty much but make sure you’re not pointing at me.”

  Hoisting a rifle from the back he opened the truck door and stepped out. She followed his lead and jumped down from the passenger side. She sank knee-deep in snow.

  Slogging through, she moved the flashlight in a wide arc.

  “Look at this,” Ian said shining his light to the right side of the parking area.

  Covered in snow, a Ford pickup truck with a plow blade attached stood in front of the Lodge.

  “If it runs we can swap trucks. If not, I’ll try to fit that blade on the Chevy,” he said, sounding pleased.

  It was no warmer inside the lodge. The dried-out Christmas tree still stood sentinel in the center of a reception area and a huge living room complete with leather furniture and a stone fireplace.

  “We should search the house,” Ian said. “Make sure we’re alone.”

  Ian headed to the left to search the ground floor.

  Aileen nodded. Behind the reception desk she took a key off the hook marked “master key” and moved toward the stairs leading to a long hallway overlooking the great room. One by one she searched the guestrooms. All were neat but dusty after so many months. The last door was the only one that did not exit out onto the open hallway. Tucked away in its own private hall, it stood alone.

  She unlocked the door and stashed the key in her pocket to better grip the flashlight just as she had done in the other rooms. The putrid smell of rotting flesh gagged her as soon as she stepped inside. Moving the light from corner to corner she was surprised to find no body in the room. The door to the left led to the bath. Also empty.

  Aileen’s gun clattered to the floor at almost the exact moment she felt the crushing pain in her wrist and hand. In an instant she crashed to the floor. She reached out for something to steady her, but the small bureau crashed down beside her. Her head hit the floor with a nauseating thunk.

  It took a few seconds for her vision to clear. She could hardly breathe. Something was on her chest. She fought the nausea and pain and opened her eyes.

  The flashlight had rolled a few feet away but it was still on and cast a shadowy arc of light in the room.

  A foot, bare and putrid, pressed against her chest. She gasped and lashed out at the leg above.

  Hideous laughter echoed in her hears and dust swirled in the dim light.

  “You cannot win, Aileen of the Light.” The voice was high-pitched but male and raw.

  “Who…” she managed to blurt out through her collapsing chest.

  Suddenly the weight shifted and the man knelt down. His knees pressed her arms to the floor and his rotting body ground her ribs against her aching lungs. Bone-thin arms pressed down on her shoulders and the smell of him choked her. No longer human, the creature was more demon than man. His narrow, sunken face oozed pus and bile. Fierce eyes bulged from rotting sockets devoid of irises.

  The sight of him changed her question to a scream.

  “I serve him. I shall reign at his right hand when I deliver the prize.”

  He leaned forward, bringing his fetid face close to hers.

  She turned her head and shut her eyes.

  Nearly nose to cheek with her, he said, “Pretty and good. I have not had a taste in too long. He will not mind if I have one taste of the prize.”

  She kicked and twisted her lower body, but she could barely breathe and her head pounded. The smell of him was causing her empty stomach to heave.

  Ian, help me, she prayed silently.

  The door shattered sending shards of broken wood in every direction.

  The creature rose up on spindly legs.

  Ian stopped for a moment when he saw the enemy. Aileen could see the pity in his eyes just before he swung the shotgun butt smashing its head. Bits and pieces of skull and putrid flesh splattered the bed and wall. Its body collapsed and she rolled away so as not to be crushed again.

  “What the hell was that?” Ian demanded.

  “I think it used to be a man.”

  At the sound of her voice he moved forward and reached down to help her up. “Are you all right?”

  She reached back and felt the lump growing at the back of her head. “He knew my name.”

  “That’s not good,” Ian said.

  “No. That is not good.”

  “Let’s get out of this room,” he said.

  He had a fire burning in the hearth and several cans of beef stew opened and tucked into the hot embers.

  They ate directly from the cans placed on top of an overturned frying pan on the floor between them.

  She stopped eating. “That thing didn’t know about you.”

  “Yeah. I thought about that, too,” Ian said, taking another bite of beef and gravy.

  “Mictlan can’t get through, but he is still tracking me. And yet, he can’t see you.”

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “I have to leave,” she said getting up.

  He didn’t move. “Where will you go?”

  “To Mexico.” Her voice rose with the absurdity of the question.

  He took hold of her hand as she was moving past him. “Listen,” he said gazing up at her from the floor. “I don’t think he has an army of those things. At least not here and not yet,” he added with a wince. “Somehow he knows we’re here. Okay. But he can’t get to us without help, and I just smashed the head of that poor sucker who was helping him. We’re safe here for tonight.”

  “My being here is putting you in danger.” She could not help her own tears. In less than two days she had grown comfortable with this man. He had saved her life twice but it was more than that. Something about Ian Scott drew her in and made her feel safe. The regret she had seen on his face when he’d had to kill the creature in the bedroom made her heart ache. “I don’t want you to die because of me.”

  He tugged her back down onto the shag carpet. “I’m not going to die tonight,” he said smiling so brightly his eyes glowed with it. “Tonight we’re going to stay warm and dry by this fire.” He leaned her back against the leather couch. The mirth in his eyes changed to a new kind of intensity. “Tonight, if you are agreeable, I will keep you very warm.”

  His lips touched hers like a whispered promise of ultimate joy.

  She gasped and he nipped at her bottom lip.

  “Tell me that you want me, Aileen. I don’t want to be like the others who’ve taken from you.”

  “You could never be like them,” she said touching his stubbly cheek.

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “I want you, Ian,” she whispered.

  His mouth opened against hers with a hunger that frightened her at first. She pushed at his chest but then her protest turned to desire as she gripped his shirt.

  He pulled away. His fingers threaded through her hair. He traced the curve of her cheek with his forefinger and then down along her jawline.

  “My God, you’re beautiful. When I first saw you I thought that you must be a dream.”

  “But I’ve turned into a nightmare,” she said, looking away.

  He turned her face toward his. “If this is a nightmare then I never want to wake up.”

&nb
sp; “I wish I could bathe,” she said flatly.

  He laughed and kissed her cheek and then her neck. His mouth moved down between her breasts. Her eyes closed and her head fell back against the couch.

  He was gone.

  Her eyes snapped open.

  Standing above her grinning, he said, “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

  She had no idea where he went or how long he was gone but some time later she woke to his gentle shaking.

  “Aileen, come on.”

  He helped her up.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “You said you wanted a bath.”

  She rubbed her eyes and focused on him. He had shed his jeans and flannel shirt and was wrapped in a white hotel robe.

  He led her down a hall past reception. There was a large apartment tucked in the back of the lodge.

  “This must have been where the owner lived,” he said. A fire was burning in the small fireplace and a pot was sitting on the hearth. Pulling her by the hand he took her through the living room and kitchen area to a bedroom and adjacent bath. The claw-foot tub was not full but it held about eight inches of water and steam was rising. On a small wooden chair lay another white hotel robe and a pair of white slippers.

  “Ian, where did you get so much water? Is the plumbing working?”

  He shook his head and pointed to two five-gallon buckets near an outside door. “Snow can occasionally be useful.” He turned to leave.

  She worked at the buttons of her jeans and then stopped. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

  He smiled and she could see desire sparking in his green eyes.

  “You enjoy your bath. I already washed up.” He turned away.

  He was halfway out the door when she called, “Ian.”

  He turned.

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded once and left.

  The sensation of warm water and soap was almost as erotic as the idea of the man waiting in the living room. He had left her a bar of soap that was very dry and cracked but it lathered nicely and she washed her hair. She scrubbed her skin until it was raw from abrasion. She felt as if it were all a dream and she might wake up at any moment.

  A half-hour later she wrapped herself in the robe and slipped into the fuzzy slippers. She found a hairbrush on the vanity and sent up an apology and thanks to the person who’d left it behind before pulling it roughly through her knotted mass of curls.