The gun rang out a second time, and this time the PM was ready for the recoil. She held her arm steady, ready to shoot a third time if necessary.
But her attackers lay still, their eyes closed, their voices silenced.
They were my people. I was responsible for them.
But she wouldn’t accept the blame for everyone’s mistakes.
She replaced the gun in her holster and slung her rucksack over her shoulder. Two more bullets gone. She could only hope that enough remained.
Chapter Fifty
Uffington, Oxfordshire
Rose watched in dismay as Josh wriggled out of the small tent he shared with Brittany, and rose to his feet, bleary eyed, his hair in wild tufts.
He yawned. ‘Oh, wow, what time is this? You guys never heard of sleep?’
She and the others had risen at dawn and packed their gear in silence, hoping to break camp early to leave Josh, Brittany and their friends behind. But Josh must have heard Ryan and Chris creeping past the tent with Seth on the stretcher.
‘We wanted to make an early start,’ said Rose.
‘Yeah, nice one,’ said Josh. ‘Good thinking. The early bird and all that. Just wait for us to get our shit together.’ He kicked at the guy ropes of the tent the others shared, making it collapse on top of them. ‘Come on, get your arses out of there! It’s time to go.’
‘How are we going to get away from these guys?’ whispered Ryan to Rose.
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered back.
In any case, she thought, even if they had managed to make a dawn getaway, their chances of outrunning the newcomers had never been very high, with Seth and his broken ankle to slow them down.
The others crawled out from under the tent, shooting black looks at everyone, Josh included. They had stayed up until late, drinking, singing and dancing.
‘Is this for real?’ said Brittany, peering out from her tent, her eye shadow smudged over her cheeks. ‘We only just, like, went to bed.’
‘There’s really no need for you to come with us,’ said Rose. ‘Why don’t we travel separately? It’s not like we’re even going to the same place.’
Josh frowned. ‘Well, we still haven’t decided that for sure, have we? If you don’t want to come to Glastonbury with us, maybe we’ll come and join you in Hereford instead. That could be cool.’
‘Okay then,’ said Rose reluctantly. ‘We’ll wait over here.’ She led Ryan and Chris a short distance away, and they carefully lowered Seth to the ground. ‘What are we going to do?’ she whispered.
‘Just tell them straight,’ said Ryan. ‘Just say we don’t want them to come with us.’
‘Yeah,’ said Chris. ‘I can tell them. I don’t mind if they hate me for it. I’m used to people hating me.’
‘Is it really such a big deal if they come?’ asked Seth. ‘Why don’t we let them? They could help take turns at carrying my stretcher. We could travel much faster if we stick together.’
‘That’s a good point,’ said Ryan.
‘No,’ said Rose. ‘I don’t trust them. We’re better off without them. Chris, you tell them.’
The others had packed up their gear and were slouching about looking grumpy. ‘Okay, we’re ready,’ said Josh. Let’s go.’
Chris stepped forward. ‘Actually, we’ve decided we don’t want you to come with us. We’d rather travel alone.’
An ugly sneer appeared on Josh’s face. ‘Oh yeah? And what if we decide to come anyway? Are you going to run off with your guy Seth on a stretcher? I don’t think so.’
Brittany tugged at his elbow. ‘Come on, Josh. We don’t need these fuckers. Let’s just go.’
‘No!’ He shook her away. ‘No one tells me where to get off. This is the end of the fucking world, in case no one else has noticed. We all need to stay together. No one gets left behind.’
Brittany bit her lower lip. ‘We’re not going to get left behind, babes. We’ll leave them behind.’
Josh raised his hand and slapped her across the cheek. ‘I said no! We all stay together.’
Brittany stumbled away from him, hugging herself tight, her dark eyes filling with tears, shooting daggers first at him, and then at Chris. Finally she turned her wrath on Rose. ‘What do you say, you skinny bitch? You’re the one who tells these guys what to do, aren’t you? Are you just going to turn your back on us?’
Rose shook her head, not knowing what to say. Everything about these people gave her the creeps. What frightened her most was the uncertainty. She had never seen them in her dreams. She had no idea what to expect from them. But she didn’t need dreams or visions to tell her they were dangerous. Nutmeg cowered at her side, frightened by the shouting and the violence. Rose patted the dog on the back of her neck to calm her down. In turn, Nutmeg licked her hand, helping to calm her too.
It was Seth who broke the deadlock, appealing for peace from his stretcher. ‘Please, I can’t stand this bickering. Let’s just agree to be friends. Josh is right, we’re safer in numbers.’
‘No,’ mumbled Chris. ‘I keep telling you that we’re not.’
But for once, Seth was adamant. ‘Well, you’re wrong.’
Josh’s rage seemed to vanish and he beamed broadly at Seth. ‘Well said, Seth. You are most definitely two mental steps ahead of everyone else here, and I include myself when I say that. Guys, let’s do what Seth says. Be grateful, not hateful, yeah?’ He gestured to Brittany, who was nursing her slapped cheek. ‘Sorry I hit you, babes. I just lost it for a sec. Come on, let me kiss it better. And you should apologize to Rose here.’
‘Apologize?’ said Brittany, as he kissed her face.
‘Yeah, babes. You were well out of order, calling her a skinny bitch and all that. What were you thinking, babes? Say you’re sorry. Do it now.’
Brittany hesitated, biting her lip again, but Josh twisted her head until she was facing Rose. ‘Sure, yeah, sorry if I offended you,’ she said reluctantly.
Josh broke out in a big grin. ‘Good. We’re all friends again. That’s how it’s going to be from now on. No more conflict, just peace and love. Glastonbury, here we come! So, who’s going to carry Seth first?’
Chapter Fifty-One
Gatwick Airport, West Sussex, crescent moon
There had been no more killings since the full moon, and now it was time for a birth. Liz chased the men from the room, and then the women gathered around Samantha, preparing for her baby to be born at last.
Nine months it had taken to make a baby.
Nine months ago, Dean had still been alive. He and Samantha had been living happily in Battersea in South London, planning for a future together with their baby. The Beast of Clapham Common had yet to make its first appearance, and the Ripper murders had not begun. And Liz had still been human.
Nine months ago, Liz had not even met any of the women in this room, apart from Samantha herself. Now they were family.
The men had been glad to leave the hotel suite before anything got underway. Kevin in particular had been enthusiastic to make his escape. Mr Singh and the boys had joined him.
Vijay’s mother and Aasha appeared nervous, but old Mrs Singh was in her element, giving orders to the other women, and offering words of wisdom to Samantha. ‘Fetch clean water,’ she told her daughter. ‘Go and find more towels,’ she instructed Aasha. ‘You,’ she said to Liz, ‘bring that nice doctor from upstairs.’
They all dashed off on their errands, leaving Samantha in the care of Mrs Singh. ‘Breathe deeply in and out,’ the old woman said. ‘One … two … three …’
Liz was relieved that someone was taking charge. She had worried that as a police officer, everyone would assume that she knew what to do. They often did, and sometimes in the most ridiculous situations. How many times had she had to explain to people that her job was to arrest criminals, not to search for lost dogs, break up a late-night fight between noisy tom cats, or to find out why their pizza delivery guy was thirty minutes late?
She would much rather b
e out arresting criminals than helping with the birth of a baby. But this was personal, not part of her job.
She was glad to find Doctor Pope ready on standby, his bag already packed in anticipation of Samantha’s labour. ‘This is a very punctual baby,’ he said. ‘Not even one day early or late. Let’s hope that bodes well for a smooth birth.’
Samantha was in full flow when Liz returned with the doctor, groaning in agony and uttering a string of swear words that Liz had never heard her say before.
‘Keep moving around,’ Mrs Singh was saying to her. ‘Walk, squat, lean against the wall, or just sway back and forth. It will help you cope with the pain. The worst place you can be right now is lying in the bed like a great big elephant.’
Liz had never seen an elephant lying in a bed, but Mrs Singh’s advice seemed to be helping.
‘Scream and shout if you want to,’ she encouraged Samantha. ‘Do whatever you like.’
Samantha was happy to oblige.
Doctor Pope regarded the two women with some amusement. ‘It seems like everything is in order here. With any luck I won’t be needed.’
‘We will need a doctor if something goes wrong,’ declared Mrs Singh. ‘Otherwise let nature take its course.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said the doctor.
The baby seemed in no particular hurry to arrive, and labour went on for hours. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ said Mrs Singh, as Samantha gasped in pain every time a new contraction came. ‘This is all perfectly normal.’
‘That’s right,’ said Doctor Pope.
Aasha looked horrified. ‘This is normal?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then I am so never having a baby.’
Lily was watching from the sidelines, anxious but curious. Aasha took the little girl’s hand. ‘Your baby brother or sister will be here soon, don’t worry.’
Mrs Singh pointed at Liz. ‘You, go fetch a fresh bowl of clean water.’
When Liz returned, the birth had moved on to the next stage and Samantha was screaming loudly. Aasha was looking sick. The other women were crowded around.
A strong scent of blood flooded Liz’s nostrils, almost knocking her back with its intensity. Her heart accelerated and her breath began to come in quick gasps. Her mouth filled with saliva and her vampire teeth twisted through her gums.
She knew she had to leave, and immediately. The smell of the blood was too intoxicating for her to bear. It was driving her wild with bloodlust. She thrust the bowl of water into Aasha’s hands. ‘Take this.’
‘What?’ said Aasha. ‘Me?’ The girl looked almost ready to panic. ‘I can’t!’
But Liz was the one who needed to get out. She couldn’t stay a moment longer in the presence of such a strong reek of blood. ‘Do it!’ she said firmly.
This time Aasha obeyed. She took hold of the bowl as Liz dashed from the room.
Liz closed the door behind her and leaned back against it in the corridor, panting deeply. Gradually her heart rate returned to normal and her breath slowed. She felt her teeth retract. She stood there for a while, knowing she could not go back inside, but not wanting to leave either. Eventually, Samantha’s cries came to an abrupt end, and a new sound greeted her. The crying of a newborn baby.
Chapter Fifty-Two
London, new moon
The PM’s journey through the wreckage and the ruins was far slower than she had planned. Huge areas of the city had been reduced to rubble. Even where buildings still stood, they were mere shells. Walls and windows and roofs were missing, leaving just bare structures hulking over dust-strewn streets, like houses of cards that had been shaken. There were no straight lines in this city. Everything was bent or twisted out of kilter. Everything had turned to grey. Wherever she went, the terrain was strewn with personal items. Books, papers, clothing, furniture, children’s toys. People’s possessions exposed for all to see.
It would have been easier and a lot quicker if she could have followed the simple underground route that the General had mapped out. But at least her trek above ground had given her the chance to view the destruction of the city at first hand. Without seeing it for herself, it would have remained an abstract idea, a fact not fully understood, perhaps not even accepted. She knew now without a shadow of doubt that London was gone forever, and that whatever the future held, it would be entirely different from the past. The survivors of this calamity would have to build a new civilization, from scratch if necessary.
After many days of struggle she emerged onto the open fields of Hampstead Heath, and made her way up to the viewpoint on Parliament Hill. From here she could see for miles. She turned and spent several minutes taking in the view.
A large part of London had been completely flooded. All along the river embankments, in Docklands, Greenwich, and a long way to the south, the water spread out in a gigantic lake, almost a mile wide in places. She guessed that the flood defences of the Thames Barrier had been destroyed. Or else the explosion had produced a surge so large it had spilled over the low-lying land to each side of the river. London had been a floodplain once, and now it was again.
The world had seemed so solid and safe before. Western civilization had taken so many centuries to build. Who knew it had been forever teetering just a few short weeks away from total meltdown?
Incongruously, many of the tallest buildings still stood intact, rising up from the water like a drowned city. She recognized the famous shapes of Big Ben, the Gherkin, the Shard. They must have survived the shockwaves from the airbursts, and been saved from the firestorms by the water. By contrast, many of the buildings on higher ground had been laid waste by fire.
The oldest part of London, the City of London itself, stood proud on the three ancient hills of Ludgate, Cornhill and Tower Hill, forming a small island within the flooded city, on which St Paul’s Cathedral was remarkably well preserved. Well, it had stood for three centuries and survived the blitz of 1940, so that seemed fitting.
As for the more modern suburbs, they were either flooded or burned to the ground. The vast sprawl of roads and buildings which had taken two thousand years to slowly creep across the surface of the land had vanished, and in its wake the physical geography of London was revealed. From the PM’s high vantage point on the Heath, the land dipped steadily toward the low-lying valley floor of what had been eastern and southern London. A few isolated peaks such as Primrose Hill and Crouch Hill stood on higher ground, and the distant rise of Biggin Hill was just visible far to the south.
Behind her, on the higher ground to the north, the dead slept peacefully in Highgate Cemetery, watched over by stone angels. Beyond that lay a grey, dusty wasteland of ruined houses and crumbling tower blocks. That was the direction of Northwood HQ, but the route there looked impassable.
She turned instead to the west. The land dipped lower again in that direction, and there were green areas, untouched by the firestorms, and many buildings still intact. The way looked safer and more inviting, and she set off down the hillside, her vision fixed on the far horizon.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Windsor Castle, Berkshire, new moon
Mr Canning gazed out over the massive crenellations of Windsor Castle’s Round Tower. From the top of the tower’s two hundred steps he could see for literally miles.
Behind him, to the east, lay the blackened ruins of London, only a few of its famous landmarks still standing amid a sea of wreckage and rubble. Where the Thames had burst its banks, was nothing but floodland.
To his south, the green acres of Windsor Great Park stretched out as far as his keen one eye could see. On the distant rise of Snow Hill, he picked out the huge statue of the copper horse, a representation of the mad king, George III, dressed as a Roman emperor on horseback. Leanna, it seemed, was reviving a tradition of deranged monarchs. Canning gleefully saluted the dead king. ‘We are all mad now,’ he muttered.
He turned his attention west, where the town of Windsor was burning merrily to the ground, greedy flames filling t
he evening sky with smoke, and turning the sunset a deep blood red. ‘Burn it!’ Leanna had declared. ‘It spoils the view from my bedroom window.’ And Canning had happily obliged. The occupants of the burning houses had been moved on, massacred or brought into the castle to be used as food or sport, depending on Leanna’s whim. They were being held in the castle’s Lower Ward, spread out below him.
He had never pictured himself as a general, but he was steadily growing into the role. It was true that he had no military training, but he had studied military history and knew the theory of warfare well enough. How else could he have risen to the top of the teaching profession?
He did not fool himself that this great fortress would offer any protection against a modern invading army. The Norman motte on which the Round Tower was constructed had provided stout defence against Saxon rebels during the time of William the Conqueror, but it would be useless against an aerial assault by strike fighters. Its thick stone ramparts would offer little resistance to high explosives, and the iron portcullis in its gatehouse would be easily breached by a Challenger tank. Canning knew that these medieval fortifications were all for show, simply a part of Leanna’s play-acting fantasy. But still. He would rather be inside its gates than out there, amid the burning streets.
His fighting forces were limited. Aaron, the single werewolf that Leanna had spared from her slaughter to send as messenger to the surviving werewolves, had exaggerated the number of werewolves who had taken refuge inside the castle. They were somewhat fewer than a hundred. Of those, some ten or so had refused to submit to Leanna’s rule. Their heads now adorned the tower’s battlements. Around sixty remained, and they were armed only with a mix of assault rifles, semi-automatic pistols, shotguns and sniper rifles. They lacked any kind of armoured vehicle or heavy weaponry. They were weak, and he could not yet lead them into battle.
Canning turned finally to peer out over the northern edge of the tower. Beyond the burning houses of Windsor and Eton, the view in this direction was mundane. Roads, a distant motorway, railway tracks, then tower blocks and densely packed houses, all lined up in neat rows. The urban sprawl that had leaked out from London. And yet this dreary vista concealed a danger. Beyond the suburban settlements, further than even he could see, lay their enemy. Thousands of humans, packed into the camp at Stoke Park, protected by trained and well-armed soldiers. He knew that his Wolf Army stood no chance in a full-scale battle against such a foe. Leanna was pressing him to go on the offensive, but that would be suicidal. Even under a full moon, the werewolves could not do battle against armoured fighting vehicles.
Lycanthropic (Book 4): Moon Rise [The Age of the Werewolf] Page 22
