Lycanthropic (Book 1): Wolf Blood

by Morris, Steve

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Warg Daddy leapt at his nearest victim, a guy in a hoodie, and tore out his throat, swallowing the blood and gore in a single gulp. His prey flopped to the ground and Warg Daddy stepped over it to lunge at his next victim.

  At his right flank, Snakebite attacked the policeman the guy had been fighting. The officer raised his riot shield but Snakebite twitched it out of his hands with his claws. The man turned to flee and Snakebite dragged him to the ground, snapping his neck with his strong jaws.

  Warg Daddy and Snakebite ran on together, making for the trapped bus. The doors of the bus were shut, but that was no obstacle to Warg Daddy. He gripped them with his sharp talons and tore them apart, twisting the metal and shattering the glass. The driver of the bus gasped.

  Warg Daddy paced slowly up the steps of the bus, savouring the reactions of the driver and his passengers. The smell of fear inside the bus was delicious. He brought his snout up close to the driver’s face and sniffed.

  The man was food, nothing more. But Warg Daddy could still play a game with him. ‘Do you want to live?’ demanded Warg Daddy.

  The man gawped at him in speechless terror.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ growled Warg Daddy.

  The driver nodded.

  ‘Good,’ said Warg Daddy, letting the man have a good look at his teeth. ‘All you have to do is make a choice. Can you do that?’

  The man nodded again.

  Warg Daddy licked his lips. ‘Here’s the choice. If you choose to live, then all these people die.’ Warg Daddy indicated the passengers with a jerk of his head. There were about twenty on board the bus, Warg Daddy guessed. ‘Or, if you choose to die, these people can walk free. Which is it?’

  The man gazed first at him, then at the passengers. He still said nothing. Warg Daddy wondered if he’d lost the power of speech. ‘Me,’ the man said at last, weakly. ‘Let me live, please.’

  The people on the bus gasped, or shouted abuse at the man, or just whimpered quietly.

  Warg Daddy grinned. Humans were weak, just as Leanna had said. And stupid too. They didn’t deserve to live. ‘Okay, then,’ said Warg Daddy. ‘Out you go.’

  The man stared in disbelief at the open door of the bus, then back at Warg Daddy. Hesitatingly, he made his way out of the bus, keeping as far from Warg Daddy as he could. Warg Daddy watched him go.

  The man stepped outside and there was a flash of red fur. Snakebite took him down, jaws locked around the man’s neck. His scream died with him in an instant.

  Warg Daddy rushed at the nearest passenger, a young woman, and savaged her to death with his teeth. He sprang to her companion, an older man wearing glasses, and ripped him with his claws. A tall man at the back of the bus reached to open the emergency exit, but Warg Daddy got to him first. Blood sprayed across the windows of the bus. He danced from passenger to passenger, young and old, men and women alike. By the time he had finished, the inside of the bus was painted as red as its shiny exterior. Warg Daddy paused to feed on the corpses.

  Outside, the Brothers were killing on a grand scale, cutting down rioters and police alike. It was carnage, just as he had expected.

  A sudden sound made him turn away from his feast. A loud crack, or a bang, followed by several more in quick succession. Gunshots.

  He ran to the front of the bus and looked out. Three grey vans had pulled up at the end of the road and armed police in grey uniforms were pouring from them. The police carried carbines and rifles and were advancing up the street toward the bus, shooting as they came. A bullet shattered the window next to him, bringing it down in a shower of glass.

  Warg Daddy ducked down and ran to the buckled doors of the bus. Corpses and the dying littered the street outside where the Brothers had cut them down. The surviving looters and vigilantes ran for cover as the armed police opened fire. The wolves would need to run too, if they were to survive.

  Warg Daddy leapt from the bus and rose up to give his loudest roar. ‘Run, Brothers!’ he bellowed. ‘Save yourselves!’ He dropped to all fours and ran himself, dashing from side to side as a storm of bullets followed him up the street.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Liz fell backward under the blow of the wooden bat, still cradling the unconscious driver in her arms. She landed badly, the man’s weight forcing her down heavily. She clutched at her side where the youth in the baseball cap had struck her. A sharp pain stabbed at her, and her hand came away from the wound smeared red.

  The youth stood over her triumphantly, the wooden bat raised in his hands. He gripped it tightly in his palms and lifted it high, ready to bring it down on her a second time.

  Before he could strike, a flying kick from behind knocked him off balance. Dean. He struck the thug again behind his knees, bringing him to the ground. ‘Come on,’ he said to Liz. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’ He helped her back to her feet, then lifted the body of the unconscious driver in his arms.

  Liz stood uncertainly. The fall had winded her and blood trickled down her face from where the rock had struck her head. More blood continued to flow from the wound at her side. The light from the fire burned brighter than ever, and she had to squint to see through the sticky yellow glue that covered her eyes. ‘Where to?’ she asked.

  Rioters and looters blocked their way to safety, spreading fire and mayhem as they smashed their way along the street. The man with the baseball bat was back on his feet, and three more youths had gathered around him, cutting off any chance of escape. Liz could barely stand, and Dean was struggling to walk with the injured man in his arms. Both had lost their shields and batons in the confusion.

  Liz looked around for a way out. ‘Follow me,’ she said.

  They lurched down a side street, the pain from her head wound and the blow to her side competing to drop Liz to her knees. But she staggered on, one step after another, Dean carrying the injured man beside her. After a minute she stopped beneath a streetlamp to regain her breath. ‘I can’t go any further,’ she gasped. Dean laid the driver on the pavement while he rested too.

  They found themselves in a narrow back alley cut off from their colleagues. ‘It’s a dead-end,’ said Dean. The lane ended with a brick wall. High walls and windowless buildings lined each side. The only way out was back to the burning car and the riot.

  The four youths had followed them into the alleyway. Along with the guy wielding the baseball bat were two other thugs wearing hoods and ski masks. Both carried knives. The fourth man wore motorcycle leathers and a helmet with the visor pulled down. A metal pole was slung casually over his shoulder.

  It should never have happened this way. Basic training should have prevented them from becoming separated from other officers. But the situation had been desperate. Liz couldn’t have left the man to die inside the burning car. She had made a snap decision and she wouldn’t regret what she’d done, even if she ended up paying for it with her own life.

  But it ain’t just your life, her father’s voice whispered in her head. There’s the boy to look after now. What will happen to him?

  Dean spoke quickly into his radio. ‘Officer Delta Alpha 376 requesting urgent assistance. Location – a side lane off St John’s Road.’

  ‘Where the hell are we exactly?’ he asked Liz. ‘I don’t know this alley.’

  Liz looked around for a sign with a street name or another identifier, but there was nothing to fix their location. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. She could have kicked herself in frustration. Without being able to give their exact whereabouts, how could they hope to get help?

  The reply from the radio came back immediately. ‘Delta Alpha 376, please state precise location.’

  ‘Not known,’ blurted Dean. It was hopeless.

  Liz turned her attention to the gang in front of her. The guy with the baseball bat seemed to have appointed himself as their leader. He smacked the bat against the meaty palm of his hand as he led them down the alley. The two with the knives were kitted out in almost matching
outfits – jeans and dark green jackets, with steel-cap black boots. They spread out across the narrow road like hunters, the blades of their knives clearly visible under the single streetlamp. The biker in his black leathers and helmet waved the steel pole menacingly as they advanced.

  ‘Put the weapons away, boys,’ said Liz. ‘Don’t make more trouble for yourselves.’

  Only the eyes of the guy with the baseball bat were visible through his black ski mask. He was little more than a teenager, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. ‘We ain’t making trouble for ourselves,’ he said. ‘Reckon you’re the ones in trouble now.’

  ‘We have an injured man. He needs urgent medical treatment. Let us get help for him.’

  The youth laughed cruelly. ‘He got what was coming to him. You gonna get it too.’

  The four rioters came on slowly. Dean kept his position, standing between the advancing youths and the body of the injured man. He was bigger than his opponents but weaponless now.

  Liz stood by the brick wall of the alleyway. She strained to breathe, every intake a sharp agony, every outbreath a dull pain. Everything had turned yellow and she shielded her eyes from the light of the streetlamp they had gathered beneath, almost blinded by its glare. She could still hear noise from the rioting on the main street and see people rushing past, but down this deserted side street it was like another world. They would have to face the men alone.

  Behind her came a sudden noise. She twisted round, ignoring the fresh stab of pain in her side. More people had entered the alleyway from a back door in one of the buildings. They ran toward her, before stopping as they took in the scene.

  The new arrivals were kids – two boys and five girls. None looked older than eighteen, and they were clearly civilians, not rioters. The girls were dressed for a night on the town, in short dresses and high heels. One of the girls screamed when she saw the men blocking the exit.

  With a start, Liz realized that she knew some of the teenagers. Vijay Singh, his turban wrapped neatly around his hair, despite the chaos all around him; Drake Cooper, looking very much like one of the rioters with his cropped hair and scruffy jeans; and Rose Hallibury, her pale face and red hair shining radiantly in the dark. They clearly recognized her too. She beckoned to them. ‘Stand next to me.’ They flocked obediently to her side.

  ‘Well, well,’ said the guy with the baseball bat. ‘Look who we have here. If it ain’t my old friends from the pub.’

  ‘We ain’t no friends of yours,’ called Drake.

  ‘Let them go,’ said Liz, wheezing. ‘They’re just children.’

  ‘Sure,’ said the guy mockingly. ‘We don’t want them to get hurt, do we?’

  The four thugs moved closer, surrounding Dean and blocking any escape route for the others. Liz leaned against the brick wall for support. The gash in her side continued to bleed steadily. She covered it with her hand, pressing at the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

  The guy with the bat spoke directly to one of the girls. ‘Come over here, darling, I promise I won’t touch you.’ He laughed again.

  ‘Everyone stay close behind me,’ Dean told the kids. They didn’t need telling twice.

  The biker with the iron bar kept coming forward, the two men with knives following closely at his heels. Their leader urged them on, slapping his bat against the palm of his hand. They came to within a few yards of Dean.

  ‘Stop,’ said Dean. ‘Don’t come a step closer.’

  ‘Or you’ll do what?’

  ‘You don’t want to find out.’

  The leader gave a signal to the other three. They continued to advance from all sides, knives weaving in their hands, metal bar swinging dangerously, baseball bat raised to strike.

  Dean stood his ground as they approached. There was nowhere left to run.

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Dean had lost his riot shield and baton during the rescue, but he was trained in unarmed combat. He still wore his helmet, and his Kevlar vest would give him some protection from the knives. But his best defence was perhaps his will to live. He thought again of his wife and daughter, Samantha and Lily, waiting at home for his return. And he thought of his unborn child. A girl or a boy, he didn’t yet know, but he was determined to find out. No thug with a crowbar or knife was going to rob him of that.

  He had a canister of tear gas too.

  He pulled out the can and gave it a quick shake. One of the youths came for him, knife in hand. Dean sprayed his face with the aerosol. The kid screeched as the tear gas covered his eyes, and reeled away, bent over double.

  The others hesitated, circling warily.

  He aimed the can at the second knife-wielder, but before he could use it, he saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye and felt a sharp blow to the side of his head. He whirled around just in time to see the motorcycle guy lifting his iron bar to strike again. Dean swung the can in his direction, but he was too slow. The cold steel struck him right in the middle of the forehead and he fell backward, arms flailing. The ground crashed against him, squeezing the air from his lungs. Then everything went black.

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Vijay watched in horror as the policeman stumbled backward and collapsed on the ground next to the injured man he’d been trying to protect. His helmet had been knocked aside by the blow from the metal bar, and a crimson stream leaked from a gash in his forehead. He lay motionless, his eyes closed.

  The spray can he’d used on one of the thugs rolled over to Vijay’s foot. Vijay eyed it uncertainly for a moment.

  The guy with the crowbar whooped for victory and spun the iron bar in his hands. He turned his attention toward Vijay. ‘You want some too?’ he said.

  Vijay shook his head.

  ‘Then get out of here,’ said the guy. ‘But leave the girls behind.’

  To either side of the guy with the crowbar was another thug, one armed with a long knife, the other the youth they’d first encountered in the pub, cropped hair, steel-toe boots and baseball bat swinging menacingly. They circled around, trying to separate Vijay from the others. He didn’t know what to do. He took a step to the right and his foot brushed against the can of tear gas, sending it spinning.

  Drake appeared to his left suddenly, the broken beer bottle still in his hand. The sight of the bottle made the knife-wielder pause. Drake waved the jagged glass weapon in front of him and the guy jumped back.

  But the guy in the helmet wasn’t fazed. He raised the metal bar and jabbed it at Drake.

  Drake dodged to avoid the blow, but the man swept his weapon sideways, catching Drake on the shoulder. The broken bottle smashed on the ground.

  Vijay ducked down and grabbed hold of the spray can. He rose up in front of the man with the knife and pressed down on the spray. A fine jet of aerosol sprayed out of the can, right into the eyes of his attacker. The man fell back, letting go of the knife and putting his hands to his eyes. ‘You little runt!’

  The guy with the baseball bat didn’t wait for Vijay to turn the spray against him. He rushed at him, swinging the bat hard. It hit Vijay’s arm just below the elbow with a hideous crack. Vijay screamed and stumbled backward, tripping over the body of the prone policeman. The canister of spray fell uselessly to the ground with a clatter.

  Drake leaped at the youth, but his injured shoulder had put his right arm out of action. The baseball bat connected with his jaw, and he fell back against the brick wall with a howl.

  ‘Grab hold of the girls,’ said the thug to his accomplice.

  ‘No!’ Vijay struggled to get up from the ground, but it was impossible. His injured arm dangled helplessly by his side and the slightest movement felt like plunging his arm into fire. He lay still on the ground, watching helplessly as the two remaining thugs seized hold of the girls. The motorbike guy came for Aasha from behind, pressing the metal bar to her throat and gripping it tightly with both hands. ‘Aasha!’ he shouted.

  The ringleader treated him to a twisted smile. ‘She your girlfrie
nd?’ he demanded. When Vijay said nothing, he smiled again. ‘Your sister maybe?’ He laughed and walked over to Aasha, shifting the wooden bat to his left hand. She stared back defiantly as he looked her up and down, but Vijay could see the fear below the defiance.

  With his free hand the guy grabbed at her dress, pulling it from the neckline. The thin fabric ripped all the way to her waist.

  Aasha struggled in the grip of the man who held her from behind, but the iron bar was still at her throat. She squirmed helplessly as her attacker reached out to her again.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Liz watched the fight unfold through yellow eyes. The blood still trickled from the wounds on her side and her forehead, and her strength was slowly seeping out of her. She tried to move, but her legs folded beneath her as soon as she let go of the supporting wall. She dropped to all fours, gasping for breath, feeling the last of her energy slipping away. She watched the scene with dismay but was powerless to help as the cropped-haired thugs subdued first Vijay, then Drake, then turned their attention to the girls.

  This was the second time she had let down these kids – first when they had told her about the headmaster, and now when they needed her protection the most. She had failed to protect Dave Morgan, and she had failed Dean too. He and the driver she had pulled from the car lay unconscious by her side. She had no idea if either man was still alive. She imagined Mihai at home, and wondered what would happen to him if she died too. Her father couldn’t possibly cope with an orphaned child. It was only a matter of time before he was arrested, or ran off, and then Mihai would be orphaned a second time. Liz would fail the boy just as her own father had failed her. And she could do nothing to prevent it.

  The action in the alleyway became dim as the life left her. Her eyes were thick with gunk, and everything had become a yellow monochrome, the streetlamp casting a strange golden glow over the scene. Her head lolled back like a heavy weight as she slumped against the wall of the alley. High above, the sky slowly lightened, a colder light adding its silvery sparkle to the lamp’s gold. There was beauty there, even amidst the horror. The papery clouds drifted aside to reveal the circle of the full moon looking down on them serenely.