Lycanthropic (Book 1): Wolf Blood

by Morris, Steve

  The wolf ran in a circle around Dave, snapping its jaws in cold fury. It had been hurt. There was no sign of blood, apart from on its muzzle, which was presumably Dave’s, but it limped on one of its hind legs. The creature approached Dave again, this time from behind, aiming straight for his head.

  ‘No!’ shouted Liz. She let go of the radio and ran forward, waving her arms and screeching. The wolf turned its head to look in her direction. A look of hate filled its yellow eyes and it sprang at her, covering the gap between them in one leap, knocking her backward onto the hard paving slabs. The wolf scratched at her chest with its sharp claws, ripping at the stab-proof vest, but the tough Kevlar fibres of the vest blocked the wolf’s claws and saved her from the worst of the attack.

  She struggled to reach hold of her baton, but the wolf had her pinned to the ground with its paws. Her elbow hurt like the devil, making her attempts to push the beast away useless.

  The wolf raised its enormous head and opened its mouth ready to make a final lunge. She saw a kind of savage laughter in its yellow eyes as it rolled its jaws toward her face.

  Then a police siren cut through the night air and the wolf lifted its head with a start. It stood motionless for a moment, then seemed to make a decision. With a last snarl aimed at her, it turned and fled, bounding through a gap in the cars, making its escape down the middle of the road.

  Liz rolled onto her side to watch. The wolf turned right at the road junction and disappeared down a side street, almost like it knew where to go. That was strange. Why hadn’t it gone back into the park? She turned her attention back to Dave. His neck wound was bleeding heavily and his eyes stared dully at nothing in particular. She recognized the symptoms of shock.

  ‘Hang in there, Dave,’ she said, applying pressure to the wound to quench the bleeding. ‘Help’s on its way.’

  The response car was already stopping in the road. The sound of booted feet running toward her had never been so welcome.

  Chapter Nine

  Department of Genetics, Imperial College, Kensington, London, waning moon

  There was a knock, and a pretty young woman stuck her head around the door of Helen Eastgate’s office. ‘Doctor Eastgate?’ she enquired. ‘Hi, my name is Leanna. Leanna Lloyd.’ She entered the office, limping slightly on her left leg, and closed the door behind her.

  Helen rose from her chair and went to welcome her visitor. ‘Hi Leanna, come on inside. Let’s see if I can find you somewhere to sit. My office is always a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.’

  Helen lifted a pile of papers and journals from a chair and dumped them onto the floor next to some books and other piles of work. She moved the chair in front of the wooden desk that squatted in the middle of the room and motioned for Leanna to sit. ‘Call me Helen, by the way.’ She extended a hand to shake Leanna’s hand. The young woman’s grip was firm and gave the impression of confidence and self-assurance. It was surprising given all that she had been through.

  Helen had been briefed by the university’s Admissions Tutor on Leanna’s unusual background. A star medical student at the University of Cambridge followed by post-graduate study at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine under Professor Norman Wiseman, Leanna’s prospects had seemed assured. Then it had all gone wrong. After a prolonged research expedition to Romania with Leanna and two other students, Professor Wiseman had gone through some kind of mental breakdown, submitting a research paper that had been universally denounced and ridiculed. He’d taken to the bottle by all accounts, leaving Leanna and the two other students to fend for themselves in the wilds of the Carpathian Mountains. She seemed to have come through her experience remarkably unscathed.

  ‘Is your leg all right?’ Helen asked Leanna, noting the way the young woman leaned on the back of the chair for support.

  ‘It’s fine. I slipped while out jogging last night.’

  Helen carefully navigated her way through the mounds of books and other detritus that covered her office floor and seated herself at the desk, opposite Leanna. She studied the woman in more detail. Leanna was young – twenty-five, according to the Admissions Tutor’s notes – and strikingly pretty. Chiselled features and almost hollow cheeks gave her the looks of a catwalk model. Blonde hair tumbled thickly over her shoulders and down her back in flowing waves. She wore a pair of jeans and boots with just a thin strappy top, revealing milky alabaster skin and a small tattoo of a flower on her bare shoulder. As she sat down she removed a pair of dark glasses, showing eyes of striking blue.

  ‘You don’t feel the cold, then?’ enquired Helen, indicating Leanna’s summer-weight clothing.

  Leanna shrugged. ‘Not really. After you’ve spent two winters living in the mountains of Romania you realize that it doesn’t really get that cold in England.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ agreed Helen. ‘Personally, I prefer a hotter climate. I’d spend the winters back in Australia if I could.’

  Leanna regarded her with cold crystal eyes. ‘You’re Australian?’

  ‘I was born in Perth. You couldn’t tell from my accent?’ Helen laughed. ‘I guess I must be starting to blend in.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘So, I understand you’d like to transfer to Imperial College to continue work on your post-graduate studies. Is that right?’ A request to change university mid-course was unusual, but perhaps not so surprising under the circumstances.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Leanna, nodding. ‘But not just to continue at a different university. I want to start again in a new direction.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘After all that happened with Professor Wiseman, I want to move to a new field, in a different department. I guess I feel that all the work I did with Professor Wiseman has been discredited. I need a fresh start.’

  Helen consulted Leanna’s paperwork on her desk. ‘According to your application form, you were working in the Epidemiology Department studying under Professor Wiseman but you want to switch your studies into Genetics.’

  Leanna nodded again enthusiastically. ‘I want to work in molecular genetics. I’ve read your papers on the genetics of infectious diseases and I can see that you’re one of the leaders in the field.’

  Helen returned a practised smile. She was used to such flattery from prospective students. Flattery from her colleagues was much scarcer unfortunately. ‘Tell me a little about your work under Professor Wiseman. I read the newspaper reports at the time, but nothing that carried any scientific credibility.’

  Leanna sighed. ‘Professor Wiseman was a bit of a renegade. He had a theory about a new mechanism for disease transmission. In his opinion, a possibility existed for the direct transfer of genetic traits from one subject to another – even from one species to another. He didn’t really regard it as disease as such, more like a new approach to evolutionary biology.’

  Helen raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s certainly original. Did he make much progress with his theory?’

  ‘You saw what happened when he tried to publish,’ said Leanna. ‘Universal scorn. That’s why I want to start my research in a new field.’

  Helen nodded. ‘That makes sense. Tell me, what happened to Professor Wiseman in the end?’

  Leanna shrugged indifferently. ‘He just disappeared. He went into the mountains one day and never came back. The local police conducted a search, but they never found his body. Nobody was very surprised by that. The Carpathian Mountains are vast and wild. Most likely he jumped into a river or fell into a gulley. He’d been under a lot of stress. He was drinking heavily near the end.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘There are wild animals living in the forest,’ added Leanna. ‘Wolves and bears. His remains are never likely to be found.’

  A shiver went down Helen’s spine. She scrutinized the young student sitting opposite her carefully. For all her beauty, Leanna had an icy coldness, revealed in her eyes and sometimes in her words. She showed indifference to, or even resentment of her former professor. She didn’
t even seem to be aware of how much she revealed.

  She had ready answers for all of Helen’s questions, and everything she said matched the facts as far as Helen understood them. But something didn’t quite ring true. Perhaps it was less what she said, and more the way she said it. Her answers were too polished, too neat. But perhaps Helen was being too harsh. The girl had been through a rough year. She deserved a chance.

  ‘I understand. Well, the university would be happy for you to join as a postgraduate student this term and start work here. You already satisfy our entrance requirements, and I have funding in place for a doctoral student to join my team. We’d waive the normal time constraints, effectively allowing you to make a fresh start. How does that sound?’

  Leanna nodded eagerly. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘We can talk about a research project soon, but before that, a question I always ask my prospective students is what first drew them into the field of genetics, and into medical research more broadly.’

  Leanna sat up straight in her chair, considering the question carefully. ‘I think it all goes back to when I was thirteen and my mother died. She’d been ill with the flu. At first it didn’t seem too serious, more like a nasty cold, but then it became worse and she developed pneumonia. The doctors treated her with antibiotics, but there were complications. I watched her dying. It was a horrible death. I didn’t understand how anyone could die of a disease like that in the modern world. I started to read about the influenza virus and how complex it can be. As a teenager I wanted to be a doctor, to help treat diseases like that. But then as I grew older I realized that my true dream was to work toward the elimination of disease completely, so I decided on a career in medical research.’

  ‘I see,’ said Helen levelly. ‘It’s clear that you’re highly motivated, but I must warn you that our work here isn’t going to eliminate disease or even cure one type of disease any time soon. At best, it may contribute more to the understanding of how the genetic structure of diseases interacts with other factors.’

  Leanna smiled back. ‘I understand entirely,’ she said.

  Helen shuffled through the papers on her desk. ‘So can I ask you about practical arrangements? Do you have somewhere to live? What about financial support?’

  ‘Everything’s arranged,’ replied Leanna. ‘I have a place to live near the university, sharing with two other students. And financially, I’m good. You see, my father and my younger brother were both killed in a car accident during the summer, so I inherited the family home and all my father’s investments.’ She gazed into the distance for a moment, seeming to remember something. A tear formed in one eye, but she blinked it away quickly. ‘So financially, I have everything covered,’ she finished.

  Helen stared at the young woman opposite. To encounter so much tragedy in so short a time. It was almost beyond belief. ‘I’m so sorry, Leanna.’

  Leanna looked up and caught her eye. ‘Oh, yeah, thanks.’ Her eyes seemed to redden then, and she bent her head forward, crying softly.

  Helen passed her a box of tissues. Leanna took one and blew her nose loudly.

  ‘This must have been such a difficult year for you,’ said Helen. ‘You’ve lost your family, and your research supervisor. Are you sure you’re ready to start this term? I think it might be better for you to take some time off and make a fresh start next year.’

  The girl opposite her froze mid-tears and looked up, her face suddenly hard and determined again. Her momentary display of grief was apparently forgotten. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I want this more than anything.’ She returned the box of tissues. ‘I’ve already wasted enough time. I want to start work immediately.’

  Helen had never witnessed such a strangely detached display of emotion. She wondered if anything Leanna had said, about losing her mother as a teenager, about wanting to cure disease, was true. The whole performance seemed staged somehow. She wondered briefly if the girl on the other side of her desk was a psychopath.

  She had to suppress a strong urge to tell Leanna to get out of her office and find a different supervisor. And yet she had to make allowance for Leanna’s state of mind after so many tragedies. Against her better judgement, she replied, ‘Let’s make a proper start on Monday. Come to my office at ten and we can talk more about the research project you have in mind.’

  Chapter Ten

  King’s College Hospital, Lambeth, South London, new moon

  James pushed away the tray of hospital food in disgust. The smell of it made him feel sick. He pressed the button to call the nurse.

  ‘Please can you take the food away?’ he asked when she came to his bed. ‘It’s making me feel queasy.’

  The nurse’s name was Chanita. She was kinder than the others. Somehow she made time for her patients. She didn’t make James feel that looking after him was just another part of her job, like changing the sheets and checking the drip was properly attached. Instead she seemed to really care about people.

  She could be strict with her patients too, though. ‘You won’t get better if you don’t eat,’ she scolded him, but she removed the tray anyway. ‘Is there anything else I can get you? Some fruit perhaps?’

  James wrinkled his nose. Fruit and vegetables smelled the worst. How anyone could eat them was beyond his comprehension. He had liked fruit before, he remembered that. But now the thought of it made him feel nauseous for some reason. He couldn’t even face the cooked meals they brought him. He knew that no one ever rated hospital food, but this must be the worst ever. He couldn’t face a mouthful of the stuff.

  Chanita hovered over the bed, looking concerned. ‘You haven’t eaten a thing since you arrived,’ she said, ‘and that was over two weeks ago.’

  Two weeks. Had it really been that long? He’d been unconscious or delirious for much of the time at the beginning. The last thing he remembered before waking up in hospital was a police woman pulling him away from the man he’d just killed. Murdered, really. He’d stabbed him through the heart with a bread knife. That made James a murderer. He hadn’t meant to do it, though. It had been to protect the children. That man had been totally deranged. He’d had no choice.

  If only he could have stopped the little ones from running inside the man’s house. If only they had never knocked on the man’s door that night. If only he hadn’t volunteered to take the little ones out for trick or treat. James pushed the thoughts aside. If only led to madness.

  He remembered the man’s blood too. Crimson blood, bright with life. So much blood, all over his hands, running down the shaft of the knife, smeared over the slippery handle. He remembered the way it pulsed like a living creature as it flooded from the man’s chest, the coppery smell rich and tangy. He licked his lips. ‘You don’t have any uncooked food, do you?’ he asked Chanita. ‘Like raw meat, I mean.’

  Chanita gave him a funny look. ‘Of course not.’ She turned on her heel and left, carrying the tray and its uneaten food with her.

  Raw meat. For some reason, he’d got it into his head that he might enjoy eating uncooked meat. He could taste it in his mind now. Smell it. Even imagine how he would feel ripping hunks of it with his teeth and swallowing it down. A nice bloody steak, perhaps, or even some pork or chicken. You weren’t supposed to eat chicken raw, because of the risk of food poisoning. But he had a craving for it. Maybe some raw fish, at a push. Sushi. They might have some of that in the hospital. Yes, when Chanita came back, he would ask her about sushi.

  The image of the bloodied knife appeared before him again, his hands twisting the blade ever deeper into the man’s heart. If he could hold that knife in his hands right now, he would lick the blood from its blade. Lick it clean.

  He hoped the police wouldn’t prosecute him for murder. A police woman had visited him in hospital just yesterday, making some enquiries, asking him questions about what had happened exactly. His memory had been a bit fuzzy, and the drugs made it hard to concentrate, so she’d said she would come back when he was feeling stronger.

  He was str
onger today, even though he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for a couple of weeks. In fact, he felt a lot better, well enough to go home. Maybe they’d let him leave hospital in a day or so, then he’d be able to get himself some real food. Something bloody and raw. The thought of it made him start to drool.

  ‘Hello, James. How do you feel today?’ It was the doctor who had been attending him. What was his name? Doctor Kapoor.

  James gave him a grin. ‘Actually, I feel much better today.’

  The doctor was studying some charts and looking concerned. ‘That’s good, James. Very good. Your temperature is back to normal for the first time. That’s a very good sign. And your wound is healing nicely too. You still haven’t eaten anything though.’

  ‘I haven’t really wanted to,’ James told him. ‘When do you think I can go home?’

  ‘We’ll have to see,’ said Doctor Kapoor. ‘Let’s take it one day at a time. You had a very nasty infection, you know. We kept you in Intensive Care for the first week. Do you remember anything about it?’

  ‘Not really,’ said James. ‘I only remember the last few days.’

  ‘Well,’ said Doctor Kapoor. ‘You were in a pretty bad state when you first arrived. The bite wound was relatively superficial, but you were in a state of shock, and suffering from a severe allergic reaction. Do you have any kinds of allergies? Hay fever, food allergies, that kind of thing?’

  James shook his head.

  ‘Well, whatever it was, it put you into a state of anaphylaxis. Do you know what that is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s when the whole body responds to some kind of allergen and goes into a state of shock. You were already unconscious when the paramedics reached you. Your throat had swollen up so you couldn’t breathe properly and your blood pressure had dropped right away. If they hadn’t given you an injection of adrenaline you wouldn’t even have made it back to the hospital. You can thank the ambulance crew for that, and the police officer who found you.’