The Kielder Experiment (Book 2): The Alaska Strain

by Fernfield, Rebecca

  As she looks out to the water, imagining Chris bobbing along on his boat, buffeted by an angry sea, she hears the hum of a heavy engine coming to a stop and then a door slamming shut. Peering through the glass in an effort to see who it is, she only manages to catch the glimpse of a black-booted male as he disappears beneath the veranda’s roof. The glass in her window shudders as the doors below slam shut and then the deep tones of men’s voices rises up from below. She recognises the bluff tones of George, the lodge’s owner.

  The voices are still muffled as she stands on the landing, and as she makes her way down the stairs, listening intently whilst making an effort to seem natural, the office door opens.

  “I was assured that the work being carried out was safe!”

  “It is. Just keep the girl inside.”

  ”I’ve got four guests out hunting today. What am I supposed to do about them?”

  “We have a team already out and the Director is organising retrieval. If we come across the guests, we’ll advise them to report any sightings, and come back to the lodge.”

  George steps into the lobby, following the black-booted man.

  “But-” George stops mid-flow and glances upwards, the man follows his gaze, catching sight of Rachel with a frown. Too late to hide, Rachel takes another step down the stairs as though she hasn’t stopped to listen to their conversation, and makes an effort to smile. It appears as a grimace. George’s frown is quickly smoothed as the friendly lodge owner persona resurfaces.

  Since arriving, Rachel has realised that the ‘George’ mentioned in Chris’ video is most likely the same ‘George’ who owns the lodge and she is determined to find out exactly why Chris had called him a ‘liar’ and just who he was in cahoots with. Taking the last step down the stairs, Rachel pushes for more evidence. “Is there a problem?”

  The uniformed man steps back through the doors and disappears down the steps at a run. Stepping past George, she watches as he jumps into a waiting truck. Each seat is taken in the vehicle and the barrels of automatic rifles are clearly visible.

  “Was he from the institute?” she asks swivelling to George.

  “Institute?”

  “The one on the island.”

  “There is no institute on this island.”

  “There is!”

  Their gaze locks.

  “I own this island, miss, I’d know if there was an institute on it.”

  “But I heard the man-”

  “A group of hunters. They lost their dog. It’s not friendly so they’ve advised anyone out in the forest not to go near it.”

  “Oh, but he mentioned a ‘director’.”

  “It’s just what they call the head honcho. He organises their trip every year.”

  “Oh.”

  “Can I get you anything miss? You’re a little late for breakfast, but Carmel will be more than happy to supply some fresh pancakes. I think we’ve still got some wild berry compote left. She made it herself.” The conversation about the dog is forgotten as he describes in detail how Carmel had picked the berries herself and made them into a delicious compote. “And there’s not even much sugar in them. I tell you, Miss Bonds, my Carmel is a wonder. Such a kind soul, and hard-working too.”

  Rachel had nodded freely, softening a little towards George; he obviously doted on his much younger wife. She desperately wants to ask about Chris, but bites back the words and instead asks if she can have a cup of coffee, and perhaps a round of toast, if it isn’t too much trouble. George replies with “No trouble at all” and calls for his wife. Rachel steps to the door.

  “No!”

  Startled, she pulls her hand back as though burnt. “But I just want to get some air.”

  “You can’t go outside.”

  “What?” Rachel peers through the glass. The sky is a bright blue, without threat of any storms. “Is there a storm coming, or something?”

  George’s frown is quickly covered by a smile. “No, it’s just that we’ve had a few problems with bears this morning.”

  “Bears?”

  “Yes, ma’am. There’s a big old brown bear and her cubs out in the woods just behind us, and this morning they were roaming around the property. Those she-bears can be dangerous when they’ve got cubs with them.”

  “Cubs! Oh, I’d like to see those.” She tries again to reach for the door.

  George strides forward, closing the door as it pulls open. “Can I ask you to stay inside please, ma’am? I’ll let you know when it’s safe to go outside.”

  “But-” Rachel pulls again at the door. George holds firm, then locks the door and takes the key. “I can’t let you go out, ma’am. It’s just too dangerous.”

  Realising that she won’t be able to get out of the lodge through the front door, and determined to dig a little deeper into George’s activities, she relents. George sighs with relief as she takes a step back but his smile evaporates when she asks, “So, the wolves, when did you start bringing them back onto the island?”

  His frown deepens and a red flush begins to creep from his collar. She watches his eye movements, they flicker to the left as he opens his mouth, a sure sign he is about to lie. “Wolves? There ain’t no wolves on Volkolak.”

  “No? But I thought I heard them—up in the forest.”

  “That’s just the dog that feller was talking about.”

  “Oh, but I thought I heard more than one.”

  Maintaining his composure though she can see that he is struggling, he replies, “There ain’t no wolves on Volkolak! See that pelt up there,” he points to the mangey grey pelt hanging above the door. “That there is the female wolf that tried to kill my son. After that, I made sure every damn wolf on this island was put to rest. There ain’t no wolves on Volkolak! And if there are, they won’t be alive for long.”

  The man’s detestation of wolves is clear, and Rachel drops her questioning. If there were wolves on Volkolak, which now seemed unlikely, then George had nothing to do with it. Perhaps he was telling the truth, and it was just a dog that was making the racket.

  A flush has risen to George’s face, and he suddenly deflates as though popped. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to shout; it’s just that when that she-wolf got my boy ...”

  “I understand. I’m sorry that I brought it back to your memory.”

  “That’s okay, miss. I’ve been thinking on it a while these past days.”

  “Oh?” she waits for him to continue, but after a moment of staring at her, his mouth slightly open, he snaps it shut, and reaches for the mobile on the desk. In the next moment, a boat lands at speed on the beach, saving him from the embarrassment of ending their conversation with an excuse.

  On the beach, the boat’s driver jumps ashore, then runs towards the lodge, obviously in a state of excitement. George pushes past Rachel, unlocking, then throwing open the doors.

  “Michel!” he calls to the running man. “What is it?”

  “A body!”

  “A body?”

  He clambers up the steps. “Yes, a body. I dragged it out of the water about an hour ago. I’ve called the Coast Guard.”

  “Where? Where’s the body?”

  “In the boat.” He gestures back down the beach with his thumb.

  “You brought it back here?”

  “Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do? Ain’t no one else for miles around.”

  “Sure, but ... hell! Let me see.”

  George runs down the steps, his heavy weight making the old boards bow, and despite his warning to stay inside, Rachel follows. The crisp Alaskan wind bites at her neck, and she shivers, wraps the fleece a little tighter, pulling the sleeves over her hands, and runs to keep pace with George.

  “I told you to stay inside.”

  She ignores him, and continues to the boat. “Who is it?”

  “How would I know?”

  The younger man jogs beside her, grabbing her arm to slow her as they draw near the boat. “It’s not a pretty sight, ma’a
m.”

  “I can stomach it,” she replies. “I want to see who it is. It might be-” her words are lost as a pair of dulled blue eyes stare from the bottom of the boat. Without colour, the man’s dead-white skin is a sharp contrast to his dark hair and beard. “Jean-Luc!” she whispers, then louder, “It’s the man with the wolf ... from the aeroplane. He’s French.”

  “Aye, and he’s dead too. And what’s this about a wolf?”

  “He had a box. There was something alive in it. It howled, so I know it’s a wolf. That’s how I know you’re importing illegal wolves onto the island, which is why I know that the hunters who went up to Eagle Point this morning weren’t hunting bear.”

  She shrivels at the look of contempt on George’s face. “That’s a lie!”

  She grows bold, watching each nuance of reaction. “Well, then, it was meant for the Institute.”

  He pauses, his contempt deepening, and replies with a stony, “There ain’t no institute on Volkolak. Christ, woman! We’ve been over this.”

  “There is.”

  “There ain’t.”

  “Yes ... there is!”

  “I’ve called the Coast Guard,” Michel butts in. “They’ve confirmed they’ll retrieve the body.”

  With terse irritation, George says, “Cover him over; he can stay here until they arrive.”

  “Sure, but-”

  George waves a dismissive hand then strides back up the beach, throws open the lodge’s doors, and disappears.

  Rachel turns her attention to Jean-Luc laying in the bottom of the boat. “I’ve never seen a dead body before. He kind of doesn’t look dead, apart from his eyes, if you look at them you can tell,” she rambles.

  “It’s the water—it’s so cold it keeps them looking fresh, unless the fish start taking a bite.”

  As Rachel scans Jean-Luc’s corpse with fascination, Michel drags a tarpaulin from the one of the other boats. He unfolds it with Rachel’s help, and they both place it over Jean-Luc’s body “That’ll keep the sun off him, and the flies.”

  “What about the bears?”

  Michel’s eyes lock to hers, hold them for a second longer than necessary, and then he replies, “Bears too, at least until the Coast Guard get here.”

  The body covered over, and walking back to the lodge with Michel, Rachel experiences a frisson of attraction she hasn’t felt since she’d first laid eyes on her second to last boyfriend Alistair Lawton. They’d met at a friend’s birthday party held at the local rugby team’s clubhouse. He’d been chatting with a group of large men; all rugby players they had the strong shoulders, wide backs, and muscular thighs that really got Rachel going. Alistair had been the tallest, and her knees had trembled as their eyes met across the bar and he’d held her gaze before holding up his pint in a silent ‘cheers’. They’d bumped into each other an hour later outside the toilets, struck up a conversation, and she’d taken him home. They’d made passionate love until the early hours and then every night for the next month, spent whole weekends together, only leaving the bedroom to shower or eat, until he’d grown bored, stopped answering her texts, and then married a slimmer, blonder, younger woman six months later. Looking across at Michel now, he has the same broad shoulders, slim waist and strong thighs that Alistair had, but with the added advantage of having all his own teeth. She hovers as they stand in the entrance.

  “Do you fancy a coffee?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Crouched on the crest of the rock, Katarina squatting beside him, Max waits. The disembowelled body of the man killed earlier in the day lies close to the cave’s entrance, its entrails intact; a first feed for the woman placed by its side. Max watches in fascination as she jerks, her body changing with each spasm. Further from their den, still slumped in the clearing where he had found him with his arms around the woman, is the second man. Reeking of disease, Max had silenced his screams with a single swipe that tore out his throat, and left his poisoned blood to sink into the earth.

  The older man was for tearing, and biting, and swallowing. Max had torn out his stomach, throwing it into the ferns, then clawed hands had reaching deep inside, the blubber a thick white edge along the tear. Organs encased in fat, he had eaten his liver first, then the kidneys, leaving the heart for Katarina, growling a warning as she reached for the intestines, snapping his jaws to make her obey.

  At the cave’s entrance, the second female jerks, her muscles in spasms as the poison from his bite seeps into every cell, metamorphosing, tearing at muscles, breaking fibres, renewing cells. Muscles grow, and cartilage stretches, morphing into the image of himself. Fangs elongate; sharp incisors that will rip and tear. Legs strengthen, calves bulk, thighs of carved alabaster become shaded with hair, the mound of her sex bulges, the damson bud disappearing beneath curling hair. He jumps from the rock as she quiets, her transformation complete, and waits for her to wake when he will claim her.

  Katarina follows, curling an arm around his thigh, stroking the soft place between his legs. The stink of her pussy rises to his nostrils, sweet and ripe, and so, so fucking delicious. He snickers. Fuck ... pussy ... fuck. Fire already lit between his legs, he sinks long talons into her hair, forces her to her knees, and takes her, thrusting deep inside her heat, his groin slamming hard against her buttocks, biting long incisors into her shoulder as he ejaculates, locking her against his hips. She howls her pleasure.

  The second female wakes. She scrambles to the cave’s entrance, her legs unsteady, then crawls inside.

  Max follows.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Fire crackling in the hearth, the heat pushes back the odour of mildew and fusty fabric that pervades the lodge, and Rachel sits across from Michel, glass of wine in hand, holding herself in a position she hopes hides her overly generous midriff. She and Michel have hit it off, and Michel is smiling too as he takes a sip of his beer. George eyes them from behind the bar as he shines a glass for what could be the fourth time.

  “He’s watching us,” Rachel says in hushed tones.

  Michel glances over at George.

  “Don’t look, he’ll know we’re talking about him then!”

  “George loves to gossip,” Michel smiles from behind his glass. “He’ll be going back into the kitchen to tell Carmel all about it.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  Michel raises a brow. “Then why don’t we give them something to talk about?” His tone is conspiratorial, his smile broad.

  “Such as?”

  “Well, this for a start.” He leans over until she can smell the wine on his breath, and places warm lips on hers. She makes a small gasp at his touch as tingles shoot between her legs. He sits back in his seat, understanding the effect his kiss has had. George holds the glass mid-air, his mouth ajar. Rachel giggles. “Won’t you get into trouble?”

  “It’s the end of the season. I’m leaving here tomorrow. What can he do? If he wants me to come back, then ...”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yep. This is just my summer job. I go back to Kodiak during the winter and teach kids to swim.”

  Rachel bites back her disappointment. She has only known Michel for a few hours, but there is a familiarity and ease with which they can spend time together. “Well, that sounds great.” Dumb! They sit in silence for a moment, Rachel enjoying the heat and warm glow emanating from the log burner before her mind settles on the reason she has travelled to the island, and she takes a chance to dig for information. “I came here to find out what happened to my friend, but so far nothing.”

  “Chris? The guy who drowned?”

  “Yes! Did you know him?”

  “Sure, he was here for a few days before he went camping on the other side of the island. I gave him a few pointers on survival, you know, how to set up camp and get a fire going. He’d watched a few tutorials, but if you’ve never been camping before, watching a few YouTube tutorials just won’t cut it.”

  “Do you think he drowned then?”

  “I gue
ss so. What else?”

  “Well, something happened to him on the beach. He sent me a video, he was being stalked by ... something ... some strangely deformed ... well, it looked like a woman, but she was so covered in hair and had enormous teeth.”

  “Sounds like George’s ex-wife!” Michel laughs. George picks up on the mention of his name and throws a slitted glance to the pair.

  “He heard you!” Rachel whispers with a laugh.

  “Okay, I’ll be quiet. So, you think this hairy woman attacked him?”

  “No, but he was scared, and he said ...” she checks over to George who now has his back turned to them and then disappears into the kitchen, “he said in his video that George was a liar and they were all in on it.”

  “In on what?”

  “I don’t know. I thought perhaps he was smuggling in some rare animals, or wolves.”

  Michel swallows.

  “What? What is it?”

  He leans forward, all humour gone, his eyes sharing a truth. “Well, since you mentioned wolves, I have heard howling in the forest ...”

  “Really?”

  His eyes widen, and he nods an affirmative.

  “So, you think there are wolves here? George said there wasn’t, but I knew it! I knew there-”

  Michel bursts out laughing. “Of course there are no wolves. There’s just a pack of dogs that’s gone wild. We had a couple of dogs go missing a few years ago, some pedigree Labradors a couple of hunters brought to the lodge. No one ever found them, and now this howling’s started, I think they’ve got their own pack of little pups and grand-pups out there.”

  “That’s not what George-”

  “Listen, Rachey babe, there aren’t any wolves on this island. George hates them, if there were, he’d have killed them all already, and hung up their pelts to prove it.”

  Disappointed that he hadn’t agreed with her about the wolves, but even more disappointed that he will be leaving tomorrow, she strokes his knee, eyeing him from behind her glass as she takes another sip of wine. He returns her touch by stroking her thigh then refills her glass. After another hour of talking beside the log burner, Rachel is a third of the way through her second bottle when Michel takes her hand and leads her upstairs to the bedroom.