Full Wolf Moon

by Lincoln Child

  With a sigh, he closed the lid of his laptop. Lack of sleep made him feel almost stuporous—and it was now past three in the morning. Whatever the explanation might be, in Zephraim Blakeney, Logan had found someone consummately worthy of further study: an enigmalogist’s dream. And not just for the rare enigmalogist like himself. There were roughly forty thousand identified diseases currently in the world. It was, perversely perhaps, the dream of every medical practitioner, from clinician to biophysicist, to discover yet another. Perhaps he had done that. But that study, whatever form it might take, if any, would have to wait. Because there were other, darker forces at work: forces that had to be tackled first. Whatever Zephraim actually was—whether or not he was the werewolf of legend—there was something far more murderous on the loose. The moon was still full—and that meant he had a ticking clock.

  Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes, mentally trying to sort out all the pieces to this strange puzzle. The speculation of the residents of Pike Hollow. The concerns of his friend Jessup—first mere uncertainty; later, apparently, suspicion. The transformation of Zephraim, and the clan’s “moon-sickness”—something he’d witnessed with his own eyes. The final articles that Dr. Feverbridge had written, and the experiment he’d demonstrated to Logan in the secret lab. Somewhere, hidden among all these strands, was the thread that would lead to the answer….

  He was roused by a light rap on his door. He moved in his chair, blinked in surprise at the bright sunlight flooding his cabin. Glancing at his watch, he saw with disbelief that it was past one p.m. He had fallen asleep and slept straight through the morning, waking only as his lunch was being left outside his front door.

  His limbs ached from hours spent sleeping in a chair, but he could not wait. He ran into the bathroom, washed his face and hands, poured cold water over his head to sharpen his senses. Grabbing a comb, he ran it through his hair. And then, picking up his cell phone, car keys—and a flashlight—he ran out the front door and down the dirt path that led to the lot where his rented Jeep was parked.

  34

  It was nearly half past three when Logan pulled into the driveway of the converted fire station. He paused at the mouth of the driveway to make a brief call, then continued down to the parking area. As he got out of the Jeep, he saw Laura Feverbridge come out of the residence building and walk in the direction of the lab. When she saw him, she stopped and smiled.

  “Jeremy,” she said. “What a nice surprise.”

  “Nice to see you as well,” he said. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

  When he said this, her smile faded. “Yes. I heard about Jessup. What a terrible thing. I met him twice—he seemed like such a nice man.” She nodded ahead. “Come on, we can talk in the lab.”

  As they walked, Logan realized that something was different. Then he realized what it was: there was no barking of dogs, no eager frisking about their heels. He glanced in the direction of the dog run, saw that it was empty.

  “Where are Toshi and Mischa?” he asked.

  Laura’s look grew still more troubled. “They ran away.”

  “What? Both of them?”

  “As far as I can tell. You remember how agitated they were becoming—I had to lock them in the dog run at night. Then, two mornings ago, I let them out as usual, went to get their breakfasts…and when I returned they were gone. I spent half the morning combing the surrounding woods, calling and whistling. Nothing.”

  They stepped inside the lab and took a seat at one of the tables. “How’s your father?” Logan asked.

  “Busier than ever. It’s like I told you—he seems to have found a new life.”

  Logan glanced around at the lab tables; the scientific equipment; the animal cages. He sensed a false brightness coming from the naturalist’s daughter. “Did Pace go into town?”

  “No. He’s out searching for the dogs.”

  When Logan looked at her silently for a long moment, Laura lowered her eyes. “Actually, that’s not true. Kevin’s left us.”

  “When?”

  “Just yesterday afternoon. Packed up and took a taxi into Lake Placid, without a word of warning.”

  “Why, exactly?”

  “Why not?” Laura shrugged. “The isolation, Mark’s death, the dogs running away—but I think it was the killing of the ranger that was the final straw.” She glanced at him. “Was it…as bad as the others?”

  “Worse.”

  She shuddered. “Still no suspects?”

  “Well, there’s a paroled killer named Saul Woden the authorities were keeping their eyes on. However, he has a foolproof alibi for when Randall Jessup was killed. Now the suspicions of the state police have shifted to the Blakeney clan—and shifted strongly, I might add.”

  Laura shook her head. “Typical backwoods prejudice. Oh, I’ve no doubt the Blakeneys are an inbred, reclusive, perhaps illiterate family. So I’ve always heard, anyway. Such things aren’t their fault—it’s a product of the environment in which they’ve always lived. But naturally, I suppose it would make them a target of suspicion—especially for the ignorant.”

  There was a brief silence. “Laura,” Logan said at last in a gentle voice. “I’m sorry to have to say this. But the first time you and I spoke, you professed never to have heard of the Blakeneys.”

  Laura flushed red. She turned away.

  “Jeremy—” she began.

  “No,” he interrupted. “I think it would be easier if I did the talking.”

  After a moment, still turned away from him, she nodded.

  “I have a theory. Not all the pieces are there—not necessarily—but I think most of them are. You see, I read your father’s last two articles: the ones you said subjected him to even more severe ridicule from the scientific community than before. One speculated on ways the moon’s atmosphere could be responsible for the lunar effect: something your father demonstrated to me most convincingly. The other—the last and in some ways more pertinent paper—spoke of transformational biology—in effect, metamorphosis—and how animal DNA could perhaps precipitate the mutation of human DNA. I also know that your father visited the Blakeney clan—and in exchange for money, obtained DNA swabs and, in the case of Zephraim Blakeney, plasma. Zephraim Blakeney, who suffers from some genetic affliction that causes actual, if temporary, physical changes in the presence of strong moonlight: the light of the full moon.”

  Laura remained silent, facing away from Logan, as he spoke.

  “Your father was convinced—rightly so—about the veracity of his hypothesis on the moon’s atmosphere—specifically, the composition of lunar dust—precipitating the lunar effect on earth. But now, burning with rage at the way his work had been spurned and scorned—and perhaps witnessing Zephraim’s ‘moon-sickness’ with his own eyes, as I did just last night—I think your father revised the theories he put forward in his second paper. Instead of animal DNA influencing human DNA, human DNA—in particular, that of Zephraim Blakeney—could influence animal DNA.”

  He paused. Laura remained silent.

  “Your father is a skilled biochemist as well as a naturalist—you told me so yourself. That secret lab of yours is filled with equipment more suited to a medical or biology lab than it is that of a naturalist. It’s not much of a leap to assume that—using Zephraim’s DNA, in concert with the developments he’d already made on his own—your father synthesized a serum to cause just such a transformation. And since the serum was dependent on Zephraim’s condition, it would only manifest itself during the full moon. I would imagine that, human DNA being so different from that of small animals like the ones you keep in these labs, the serum would be incompatible with them—it would either have no effect, or it might kill. Your father could reproduce behavioral changes in shrews and mice, via artificial moonlight, but not morphological ones—a larger creature would be necessary for that. And that is why he ultimately tried the serum on his own two dogs.”

  Logan stood up and began pacing the lab. “It makes perfe
ct sense. That’s why the dogs were acting strangely when I saw them last, just after the full moon had passed its cycle. And that’s why they’re missing now—during the full moon. Right? For whatever reason—perhaps some artifact overlooked in the DNA resequencing—he added not only superior strength and abilities to those animals…but uncontrollable violence, as well. Violence not present in Zephraim or his kin. Is this the result of confronting nature, Laura—of trying to play God? In a desperate attempt to prove his theories, your father unwittingly created two monsters, monsters he couldn’t control without risking his life and yours…and they have now been unleashed upon the world. And killed four people.”

  Now, finally, Laura turned to face him. And the expression on her face stopped him in mid-stride.

  “You’re very clever, Jeremy,” she said in a quiet voice. “And you’re very good at what you do. It’s true, what you say—at least, most of it: the synthesis of the serum, the use of it on a control subject. In fact, you’re right about almost everything…except for one item, one very important item. The fact is, all this time you’ve been going down the right road, looking in the right direction—but all that same time, the final piece, the piece you’ve missed, has been staring you in the face. You just haven’t seen it yet.”

  Logan looked into the unreadable expression in Laura Feverbridge’s eyes. And then all at once—with a stunning, terrible moment of revelation—he understood.

  35

  “Your father,” Logan breathed. “He used it on himself.”

  “Who else?” Laura replied. “Do you think he would let any other living being but himself be the guinea pig? His daughter? His dogs?”

  Logan nodded slowly. In retrospect, it made perfect sense. Feverbridge had been a ticking clock. The academic slights and humiliations he’d suffered had caused him to attempt suicide—was using the experimental serum on himself such a leap? Hardly: he was clearly obsessed enough to do so. And if it had succeeded on a human—if he had been able to conclusively demonstrate physical changes caused by the full moon—his disgrace would have been turned to immediate success.

  But something had gone wrong—terribly wrong.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I hadn’t known he was going to do it until it was too late. He had already worked out how to employ certain metamorphosing qualities of caterpillars—using human analogues of imaginal discs would be necessary for the incredibly rapid cell division required for the transformation he wanted. Once he’d acquired the DNA of Zephraim Blakeney, who obviously demonstrated morphological changes under the influence of the full moon, he combined it with his research on imaginal discs. Then he resequenced this into a formula that could be administered to a human. Just as Zephraim returned to his normal self after moonfall, he assumed that he would, as well. But as a safeguard, he built a kind of ‘memory’ into the imaginal discs—a protein that would denature after a certain number of hours—to ensure that the transformation was temporary. He ran an exhaustive battery of tests and simulations. And then he—he injected himself with it.”

  She took another breath. “It was only then that he summoned me to watch his triumph. And his theory proved correct…only too correct. It was the second night of a full moon. And as we sat there—the others had gone to bed—he began to change. Except it was not what he’d expected. He anticipated minor morphological developments: skin discoloration, hair growth, various systemic changes. And sure enough, once the moonlight hit him, they began. But he hadn’t counted on the side effects.”

  “What were they?” Logan urged.

  “Difficult to describe. We’re still trying to reverse them, even now. As best we can tell, the metamorphosing ‘boost’ of the DNA resequencing made the effect far more pronounced in him than it was in Zephraim Blakeney. It was…it was frightening.” She looked up suddenly at Logan. “Can you believe that I, his daughter, could say such a thing? But it’s true, and there’s no other way to describe it: the transformation was fearful. And worst of all, the resequencing had—as you just speculated—made him susceptible to the lunar effect. It made him aggressive, even violent—like the shrews you saw in the demonstration a few weeks ago. He dashed out of the laboratory…and into the night.”

  She lapsed into silence. Logan glanced at his watch: four thirty. He waited for her to begin again.

  “He encountered the old backpacker I told you about. The man’s reaction to his appearance, the startled cries, enraged my father. He threw him off the cliff. Somehow, the sudden, unexpected violence of that response seemed to bring him around. He came back to the lab, told me what he’d done.”

  She was still looking directly at Logan. “So you see, my father did have to die—just not for the reason I told you. We had to hide him away, work someplace on our own until we could find a way to reverse the effects of his serum. Because the safeguard he’d introduced—the ‘memory’ of the imaginal discs—did not function as expected. The transformative ability remained active—and the next night, it happened again. This time, we locked him away in the building that would later become our secret lab. The next morning, I hiked out to the backpacker’s body. Just as I described to you, I swapped his possessions for my father’s. Then I installed my father in the lab, ordered the equipment we would need. I waited a day before reporting him missing. I almost hoped that Mark would discover the body on one of his hikes. But he didn’t—and so I went to the police.”

  She sighed. “And ever since, we’ve been looking for an antidote, so to speak—a way to reverse the process he initiated. We had some immediate success: we were able to roll back the influence of the lunar effect so that he no longer felt any violent tendencies. But the…physical transformations continue to occur with every full moon. My father works on the problem every day, in our outpost in the woods. And at night, I’ve gone to help, too—except on the nights of the full moon. On those nights, he always retreats to his private lab, the one behind the door in the far wall. He is too ashamed…he won’t let me look at him. I think he saw the horror in my face the first times he changed—and it’s too painful for him to see that again.”

  “So he locks himself in his private lab,” Logan said. “A lab within a lab, which you can never enter.”

  “Yes. It has only a single window, covered with tar paper. It doesn’t compensate for the effects of the full moon—not completely—but it helps. I…I never go near the lab on those nights. I stay away, let him keep his dignity.”

  “And you’re sure he remains in that private lab as long as the full moon is out?”

  “Of course. He can’t bear for anyone to see him when he’s in that—that state. Besides, we can’t take the chance he might encounter that vicious beast out roaming the forest.”

  “You mean the rogue bear,” Logan said. “Or rogue wolf.”

  All at once, she caught the insinuation. “Oh, you’re wrong—you’re wrong! He hates what’s happened to him, what he’s done to himself—all he wants to do is lock himself away until it passes. Besides, I told you, we managed to cancel out the violent manifestations, such as they were—and in any case they were never anything, anything like what happened to those four poor men. It was a sudden spasm of anger, never to be repeated and always to be regretted.”

  She lapsed into silence. It was several minutes before Logan spoke again.

  “Laura…” he began. “I don’t know what to say. This is all so shocking. What you’ve described happening to your father is…remarkable. Also unfortunate, to say the least—in that it did not work as planned. And I appreciate the fact you’ve been working day and night to try to reverse it. But it was bad enough when you substituted your father’s identity for that lone hiker’s. This is far worse. You’re hiding—harboring—a killer.”

  “He didn’t mean to do it, Jeremy…” Laura said, almost pleading. “He wasn’t himself, it was a terrible mistake. The father I know would never want to hurt anybody. Don’t you see that?�
�

  “Yes, I do see that. But it doesn’t change what he did. When the authorities learn of the circumstances, they’ll—”

  “They’ll put him in a lab and examine him. Like a zoo animal. Or a freak. And that will be the death of him…or maybe, worse than death.”

  “No. I won’t let that happen—I promise. But he has to be taken to a facility where he can be helped.”

  She merely hung her head, saying nothing.

  “Laura—let me talk to him.”

  At this, she looked up. “No! Moonrise is too near. He’ll have locked himself in his private lab by now.”

  “Then I’ll talk to him through the door.”

  “You can’t, he won’t—”

  “Laura, please. You’ve worked on the problem for six months now, without success. This is the best chance that I—that we—have to help him.”

  She sat motionless for several minutes. And then—without looking at him—she rose and led the way out of the primary lab and into the woods.

  36

  As they approached the lab, hidden deep in the woods, the sun was close to setting behind the horizon. A few stray clouds hung in the sky.

  The building was dark, apparently deserted. Laura stepped up to the door, hesitated. Logan took hold of her shoulder, gave it a brief squeeze. After a moment, she turned the knob and opened the door.

  No lights were on inside, and Laura snapped on the bank of switches. The lab was as Logan remembered it, with its microscopes and DNA sequencer, a host of other equipment and instrumentation, the animal cages—and the door in the far wall, which was currently closed.

  Moving slowly, hesitatingly, Laura approached that door. “Father?” she said after a moment in a voice both anxious and hopeful.

  There was no response from the far side.

  “Father, please answer.”

  Now Logan heard a stirring beyond the door. “Laura, we had an agreement. You must leave me alone on the nights of the full moon. You know I can’t bear for you to see me like this.”