‘We’re good,’ said James. ‘Thanks anyway.’ The two girls were in the hallway now. James pushed Matthew after them.
The man took a step forward. ‘If you don’t want a treat, I have to play a trick on you,’ he snarled. ‘That’s the rule.’ He reached out suddenly and grabbed Henry by the shoulders. The boy cried out in fright.
James brought the bread knife out into full view and held it between himself and the man. He clutched it so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had no idea what he might do with it, but it seemed like the first sensible idea he’d had all evening.
For a moment the man didn’t react. Then he started to laugh. He held Henry closer to him, digging into the boy’s shoulders with his long fingernails. The little boy’s super-hero mask slipped from his face, revealing two eyes wide with terror.
The man’s laughter dissolved in a fit of coughing. When he spoke again, his voice was filled with menace. ‘Thinking to poke me with that, are you, boy?’ he demanded, nodding toward the bread knife. ‘Think you can stick that in me?’
James gripped the knife as hard as he could, but the tighter he held it, the more the knife shook. ‘Amy, Bethany, Matthew, go get help,’ he called. He dared not turn around to see where they were. ‘Run!’ he shouted.
He was relieved to hear the sound of the children running away down the hallway toward the front door of the house.
‘Three gone, and only two left,’ said the man. ‘And I’m so hungry.’ He licked his red lips with the tip of his tongue.
James’ arms were shaking from hand to shoulder, as if the knife were a huge weight. The trembling started to spread to his knees, but he stood his ground in the kitchen. ‘Let the boy go,’ he said.
The man shook his head, making his lank hair sweep across his shoulders. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ he demanded. ‘I told you I haven’t eaten for a week. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.’ His tongue darted from between white teeth. ‘But it’s not horsemeat I want.’
There was a noise from the end of the hallway. The children were pounding against the front door, the door that led to freedom. Amy called out, ‘James, we can’t open the door, it’s locked!’
The man laughed again. ‘Oh dear, what a shame. Looks like all five of you are back on the menu.’
‘Shut up!’ said James. He needed the man to stop talking, so he could think clearly. ‘Let go of Henry.’ He waved the knife feebly in the air, but his hand shook violently as he did it.
‘Or what?’ said the man. ‘Going to have a go at me, are you, boy? I don’t think so. I don’t think you’re going to do anything.’
The children were banging on the door with their fists. They opened the letterbox and shouted for help.
‘The police will come soon,’ said James. ‘Someone outside will hear the noise and break the door down.’ He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince himself or the man.
The man shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Nobody cares what happens round here, least of all the police. Besides, you can scream all you like on Halloween and no one will give a damn. Screaming’s all part of the fun.’ He chuckled again, shaking Henry by the shoulders. He stopped abruptly, and all the laughter left his face. When he spoke again, his voice was cold and dead. ‘By the time the police get here, I’ll have eaten every last one of you, I reckon.’
With a sudden movement, he shoved Henry toward James and lunged at James’ knife arm. The little boy tripped and fell on top of James, knocking him sideways into the edge of the door. A sharp pain jarred through James’ side. He felt the man twist his arm and grab the blade. The knife was pulled from his grasp.
Tears stung James’ eyes, but he had the sense to grab Henry with his free arm and push the boy through the open doorway and out into the hallway. The man slammed him backward into the kitchen wall with a vicious strength, and he doubled over, the wind knocked out of him.
When he lifted his head again, the man was standing right in front of him. He grabbed James by the hair and jerked his head up, banging it back against the wall. The man held the knife now and he pushed it up against James’ throat.
In the hallway the children clung tightly together by the locked front door. One of the girls screamed.
The man brought his face up close against James’, his stinking breath washing a wave of nausea over him. His yellow eyes glinted and he smiled. ‘Oh dear,’ said the man. ‘That didn’t go too well, did it? Look who’s got the knife now.’ He dragged the blade up to James’ chin, drawing its serrated edge slowly across his skin. James felt the sting of the knife cutting into his flesh. ‘I’ll cut your head off, I will,’ said the man. ‘How’s that for a treat?’ He laughed coldly. He turned to look at the four children at the other end of the hallway. ‘Would you like to see me do that?’ he demanded. ‘Would you like to see it?’
James didn’t think what to do next. Thinking hadn’t done him any good so far. Instead he reacted instinctively, bringing his knee sharply up into the man’s groin. The man shrieked and slashed wildly with the knife, cutting viciously just inches from James’ face, but James dodged his head aside. He grabbed at the knife and felt the blade dig into the palm of his hand, pulling beads of blood from his flesh. He let go with a cry.
The man pushed him to the floor and ran toward the children, huddled by the front door.
James ran after him, but the man moved quickly. By the time James reached the end of the hallway, the man already had the knife pressed to Bethany’s throat. She screamed. Amy joined her, the two girls shrieking in unison.
‘Make them stop!’ shouted the man. ‘Make them stop or I’ll kill them both!’
The girls screamed louder.
The man’s eyes held a mad look. He was capable of anything.
Henry and Matthew started wailing too.
‘Make them stop!’ repeated the man.
Then from outside, a male voice shouted, ‘Police! Open up!’ A fist banged heavily on the front door.
The man turned to look up.
In that moment, James dived at him, grabbing for the knife. One hand closed around the man’s hand on the knife handle, the other grasped the blade itself. A searing pain shot through James’ hand, but he held on tight.
The man screeched.
James fell on top of him, kicking and twisting as they collapsed together onto the floor. Bethany wriggled free, but continued to scream as loudly as she could. From outside another voice, a woman’s, cried, ‘Open the door now! This is the police!’
The man let out a roar like a cornered animal, his face contorting in rage. He and James both clung to the knife, the man gripping the handle, James feeling the sharp teeth of the blade biting into his palm. The pain was blinding, but he didn’t let go.
James had his weight on the man now and he pinned him down. But the man’s grip on the knife was stronger. James felt it slipping from his grasp.
A heavy weight crashed against the door. It sounded like someone was hurling their entire body against it. The man looked up for just a second.
James elbowed him in the face and suddenly the knife was his. He wrenched it from the man’s grasp, ignoring the blood that ran down the blade of the knife, gripping its slick length in his fingers. He twisted it round so he could grip the handle.
The man bared his teeth at James in frustration, then lunged forward, sinking his teeth into James’ left arm.
Unbelievable pain shot through James’ arm. The man bit deep, as if he really did mean to eat his victim alive. James felt sick. He was in danger of passing out from the pain. With a final desperate strength he plunged the bread knife into the man’s chest.
The man fell back and James felt a jolt of relief as teeth unclenched and jaws unlocked. Those yellow eyes stared at him with unrestrained hate and the man howled like a kicked dog.
The front door began to splinter and give way as the heavy weight crashed against it repeatedly from the other side.
Still the man struggled, closing his hands
around James’ neck and squeezing with a desperate strength.
James twisted the knife in the man’s chest, pushing it with both hands. The knife went deeper, finding a path between the ribs, and the man howled again. James didn’t stop pushing and twisting the blade until the door crashed open behind him and strong hands pulled him away. By then the yellow glow had faded from the man’s eyes and he seemed to have found some final peace.
Chapter Eight
Ruskin Park, South London, one day later, full moon
Police Constable Liz Bailey had never seen a wolf.
‘What do you mean, you’ve never bloody seen one?’ demanded her colleague, PC David Morgan. Liz called him Fat Dave. He was a huge man, six feet six inches tall and weighing at least sixteen stone. England’s answer to Arnold Schwarzenegger, he boasted. That was wishful thinking. Dave carried too much of his weight around his belly. But he didn’t take kindly to anyone who pointed that out. He only allowed Liz to call him Fat Dave because they were such good friends. She would never have permitted him to call her Short-Arse otherwise.
‘I’ve never seen one,’ repeated Liz. ‘It’s not like you see a lot of wolves in South London.’ She looked out of the window of the patrol car. Streetlights cast an orange glow over the roofs of parked cars. Overhead, the landing lights of an aircraft blinked red and white. She couldn’t see any stars in the hazy sky. It was hardly ever dark enough round here to glimpse the heavens, but at least the moon shone full and bright above the old warehouses on the south side.
‘Didn’t your parents ever take you to the zoo?’ insisted Dave, turning the patrol car off the main road and into a slightly more salubrious residential area.
‘Can’t remember,’ lied Liz. Her mum and dad had rarely dragged her beyond the kiddies’ playground, or the beer garden in one of the local pubs. She recalled a school trip to London Zoo once, but she and the other kids had run wild and they hadn’t got much further than the gift shop before the teachers rounded them up and dragged them back to school. She didn’t want to talk about her wasted childhood now. She said, ‘I’m guessing wolves look like German shepherd dogs, but meaner.’
Dave gave her a mischievous look. ‘Not this one. The report said as big as a man.’
‘Yeah.’ Liz rolled her eyes. Someone had dialled 999 to report seeing a wolf running wild in local parkland. A wolf as big as a man. ‘As big as a poodle, more like.’
Dave snorted. ‘There are no wolves in London anyway. Probably not since the Dark Ages. Most likely it was just a fox.’
‘Or perhaps some weirdo hiding out in the bushes,’ suggested Liz. She’d arrested her fair share of those over the years. She hoped it wasn’t a weirdo though. She’d had her fill of that after rescuing those kids from that maniac the previous evening. She’d never seen such a severe bite wound before – not from a human bite, at least – and hoped she wouldn’t again. If only she and Dave had been a bit quicker breaking down the door, they might have been able to prevent the incident becoming so serious. As it was, that teenage boy had gone to hospital for emergency treatment and the perpetrator had ended up dead with a kitchen knife sticking out of his chest.
Dave pulled the car over to the side of the road and parked it in a space under some oak trees. The trees stood bare, save for a few last heroic leaves and some acorns still clinging to the gnarled branches. ‘Let’s go take a look,’ he said, getting out of the vehicle.
Liz followed. Outside the air held a late November chill, and dried leaves tumbled through the cold night as wind gusted from the open area of parkland next to the road. She was glad of her hat and the thick stab-proof vest she wore over her uniform. The park ran all the way along one side of the street, a black iron fence separating it from the pavement. She peered over the fence into the dark.
Nothing. The park was kept locked at night, and there were no lights within its boundary. Light from the streetlamps penetrated about twenty feet into the park, lending an orange tinge to the trees and shrubs that grew close enough to the fence to be visible. Beyond that, there was nothing to see, save for distant lights on the other side of the park. At least she could see a few pale stars here. The moon was brighter too, casting a silvery reflection on a puddle of water in the wet grass. The whole park couldn’t be bigger than forty acres. It was hardly a place for wolves.
‘Tell you what,’ said Dave. ‘Even if there is a wolf in there, we’ve got a better chance of finding Little Red Riding Hood than catching the bugger.’
Liz walked a little farther along the pavement, staying close to the iron railings. ‘Shh!’ She had heard something. Maybe a branch cracking underfoot, maybe just the wind snapping twigs off a tree. Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness of the park, and she could see further now. Beyond the iron railings a concrete path ran parallel to the street, bordered by twenty feet or so of well-kept lawn. Beyond that, shrubs and trees loomed tall. A tangle of smaller paths led off from the main walkway, heading deeper into the park. She could see benches at regular intervals along them, and lighter patches of grass.
Nothing moved.
‘This is a waste of time,’ said Dave. ‘Let’s get back in the car and find ourselves a couple of nice hot lattes on the High Street.’
They both heard the sound this time. A howling that touched something primal deep within the human psyche. A sound that no one could fail to recognize, whether they had encountered a wolf before or not. The sound came from close by, piercingly loud, a wild baying that rose and slowly fell away. A cold shiver ran all the way down Liz’s back.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Dave. ‘That was no dog.’
Liz saw the creature first. It loped out of the bushes not more than thirty feet from the road. A wolf, with pale, golden fur and yellow eyes that gleamed in the darkness. It was as big as a man too, just like the caller had reported. The wolf ran toward them, covering the distance easily, bounding effortlessly across the grass. As it drew near, Liz noted the way it steadily quickened its pace, its long snout stretching forward keenly.
It was going to jump.
If British police carried guns like their American counterparts, this would have been the moment to use them, thought Liz. Instead she shoved Dave aside, out of the way of the wolf. The big man stumbled and she went down on top of him, her elbow jarring as it hit the cold, hard surface of the pavement.
The wolf leaped at the same time, and she felt the rush of air as it sailed over the metal fence, its jaws snapping on empty space. It landed neatly on the ground behind them and spun round to face them, its bright eyes flashing yellow with anger.
Liz jumped to her feet, but Dave was still lying on the roadside. She pulled at his arm. ‘Come on, get up!’
Dave groaned and rolled over onto his back. He sat up slowly, but when he tried to stand his right leg buckled under his weight. ‘Damn,’ he cursed.
The wolf paced back and forth between two parked cars, its eyes locked on them, assessing, measuring. Liz had never seen an animal that looked more human. The wolf seemed to know their strengths and weaknesses. It was weighing the situation, preparing to make a decision.
Liz made the decision first.
She stepped between Dave and the wolf, pulling her baton from her duty belt. She held the weapon ready and ran at the wolf, shouting for it to flee.
The wolf regarded her coolly, dashing to one side just before she reached it. The creature ducked behind a car and disappeared from view. Liz turned around, looking to see where the wolf had gone. It seemed to have vanished.
She heard another groan from Dave as he lurched to his feet, holding on to the iron fence to take the weight off his injured knee. ‘Bugger,’ he muttered.
Liz rubbed her elbow and moved cautiously toward him, glancing around for the wolf.
‘Where’s it gone?’ asked Dave.
Liz shrugged. ‘It ran behind a car.’ Her elbow burned with a sharp pain as if she had damaged a tendon. She rubbed it again, but it did no good. At least she could still use
her arm. Dave’s leg was a different story.
He tried to put his weight on it, but the knee buckled again and he clutched the fence for support. ‘I can’t walk,’ he complained.
‘You stay there,’ said Liz. ‘I’m going to look for this wolf.’ She noticed that she had stopped referring to the creature as a dog.
She moved cautiously around the car and into the road. Nothing. She rounded the car and moved along to the next vehicle. A shout from Dave made her spin round.
The wolf had doubled back on itself somehow and was padding brazenly toward him, stepping sure-footedly over the uneven paving stones beneath the oak. Dave leaned against the park railings and pulled out a can of tear gas.
Liz ran toward him, but she was too slow. She watched as the wolf jumped at his throat.
Dave sprayed the canister in the animal’s face as it leapt. The wolf cried and left off its attack, landing neatly on the ground in front of the police officer. It snarled angrily, shaking its head from side to side, but the gas didn’t seem to have had much effect. The creature spun round again, growling menacingly.
‘Come on then, you hairy bastard!’ said Dave. He let go of the fence and lunged at the animal, wrapping his brawny arms around its middle, using his weight to force it to the ground. The wolf struggled, twisting in his strong grip. Its wet fur made it slippery and it nearly wriggled free of his grasp, but he was too heavy for it. He rolled on top of the creature, pinning it to the ground. ‘Call for help!’ he shouted.
Liz spoke quickly into her police radio. ‘Officer Lima Bravo 295 requesting backup to Ruskin Park area southside. Over.’
The reply came back almost immediately. ‘Lima Bravo 295, support vehicle on its way. Should be with you in three minutes.’
From the roadside came a shout, then a scream. The wolf had its jaws clamped to Dave’s neck. Liz could see blood spurting from the wound. Dave screamed again and kicked at the wolf with his steel-toe boot.
The wolf whimpered in pain and released its grip on his neck. It sprang back and howled once more. Close up, the sound was deafening. Liz put her hands to her ears.
Lycanthropic (Book 1): Wolf Blood Page 4
