The Hybrid Series | Book 1 | Hybrid

by Stead, Nick

  She was slowing now and I was almost upon her. With one mighty leap I knocked her to the ground and ripped into the flesh on her back, blood splattering across my face and pooling at my feet.

  I stripped the bones bare, then rolled her over, wishing she’d stop screaming. The shrill sound hurt my sensitive ears.

  She didn’t fight back, instead covering her head as she continued to cry and struggle to suck in air, still in need of oxygen after the chase. Even once I’d eaten all the organs needed to cry with, still she gave voice to that terrible unending noise. Finally I reached her face.

  Her hands were still in the way, so I bit them off next. More blood sprayed across us both as I chewed my way through the limbs, until the arms were all but gone. Only bloody stumps remained, waving uselessly at the sides of her head. I went to rip off her face, but shock brought me to a stop.

  It was pale and covered in blood and dirt, but there was no mistaking those features, even with the eyes wide and full of a horror they’d never expressed before, and the jaws stretched as far apart as they would go, still sounding that unearthly scream. Retching, I backed away, no longer a wolf but human, body tainted with her fluids and mouth dry and foul with the mixture of vomit and more blood. We were both screaming then, and I couldn’t bear to look at her mutilated body any longer. The mutilated body of my sister.

  I awoke sounding my own scream and drenched in cold sweat, my bed soaked with it. The covers had me trapped and I fought to free myself, thrashing around in the soggy linen until Mum came rushing in.

  It took a while before she could calm me; how long I don’t know. I only know that the terrible images refused to go away, the haunting cry still echoing in my head and the taste of blood somehow still in my mouth. Mum climbed up to the top bunk and rocked me in her arms like she had when I was young, and the screams died in my throat. I closed my eyes against the shadows and forced my mind to think of other things.

  I never used to have nightmares before I’d been bitten. It seemed the lupine part of my mind was affecting me even in my sleep, determined to interfere with my dreams as well. It served as a reminder of the transformation I was undergoing, not only physical but mental too. I shivered with the remnants of the nightmare. Nothing would ever be the same again. I would never be the same again.

  Mum waited until she was sure I was firmly back in reality before returning to her bed. But I couldn’t face sleep after that. The nightmare was lurking on the edge of my subconscious and I didn’t want to go back there. No matter how tired I had been the day before, or how tired I would be at school, I couldn’t go back there.

  I lay staring at the ceiling, feeling alone and afraid, no longer human yet desperate to remain in their world. There was no one I could talk to, except for maybe Lady Sarah, but I’d only met her once and I didn’t trust her enough to confide in her too deeply. Besides, she didn’t seem like the right person. From what she’d told me, if it was true, she’d been a vampire for centuries. Would she remember what it was like to be human? She might not understand. She might even tell me something like I wasn’t human anymore and I had to let my humanity go. But I still felt human, even though deep down I knew then I was something else. And to think, I had wished for this through most of my childhood. Still, it was only a dream. It didn’t mean anything. I still believed I hadn’t taken another person’s life yet and I certainly had no intention to. I told myself it was only a dream.

  My nightmares fled with the break of dawn and my fears were forgotten as I got ready for school. Two nights without sleep had left me feeling drained, empty. My brain was too tired to work properly, but I’d bullied it into thinking long enough for me to decide to go and visit Lady Sarah again. I might not feel able to talk to her about the nightmares, but there were other things I wanted to know. For one thing, she hadn’t really told me much about the Slayers. I needed to learn more of what I was up against in case I ever came across them. From what she’d said, they’d already been hunting me in wolf form, even if I couldn’t remember it myself. I only hoped they didn’t know who I was, for my family’s sake, as well as my own.

  The hunger wasn’t as bad as it had been the morning before and I went without breakfast, unwilling to go to school early a second day running. Dad had already left for a work meeting so there was no need to rush off to avoid him. Most of the time he worked from home, but occasionally he had to go to other parts of the country. I wasn’t sure exactly what his current role was in the insurance company – something to do with training people I think – but I knew he used to be a salesman and would often spend nights away from home. God I missed those days.

  While Mum and Amy spent ages straightening and brushing their hair and fuck knows what else, I sprawled out on the sofa and relaxed. My eyelids started to droop and I no longer had the strength to fight. I was falling back into that dark place in my mind where I could feel the wolf, its dreams becoming my nightmares. Yet no matter how I tried to crawl out and up towards the light, the need to sleep kept pulling me back down. Struggling against that pull proved impossible.

  Fear threatened to take a hold of me once more. The nightmare was beginning anew and I was helpless in its grasp. But before it could take me to the same horrors as the last one, Mum’s hand was on my shoulder and I was waking with a start.

  “Come on, love, time for school.”

  For once I was glad. At least in lessons I wouldn’t be allowed to sleep. There’d be someone there to keep me awake and I wouldn’t have to face the terrors again that day.

  We were running late, partly because of my nap and partly because Mum hadn’t been able to decide what to wear for work. It was raining outside so she decided to go up in the car and give me a lift. Amy had already walked up with her friends.

  Moments later we arrived and I headed straight for Form, only to find it was deserted. In my zombie-like state I’d forgotten it was Wednesday, which meant our year had assembly. Groaning, I doubled back and stumbled into the hall.

  Chairs were arranged in rows with a gap running down the middle. Each Form sat together, taking up two and a half rows each, their teachers on the end with watchful eyes. One of the Deputy Headteachers or the Head of Year usually took the assembly, and that day it was led by our Head of Year, Mrs Redgewell.

  “Morning, everyone,” she began. “I’d like to take this opportunity to welcome you all back after the summer, as we enter the most crucial year of your time with us here.”

  She proceeded to remind us of a few school rules and we were given a message about the amount of litter round school. I don’t remember all the details, bored and not really paying attention as I was.

  “Now, let us pray.”

  Praying seemed pretty pointless, and even if there was a God listening, I doubted he wanted to hear from me. I was pretty sure the undead weren’t his creation. But I put my hands together and bowed my head anyway, intoning the words of the Lord’s Prayer as we’d been taught.

  With that, the assembly was over. I had French again first period, followed by Science. And like Miss Dubois, Mrs Brewins was new to the school and had no idea how to control a class. Except instead of flicking light switches, she stood there at the front with her finger over her lips. When she finally decided we weren’t going to get any quieter, she started the lesson, shouting above us all to be heard. But even if we’d been listening we wouldn’t have learnt anything. Mum told me she used to be a farmer and I couldn’t help but feel she should have stuck with farming. Her explanations on the innermost workings of a living organism left a lot to be desired.

  After that we had Geography, and then the lesson I had been dreading – English.

  Miss Aughtie had been my English teacher for three years running, and to my teenage self it was torture. She certainly knew how to control the class. None but the most foolhardy dared to talk in her lessons, and even then not for long. Every school has a teacher who’s hated and feared, and for us it was Miss Aughtie.

  Geography came to
an end all too quickly and the bell sounded like a death knell. With a heavy heart, I walked down the corridor and into her room, aware of her watching me as I walked to my desk.

  I couldn’t help feeling I’d rather face the nightmares again than spend fifty minutes in a room with her. Those piercing brown eyes were always hard and cold at the best of times, but the look she was giving me seemed especially hateful that day, though I had no idea what I’d done to deserve it.

  She had long mousy coloured hair and her face appeared forever twisted in a grotesque expression of contempt for everyone around her, both students and colleagues. The revealing black top she had on did nothing to help the overall image of a living gargoyle. That was one cleavage I didn’t need to see.

  I sat with Ava. There was a strange scent in the room, one I’d been aware of the year before, but it was stronger as a werewolf. It’s something I could never really describe, though Ava once said it smelt like sweaty socks, stale water and wet dog all mixed together. I’d learnt to block it out as a human, but to my newly enhanced senses it remained strong and unpleasant throughout the lesson. Breathing through my mouth was only marginally better.

  The curtains were drawn, the room made all the more uninviting as a result. It felt especially dim after the brightness of the corridor outside, yet my sight remained sharper than ever, and I wondered if my night vision had also improved. I could clearly see Aughtie’s eyes were still on me as the rest of the class filed in, but I kept my head down and tried not to draw attention to myself. It must be the grudge she bore after I’d dared complain to Mrs Redgewell that she was giving us too much homework, I decided. That had been in Year Nine. Only she could carry such petty hate across two school years.

  “Books out,” she said, once the last of my classmates had sat down, closing the door and sealing us in. “I want to see you all reading while I take the register.”

  I was quite happy to read more of the horror story I was currently engrossed in and pulled my book out without complaint. Ava seemed similarly content with her science fiction novel.

  The register went too quick. Aughtie marked the last of us down, and looked up to find someone reading a kid’s book.

  “Jason, what do you think you’re doing? My nine year old nephew reads more challenging books than that!”

  “Oh, here we go,” I muttered. Ava heard and placed a hand over her mouth, suppressing a snigger. I couldn’t help myself though. Aughtie liked nothing better than to tell us how advanced her nephew was for his age, and how he put us all to shame. You had to feel for the kid. I was sure he was being made to study Shakespeare already.

  “Sorry, miss,” Jason mumbled.

  “If I see you reading that low level rubbish again you’ll be staying behind in detention, and the same goes for the rest of you! I expect my top set GCSE class to be testing themselves in their choice of literature, not picking out easy to read nonsense which has no place in our school. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, miss,” we all droned. But something inside me rebelled and I amused myself with the thought of bringing in a picture book for the next lesson.

  “And what is so funny, Mr Stead?”

  My smile vanished. “Nothing, miss.”

  “I should think so. This is no laughing matter. You have your whole lives ahead of you and your futures start here, in this classroom, at the beginning of your most important educational year to date. English is vital to everything you do and I will not have my students failing so long as it is within my power to do something about it.”

  I struggled not to roll my eyes. Trust her to make her job sound so grand and noble.

  “Now, you can put your reading books away – we won’t be needing them again this lesson. There’s lots to get through and I expect you all to keep up.”

  With that, she launched into an overview of the poems we’d be studying for the first term, along with the essays to be submitted as part of our coursework. The workload was piling up before we’d even begun. Most teachers would use the first couple of lessons as a gentle start to the year, but Aughtie had us all writing down notes as if the summer holidays had never been.

  Ten minutes in and we were disturbed by three Year Seven girls wandering the corridor outside. That did nothing for Aughtie’s temper. She threw open the door and stormed out.

  “What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you in class?”

  “Sorry, miss, we got lost.”

  “That’s no excuse to be wandering around while lessons are going on. Why didn’t you ask someone for directions? Planners, now!”

  One of the girls began to cry at the strictness and lack of understanding, and above all else the unfairness of the unreasonable woman confronting them. Tears were commonplace amongst the younger students.

  “The Science corridor is back the way you came and to the left, now get out of my sight!”

  The door slammed as the first years practically ran from the room, still sniffling, and the lesson resumed.

  Our collective mood was decidedly sullen after that, but none dared speak out in defence of the girls. Aughtie was a tyrant, and I would have loved to be the one to liberate us from her reign of terror. But my attempt to stand up to her injustice had only made matters worse. Short of letting my wolf side loose, it looked like we were stuck hating her in miserable silence for another year. At least it would be the last.

  The air felt to be growing warmer. My eyelids were drooping again, so heavy I could barely lift them. I tried to fight it but it was no good. My eyelids dropped and locked into place, and I was back inside that dark place where the nightmares lurked.

  The ground rushed by beneath my paws, a dark blur of fallen leaves and dry soil. I was panting with the effort, my breath steaming out before me. A thread of drool dangled from my lower jaw and fell amidst a knot of roots, an explosive vibration for the invertebrates lurking within. My prey was just ahead and I was closing the distance between us with every bound. She was beginning to tire – I could hear her heart pounding against her chest and her lungs gasping for air. The chase wouldn’t last much longer.

  A fallen log barred my path. I leapt over it with ease and sprinted on, almost skidding as she veered to the left, my claws digging into the dirt and making deep grooves as I sought to keep my balance. Fast and agile as I was, wolves are not built for sharp turns.

  She was slowing now and I was almost upon her. I quickened my pace, readying myself to pounce.

  A gunshot came from somewhere behind. The sound rang in my ears and the acrid smell of the gunpowder filled my nostrils, unpleasant and unnatural. I turned round to find a masked hunter aiming a rifle at me, and before I could react they squeezed the trigger and a sharp pain in my chest told me they had found their mark. With a yelp, I turned and ran. There was no sign of my quarry having ever been there, but that didn’t matter now.

  The hunter pursued. They gave off no scent to give any clues about their identity, but that didn’t matter either. All that mattered was the hunt. And now I was the prey and the only thing that mattered was my survival.

  I ran flat out, easily putting distance between myself and the hunter. No more bullets came my way, my speed probably preventing them from getting another clear shot, and they were obviously smart enough not to waste their ammunition. They weren’t giving up though. I could hear their heavy footfalls struggling to catch up, and failing badly.

  Blood flowed freely from my bullet wound, soaking my fur, and I began to slow, growing weaker by the minute. Fear had my heart pounding, but that only helped the blood drain quicker. The world was starting to spin and my paws no longer wanted to take my weight. I collapsed.

  Somewhere behind me, the hunter also came to a stop, raising the rifle a third time. I lay in the dirt, blood pooling beneath me, my breaths short and laboured. I was suddenly a mortal wolf, with no way of saving myself from the death that surely awaited. And the hunter knew it.

  Cautious, they drew closer, perhaps to gloat in their victory or
perhaps because it would be easier to kill me with a single point blank shot. When I didn’t show any signs of getting back up, they quickened their pace, confident now. Their excitement was palpable as they began to squeeze that final shot, and I was powerless. I looked into the cold and merciless eyes and knew that I was going to die.

  The hunter removed her mask and shock and confusion clouded my brain. For I knew that face well. It was Aughtie.

  I awoke with a start to find Aughtie standing over me. The nightmare still had a hold and I yelped and shrank back, covering my head with my hands as though it would protect me from her bullets.

  Laughter filled the room and Aughtie erupted.

  “Silence!” she screamed. The laughter died immediately.

  I flinched as though I’d been shot for real and writhed beneath her hate-filled gaze.

  “Never have I seen such insolence before in my lessons. Do you think this is a game, Mr Stead?”

  Something in my brain clicked into place and I started coming back to reality. My hands lowered and I risked eye contact.

  “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  I opened my mouth to speak but no words wanted to come out.

  “Don’t just sit there! Do you think the rules don’t apply to you?” She continued to glare at me, but when it became clear I wasn’t going to answer she strode back to her desk and opened her drawer, breathing heavily. “Well if you’re expecting special treatment you are sorely mistaken. It didn’t work in Year Nine and it won’t work now, no matter how many times you go crying to Mrs Redgewell.”

  A few of my classmates sniggered. Aughtie allowed it for a moment before turning the full force of her gaze on the rest of the room. Silence was restored.

  “I can see you aren’t taking your studies seriously,” she continued. “Perhaps detention will help put things into perspective. Bring me your planner.”