He stood up from the floor and nodded. ‘Chanita.’
She had first met James when she had been a nurse at King’s College Hospital in London. He had been one of the early bite victims, bitten by a man, if she remembered correctly. No one had known then about the true nature of the infection. James had been treated in intensive care, and then discharged. She remembered him as a quiet, well-spoken boy who had always been very polite.
Helen and Sarah both looked nonplussed. ‘I had no idea you knew James,’ said Helen.
‘I had no idea you were using him for your experiments.’
‘I’m not anymore. I’ve been working on something else.’
‘What?’
‘It’s quite exciting, actually,’ said Helen. ‘I’ve succeeded in passing on your natural immunity to Sarah.’
Chanita blinked in astonishment. ‘You’ve developed an antitoxin?’
‘Exactly. I simply injected some of your blood into Sarah. Her immune system assimilated the new blood cells and began to manufacture fresh copies of the antibodies. Now she has the same immunity as you.’
‘But you can’t be certain,’ said Chanita anxiously. ‘You’ll need to test it.’
‘I already have.’
‘I see.’ Chanita vividly recalled how Helen had run the same test on her, by injecting her with a drop of contaminated blood from a werewolf. She had suffered an allergic reaction to the infection, her temperature rising, and a fever taking hold. It had been one of the longest nights of her life. But she had come through unharmed. The test had proved her natural immunity.
‘Sarah’s reaction was far less severe than yours,’ said Helen. ‘The antitoxin gave her almost total immunity to the effects of lycanthropy.’
Chanita suddenly needed to sit down. She took a seat and began to think through the implications of what Helen had told her. ‘So could you give the antitoxin to everyone in the camp? You could roll out a programme and make everyone immune to the condition!’
‘In principle, yes. But it’s not that easy. We’ll have to take blood from either you or Sarah and inject it into a small number of volunteers. It will take a couple of weeks for the immunity to take effect and for the treated volunteers to start producing their own antibodies. Then they can become donors themselves. But to treat thousands of people, it’s going to take many months, maybe even years.’
‘But you could do it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then what are we waiting for? I’ll give you all the support you need and make it a top priority.’
Helen and Sarah exchanged glances.
‘What?’ demanded Chanita.
‘Do you think the camp can survive that long?’ asked Helen.
‘It has to. I won’t allow these people to die.’
‘But they already are. Sarah and I were discussing this earlier with James.’
‘With James?’
‘Yes. The way we see it, the biggest threat to survival now isn’t lycanthropy. It’s all the other diseases. Measles. Pneumonia. Common diseases that we can no longer treat.’
‘The medical staff are doing the best they can,’ protested Chanita.
‘Of course. But what if there was another way? A way to make those diseases go away?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It was James himself who finally convinced me,’ said Helen. ‘It wasn’t what he said, but how he behaved. I’ve worked with other lycanthropes before and I thought I knew what they were like. But James has made me think again. He does seem to be very different from the others. He’s gentle, caring … even compassionate. I now believe that he’s fully human, emotionally speaking. He’s perhaps even more humane than most humans.’
Helen had taken on an eagerness that Chanita had seen in her before, whenever she was convinced that an idea would work. Yet Chanita felt a coldness grip her stomach. She dreaded what Helen might say next.
‘When I first started my experiments on the virus that transmits lycanthropy,’ continued Helen, ‘I discovered that turning its victims into werewolves is only one of its effects. It makes them stronger and more capable, even when in human form. It develops their senses, and sometimes makes them more intelligent. At the same time it eradicates other diseases.’
‘Eradicates them?’ asked Chanita, frowning.
‘Totally. It’s basically a universal cure. Pneumonia, HIV, diphtheria …’ She paused. ‘Even Huntington’s. One thing I learned from reading Professor Wiseman’s notes was that the werewolves he studied in Romania were always healthy and appeared to be immune to common illnesses. They even made seemingly-miraculous recoveries from physical injuries. They displayed an ability to regenerate.’
Chanita was staring at Helen now. ‘But –’
‘My fear is that by rolling out an immunization programme, we’ll be protecting people from becoming werewolves, but condemning them to death from ordinary infectious diseases. One of the lycanthropes I knew was a student of mine. She talked of perfecting the human race. At the time I thought she was mad. Now I see that she may have been right, or at least in part.’
Chanita spoke as sternly as she could. ‘Stop! This is madness. If I understand what you are saying, you are talking about turning people into werewolves. Have you completely lost your mind?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Helen turned to James. ‘James, you explain.’
James had been watching the exchange intently. Now he spoke softly to Chanita. ‘You’re right that some werewolves are monsters. I know the student who studied with Helen. Her name is Leanna. She was one of the original werewolves to bring the condition from Romania. She’s absolutely evil. And at first, I thought I was too. I admit that I killed people. I hated myself for that. I wanted to die. But Sarah taught me that it didn’t have to be that way.’
‘Sarah?’
‘Yes. I’ve known Sarah for a long time, since before we came to the camp. We’ve been through a lot together. But we had to keep our friendship a secret from Helen.’
‘It’s true,’ said Sarah. ‘I helped James come to terms with being a werewolf. And in turn he helped me overcome my own … problems. You must understand that James has broken free from the change that affects other werewolves. The moon doesn’t control him anymore.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Chanita. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Show her,’ said Sarah.
James nodded. He unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor, then removed his shoes and socks. A look of intense concentration came over his face. His brow furrowed and his lips parted. Chanita noticed a change in his eyes, a glint of yellow, and a darkening as the pupils dilated. Slowly, his skin began to ripple and a fine layer of golden hairs appeared over his face, chest and arms. He stripped off the rest of his clothing to reveal a body entirely covered with thickening fur. His skin was moving more, as his arms and legs grew strong and thick and his chest broadened. His neck elongated and his head changed shape, becoming longer and more dog-like.
Chanita stared, dumbed into silence. James’ body stretched, and he dropped to all fours as a tail sprouted behind him. She watched in amazement as nails and teeth pushed through, and his eyes became large and bright.
Finally it was done. He sat back on the floor of his cage, his front paws stretched out before him, panting lightly with his long tongue hanging out.
‘You see?’ he said. ‘I can change between wolf and human form whenever I want. I’m completely in control.’
Chapter Forty-Three
Uffington, Oxfordshire, waning moon
Rose stood at the top of the scarp, staring down at the white chalk horse carved into the hillside below. The horse was enormous, hundreds of feet long, made from shallow cuts in the grassy hillside to expose the white chalk beneath, almost like the markings on a football pitch. It was hard to make sense of its shape from close quarters. The flowing lines rose and fell with the sweep of the land, but she thought she could make out the body of the horse, i
ts legs and head. That round spot just before her must be its eye, that pair of short parallel lines its mouth. She supposed it must be possible to see the whole picture from one of the hills opposite, or from the valley below. It was incredible to think that this work of art had been made thousands of years earlier, with only primitive tools.
This place had a peculiarly ancient feel, bare and windswept. From her high viewpoint she could see a low, round hill with a flat top immediately below the horse. According to a nearby sign, the small hill was named Dragon Hill and was supposedly the place where St George had slain the dragon. Ahead of her, the Ridgeway continued up to a much larger hill that had once been an Iron Age fort. There was no sign of the original wooden structure of the fort, but tall earthen ramparts and a deep ditch had been dug all around the hilltop as fortification and were still clearly visible. She wondered what it had been like to live in this strange place, so many thousands of years ago. In this desolate landscape, empty of all signs of modernity, it was easy to imagine the distant past reaching out to her.
She turned back to see Ryan and Chris carrying Seth along the chalky path. Ryan was making the work look easy, but Chris was clearly out of breath. But they had made good progress and it was time to stop. Perhaps the old hillfort would be a good place to make camp for the night. She pointed up to it and led them up the last few yards of the track.
‘Oh my God, be more careful!’ yelled Seth as they lowered him to the ground.
‘Quit moaning,’ said Chris. ‘We only carried you half a mile today. It’ll take forever at this rate. The least you could do is show some gratitude.’
Seth opened his mouth to retort, but Rose cut him off. They had argued far too much already. ‘We’ve almost run out of food. I think there’s a village about a mile or so in that direction. Why don’t we go and see if we can find something to eat?’
‘But what about me?’ said Seth. ‘You can’t just leave me here on my own.’
‘I’ll stay with him,’ said Chris. ‘You and Ryan can go.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Ryan, stretching out his arms. ‘Chris, see if you can manage to put the tent up while we’re gone.’
Rose and Ryan set off along a path that led down the hillside, Nutmeg running ahead, keen to find rabbits. The track was straight and narrow, but just wide enough for two to walk abreast. The wind blew at their backs, chasing ever-changing patterns in the long grass at each side.
‘You can see for miles from here,’ said Ryan. ‘I love being out in the countryside, don’t you?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Rose. ‘I think I’m a city girl at heart. I miss home. I miss my family.’
‘Sure,’ said Ryan. ‘I understand. I never really had much of a family myself, so I guess there’s not too much to miss. But perhaps that makes me better prepared than most to deal with what’s happened. You can’t pine for home comforts if you never had a proper home.’
‘I guess so.’
‘My mum died when I was small and I never knew my father,’ he explained. ‘I spent my time moving between foster parents and children’s homes.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rose. She had grown up in such a close-knit family, with her mum and dad, and her brother, Oscar, that she couldn’t imagine the life that Ryan described.
‘No need to be,’ he said. ‘My childhood was happy enough. I can’t complain.’
After half an hour of walking they came to the village of Uffington.
Ryan put out a hand to stop her, then raised a finger to his lips.
It was wise to be cautious. They hadn’t met a single person in many days, and had no idea what was happening in the world. The few small villages and settlements they had encountered on their journey had all been strangely empty, but who knew what they might find here?
Ryan went ahead, walking up the middle of the single-track road. They passed a few houses, but saw no indications that anyone was home. There were no cars in front of the houses, no smoke rising from chimneys, no twitching curtains or faces in windows.
‘Where is everyone?’ whispered Rose.
They carried along until they came to a junction that seemed to mark the centre of the village. The houses here were older – thatched cottages with roses growing up their walls – a chocolate-box image of English life. Their footsteps rang loudly in the silent street.
A little further along they came to a pub. ‘If we’re going to find food or people, this will be the place,’ said Ryan. ‘I’ll go first. You stay safely back.’
The pub looked very traditional, with hanging baskets displaying daffodils and other flowering plants, and a sign advertising bed & breakfast accommodation. Rose peered through the windows into the dark interior, but the bar appeared to be empty. She followed Ryan as he pushed open the door and went inside.
The entrance was low and even Rose had to stoop to avoid banging her ahead on the wooden beam. The interior of the pub was dim, and she paused on the threshold waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. The bar room was deserted, but there were signs of a fight. Tables had been tipped over and chairs smashed. Broken glasses and bottles lay on the floor and there was a powerful stench of stale beer. There was another nastier smell beneath it. She covered her mouth.
Nutmeg sniffed the spilled beer and then ran over to the bar, her nostrils flaring wide as she frantically thrust her nose up against it, snuffling desperately.
Ryan looked behind the bar to see what Nutmeg could smell. ‘Oh, shit,’ he said. ‘Don’t come any closer.’
But Rose wanted to see for herself. She joined him at the bar and peered over the top. Two corpses lay on the floor, a middle-aged man and woman. Their throats had been ripped open, and the man was missing one arm. Their faces were crawling with flies.
‘Killed by werewolves?’ whispered Rose.
Ryan nodded. ‘Looks that way. Judging by the smell, they must have been dead for some time.’
‘They won’t mind us looking for food, then,’ said Rose. She led Ryan through a door marked Staff only, and found herself in a small kitchen. There were two more corpses in here, a younger man and a teenage girl. They had also been savaged and were showing signs of decomposition. Nutmeg went up to them and began to sniff.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Ryan. ‘Let’s go.’
‘No,’ said Rose. ‘We mustn’t leave empty-handed.’
The food in the fridges and freezers had spoiled and smelled putrid, but the kitchen was well stocked with tinned and packaged foods, and bottled drinks. They filled up some cardboard boxes with supplies and set off back toward the white horse, glad to be out in the fresh air again.
Ryan threw her a sideways glance as they walked. ‘That was brave. Weren’t you afraid in there?’
Rose shook her head. ‘What was there to be afraid of? Those people were dead. They couldn’t hurt us.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Ryan. ‘Still. It creeped me out. I’m glad you were with me.’
It took them longer to make the journey back. The road sloped upward this time and the wind blew hard in their faces. The boxes were heavy too, or at least Rose found hers heavy. Ryan was carrying two and didn’t seem to have a problem with them.
There was something Rose wanted to say to him, a worry that had played on her mind for some time. ‘You know, we’re only going to survive if we stick together. Safety in numbers. The opposite of what Chris says. Each one of us has a different set of skills. Promise me that we’ll stay together.’
Ryan looked at her with surprise. ‘Of course. I wasn’t planning on running away. In fact, I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t met you guys. I’ve been on my own for a long time. It’s good to have some company.’
She gave him a smile. ‘When I first met Chris and Seth, I’d lost everything. My home, my family, my friends. I think I’d lost my mind. They honestly saved my life.’
Ryan nodded. ‘Chris is a smart guy, even though he can be … awkward at times. And Seth …’
‘Seth makes Chris tolerable,’ said Rose.
‘Exactly.’
They both smiled.
When they reached the top of the hill, they discovered that Chris and Seth had been joined by a group of half a dozen strangers. They were sitting cross-legged in a circle and appeared to be drinking cans of beer. One of them was playing a flute. Chris’ face registered outrage and indignation.
‘Our numbers seem to have grown even more,’ said Ryan.
One of the newcomers, a girl with long purple hair, stood up and waved to them. ‘Hey, you must be Rose and Ryan. Awesome. Your friends told us all about you. Come on over. It’s time to get this party started!’
Chapter Forty-Four
Pindar Bunker, Whitehall, Central London, waning moon
With a huge effort, the Prime Minister heaved aside the sealed metal door that led from the Pindar bunker. It was dark beyond, and cool, damp air greeted her, laden with the scent of mildew and decay. She wrinkled her nose. She had been hoping for fresh air after spending so long inside the airtight bunker, but this smelled awful. She was gripped by a sudden fear. Perhaps the General’s careful plan would fail at the first hurdle. If the exit was blocked under rubble, she might find no way out.
She trained the steady beam of her flashlight around the dank cellar. Water dripped from the ceiling and a dark pool of oily liquid stretched out across the floor, but it was no more than an inch deep. She dipped the toe of her boot into the blackness and stepped bravely forward, dismayed to feel cold wetness spread immediately around her feet. So much for waterproof footwear.
She waded across the cellar and up a short flight of stairs, away from the water and into another basement. She must be deep beneath the Ministry of Defence building in Whitehall. Here a door marked “Q-Whitehall” led off to one side. It was just as the General had described. She opened the door and found herself inside a low tunnel, perhaps seven feet in diameter. Her flashlight showed her a curved roof supported by thick steel and concrete bulwarks. A large number of cables snaked along its walls. Overhead lights were fixed at intervals, but they were not working. The tunnel floor was of rough, broken concrete and clearly not designed for pedestrian access, except perhaps for the repair and laying of cables.
Lycanthropic (Book 4): Moon Rise [The Age of the Werewolf] Page 19
