Lycanthropic (Book 4): Moon Rise [The Age of the Werewolf]

by Morris, Steve

  ‘Let’s use our knowledge and pool our brainpower. We’re a team, yeah? We can do this.’

  Mihai was clearly feeling the team spirit. ‘Is team, yeah, let’s do it. So, what we gonna do, boss?’

  Drake told him. ‘To catch a vampire, we need to exploit its weaknesses, right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Vijay. ‘Logical.’

  So far, so good. With Drake’s determination to devise a plan, and Mihai’s inside knowledge of vampire lore, Vijay was moderately optimistic that they had a chance of coming up with a solution. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a risky one. The less it involved him, the better.

  ‘Well, what are they?’

  ‘Sunlight,’ suggested Vijay.

  ‘Good one. Except that Liz doesn’t really have a major problem managing that, does she?’

  ‘No, I suppose not. Nothing that factor 30 can’t handle.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Stick through heart,’ said Mihai.

  ‘Yeah, a classic solution. A wooden stake through the heart. A nice sharp one, I guess. Let’s chalk that one up. What about garlic? Holy symbols?’

  Mihai shook his head. ‘Did not work on Liz.’

  ‘You already tried them?’ asked Drake with some surprise.

  ‘Sure.’ Mihai showed them the silver cross that he wore around his neck. He mimed pressing it to Liz’s forehead.

  ‘Did she mind?’

  ‘Not so much.’

  ‘And the garlic?’

  ‘She pull face, that’s all.’

  ‘What about coffins?’ asked Drake. ‘Do vampires need to sleep in coffins during the day?’

  ‘In Romania, always,’ said Mihai. ‘In England, not so much.’

  ‘I’ve never seen Liz climbing out of a coffin,’ said Vijay. ‘Or anything that resembles one. She just sleeps on a mattress like anyone else.’

  ‘Suppose so.’

  ‘Are we a hundred per cent certain that Liz is a real vampire?’ he asked. He still couldn’t completely convince himself that this wasn’t some elaborate prank.

  ‘Yes,’ said Drake and Mihai together.

  They sat thinking for a bit longer. Vijay watched as the clouds drifted across the flat landscape. Watching clouds was a good way to get creative. There was something restful about the way they moved. These clouds were dark and heavy and kind of ominous. They looked ready to shed some serious rainfall.

  ‘Running water?’ he suggested. He had heard somewhere that vampires couldn’t cross rivers or streams.

  ‘There ain’t really a lot of water going spare around here,’ said Drake. ‘Running or any other kind.’

  ‘I suppose not. Then what about fire?’

  ‘Nah. Liz is completely immune to it. I’ve seen her run into a sheet of flames and out the other side. Not a mark on her.’

  Vijay was pretty much out of ideas already. Trapping a vampire wasn’t half as easy as it sounded, despite Drake’s confidence and Mihai’s assurances. The way the Romanian kid talked, it was if he’d grown up hunting for werewolves, vampires and other monsters back in his home country. But there must be some solution to the problem. They couldn’t be the first people to have ever tried to trap a vampire. ‘Any other ideas, Mihai?’ he asked.

  ‘Cut off head. Is always good way to kill vampir.’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Drake, raising one eyebrow. ‘Maybe we’ll save that for last resort. If we can’t kill it any other way.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Vijay. ‘Kill the vampire? I thought we were just trying to catch it.’

  ‘We’ll do whatever it takes, yeah?’ said Drake ominously. ‘Ain’t no one else gonna save the world, right?’

  ‘Yeah. I suppose.’ Vijay’s nerves were starting to fail him. The discussion wasn’t going in the direction he’d hoped. Between them they had absolutely no idea how to catch a vampire, and now the stakes were being raised higher. Not that he wanted to think about stakes. ‘Listen, why don’t we just talk to Liz about this?’

  ‘Seriously? Come on, if Liz gets a sniff that we’re planning to do something dangerous, she’ll be on the warpath. We’ll be grounded, for sure.’

  ‘And are we? Planning to do something dangerous, I mean?’

  ‘Nah, mate. Just catching a vampire, is all.’

  Vijay gazed out over the rooftop to the terminal building opposite. The answer was out there, surely, floating through the air like the clouds, just out of his grasp. Cutting off heads, and stakes through the heart weren’t the way to go. There had to be something much less dangerous. They were thinking about this in entirely the wrong way. After all, they didn’t really need to kill the vampire, or even catch it. They just needed to observe it going about its business, so they could find out who it was. And for that they needed …

  ‘We need to offer it a victim.’

  ‘A sacrifice?’ asked Drake.

  ‘No, not a sacrifice. More like bait. No one’s going to get killed. It doesn’t even have to be a real person. We could stuff a sleeping bag with clothes and leave it for the vampire to find. Then we could hide and watch it so that we can uncover its identity.’

  Drake mulled it over. ‘It’s probably the best idea so far. Vampires ain’t stupid, though. A real person would be better.’

  ‘But who could we possibly use? You’re not suggesting one of us?’

  ‘Nah. That would be well risky, mate. In any case, the vampire seems to prefer women, or girls.’

  ‘Hot girls,’ suggested Mihai.

  ‘Who then?’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Is easy,’ said Mihai. ‘Is very obvious.’

  Vijay shook his head in disbelief. ‘Kid, you cannot be serious.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Gatwick Airport, West Sussex, waxing moon

  The murder count was stuck at three, but Liz wasn’t fooling herself that it would stay that way for long. A vampire wouldn’t ever stop killing. It was in their nature to kill. No one knew that better than she did.

  Now she faced a dilemma. Until the killer struck again, she had no leads to follow. The bodies were all buried; the clues, few as they were, all gone. Her only hope of catching the perpetrator was to wait for a fourth body to turn up. It was hardly an enticing prospect.

  Drake, Vijay and Mihai had their hopes pinned on another victim being found soon. They were as keen as her to solve the case, but for them, this was all just a game. They might think they were adults, but they were too young to really understand the impact of a murder on the victim’s family. She was regretting allowing them to get involved in the case.

  Kevin had enjoyed his brief role helping her interview suspects, but he was obviously relieved that things had quietened down in recent days. He’d suggested more than once that the serial killings might have run their course and that the murderer had retired. ‘I reckon you should leave things be,’ he advised her. ‘Don’t go stirring things up. This murder business ain’t really your job, love.’

  ‘Of course it’s my job, Dad. I’m a police officer.’

  He showed her his stern face, the one he wore when he was convinced she was wrong about something. ‘Are you? I don’t see no one paying you or nothing.’

  She had known he wouldn’t get it. What had her father ever understood about vocation, or responsibility? ‘For you, it’s always about the money, isn’t it?’

  His expression didn’t change. ‘If I was only interested in money, I would never have taken a job as a truck driver.’

  ‘Listen, it’s like this. Someone has to keep everyone safe. Major Hall is doing that on the outside, keeping the werewolves from killing everyone in the camp. But it’s just as important on the inside. If it wasn’t a vampire killing people, it would be some other crime. Crime doesn’t go away just because worse things are happening in the world.’

  ‘No, but millions of people are dead already. These murders are just a few more.’

  ‘They’re not numbers, Dad. They’re people. Every life matters.’

&nbs
p; ‘Your life matters too, love. It matters more than any. Just saying.’

  ‘Listen, I won’t put myself in any danger,’ she promised him. But she knew as she said it that it was untrue. Danger lay on all sides, whatever course of action she took – even if she did nothing.

  She ran through her options.

  Option one. She solved the murder case, uncovered the identity of the serial-killing vampire, and made an arrest. That was a good option; the best. But then what? Major Hall would carry out his threat and execute the killer. Suddenly the existence of vampires would become public knowledge. The mob would start baying for blood. Next it would be open season on vampires. Not good.

  Option two. She failed to solve the crime. More gruesome murders followed. Time ran out. The Dogman, or Evans, or perhaps even Llewelyn himself, would decide to take things into their own hands. She would end up with a bullet to the head. Not good. Not good at all.

  Option three. She couldn’t actually think of any other ways this might go. Not good.

  The best plan right now was probably not to think about it. If she didn’t think, she didn’t need to worry. Besides, she had plenty of other things to be worried about. Samantha was a good place to start. Her due date was only a week away.

  Doctor Pope was now visiting her every day, checking her blood pressure and offering words of advice. And for once, Samantha seemed to be following them. She was allowing others to look after her, while she rested and kept her feet up.

  Liz was hoping for an easy birth. If things became complicated, there were precious few medical facilities available at the airport. Remarkably, despite all the early problems with the pregnancy, and all the stress of losing Dean and evacuating London, so far nothing terrible had happened. Samantha had reached a state of calm, looking forward to the birth of her baby to avoid looking back to the death of her husband. There was a lesson for Liz there – look forward, toward a brighter future. Don’t look back. Don’t worry about what might go wrong.

  Old Mrs Singh was certainly ready for the birth. She had already turned out a full wardrobe of clothes for the baby, and her knitting showed no signs of stopping. ‘Here,’ she showed Liz. ‘Booties for the baby.’ The woollen boots were pale pink.

  ‘So you think it’s going to be a girl?’ asked Liz.

  ‘Girl, boy. Both spell trouble,’ said Mrs Singh.

  ‘I think it’s a boy,’ said Samantha. ‘It kicks so hard. Come and feel. It’s kicking now.’

  She allowed Liz to position her hands against her huge belly. Her skin was stretched tight like a drum. Liz felt the kicks coming from inside, like a creature struggling desperately to escape. ‘I feel it,’ she said. ‘Those are strong kicks. Maybe it is a boy.’

  Mrs Singh peered at her from her chair. ‘Girls kick just as hard,’ she said. ‘Harder.’ She looked in Aasha’s direction. ‘They never stop kicking.’

  Aasha was watching the changing shape of Samantha’s belly with an expression of pure horror. ‘That’s gross,’ she said.

  Samantha smiled. ‘Do you want to feel it?’

  Aasha shook her head quickly. ‘Yuck, no way. Well … okay, yes.’ She kneeled down next to the bed and let Samantha move her hands. ‘Oh, wow. I felt it. That is so weird.’

  ‘It’s almost ready,’ said Samantha. ‘Any day now.’

  ‘Any day,’ agreed Liz.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Stoke Park, Buckinghamshire, waxing moon

  Chanita was officially the camp’s medical director, and she still tried to make time for a tour of the onsite hospital most days. The makeshift facility was being run under military command, and felt more like a field hospital in a war zone than the civilian establishments she was used to. But there was no doubting the dedication and professionalism of the staff, both civil and military. And yet they were fighting a losing battle against disease. Every day, more and more patients were being diagnosed with some new problem.

  The teenage boy she had visited on her rounds today was clearly severely ill.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ she asked the doctor in charge.

  The boy was feverish and drifting in and out of consciousness. His skin was covered with a rash made up of large, flat blotches. His eyes were inflamed and he started to cough loudly as Chanita looked on.

  ‘Measles,’ said the doctor. ‘Sadly, it’s becoming all too common. People of this age are particularly vulnerable if they haven’t been vaccinated.’

  ‘What can you do for him?’

  ‘There’s no cure for measles. We have to let it run its course. Nine times out of ten, the patient recovers, but in the most serious cases, it can be fatal.’

  Chanita knew that well. She had seen measles cases before, when she’d worked at the emergency department of King’s College Hospital. She knew the horrible complications that could result from the infection. Fits, fevers, infections of lung, liver or brain. Measles was a deadly disease. Before vaccination, it had claimed millions of lives every year.

  The boy’s coughing grew louder and he began to cough up dark red spots of blood. It looked like a serious infection had already taken hold.

  ‘We’re using antibiotics to combat the bacterial infection,’ continued the doctor, ‘but the truth is we’re running very short of all kinds of medicines, and we have no new supplies coming in.’

  Chanita led the doctor out of earshot of the patients. ‘I’m afraid that I have no good news on that front. We haven’t been able to make any contact with the government. We don’t know for certain that any centralized administration still exists. The regional governments are crumbling. Lieutenant Colonel Sharman tells me that beyond this base, it’s anarchy. We’re basically on our own for the time being.’

  The news reports from other countries were just as bleak. Stories of chaos, fighting and martial law followed one after another, relentlessly. In recent days the news was becoming scarcer as one by one, countries turned “grey”, with reporting simply ceasing.

  The doctor shook his head. ‘We can’t go on this way. We’re seeing a surge in all manner of infections. I have patients coming in with conditions I can barely treat. TB, pneumonia, norovirus, food poisoning, parasites, even scurvy. The conditions in the camp simply aren’t sanitary. We have no fresh food, there’s no hot water, and insufficient access to clean water.’

  ‘Everyone’s doing their best to fix the problems,’ said Chanita defensively. ‘They’re working flat out.’

  The doctor wasn’t done yet, though. ‘Tell me about it. I’ve hardly slept for almost twenty-four hours myself. But the fact remains we’re in crisis. If nothing changes, soon we’ll have no antibiotics, no anaesthetics, no blood. We’ll be back in the Dark Ages. And someone told me that we only have enough tinned food for another week. Is that right?’

  Chanita stared back at him helplessly. The list of problems he had reeled off were the problems she struggled each day to fix, with dwindling hope of success. ‘We all just have to make the best of what we’ve got, doctor. What else can we do?’

  He sighed. ‘I know that. I’m sorry. Lack of sleep is making me lose my temper.’

  ‘We’ll get through this somehow,’ she told him. ‘We have to.’

  On the way back to her office, she dropped in on Captain Rafferty. ‘Any news of Colonel Griffin?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘No, ma’am. Sorry.’ The young captain’s face was grim.

  She knew what he was thinking. Why was she still asking for news of Griffin? He was long since dead. Any fool could see that. But she refused to give up hope. Without hope, she was lost.

  She returned to her desk and sat there for a while, staring at the mounds of reports, each one representing some fresh difficulty, or informing her of yet another failure. The paper on the desk was piling up, just as outside the problems were mounting, just as the troubles weighing on her mind grew heavier with each passing day. She stared at them, not knowing what to do next.

  A knock on her door roused her from her daze. H
elen Eastgate. The doctor’s bright blonde hair always brought a smile to Chanita’s face. ‘Come on in, Helen. I could use some cheering up. Tell me what progress you’re making.’

  Helen’s tests on the captured werewolf, injecting him with antibodies from Chanita’s own blood, had been running for some time now, and always gave her a glimmer of hope when she thought about them. If a cure could be found, it would change everything. It would give everyone fresh hope that all their problems could be overcome.

  But it was obvious from Helen’s face that the news she brought wasn’t good. ‘I’ve finished running my experiments on the lycanthrope.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The tests are all negative. The antibodies have had no effect at all. The werewolf is still a werewolf.’

  It felt as if the last support was failing, that the floor beneath Chanita was finally collapsing. ‘Nothing?’ she whispered.

  ‘The virus has already delivered its genetic modifications to the host’s cells, and there’s no way of reversing them.’

  ‘So a cure is simply impossible?’

  Helen nodded.

  Chanita felt tears running down her face before she even knew she was going to cry. She dabbed at them with a tissue, but there was no chance of stopping the flow. Instead she let them run freely. ‘It’s all too much.’ The burden she had been given was simply too heavy. ‘I can’t do it anymore.’

  Helen wrapped her arms around her. ‘Don’t give up. There’s always hope. That’s what you told me, remember?’

  ‘I do. Patience and persistence, that’s what I said.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’ll do my best. But I just wish that Michael could be here.’ She continued to sob against Helen’s shoulder. If Michael Griffin were with her, she knew that she could face anything.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Ridgeway, Oxfordshire, waxing moon

  The confidence that Rose had found since the end of her nightmares was slowly ebbing away. The newfound lightness that had filled her limbs when she was walking across the open country had turned to a heavy slowness that seemed to drag her down now that they were unable to continue their journey. Since Seth had broken his ankle, her energy and enthusiasm had steadily drained away. Meanwhile the moon had grown almost full again.