A colleague next to her cried out, a red gash across his shoulder.
She grabbed hold of the man, supporting him as he staggered away from the front line. ‘Come with me,’ she said. She helped him to the safety of a waiting paramedic, then returned to the fray.
Looters were pouring out of shops, leaving with TVs and other goods tucked under their arms. The pavements were already strewn with dropped screens and laptops as well as the detritus of broken glass and stones. The situation was deteriorating further and the police dropped back under a sustained hail of missiles.
‘To me!’ yelled the sergeant.
Dean and the other police officers regrouped in a line and prepared to charge a second time. Liz took up her place in the formation and readied herself for another assault. For a second time the street quivered to the sound of wooden batons against polycarbonate shields.
She ran forward again toward the car.
A group of masked and hooded young men stood in her path, their faces shadowed, clutching bottles and makeshift weapons in their hands. They put up a show of defiance as Liz and the others ran at them, but quickly turned and fled like rats. Again Dean reached the besieged car before her and pushed away the last stragglers with his shield. He gave one of the youths a glancing blow with his baton as he went.
Again he banged his fist against the windscreen of the car, shouting for the driver and passengers to get out. Still they huddled inside.
Liz lowered her face to the driver’s window. ‘Open the door!’ she cried, but the man inside shook his head. She swore in frustration. The rioters had been driven back, but they were grouping again to attack. The people in the car would be overrun if they didn’t get out.
A shout from Dean alerted her to a new danger. ‘Liz! Look out!’
At the front of the surging crowd, a young man had appeared, his face wrapped in a black scarf, a bottle in his hand. It flared bright in the night like a candle. A petrol bomb. The man took aim at Liz and threw the bottle as hard as he could.
Chapter Seventy
Riverside Walk, Battersea, South West London, New Year morning, full moon
James stood mesmerized by the woman next to him. He could smell her sweet flesh, and hear the blood that rushed through her young body. The hunger that raged within him could not be denied. Every cell of his being strained to be unleashed.
He needed to feed, and soon. It was past midnight, yet still the change had not come.
He dragged his eyes from the woman and looked up, hoping for a glimpse of the moon. The pale milky orb was appearing at the very zenith of the sky, struggling to break free of the clouds that concealed it. James willed them to vanish.
The clouds thinned as he watched, their sparse trails creeping away in retreat. Already a shimmer of light peeked out through the almost transparent haze.
But it was not enough. Still the change did not come.
Suddenly Samuel gripped his arm. ‘James, look over there.’
He looked in confusion where Samuel was pointing. Instead of up at the moon, Samuel pointed to his right, further along the river bank.
‘They’re coming toward us,’ said Samuel.
At first James didn’t understand what Samuel had seen. People were everywhere, standing and walking, singing and shouting. Over their heads, fireworks exploded in a gaudy wall of red and green against the night sky. Apartment buildings stood proud along the riverside, their residents making the most of their expensive views across the River Thames. And there were police, walking through the crowds toward them. He had seen all this before.
Then in a flash of understanding he realized the danger. These were not regular policemen, but the new elite force of armed police, dressed in their protective suits and helmets, carbines at their sides. He counted four, but they worked in teams and more would be here, hidden by the crowd. If James and Samuel changed now, they would become easy targets, even in wolf form.
James looked up. ‘It’s too late,’ he said.
The last threads of cloud slipped away, revealing the cold, clear stare of the moon. The moonlight struck his face, its silver beams caressing his skin and working their magic. It was too late to run, too late to hide. The change was already happening.
Chapter Seventy-One
St John’s Road, Battersea, South West London, New Year morning, full moon
The riot spread like wildfire, but Warg Daddy looked on impassively. This was not his fight. He had not come for this.
Debris lay all around him from looted shops, smashed advertising billboards and broken telephone kiosks. Smoke rose from fires started in the street or in buildings along the road, and alarms and sirens rang out in agitation. Car drivers honked their horns. People shouted at each other and filmed the scene on their phones. None of it mattered. It was all just noise.
‘Spread out, Brothers,’ he commanded. ‘Take your positions.’
Snakebite climbed onto a nearby car to get a better view of the unfolding violence, his black leather jacket, dark glasses and red beard unmistakable amidst the chaos. Some guy ran up onto the car to join him. Snakebite hurled him to the ground, where he lay on his back like a broken doll.
The crowds surged along the street, breaking against the parked and stranded cars like crashing waves. Among them went rioters, police, fleeing party-goers, kids on skateboards. Cyclists rode past, making the most of the breakdown of traffic laws. They were all the same to Warg Daddy. He watched without interest as they passed him by.
A double-decker bus made its way slowly through the crowds as if this were any regular Saturday night and everything would turn out all right. It wouldn’t. The bus driver realized that eventually and tried to turn his vehicle in the road. It was too narrow for that however. On board, the passengers stared out fearfully through the glass, or huddled in their seats. Warg Daddy marked them out for attention. When the change came they would be easy meat. That bus would be their tomb.
A shout from Snakebite caught his attention.
Snakebite had turned his gaze toward the sky and Warg Daddy looked up too. A police helicopter drifted overhead, training a blinding searchlight on the anarchy below. The chopping of its blades drowned out the noise on the street as it flew over, and Warg Daddy turned his super-sensitized eyes from the painful beam of light. But the helicopter passed over in vain. The police could do little to contain the violence and it would surely only get worse.
The helicopter flew away and Warg Daddy saw something else. Where previously a thick blanket of grey had hidden the night sky, more and more stars were appearing in his enhanced night vision. They twinkled brightly against a velvet blackness. The clouds retreated swiftly, a strong wind sweeping them away like curtains being drawn aside to reveal the eternal majesty of the heavens above.
Suddenly, as promised, the full moon emerged in all its majesty. Its clear bright light revealed the street riot as just a petty Saturday-night squabble between police and vigilantes. It would be swept away as easily as the thin clouds overhead had vanished.
Warg Daddy felt the intense light of the moonbeams burn his face and hands. He threw off his leather jacket and peeled away the shirt beneath to bathe fully in the blazing moonlight. His skin writhed as heat broke over him in a lightning surge. Power coursed through his veins and strong black hairs erupted from his arms, chest and face, matting quickly together into a protective coat of thick fur.
A delicious agony rippled through him as his body remade itself from the inside out. His muscles, already strong, bulged larger still, his thighs and triceps pulling taut as the sinews, ligaments and tendons bound themselves like knots. He could feel his very bones growing thicker and pulling like steel rods. His fingers and toes ignited with pain as nails thickened to claws and sharpened into talons. His gums bled as new teeth twisted through, sharp as knives, ready to slice flesh. He swallowed a mouthful of his own blood with pleasure, his tongue drooling with anticipation.
The agony coursed back and forth through every ce
ll of his body, purging weakness, building strength, until all vulnerability had burned to oblivion.
Warg Daddy clawed the ground, feeling the energy that his wolf heart pumped through widened arteries. Power surged through his body. He would explode if he didn’t vent it immediately. Rising onto his hind legs, he released it in a howl of ecstasy, saluting the moon that had given him this gift. He would repay that debt with a blood sacrifice to the goddess, Luna.
The police helicopter returned, training its searchlight on the wolves. It did not matter. The Wolf Brothers no longer shunned bright light. Now that they had changed they need not fear light again.
All around him, people had paused in their actions to look. Police, looters and panicked bystanders, they were all just prey, and seemed to know it. Warg Daddy padded into the middle of the street, picking out the weakest. More of the Brothers joined him, pacing in his wake.
A huge red wolf leaped down from the car where Snakebite had stood. Its fiery hackles rose along its back and shoulders like the flames that engulfed the nearby electronics store. The wolf that had been Snakebite rose onto its hind legs and howled at the moon. Fully stretched, the beast stood eight feet tall.
The other Brothers lent their voices to the chorus as well – Slasher, Meathook, Bloodbath and the rest. They wore coats of every colour, from the palest white to the inkiest black. Now all had changed. The hunt could begin.
Warg Daddy studied the people closest to him – a young guy in a hoodie and the policeman he had been about to hurl a bottle at. The terror they radiated was like a drug. He bathed in it luxuriously for a moment. Then he leapt.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Riverside Walk, Battersea, South West London, New Year morning, full moon
The skin along James’ arms began to itch. Fine hairs erupted outward, thickening and matting together quickly like a cloak. His gums tingled as sharp teeth pushed through. But as Samuel had said, this second time the change was different.
The first time had felt like a revelation. He had been born again, a new kind of being. The change had gone deep, transforming him from the inside out. He knew exactly what he had experienced that time. The Greek word for it was anastasis, or resurrection. It was the rapture promised in the New Testament.
Now he was returning to a familiar state, a condition that was as much a part of him now as his human aspect. The deep change had already taken place and did not need to be repeated. The wolf within him was no longer a stranger. Instead he realized just how much he had missed it. The fur, the enhanced sensory experience, the raw power that surged inside – he craved it as much as he lusted for human flesh and blood.
He turned to the woman he had been drooling over. She saw him now, but like a fool stood still as a statue, her eyes wide. Fear had claimed her, and it would be her undoing. He lunged at her and ripped out her throat. She didn’t even have time to scream. Instead, the last sound she made was the gurgle of blood flowing from her open neck.
He ripped at her clothes with his claws and took a bite from her soft flesh. The meat tasted as delectable as he had imagined. He chewed and swallowed it down.
Before he could take another bite, Samuel’s wolf face appeared next to his. ‘Run, James. They have guns.’
The police. In his rush to feed, James had all but forgotten them.
Samuel leapt forward through the scattering crowd and dashed off on all fours, heading away from the river and the police.
James turned to see the crowd fleeing in panic in all directions away from him. The sight gave him an undeniable thrill. An urge to chase after them flooded his senses. But through the rush of people, the police advanced steadily, carbines and pistols held aloft.
He felt the wolf hatred of guns rise up inside him like bile. His hackles rose. Wolves had survived these thousands of years only by learning a sharp fear of weapons.
Above him came the sudden clattering of helicopter blades. The bright beam of a searchlight swept along the ground toward him. If it picked him out, he would surely die.
With a last snarl at the police, James fled.
Chapter Seventy-Three
St John’s Road, Battersea, South West London, New Year morning, full moon
The petrol bomb missed Liz but exploded beneath the car, spreading a sheet of fire across the street. She felt it scorch her legs, and stamped at her clothing, dampening the flames before they took hold. Some of her colleagues were not so fortunate. Fire engulfed the two officers standing nearest the car. Yellow flames clung to them like demons, running up their legs to dance across their backs and shoulders. The officer closest to Liz ducked down, clutching his head as the fire raced across his body, turning him into a human torch.
Inside the car, the men and women looked on in horror. A curtain of flame surrounded their vehicle like a fireball.
Liz froze, torn between her colleagues and the people in the car. Flames raged in all directions. The heat and light from the fire had fuelled a primitive fear inside her. She experienced again the terror of being trapped in the burning building with Mihai, flames closing in on all sides with no way out. Her eyes burned, as much from the bright light of the fire as from its heat. She curled up close to the ground, cowering behind her shield, unable to move forward or back, held captive by fear.
A shout from Dean brought her to her senses. ‘Liz!’ She felt his strong arms gripping her under the shoulders, hauling her to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s get you out of here.’
Up ahead, the rioters advanced again, encouraged by the petrol bomb attack. Youths in hoods, scarves and ski masks goaded each other on. Their fists held an assortment of clubs, knives and broken bottles.
Liz snapped out of the terror that had held her in its grip. ‘No. Get these men to safety,’ she said to Dean, indicating the two officers who had been set ablaze. ‘I’ll get the people out of the car.’
She didn’t pause for a response, but ran to the circle of fire that engulfed the car, searching for a way through the flames. The rear passenger door was clear and she went to it, tugging at the door handle. It held fast. ‘Open it!’ she shouted at the occupants.
The woman in the rear seat pressed helplessly at the locking mechanism of the door. The door remained sealed.
Black smoke billowed around Liz and hot flames reached out from beneath the car, threatening to catch at her. ‘Cover your face,’ she shouted at the woman in the car. She took a step back and aimed a blow at the car window with her baton. The baton bounced off uselessly. She struck again, and this time the window caved inward in a shower of glass. The woman inside cowered back.
Liz reached her arm inside and took the woman’s hand. ‘Climb out!’ she yelled over the roar of the fire. ‘I’ll pull you clear.’
The woman hesitated, then leaned through the gap, pushing herself out of the car with Liz’s help. Liz dragged her clear and lowered the woman to her feet.
A hail of stones and bottles fell on them as the rioters pushed forward again. ‘Run!’ shouted Liz. ‘Run to the police line. They’ll help you.’
The woman ran as she was told, and Liz turned her attention back to the burning car.
The second passenger in the back, a man, was struggling to push himself through the broken window. ‘Help me!’ he called. Liz pulled him through and sent him after the woman. The driver and the other passenger remained trapped inside.
Fire had overwhelmed the front of the car, blocking the driver’s door with its fiery hand. Liz stuck her head through the broken window of the rear door. ‘Grab my hands,’ she shouted to the woman in the front passenger seat. ‘I’ll pull you out.’
The woman had curled up into a ball, hugging her knees, her eyes fixed on the flames that arced across the car’s windscreen. ‘Come on!’ shouted Liz again. Already the flames were reaching around the back of the car. Her eyes were smarting from the smoke and heat.
The woman turned in her seat and struggled into the back of the car. She reached out and clutched Liz’s hands tightly
, her knuckles as white as her face.
Liz heaved with all her might, dragging the woman through the car window. She stumbled as the woman came out, and crashed to the ground, the woman falling on top of her. Flames leaped around them on every side. Liz pushed herself back onto her knees and hauled the woman to her feet. ‘Go!’ she shouted. The woman nodded mutely and ran toward safety.
Only the driver remained in the car now. But as Liz stood up, a wall of flame rushed toward her, forcing her away from the broken window. Fire engulfed the whole vehicle and she leapt back from the intense heat.
Inside the driver screamed for help.
A rock struck Liz on the side of her helmet, knocking her off balance again. The rioters were running toward her, emboldened by the fire. Only Liz’s helmet had saved her from serious injury. She looked around for help, but the other officers were engaged in running battles with rioters, or helping wounded colleagues back to the police line.
Liz ran to the back of the car and raised her baton high. She brought it smashing through the rear windscreen. The glass shattered, making a crawl space just large enough for a man to fit through. She leaned into the car and felt two hands clasp hold of hers. With all her strength, she heaved the last man from the car, dragging him from the flames and smoke that filled the vehicle. She dragged him to the ground and rolled him over to smother the flames.
The man was barely conscious. He murmured unintelligibly as Liz lifted him up and staggered toward the police line, the man sprawled in her arms as she carried him.
As Liz half-walked, half-ran up the street, she felt a hand grab her shoulder and yank her back. She spun round and came face to face with a youth wearing a baseball cap and wielding a baseball bat.
‘Nice try,’ said the youth. ‘But you were too slow.’ A ski mask hid his face, but there was no mistaking his intentions. The baseball bat slammed into Liz’s side, and she reeled backward, still clutching the driver tightly to her chest.
Lycanthropic (Book 1): Wolf Blood Page 28
