The Kielder Experiment (Book 2): The Alaska Strain

by Fernfield, Rebecca

  Heart hammering, she is unaware that the angry grunts and thrashing of the huge males has stopped. She powers forward, jumping roots and broken branches, sliding down steep embankments, desperately searching through the trees for sight of the stream. Her ears are full of rasping breath, the pulsing of her blood, and her feet pounding against the forest floor, and she is oblivious to the yelp then loud cackle that rises to a crescendo and ends in a howl. Sweat trickles down her back and beads at her forehead.

  Ahead is the stump of an overturned tree, its roots overhanging the pathway. She thinks she recognises it as the one they passed on the way up. Somewhere along here, Michel had said there was a birdwatcher’s hide, and that half a mile east was a lake. Dismissing the hide as a safe place, she continues her descent, expecting a clawed hand to grasp her at any second.

  Branches crack behind her and, turning to look, she lands with a thud as her foot catches on a thick tangle of roots worming across the forest floor. Pine needles and grit slough into her mouth, splitting her lip, and the putrid stench of faeces fills her nostrils. Paralysed as the noise of thudding feet approaches, she is unable to scream as steel fingers lock around her ankles and pull. Twigs, bark, and last year’s hardened pine needles scratch her belly as her jumper rides up, and she is pulled into the undergrowth. A hand slaps across her face and the light disappears.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Thudding feet pass by, but the hand remains clamped around her mouth. Pinned to the floor, Rachel’s eyes adjust, and she realises that the darkness is a rough cloth through which she can see light. The hand across her mouth feels gritty, but devoid of hairs. As the thudding feet disappear, the cloth is pulled from her face and is replaced by a pair of green eyes peering out from mud and mascara-caked lashes. A black-rimmed fingernail presses against lips also smeared with mud in a plea for Rachel to remain silent. She nods and the woman slowly removes her hand though her finger remains at her closed lips. Opening her mouth to speak, the woman shakes her head. She has so many questions, but she gets it; she has to be quiet. Slowly pulling her to sit, the woman motions for her to be still, then reaches into the pocket of her hunting jacket, pulling out a handful of mud. She smears the mud over Rachel’s hands, neck, hair, and then clothes, dipping her hand back into the pocket and returning with more mud. As the minutes pass and the sound of the creature’s yelps, cackles and howls grows more distant, the woman motions for Rachel to follow.

  They creep through the woods, treading slowly between the trees until they reach the stream Rachel had been so desperate to find. Instead of following it down the hill, the woman leads Rachel across it and to the watcher’s hide. The entrance to the rectangle of slatted, weather-blackened wood is hidden behind a zig-zag of shrubs. With a slow hand, the woman reaches for the handle, opens the door, and pushes Rachel inside. The interior is dark, lit only by what light seeps in through the closed shutters, but she is instantly aware of the man in the corner. She stops at the door, grasping the frame.

  “Go in!” the woman whispers.

  “Come in!” the man says in a familiar - Wolverhampton! - accent. “And close the door.”

  With a shove from the woman, Rachel steps further into the hide, staring into the corner. An oblong shutter opens, the shadows retreat, and light illuminates the man’s face.

  “Chris!”

  “Shh!”

  “Indeed!” he replies in a whisper.

  “Sorry! Oh ... my ... God! Chris!”

  “Rachel?”

  “Yes!”

  “Bloody hell! What are you doing here?”

  “Come to find you!”

  The woman closes the door.

  “What is that smell?”

  “She landed in bear shit!”

  “Jeez! That is ripe.”

  “Chris ... how ... when ... what ...”

  “Where?” Chris laughs. “Slow down, Rachel. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Gentle pressure presses down on Rachel’s shoulder. “It’s alright Rachel, just calm down.”

  A sob is quickly silenced as the woman pulls Rachel to her chest in a motherly gesture. Taller than the petite, mud-covered blonde, Rachel has the uncomfortable sense of being an overgrown schoolchild, ungainly next to their smaller, more attractive, mother; it’s a feeling she’s familiar with. A gentle pat on her back brings on Rachel’s tears. “Shh, there, there now. There now,” the woman croons. “It’s alright. Everything is alright.” The gentle and giving kindness is not something Rachel is familiar with.

  Minutes pass as Rachel gathers her senses, and her mind settles into cohesive thinking. Chris stands motionless, so unlike his on-screen persona, as he watches across the lake. He and the woman move with quiet steps around the hide and even their breathing seems gentle. The woman is the Sam who sent the text begging for help, the only surviving member of the hunting party. She had watched as her husband had been torn apart by a monster, and the woman he was groping, grabbed and taken into the woods. Chris had said ‘karma’ after Sam had described seeing her husband practically eating her best friend’s face and sliding his hands down her panties. Rachel had nodded, one ear listening to the noises beyond the hide. “And the other man, Caleb?”

  “I didn’t see him being killed-”

  “But you know he’s dead?”

  Sam nods, and tears well in her eyes as her face screws up with the painful memory. “I was crouching in the undergrowth when the creature came past me. If I’d put my hand out then I would have touched him.”

  “How come he didn’t know you were there?”

  “An old trick ... I covered myself with mud, it’s like a camouflage. There was bear shit too, I think that helped. Anyway, the creature was dragging poor Caleb behind him.”

  “Was he dead?”

  She nods, rolling lips beneath her teeth, holding back the tears. “Yep! I got a look right into his belly as he passed.” She stops a moment. “All his clothes were ripped and there was just this big hole. I could see his ribs, and right back to his spine.”

  “Nasty!”

  “I know, right!”

  “That’s what they did to the bear. They attacked Joshua ... but he’s one of them now.”

  “Joshua?”

  For the next twenty minutes Rachel explains exactly what had happened, how the plane had crashed, and the bear had eaten Jean-Luc’s corpse. The bear had been killed by what they thought was another bear only it wasn’t, and there were bloody human footprints into the wood.

  “So ... they ... the wolfmen were at the lodge?”

  Rachel shudders. “Yes. I knew I’d seen something that looked human run back into the forest, but Michel convinced me that I hadn’t. And do you know, at each turn of my investigation, he put me on the wrong track.”

  “Investigation?”

  “Rachel’s an investigative journalist for the paper back home. I sent her the video of the woman on the beach.”

  Turning to Chris, Sam asks, “How did you survive? It’s a miracle.”

  “Indeed!” Chris points back to the lake. At its centre is a small island, and on that another hide. On the shore is a rowing boat. “They don’t like water, Rachel. And I’ll tell you how I know ... On the beach, before I left, the woman crept as close as she dare to the water, but she wouldn’t get too close. When my boat capsized, I made it back to the island, but she was still tracking me. I made it back to shore and the stream that cuts through the hillside saved my life. I was terrified Rachel! As I made my way up the hillside, she tracked me on the other side of the stream, and I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t cross. And then I realised; she had stayed away from the water on the beach, and now wouldn’t cross the stream even though it was narrow enough for her to jump! It was a revelation; she was terrified of water, and that saved my life. And then I was lucky. I found the lake, and the boat moored to one of the fishing pegs, and rowed out to the island.”

  “And then you
met me,” Sam nudges his shoulder.

  “Yep, and then I met you,” Chris returns the warmth of her smile.

  “Then why are you in the woods now, and not on the island? It’s not safe!”

  “Indeed, it is not! But we’ve got to get off the island. We can’t stay here forever.”

  Outside a howl splits the air and is joined my another, and then more, until the hill is alive with wailing.

  Sam and Chris exchange a look of understanding. “There are more now!”

  “Indeed, there are!”

  “Joshua’s one! The big one attacked him, and dragged him into the woods.”

  “Did you see the others die?”

  Rachel thinks for a moment. “No, I only saw them being bitten, but the attacks were so savage that I thought they must have been killed.”

  “You were right then, Sam. Their bite is contagious. They are werewolves!”

  “I said they were!” Rachel blurts. “I said that exact word, but the others just looked at me as though I was a lunatic!”

  “Shh! Try to keep your voice down.”

  “Sorry!”

  “How many do you think there are?”

  “There’s the woman in the pink shirt. A huge male and we think two females. How many US Coast Guards were there?”

  “Five, one woman and four men, plus Michel, the bush pilot from the lodge.”

  “And you know that Joshua has been infected, so there are perhaps nine now?”

  “And there’s one at the institute. It was in a box on the plane when we crashed. It washed up on shore and they took it away, with Peter.”

  “Is that what those buildings are?”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “Yes, it’s close to the beach on the other side of the island; a cluster of buildings that look a lot like containers that have been slotted together. They’re clad in wood so kind of camouflaged.”

  “Michel lied! He said he’d seen the entire island by air, and that there weren’t any other buildings on it. It must be where they’ve taken Peter, and the box.” She shakes her head. “Damned lying snake!”

  Sam distracts her with, “And you think one of the creature’s was in it?”

  “Yes, I’m sure now. At first, I thought it was a wolf. Then the soldier told me it was a dog, but it stank like they do, and it had those ... those godawful red eyes.”

  “The eyes are horrific.”

  “Yeah, it’s like they’re full of congealed blood.”

  “Much as I’d like to sit here and chat with you guys about just how gross the creatures are, we need to make plans to get back to the lodge. Chris and I have discussed this, and we believe the best plan is to follow the stream back down to the lodge. We’ll only be safe once we’re at sea. If memory serves, there are two boats on the beach-”

  “Three.”

  “Okay, three.”

  “One’s got Jean-Luc’s remains in it, and another has no engine.”

  “If Jean-Luc was bitten, do you think he’ll become one of them?”

  “A zombie werewolf?”

  “Well ...”

  “Stuff like that is just for books and films.”

  “Sure, but there’s werewolves on the island—they’re real.”

  “He was already dead, Chris. I really don’t think he’ll rise.”

  “Just a thought.”

  Sam raises her brow and gives him a nudge with her shoulder. “I do love his sense of humour! Now, back to business. We launch the boat with the engine.”

  “If it’s got petrol in it ... they kind of look as if they’ve been there a while.”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s a helicopter now—the Coast Guard arrived in that.”

  “Can you fly a helicopter, Rachel?”

  “... No, but ... I was just saying ... it’s something we could try.”

  “I can.”

  Both women turn to Chris with disbelieving eyes.

  “Are you shitting me again, Chris?”

  “No! I admit, I’m not much of a wildlife survivalist, I’m more of a camper-”

  “I’d say you’re more of a Glamper!” Rachel says, remembering the tent and the luxury items it held.

  Chris laughs. “Indeed! But I have had a few lessons. My nan bought me some for my twenty-eighth birthday. The pilot said I was a natural.” Rachel raises a brow, but quickly hides her disbelief. “It’s true! ... It is.”

  “Okay,” Sam says, “Well, a few lessons are better than nothing, but I still think our best chance is to get one of the boats launched. We know they hate water.”

  “And if that doesn’t work, then we launch the helicopter.”

  “I doubt the keys are in it ...”

  Hope drizzles from Chris’ eyes. “You’re right, it was a stupid idea.”

  “No! No, it was a great idea. I just can’t see it working out, that’s all.”

  “I’m an idiot, Rachel. You know it.”

  “No, I don’t know it. You’ve managed to survive being tracked by one of those monsters, and survived in the Alaskan wilds for a week! I would say that’s pretty amazing.”

  Chris’ smile returns. “It is, isn’t it.”

  “It is, and just think of all the publicity afterwards! My God! You’ll be able to write a book, be on breakfast telly, teatime telly, they may even give you your own show.”

  Chris’ smile slips and he gives Sam a quick glance. She has turned to look out through the oblong opening to the lake and its hide, and Rachel’s nose for secrets, honed by her journalistic training, tells her that they’ve done more than just survive together. She scrutinizes Sam, then Chris for the seconds when they’re unaware of her gaze, then says. “When are we leaving?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  As Sam, Chris, and Rachel smear their skin and clothing with more of the stinking mud from the wet land around the lake, Joshua stands impaled against the root-ball of the upturned spruce that Rachel had recognised less than an hour ago. Great hanging tendrils of woody roots and clumps of enmeshed soil hang above his head. He grunts as he pulls himself from the broken root that had speared his side. The gashes left by the creature that had bitten him are already healing, their pink sides knitting together beneath flesh now infested with long, dark hairs.

  The air in the forest is alive with scent, and he is aware of each strand of curling stench, each sticky particle as they trail among the trees. The pulse of life is strong, living in the pumping blood of a thousand creatures, but the desire to drain it is stronger. He swallows, licking a rough tongue over newly sharpened teeth. Bone white daggers sit at the side of his mouth ready to sink down into the flesh that his body craves. The blood from the male had trickled down his throat and into his belly, igniting a need that burned like a fire in his mouth, until every nerve in his body was alight with the need to gnash, and grip, and tear, and swallow.

  Rachel ... Rachel ... Rachel ...

  The creature’s bite had taken him by surprise, the dark silhouette jumping from the trees before he had a chance to even register it was there. ... Rachel ... Knives had sliced down through his flesh, grazing bone, pinning him to the ground, and he’d watched Rachel’s horrified eyes as he’d sunk to the floor, and the thing had ripped at his neck. He’d felt the tongue flick against his throat, licking at his lifeblood as she’d screamed his name. Blackness had closed in around him and then he was in an agony of writhing and deep pain that seared to the core of his being, melting his very bones. Gripping him in a vice, throwing him in jerking spasms as they tore through his flesh, his body had bent, and turned, and reformed, the flesh tearing, paring, then creeping back along the bone, and covering new growth.

  The sound of everything had come to him then; the scratching of mice, the grunts of the rutting boars, the beating heart of deer, and the smell of the Others, their sweat, their hair, the sticky, sweaty heat between their legs. They had crouched, and watched, snapping, pulling each other back as one stepped beyond the other. The male had sla
pped at the largest female, forcing her back behind him, keeping her in place.

  Rachel ... Rachel ... Rachel ... The words pulse in his mind, and he craves to sink his flesh into hers.

  His eyes had grown accustomed to the red glow that made everything bright and seen, and he had followed them, followed their scent, hungry for blood, hunting. Snickering, they had found their prey, and he had seen her again, the woman who had called his name. The male had waited, urged him to take the man, but every part of his body, his teeth, and the ache between his legs, wanted the woman. Cells, though transformed, still carried the memories of desire, and that desire had become a burning flame that only She could put out. The male had wanted her for himself. Joshua had nearly died to stop him.

  Rachel ... Rachel ... Rachel ...

  Nose to the air, he searches for her scent, but catches only the stench of wild boar and bear, and the female tracking him. He crouches. She pushes out from the shrub. He snarls. She returns his snarl and they circle. The scent of her dark place is sticky, and his need to fornicate grows. She takes a step to him, locking her red eyes to his, touching between her own legs, then grasping between his. Throwing her to the floor, he thrusts into her dark place. Ecstasy rides him, and she digs claws into his buttocks locking his hips to hers. Blood seeps from the wounds.

  An angry howl erupts in the distance, and the female pushes him away. She flips to a crouch, then sprints to the Others, disappearing into the forest as Joshua’s seed swims past the alpha’s rapidly growing foetus, anchored in the lining of her womb.

  Hunger for flesh returns, and he can think of nothing but the sweet curves of the woman ... the Rachel ... to hold her tight, to drink her blood, to lick her dark place, to take her breasts in his mouth, to have and to hold – he snickers – till death us do part. He sniffs at the air, catching the particles of her scent, then sprints down the hillside, away from the howling alpha male, and towards the need that consumes him; to own the woman ... the Rachel ... her body, her soul, mated for life, till death.