The Kielder Experiment (Book 2): The Alaska Strain

by Fernfield, Rebecca

  Pulling the key from the lock, Rachel takes a step away from the box. “So ... an institute. And how do you know about it?”

  “I don’t.”

  “But you just said that the box was for the institute.”

  “I was wrong.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Rachel’s frown deepens and she watches his face closely. “So ... do you know what’s in the box?”

  “No.”

  “But you seemed pretty sure that whatever is inside is dangerous.” She gestures to the stick in his hand. “And you were going to batter it, if it got out.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Not at liberty! What the hell is going on here?”

  “I’m not at liber-”

  “That was a rhetorical question!” Her eyes bore into his through the torchlight. “So, the institute ... are shipping some rare animal out here. It’s for animal testing. Is that it?”

  Peter bites his tongue. He can’t tell her what he suspects, for one thing, he could be wrong, and any information would lead to more questions, and he can’t let her know about Kielder, or admit to being part of a programme that officially doesn’t exist.

  “I don’t know.”

  Rachel persists. “Is the animal in there dangerous then?”

  Peter doesn’t respond, but Rachel continues. “It must be dangerous, because you almost shit yourself when you heard the noise coming from the box.”

  Thud!

  Peter quivers. “Lock the box! It could be a bear, or even a wolf! You’ve heard the howls. Perhaps you’re right about the lodge importing animals for hunting.”

  Thud!

  “Lock the box!” He grabs for the key.

  She jumps, jerking the key from his reach, her leg brushing against the edge of the box.

  Thud!

  The box rocks.

  “Rachel!”

  He takes a step back as the lid begins to lift. “Get back!”

  Thud!

  As Rachel twists to the noise, the key held aloft, the lid lifts again, and from the dark interior a pair of red eyes shine.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A sudden blow from behind, and Rachel is pushed aside as Peter throws himself onto the lid. It slams back into place with a thud.

  “Lock it! Lock it! Lock it!” he screams as thuds pound.

  Peter’s body rises along with the lid. A foul stench wafts from the gap as Rachel scrambles on her knees and, using her own weight to force the lid into place, she pushes the key into the first lock.

  “Lock the other side!”

  She scrambles around, stones and pebbles spray, as she hauls herself to the other side of the box. The lid lifts. Fingers, clawed, and covered in coarse, dark hair, slide over the edge. She slams her weight against the lid. The thing inside screeches and the fingers pull back.

  “More weight here, Peter!” she says as she pushes the key into place. As Peter shifts his weight, the key slides into its hole, and the lid is locked down.

  With hand trembling, Rachel moves around the box, securing each lock. Thudding is mingled with the creature’s angry growls and then a scratching, tearing noise.

  “It’s trying to break out!”

  Grasping her arm, Peter yanks her away from the box. “We’ve got to get away!”

  Despite her fear, Rachel stares at the box, transfixed by the angry growls.

  “Oh, my God! That was terrifying. Did you see its eyes? They looked so red in the firelight, but I was right, Peter.”

  “What!”

  “It’s a wolf, or maybe a bear. I saw its claws, and its fur is brown.” She takes a step back, heart still pounding. “The lodge ...” she takes a moment to catch her breath. “I was right! The lodge must be importing bears for their hunters. They bragged about the bear population exploding and being able to get a record number of hunting permits, but it’s all a lie!” Her smile broadens. “This will make a fantastic story! And ... oh, my God!”

  “What?”

  “I’ll bet this is why Chris is dead!”

  “But I thought he drowned at sea?”

  “They never found the body! And I bet the creature on the beach was a hoax to try and scare him away.” It suddenly all makes sense. “Yes! The lodge are importing animals illegally. Chris discovered it—he even mentioned that they were all ‘in on it’ in his video.”

  “Video?”

  “Yes! I’ve lost my phone so I can’t show you, but he sent me a video. He was on this beach, but he got spooked by a creepy looking woman. God, she was ugly. Covered in hair. She even had fangs. I just knew that Chris didn’t have the acting skills to fake it!”

  “What happened? On the beach?”

  “Well, he set up camp,” she gestures to the tent. Peter nods, encouraging her to continue. “And he was making videos about his time here, you know, Daring Dan the Adventurer, Celebrity in the Wild, that kind of thing. He was desperate to get his career back on track – that’s what his agent told me. Anyway, he sent me a video. It was shaky, like some sort of found footage deal, and, at first, I just thought he was doing his usual attention seeking thing, but when he disappeared, and then was reported as missing at sea, I watched the video carefully. He was terrified, that much was obvious, genuinely terrified, at least at first. Something was stalking him, watching him from behind the trees. He videoed it running. You could see a flash of fuchsia—that was what was really weird—the fuchsia; no animal wears a fuchsia shirt, but it was so fast. He lost track of it and then caught up with it again on the beach.”

  “And? What did it look like?”

  “It was ridiculous, really. It had this torn pink shirt, just the neck and one shoulder were still intact, but the rest of it was naked. It ... you could tell it was a female ... if you know what I mean, but it was hairy all over and I think it had fangs. Whoever did the prosthetics was brilliant, but then the camerawork wasn’t great and the image was kind of fuzzy, but it was enough to scare the shit out of Chris. He legged it to his boat, and sent the video to me once he was at sea, and that’s the last he was heard of.”

  “Did you show the video to the police?”

  The question seems odd to Rachel, perhaps an accusation. “No, it was too late by then. The US Coast Guard had already called off the search. I showed it to my editor, but he didn’t believe it was real.”

  “But you did?”

  “Yes!”

  “And you thought you’d come and investigate it yourself.”

  “Well ... yes.”

  “And get a great story out of it too.” Peter’s voice is flat, his words a statement.

  It is an accusation. “Well ... listen, there was nothing I could do. The search had been called off, but I thought there was more to the story than just a D-list celebrity trying to claw his way back into popularity, and ... and it would make a great story—it will make a great story. I just have to find out who is behind it all. The woman was a hoax. I bet if we make it to the lodge, then we’ll find the costume. It will be proof that Chris’ death wasn’t just an accident.”

  “It sounds like it was, even if he had been spooked back onto his boat. The weather around here is treacherous.”

  She nods. “Perhaps, but there’s something else going on.” She gestures to the box. “Obviously.” The thudding has quieted, and the clawing stopped. “I think the bear has given up. Maybe it’s weak and gone back to sleep.”

  Peter offers a noncommittal, ‘maybe’. The fear that had been etched into his face only moments ago, now smoothing away. “But you’re right; it must be a bear.”

  Rachel turns back to the box. “It must only be a young one though, that box isn’t big enough for a big one.”

  Peter only nods and makes noises of agreement then mumbles, “We should set up a watch if we can’t leave here tonight. I’ll go first.”

  ***

  Stars sit bright in the sky as Max returns to the cave. Across his shoulder is a deer, the throb of its heart slow, missing beat
s, stopping. He drops it to the ground outside the dark entrance. The scent of her is strong, she has been in this very spot, perhaps scuffling back as he approached. He slices a talon down the deer’s belly. The mist of rising heat twists into the cold night air, the stench of its offal sticky and delicious. He grasps its liver, and bites down, the organ still attached to the body. The noise of her shuffling comes from inside the cave. He swallows the liver, a smile pulling back over his fangs. He reaches for the heart. It gives a final throb as it leaves the safety of the cavity. Taking the first bite, he listens to her move towards the cave’s entrance, then swallows the rest. She growls. He ignores it, and takes a kidney, holding it in his hand, the steam rising from glistening membranes. The woman grunts, growls, and shuffles forward, her figure outlined at the entrance to the cave. She takes another step closer. He growls, snarling at her with bared teeth. She disappears back into the cave, and he finishes the kidneys. Squatting next to the eviscerated carcass, he sits on his haunches, a pain that erupts from his chest building from the deepest hollows of his body, and raises his face to the moon. Laura ... Laura ... Laura ... The name scorched into his mind, burns at his soul. He howls, filling the air with a sorrowful wail. “Lauuuuraaaaa ... Lauuuuraaaa.”

  The female is at the entrance again, and he pushes past, allowing her to leave as he curls on the bed of ferns. She scurries out, crouches over the carcass, and leans in to devour the innards, turning to stare at him with fearful eyes.

  He will claim her later.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Despite the gnawing cold, and his best efforts to stay alert, sleep had claimed Peter in the darkest part of the night. There had been no repeat of the thudding from the box, and even the howls that had stirred dark memories, and made his flesh creep, hadn’t recurred.

  He wakes to Rachel’s gentle snores and the sound of waves whishing on the inlet’s stony beach. Coat done up, feet thrust into unlaced boots, he unzips the tent with a slow hand, and peers outside. The last stars of night are still visible in the sky, but dawn has brought a thin grey light. The trees that curve around the inlet sit as a dense wall, dark and pregnant with foreboding. The fire lit last night is stone cold though untouched by the rising tide. The box remains silent; ominous with its promise of horror. Peter swallows, then emerges from the tent, determined to overcome his fear, light the fire, boil water for tea, and have a plan of action for their escape ready before Rachel awakes. His heart beats a rapid tattoo as he stands in the light, a sharp breeze nipping at his cheeks.

  Almost certain that the strange woman on the beach that had tracked Chris Miller wasn’t a hoax, he realises that their safest route to the lodge will be by sea, but without a boat, or even a raft, survival in the icy water will be impossible. He glances to the forest of pine trees, they tower and spread, undulating over the hills for as far as he can see. If there is something in there, something from Kielder, then trying to cross, without any means of self-defence, and even with a means of self-defence, would be a suicide mission. He decides that the best course of action, at least for today, is to wait for a rescue party. He takes small branches from the pile they had gathered yesterday, and prepares the fire as he muses. The institute would be missing them by now, and even if Marta isn’t concerned about the missing plane, or its passengers, she will most likely be very concerned about the missing cargo. The beep Rachel had heard is likely a tracking device, like the ones they had attempted to tag the creatures with at Kielder, so it won’t be long before a search party, complete with tranquilizers or whatever other methods they now have for dealing with their subjects, will arrive.

  ***

  Max wakes to the noise of birds and the gentle thud of Katarina’s heartbeat as she lays curled with her back against his belly. Hot breath rises as a mist, and the cave is filled with their scent; he can taste the sticky particles of her sex; it rises from the dark, warm place between her legs. He pushes his nose into her neck and inhales then bites down on her shoulder, sinking long incisors into the soft flesh. She yelps, her body stiffening. He maintains his hold, her blood trickling into his mouth, and holds her as she bucks. Withdrawing his fangs, she scrambles to her feet. The remains of her white cotton blouse, bloomed with red stains, and flapping against her torso, stretches over newly filled muscles. She crouches at the cave entrance. He sits on his haunches and waits, the scent of her from their mating last night still clinging to him. A deep ache rides through his belly as he waits. She tears at the remains of her shirt. A fine covering of dark hair swirls over her shoulders, down her sides, running as a V to her navel and then spreading across her thighs. As she crouches, the smell of her genitalia rides on the air. She is ripe. Ready. Playing the game.

  Eyeing him with blood-red eyes, she moves across the cave to where he stands. Claws sink into her shoulders as she crouches, lips parting. Her breath is warm, her tongue wet and rough as it slides down his blood-stiffened length. Tongue flicking, probing, she licks, takes his flesh into her mouth; the pressure of biting teeth, skin-piercing incisors ... delicious. He growls his pleasure, running clawed hands through her hair, digging sharp tips into her scalp. With skeins of hair around his fingers, he pulls her to the bed of ferns, the need to take her primal. He parts her legs. The scent of her dark place is sweet. He inhales. Lowers to the lips. Takes her fully in his mouth. She writhes beneath him, growling her ecstasy, as his tongue darts, pushes, flicks. Incisors sink into soft flesh. He licks at the blood. The need to take her savage. He flips her over, pulling her buttocks to him, and thrusts, sinking deep inside her heat. Wet and hot, it clamps around him, sucking, milking, pulling with each powerful thrust. Howling as the orgasm rides him, he empties his seed deep inside her dark place.

  The seed rides as a swarm to find its prey.

  The sun rises above the dark outline of the forest as Max stands at the entrance to the cave with his woman, Katarina, crouched at his side, and digs fingers through her hair as he looks out over the forest. To his left he can see the shoreline with its curving inlets, and to his right a plume of smoke coming from a clearing. Particles of scent that are not her, tickle his nose. His belly growls and a new need rises; the need to sink his teeth into hot and steaming innards. A flash of blue beyond the trees catches his attention. His fingers curl tighter around Katarina’s hair, and she yowls, crouching closer to his body, rising to follow his hand. He growls, pulls her to follow him, then sprints into the forest, darting between trees, jumping over worming roots, and clambering down steep slopes with ease. Katarina, slower, follows his lead, snapping and yelping her excitement.

  On the wind, above the scent of pine and rotting leaves, and deer and bear, is a scent that makes his mouth water; a screamer, the ones that run and scream and taste so, so fucking delicious. He jumps across a slip of running water, jumping high above its flow, grasping an overhanging branch, and jumping to the other side, landing with a thud. Behind him, Katarina tumbles to a stop, yowling as she lies beside the water. He yaps, growls, leaps back, hauls her over his shoulder, and jumps the running stream, throwing her down with force, and a growl, then turns back to the forest and runs to their scent.

  The Red One, the man from the sea, follows.

  ***

  Peter’s bowels turn watery as the thing in the box mewls again.

  “What the heck was that?” Rachel’s head appears from the tent, and then she forces her body through the gap, stumbling out onto the stony beach.

  “That,” Peter says making no effort to keep the fear from his voice as he points.

  “The box?”

  “Yes.”

  The mewl is followed by a muffled, weak howl that peters out to a scratching whine.

  “Do bears howl?”

  Peter turns to Rachel with an incredulous frown. You’re that dumb? “No, they don’t. They growl.”

  “Then ... it’s not a bear in there.”

  “I think we can be sure of that.”

  She stares at the box as though waiting for it to spea
k. The thing inside mewls again.

  “It sounds a bit like a dog, so I guess it’s a wolf.”

  From the distance a howl rides on the wind.

  Peter’s sphincter contracts. “Oh, Jesus!”

  “So, the lodge is importing wolves?”

  “I think we should consider getting into the water ...”

  “I bet they don’t have a permit for that!”

  The howl repeats, another creature responds.

  “Rachel, we need to leave—now!”

  Half way up the hillside a flock of birds eject from the trees, flapping into the sky as though catapulted.

  “Well, we can go across the hill, but it’s a hell of a way to walk.”

  At the periphery of his awareness is the growling hum of something mechanical.

  “We have to get in the water!”

  The metal box rocks.

  “We’ll freeze to death!”

  The thudding resumes along with the unbearable scratching of nails against metal.

  “I think it’s trying to get out. Perhaps the pack is coming to find it?”

  With a sudden moment of clarity, Peter realises that the irritating buzz he can hear is the noise of an outboard engine. As he swivels to the direction of the sea, a boat comes into view.

  “Thank God!”

  The boat, a dark-grey dinghy with an orange stripe along the side, steers towards the beach. Rachel runs to the water’s edge, waving her arms. “We’re here! We’re here!”

  As a growl erupts from the box Peter follows, standing at her shoulder as she waves her arm. On board there appear to be three men. Each is dressed in black, their outlines blocky. As the boat moves closer, it becomes obvious that the men aren’t from the Coast Guard, or the lodge. Rachel jumps up and down beckoning for them, guiding them to where she stands.

  The boat mounts the beach, and two men jump ashore as the other kills the engine. All of them are armed, and Peter recognises the uniform of Titan Blane’s security guards.