The Sword of Saint Michael

Skunk replied, “and we always thought—“
“I know the date,” she snapped. “August twenty-sixth.” We knew it was possible it would snow at 12,000 feet up in the Colorado mountains. “But you’re trying to change the subject; that can’t be what you’re afraid of.”
“Who says I’m afraid?” Skunk did a terrible job of sounding nonchalant.
She looked at his fearful but otherwise inscrutable skunk face. “You do want what’s best for me, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Always.”
She sighed. “Then there’s no point in trying to get it out of you. Will I find out soon?”
Skunk looked relieved that he didn’t need to keep lying. “All too soon.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I’ve said too much already. As long as you don’t abort your vigil before it’s time, 1:06 p.m. when the sun is at its zenith tomorrow, then you’ll be fine. Until then, you’ll have to watch the snow accumulate.”
“Not a moment sooner?”
“Well, you can leave the cabin sooner, but seeing any human will jeopardize your—“
“Like the other day on the trail.”
“Yes, I tried to steer you away, but that particular time, seeing a human wasn’t enough to break the spell. Talking with a human will though. So, to be safe, you should leave after 1:06 tomorrow.”
“You know, Skunk, it really creeps me out that you can influence me on the material plane. But, oh—” She took in a deep breath and sighed it out on the material plane. “I can’t wait for this to end. A month in isolation is far too long.”
“If you want to become a shaman, the month-long vigil in isolation is required as your final test.”
She was annoyed at the reminder, but also that no one alive would know to call her a shaman after this was all over. She knew shamans were traditionally medicine men for so-called primitive tribes, but in this modern world, in the early twenty-first century in the USA, there were very few who believed in shamanism. Of those few, most were Neo-Pagan, but as a Catholic, that was not the right path for her.
Instead, she must wait for a proper calling, her grandfather had said, and she would know it when she saw it. She felt deep in her bones that he was right about this.
Despite her vigil, she was not alone. She spent much of her time in meditation, traveling on the astral plane, and communing with various spirits. But today had been different in that she had found no one to communicate with.
“Okay, it’s time to go back, I’m hungry,” Jocelyn said. “I will see you later.”
Skunk jumped onto her shoulder and dug in his claws. It didn’t hurt. He rubbed up on her cheek. “Goodbye.”
Without speaking, she counted herself up from one to thirteen to go up from a deep meditative state to a light meditative state. She wiggled her fingers and toes and counted from one to twelve to get back to reality.

Day Zero
The eyes locked on Alexander did not seem to be that of an unbalanced woman—more like those of a fierce, hungry, wild animal.
He made the sign of the cross, turned, and fled for his life. Everyone inside and outside the restaurant had deserted, except for one man in a gray suit, talking on a cell phone. His eyes were wide with shock, so he must have seen some of what happened.
“Run!” Alexander exclaimed to the gray-suit man.
Instinctively, Alexander ran toward the nearest chairlift.
Halfway there, he turned his head to see if he was being followed. Not only was the homicidal woman following him—blood all over her face and apron—but she was gaining on him.
What he had not expected to see, however, was the woman’s first victim apparently alive, upright and biting the neck of gray-suit man.
How could this all be happening? Is this all a nightmare? Will Teri wake me up any second now?
But it was too real to be a nightmare.
A victim coming back to life after being killed? What are these? Vampires? Zombies? In fact, this whole thing reminded him of zombies from TV, except that these people ran very, very fast. It was impossible. And yet it was happening.
Alexander found an inner strength he didn’t know he had and picked up his pace. His calves screamed and his lungs were on fire. He was sore and exhausted. It had been stupid to walk up the mountain instead of taking the damn ski lift, and although only two thousand feet in elevation from the valley floor, it was still a tough hike. A self-proclaimed nerd, he wasn’t in the best of shape. Well, at least he had made it to the top. That was something.
This time he didn’t look back as he headed for the chairlift terminal. When Alexander arrived, one man on the ground was bleeding profusely from a head wound. What looked to be his family surrounded him, unsure of what to do. There were no “zombies” in the area, only the family and people in chairs traveling down the mountain, many of them looking back in disbelief. Five people crammed into a chair meant to only fit three. One of them rubbed his fist.
“Get on! She’s coming!” exclaimed Alexander. The man with the head wound stood up, but there would not be enough time before the insane woman got to them. Meanwhile, empty chairs were entering and leaving the terminal. Though distraught for the family, Alexander knew he could do nothing for them. In fact, he figured she would most likely catch him if he waited for the next chair, so he ran and leaped off the chairlift platform, grabbing onto the underbar of an empty chair. If he fell, he’d probably at best break his leg, and she’d get him for sure. If not right away, then after attacking the family. Knowing it was unrealistic to hang onto the bar for the entire trip down the mountain—a good five to ten minutes—he pulled himself up and grabbed the back of the chair with his right hand. The chair wobbled so much that he