Werewolf Zombie Romance

Only the Ancient Ones remember the days before the Dead Things started to rise. The old ones remember a time when the world was very different, before food became scarce, the skies went dark, and when the world was teeming with humans. The supposedly magically wonderful time before the dark times. To the young, these supposedly great times sound far-fetched and hard to believe, to say the least...

Everyone knows that, over a hundred cycles ago, the humans had a devastating war during which they unleashed terrible weapons. The devastation wrought by those deadly weapons was unlike anything the world had ever seen. Humans found themselves on the brink of extinction. Much of Earth's fauna and flora perished. The survivors found that they had a new enemy, the ravenous Undead, activated by the radiation...

As humans fled from the Undead, another species that has long existed alongside humanity came out of the shadows. They who are called Werewolves, Lycanthropes, Skin Walkers, and a hundred other names. Men and women who are born different, and straddle the fence between the animal world and the world of Man. This is the story of one of their tribes, the Howlers...

"So, before the Undead began to rise, humans thought our kind were myth?" Jayson asked his grandfather Mac Leroy, leader of the Howlers. The old one sat cross-legged near the fire, the firelight making hollows of his cheek bones as it bounced off his dark skin. Grandpa Mac had seen more than eighty cycles, a rather long time even by the Howlers standard...

"Yes, little one," Grandpa Mac said, and Jayson scowled briefly, for he didn't like to be called little one. Jayson was nineteen cycles old, and stood six feet two inches tall. Like his grandfather, Jayson had smooth chocolate skin, but unlike his grandfather, he kept his head and face clean-shaven. I'm grown and I've proven myself to the Pack, Jayson thought, a bit annoyed. There was tension in the air, and with good reason...

Tonight was the Elders Night, when Grandpa Mac would share his wisdom with the three strongest members of the Pack, and then presumably choose one of them to become the future leader. Jayson, who counted the Pack's First Daughter, his mother Eylisa, among his bloodline, knew that he was quite likely the next leader. After Jayson's father Roark passed on, his mother became the Pack's Alpha, and soon, his turn would come...

"Settle down," came a silken feminine voice, and Jayson looked at Dhara Patel, who sat nearby, warming her hands by brandishing her fingers dangerously close to the fire. Tall and curvy, with bronze skin, long curly dark hair and almond-shaped golden brown eyes, Dhara wore a shirt and pants made out of deer skin, and went about barefoot. Dhara's audacity was one of the many things Jayson admired about her...

"Make me," Jayson teased, and Dhara rolled her eyes, and ignored him. Grandpa Mac continued with his tale, and he told them of times when humans flew around the world in gigantic flying machines made out of metal. Apparently, in those days, seven billion human beings called planet Earth home, and they thought they ruled the world. Of course, that was before they turned their most terrible weapons on themselves. Such fools...

"How cute," came a deep, sardonic voice, and Jayson felt his hackles rise as he turned and looked at Brand. Tall and muscular, with alabaster skin, blue eyes and hair the color of wheat, Brand was imposing. He was one of the best hunters and trackers among the Howlers. Jayson intensely disliked Brand, especially given the way he looked at Dhara...

"Hey Brand," Dhara said, flashing the hunter a bright smile, and Brand winked at her. Once upon a time, Jayson, Dhara and Brand were best friends. They were age-mates, having been born at a particularly difficult time in the Howlers history. A time when food was scarce, and the People's numbers dwindled into insignificance in spite of their prowess...

"Brought you something," Brand said, and he pulled something out of his deerk-skin jacket, a squirming and rather plump squirrel. Dhara's eyes lit up when she saw what Brand had brought her, and Brand grinned, raking his tongue over his sharp fangs. Jayson watched as Brand handed Dhara the squirrel.

"Why thank you," Dhara said, and that's when she changed. Dhara's eyes turned bright yellow, and her teeth elongated into wicked-looking fangs. Fur sprouted all over Dhara's face, arms, and legs. The young woman brought the squirming squirrel to her face, and licked its tiny head. Extending her snout to its widest, Dhara then swallowed the squirrel whole.

"Keep the females happy and everything runs smoothly, little one, take notes," Brand chided Jayson as he elbowed the other man in the ribs. Jayson closed his eyes, hard. His blood was boiling. Grandpa Mac watched the whole thing, his expression unreadable. Without warning, Jayson pulled a blade out of his pocket, and held it against Brand's wrist.

"Be careful, Brand, this is pure silver, wouldn't want to cripple or kill you," Jayson said, and he smiled pleasantly at Brand, as though they were two friends having a nice little chat. Grandpa Mac scowled, and Dhara, who'd just swallowed the squirrel, glared at Jayson disapprovingly. Jayson's eyes never left Brand's, not until the burly hunter nodded sagely.

"Of course, my apologies," Brand quipped, and Jayson, quick as lightning, pulled the blade back into his pocket. Grandpa looked at Jayson disapprovingly, and so did Dhara. Brand, for his part, looked at Jayson in the same manner one looks at a serpent. Jayson had always been the dangerous one. Polite, friendly, gentle...and lethal when provoked. Brand had forgotten this more than once...

"Jayson, we do not use weapons of silver against our own," Grandpa Mac admonished his grandson, and Jayson nodded. He looked at his grandfather, and at Dhara, the young woman he'd been crushing on for ages. Jayson couldn't believe he'd lost control like that. Brand always teased him, and liked to show him up in front of Dhara. The one time Jayson got pissed and fought back...

"Jayson, if you think this impresses me, you've lost your damned mind," Dhara hissed, and her words cut through Jayson's soul like nothing else could. He looked at his grandfather, then at Dhara and finally at Brand. There was so much that Jayson wanted to say, but he knew in his heart that this battle was lost. It was like a foolish hunter chasing after the rabbit with a lead of several hours on its pursuer...

"Brand isn't my own, and never will be," Jayson said, and he abruptly got up, and stalked off into the night. Easily shifting from human to lupine form, Jayson ran through the desert. Sure-footed like all of his kind, the Wolf-Man raced through what was once called Colorado. Humans left this area ages ago, and the Dead followed suit. This realm belonged to the only creature fit to rule it, the Wolf-Men...

Jayson ran and ran, with the full moon at his back. From Grandpa Mac's tales, Jayson learned that humans once believed that the full moon caused people to become Werewolves. What a load of crock. The Wolf-Men had existed long before the first Caveman learned to make fire. They would continue to prowl the planet Earth long after humans went extinct...

"Fools," Jayson said as he collapsed on the cool floor of the arid plateau, after running for what seemed like hours. He shifted from lupine to human as he lay there, and felt the cold the moment his fur vanished. Sprawled on the cold hard ground, Jayson thought about his life, and the weird twists and turns that it had taken...

Jayson wanted to accomplish great things in his life. The Howlers, one of the largest band of Werewolves, had about forty members. Most Packs these days included a dozen members at the most. Jayson wanted to leave the Plateau and seek new territory. Of course, most Werewolves had no desire to fight the humans or the Undead, so they kept to the wilderness...

"Time for a change," Jayson told himself, and he was so absorbed by his musings that he didn't smell the threat until it was too late. The Undead thing came, and as was to be expected, it wasn't alone. A hundred thousand years worth of instinct caused Jayson to sit up, and he barely dodged the Undead thing that came for him...

"Shit," Jayson gasped, as the Zombie, a tall, thin, pale-skinned female, grasped for him. Two more Zombies flanked him, and the things would have slaughtered him for sure if he hadn't morphed out of desperation. The Wolf-Man roared defiantly and slashed at the female Zombie's neck with its claws, and swiftly decapitated her. Turning on the remaining Zombies, Jayson made short work of them as well...

Jayson stood over the Zombies still-moving remains. He grabbed a large rock and smashed their skulls, ending their seemingly endless life. Once he'd calmed down enough to resume human form, the young Wolf-Man pondered the importance of what he'd just experienced. Supposedly, the Plateau was free of the Undead. No one had seen any in years. What were these three doing here? Were they stragglers or what?

Jayson looked in the direction he'd just come, and his superhuman eyesight enabled him to make out a large mass of the Undead. They were converging on one position, the direction of a small fire. No, Jayson thought, and he raced toward his camp. Grandpa, Dhara, and even that asshole, Brand, he had to get to them before the horde of the Undead did...

No this can't be, Jayson thought, as he watched his family, surrounded by the Undead. There were too many Zombies, even for the ferocity and strength of a trio of Werewolves. The horde had to number in the hundreds. Jayson turned away, tears in his eyes, and fled, unable to do anything else. For a Wolf-Man, the most important thing is the survival of the Pack, and lacking a Pack, a Wolf-Man's sole loyalty is to himself...

Jayson wandered the Plateau for ages, unsure what to do. Grandpa Mac, Dhara and Brand were dead. The rest of the Howlers were nowhere to be found. Jayson hoped, no, prayed that they were alright. Left to his own devices, Jayson left the Plateau, and wandered beyond the boundaries of what was once Colorado, and ventured into the remains of the United States of America. He went into the Forbidden Zone, the realm of the Undead...and humans.

"Wake up," came an unfamiliar voice, and Jayson winced as he felt a hard boot against his ribs. He blinked, and looked up, and what he saw filled him with dread. Humans, three of them. A tall, blonde-haired female, a slender Asian female with short hair, and a tall, burly ginger-headed and bearded male. The three humans had their guns trained on Jayson, and they smelled of anger and fear...

"I'm unarmed, don't shoot," Jayson said, and he slowly rose to his feet, with his hands in the air. The three humans looked him up and down. They exchanged dubious looks, and Jayson could tell that they were trying to decide whether to shoot him or beat him down. After wandering the desert for days without food and water, Jayson had reached the limits of even his superhuman endurance...

"Larisa, should we kill him?" the tall, red-haired male asked the blonde woman, who smirked at Jayson. Evidently the blonde woman was in charge. Clad in a sleeveless gray T-shirt and dark cargo pants, with well-worn boots, she looked both strong and beautiful. If only she weren't human and evidently trigger-happy, Jayson mused. He sincerely hoped the humans didn't execute him. As a breed, humans were quite unpleasant...

"Nope, Quincy, not yet," said Larisa, and she locked eyes with Jayson before searching him. Jayson remained perfectly still as Larisa conducted her search. Not that he could have done much if he tried. Even a Werewolf's energy reseres are not inexhaustible, and since Jayson hadn't fed in days, he was much too weak to try anything. Please don't be some kind of cult or bottom feeding cannibals, Jayson thought, as he looked at the sky.

"Lana, does he look clean to you?" Larisa asked the shorter Asian woman, who nodded. Jayson carefully eyed his captors. Even tired and disoriented, severely weakened by hunger and thirst, his senses functioned better than anything human. The three humans appeared to be well-fed, and healthy. Larisa appeared to be the leader, with Quincy as her enforcer of sorts, and Lana's role was unknown as of yet...

"My name is Jayson, ma'am, and I mean you no harm," he said, instinctively addressing the apparent Alpha of this Pack. Human groups didn't function like Werewolf Packs, but there was always someone in charge. The two breeds weren't that different at the end of the day. A cruel smile stretched Larisa's attractive features, and she looked Jayson up and down.

"Hmm, this one is sweet-talking me," Larisa said, and Quincy laughed while Lana merely shook her head. Jayson looked at his captors. Nobody survives in this hellish universe where the ravenous Undead prowl the earth without becoming ruthless. When they proceeded to bind Jayson, he was not surprised. The trio of wayfarers were taking no chances...

As they led him to their camp, Jayson figured they'd have to feed him at some point, regardless of what they wanted with him. If they wanted him dead, they could have killed him on the spot. Larisa, Quincy and Lana had guns and knives. Those tools ought to do the trick. Nope, Jayson figured they wanted him alive for some purpose. Once his strength returned, he'd make his escape...

Jayson was taken to a modified Jeep, and driven a few kilometers to a camp in the woods, beyond the Plateau. Jayson, having never ridden in a wheeled machine before, found it quite interesting. Their prisoner's wide-eyed fascination with the car amused Larisa and Lana, but Quincy kept looking at Jayson the way a viper looks at a rat. Fortunately, the ride wasn't long. After a couple of hours, they arrived at a camp beneath a rocky outcropping...

"Welcome to the Marauders," Quincy said to Jayson, as he roughly shoved the younger man off the back of the Jeep, expecting him to fall. To everyone's surprise, Jayson managed to land on his feet, even with his arms tied behind his back. Larisa cocked an eyebrow while Lana whistled appreciatively. Quincy frowned and started toward Jayson, but Larisa shook her head.

"Thelma is going to want a look at Jayson here, nobody survives in the Desert, either the Zombies get you or the fur-balls," Larisa said, matter-of-factly, and Quincy relented. The tall blond dude shot Jayson a dirty look, but Jayson, accustomed to much stronger intimidation tactics from his supposedly deceased rival Bland, did not flinch. I'll get you soon enough, Jayson mused.

Jayson was walked into the camp at gunpoint by Larisa and company. The young man took a look around. Near as he could tell, the Marauders numbered over a hundred. They were men and women of all hues, black, brown, white, and every other shade of humanity. Jayson sniffed the air. None of these members of the great unwashed were more than human. He was alone out here...

"What do you think of our camp?" Larisa asked Jay, and when the young man didn't answer fast enough, she nudged him with her rifle. Jayson bristled at being touched in such a manner by a mere mortal, but kept his cool. In the Plateau, where Wolf-men and Wolf-women ruled, Larisa would have been less than nothing to him. The human woman had the advantage...for now.

"Impressive, lots of people, how do you feel them all and stay off of the Undead's radar?" Jayson asked, honestly puzzled by the size and scope of the settlement. Like the humans, the Werewolves had to adapt to a world where the Undead consume all non-flora on earth. Animals, people, and those in between, anything was fair game to the damn Zombies...

"That's our little secret," Larisa said, and she and Lana escorted Jayson to the center of the Marauders camp. Folks going about their business looked at the tall, dark-skinned young man, whose kinky hair had grown long since his people were wiped out by the Undead. A few of the Marauders were as dark, and even darker, than Jayson, so he knew his looks weren't the only reason for the stares.

"Larisa, my dear, what have you brought me?" came a female voice, and Jayson looked up and saw a tall, attractive dark-skinned woman of about forty. She wore a simple green shirt, cargo pants and boots. Her long, neatly braided hair hung beyond her shoulders. The woman, who'd been talking to a couple of her peers, rose from her majestic, throne-like seat and approached Larisa.

"Nothing but the best for you, Thelma," Larisa said, and she threw her arms around the other woman and kissed her on the lips. Jayson observed the two women's interactions, honestly puzzled. Among his kind, one could have male and female lovers, and it wasn't a big deal. The humans, natural prudes, apparently objected to such dealings, according to Grandpa Mac's stories. Still, that wasn't the only reason why Jayson stared. There was something about Thelma...

"Hello stranger," Thelma said to Jayson, looking him in the eyes, with her arms still around Larisa. Jayson felt an unpleasant frisson down his spine. If there is one thing a predator knows, and instantly recognizes, it's another predator. Thelma was not what she seemed, this much Jayson knew for certain. Jayson sniffed the air, and gawked awkwardly, honestly puzzled. Thelma didn't smell of wolf, nor did she smell of man. Nope, the lady was something else...

"I am Jayson, and my family was killed by the Undead," Jayson said, and Thelma looked at him, amused. The tall woman came near, and once more, Jayson smelled something both familiar and revolting. Thelma smelled of the dead, but she was talking, and behaving like a human being. Everyone knew that the Zombies were mindless brutes, incapable of intelligent thought. They were many, but they were also quite simple. If it weren't for their sheer numbers, the Zombies wouldn't be a real threat...

"We've all lost family to the Undead, young one," Thelma said, and she licked her lips, looking Jayson up and down. Jayson held Thelma's gaze, and it suddenly occured to him that there was something altogether unnatural about her. In a flash, Jayson got it. Thelma did not blink. Concentrating, Jayson found that he could hear Larisa's heart beat, steady and rhythmic, and those of Lana and Quincy. Hell, he could even hear the heartbeats of several humans that happened to be nearby. No such sound emanated from Thelma's chest...

"This one is pretty and healthy, he might amuse you," Larisa said, and Thelma smiled nastily. Jayson rolled his eyes. He had a fair idea what those amusements might entail. Much to his surprise, however, Thelma gently touched his shoulder, and although her hand felt cold to the touch, Jayson saw what seemed like genuine sympathy in her unblinking gaze.

"Hello Jayson, I am Thelma, and I run the Marauders, we have much to discuss," Thelma said, and she ordered Larisa to unchain him. Jayson was just as surprised as Larisa by Thelma's order. Shaking her head, Larisa undid Jayson's bindings. The young man flexed his sore hands, and nodded appreciatively at the Queen of the Marauders. This one is full of surprises, Jayson thought.

"Thank you ma'am," Jayson said, affording Thelma the same respect which he, a natural-born Werewolf, was genetically programmed to show to the Alpha of a Pack. Hierarchies of command are encoded in both wolves and Werewolves, a set of genetic programming which is responsible for the survival of the lupines as a race. Even in an age where the ravenous Undead walk the earth...

"Someone please bring food and water for our new friend Jayson," Thelma said, and as she clapped her hand, a portly woman came forward, offering Jayson a gourd of water, which he took. Jayson gulped down the entire gourd, for it was the first water he'd drunk in more than six days. A human would have died of thirst long before that, but Jayson wasn't human...