Ancient Awakening (The Ancient)

by Matthew Bryan Laube

“Great,” Mike said. “This just keeps getting better and better.”

  He still wanted to run, to just get out. He was all Sam had now and he was sure as hell not going to let some insane people drag him away from his real responsibilities. On the other hand, innocent people here needed his help. It was, in a way, his job. And, like it or not, he had formed a bond with these people. Their best chance of living through this was to stick together. At least now he had a gun that seemed to do something against the wolf beasts.

  “Give it a sec. The emergency lights should kick on automatically,” Ann said. Her hands were still deep inside her huge coat. The crazy girl look had gotten worse over the last hour or so. She looked like she was ill, but then, that’s pretty much how Mike felt as well.

  “Any second now,” Ann continued. Several moments passed. “Well then, maybe not.”

  Bill snapped on a flashlight. His hand shook terribly. Of all of them, he seemed to be the most terrified, and he hadn’t even witnessed the doctor’s transformation. That in itself was a nightmare that Mike was pretty sure was going to replay in his mind many, many times.

  Bill gave the impression that he was going to bolt off screaming in at any minute. But, so far, to his credit, he had kept it together.

  “An electric torch! Brilliant! I don't suppose that you have any more of those?” Miller asked.

  Bill shrugged. “Nope. Sorry.”

  Mike couldn't make sense of Joseph Miller. He looked like a guy in his early 20s. Hispanic, maybe Mexican? But he spoke and acted with the confidence of a much older man. He also seemed to be unaware of pretty basic things, like flashlights and how pants worked. He handled himself well in a fight, and for that Mike was grateful. He seemed to know a lot more of what was going on around here than anyone else. Mike was planning on having a long talk with Miller if they got out of this, preferably at the police station.

  “Okay then, let’s start moving. Mr. Tirhsred, I am afraid you’re going to have to take the lead this time. I'll be right behind you.” Bill gulped hard at Miller’s words, but led the way out of the room.

  The sudden darkness of the hospital unnerved Mike. There were not many windows and the ones there were didn't seem to let enough light in. In the hallways, the dark pools between doors held a deep sense of dread. Mike needed a distraction from his fear.

  “Miller, what else can you tell me about these werewolves?” he asked. They had formed a line, with Bill and Miller at the front, followed by Ann. Mike was at the back, attempting to stare into the darkness behind him and the faint light ahead.

  “Well, as I mentioned, I am not sure where the wolf part comes from, although I believe they are the root of much of the werewolf lore. I can assure you that they do not become wolves.”

  “They look like cave people, well a bit, anyway. Like people that have devolved or something,” Ann chipped in.

  “Cave people?” Miller asked.

  “Yeah, like Neanderthals, ancient men. Although the bone structure isn't right exactly, they seem to have increased body hair and muscle mass, but fewer cerebral capabilities. Not sure about the claws though, that’s certainly not from anything I've seen in the history books.”

  “Miss Ann…”

  “Just Ann please, Miller,” Ann cut in.

  “Ann, then. I had heard some talk back in the 1880s that there was a race of men before our current one. I had thought it nonsense at the time.”

  Had he said1880s?

  “The thing that really gets me is how quickly they…” Ann hunted for the right word, “transform, I guess the term is. That amount of cell growth, it’s just not possible.”

  “I think someone missed the ‘super’ part in ‘supernatural’,” Mike jumped back in.

  “No, really, it would take a massive amount of energy.”

  “Energy?” Bill asked.

  Ann continued. “Well, food. Ok, let’s say that this is some kind of virus. Maybe it’s possible that this virus is rearranging people’s DNA. But even with that, to completely transform a person’s body in a matter of seconds…” She trailed off, lost in thought.

  “You a doctor or something?” Bill asked, not looking back.

  “Scientist, actually. Well, PhD biology student,” Ann answered.

  “Come on. There’s another room up here.” Miller again took the lead, pushing the door open. This time Bill was right behind him with the flashlight. It turned out that it wasn’t needed, as the room had a row of windows. Mike rushed into the room and stood in the weak sunlight. His sense of panic died back down. Then he thought of his neighbor.

  “Is there any way to help them? Like, cure them, I guess?”

  Miller let out a long sigh and then started to explain slowly.

  “It is possible to free the Cursed from their demon masters, but they do not become human again. They remain forever cursed. They live out their remaining years misshapen. Worse yet, they recall everything they have done while under the Fallen’s control. It is not a fate that I would wish on my worst enemy.”

  “But how would we free them?” Ann asked.

  “Ah, that’s no easy task either. You need to kill the demon that cursed them.”

  “So if we could find the demon that infected…err, cursed these people, they would at least stop trying to kill us,” Ann said.

  Mike swallowed hard. Could he free his neighbor Ted, and condemn him to hell on Earth, with the knowledge of what he had done to his own family? No. He decided he couldn’t do that to anyone. Better to be dead than live through that torment.

  “So if there are these demons, vampires, and werewolves out there, why don't we hear about them all the time?” Bill asked.

  “A fair question. What do you know about locusts, Mr. Tirhsred?”

  “Um, the car?” Bill responded.

  “I think he means the insects, not Lotus,” Ann said. “Don't they only show up every few years or something?”

  “Exactly, Ann. Demons are like locusts, with a slightly longer cycle. This room is clear. Let’s keep moving.” Mike was sad to leave the light behind.

  “How long is a cycle, Miller?” Mike asked, once again stepping into the darkness. Bill turned back on the flashlight.

  “Well, there seems to be a range. The last one started in 1793, I believe.”

  Ann whistled. “That kinda makes sense. Every few hundred years they show up, do some damage, make some famous fairy tales, and then die off somehow.”

  “Aye, you have it right, lass. Usually I'm the one that kills ‘em. Generally with help.”

  Now it was Bill’s turn to laugh. “You? That would mean you’re like, 300 years old or something.”

  “Oh, much, much older than that,” Miller responded.

  “How old are you?” Ann asked, apparently ready to believe the delusional man.

  “Let us just say I could almost give your ancient race of man a bit of competition.”

  “Are you even human then?” Bill asked.

  Miller stopped and turned to face them. For once his grin was replaced with a hurt look. “Of course I’m human! Just not…” he waved his hand around at the three of them as if he was having problems remembering the word. “Mortal.”

  “Hey! Over there!” Bill cut in, his voice shrill with panic. “Something moved!” He started to wave his flashlight around the room, trying to catch whatever it was with the beam. Suddenly, something collided with him. The flashlight in his hands spiraled down the hallway. “Help!” he screamed, as the thing lifted him into the air. Mike dove for the flashlight, but in the few seconds it took him to pick it up, Bill had already been carried halfway down the hall.

  “Damn!” Miller shouted, “I can’t get a good shot.” Mike trained the light down the hall, and was just able to make out the fleeing werewolf’s back. Miller squeezed off a shot and the werewolf stumbled but did not stop. Miller took a fe
w limping steps forward, giving chase. “Samson! Go slow him down! I cannot move that quickly!”

  Not thinking, Mike did exactly what he was told. He sped after the werewolf, trying to keep the fleeing creature in the flashlight’s beam. The beast was made easier to track by Bill, who was screaming his lungs out, sounding more like a teenage girl than a grown man, not that Mike blamed him.

  The werewolf cut left through a doorway. Mike followed it, entering a stairwell. It was pitch-black. Using the flashlight, he quickly found the beast just 10 stairs below. Apparently Miller’s shot had done some damage, as it seemed to be slowing down. Mike considered how to take the werewolf down while it still carried Bill. A shotgun was hardly a precise weapon. Mike could only think of one tactic that might work without killing Bill, and ‘might’ was the key word. He dove down the stairs three at a time. Then, closing the distance, Mike tucked his weapon and flashlight to against his chest and jumped. He connected with the wolf’s back in a flying tackle. Bill, Mike, and the beast tumbled down the rest of the stairs in a confusion of arms and legs. At the bottom of the stairs, next to the doorway to the hall, Mike freed himself from the tangle and grabbed Bill with one hand while attempting to aim his gun at the wolf with the other. Bill came partly free and Mike shifted his weight to get a better grip. Suddenly, a large furry hand wrapped around Mike’s chest and pulled him into the hall. The shotgun was knocked aside and Mike was slammed hard against a wall. Here, some sunlight snuck in from beneath one of the doors, and Mike could see without the aid of a flashlight. He stared directly into the black eyes of his neighbor, Ted.