High Moor

by Reynolds, Graeme

  Caroline frowned and put her hand on her husband’s wrist. “We don’t want to leave our home. Is that so hard to understand?”

  Steven rubbed his eyes and bit back the sarcastic comment that had formed on his tongue. “Look, there’s something else. I didn’t want to tell you earlier, in case it was too much to take in, but I think you should know. There might be more of them.”

  George glanced at his wife. “More what?”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake, George. More kittens. What the fuck do you think I mean? More bloody werewolves.”

  George’s face fell. “Werewolves? Here? What do they want?”

  “From what I’ve heard, they came to clean up the mess. Get rid of any evidence. That includes both of you, John, and me. All of us need to get out of here and lie low somewhere.”

  Caroline’s hand tightened on her husband’s. “If they’re werewolves, then surely we have another month before we have to worry?”

  “I don’t think it’s like that, Caroline. If they are anything like the others, then they can change any time they like. Even if that wasn’t the case, they'd still be able to do plenty as men. It’s too dangerous to stay here.”

  George and Caroline were silent for a moment. When George spoke, his voice had resolve that had not been there before. “My parent’s house. It’s been empty since Mam and Dad died. It’s out of the way, and there’s a basement. We could go there.”

  Caroline folded her arms and glared at her husband. “George, I don’t want to live in your parent’s old house. I want to live here, in the home that we made for ourselves.”

  “It’s not forever, love. Just until we work out what to do next.”

  “I don’t care, George. I’m not…”

  Caroline’s objections were cut short when the back door flew open and Carl Schneider staggered into the kitchen. The old American’s face was ashen and he was covered in blood. His right arm was an oozing stump, wrapped in the remains of his shirt and his leather belt to stem the blood flow.

  He looked at Steven, eyes glazed with pain and terror. “You have to go. You have to leave now. They’re coming. They’re…” he managed before he succumbed to the blood loss and fell to the floor unconscious.

  Chapter 20

  23rd June 1986. John's House, High Moor. 08.45.

  John stood in the shattered doorway of his bedroom with his hands on his hips. “Mam, I don’t want to go to Gran and Grandad’s house. It feels weird without them there.”

  Caroline’s stance matched her son’s. She fought back the angry response on the tip of her tongue and took a moment to compose herself before she responded. “John, I know. I don’t want to go either, but you saw what happened to Mr Schneider. We have to go away for a while, just until this blows over.”

  “What about Marie? David and Michael are both…both gone. She’s got no one left.”

  Caroline’s demeanour softened. She put her arm around her son’s shoulders as he fought back tears. “Marie will be alright. She’s got her mam and…well, she’s got her mam to take care of her. It’s going to be hard, but she’ll get through it.”

  John wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “At least I’ll see her at school. Maybe she can come over for tea one night as well?”

  Caroline took a deep breath. She’d been dreading this conversation. “About that, John. About school and…things. Your dad and I were talking, and we don’t think you should go back. To school, I mean. I’ll teach you from home from now on.”

  John eyed his mother with suspicion. “What? I mean, seriously? You don’t want me to go to school anymore?"

  Caroline frowned and fought the butterflies in her stomach. The next part was not going to go down well. “Not just school, John. You can’t go to scouts anymore. You can’t have your friends over. It’s not safe.”

  “Well, I know it’s not safe now, but when Dad and the Sergeant shoot all the bad werewolves, it’ll be OK.”

  Caroline shook her head. “John, it’s not safe for them. Your friends. You’ve got something wrong with you, and we don’t know how else it can spread. Can you imagine Marie having to live with what you have? After everything else she’s been through? Or one of your friends at scouts?”

  John looked at his mother for a moment, mouth open in shock. “You’re saying that I can’t even see my friends again. Any of them? Ever?”

  Caroline reached out for her son, only to find her outstretched hand slapped aside.

  John backed away from his mother, into the ruins of his bedroom, tears flowing down his cheeks. “Don’t touch me. You might catch something.”

  “John, please. We don’t have any choice.”

  “You should have let him kill me. Better that than spending the rest of my life stuck inside with you.”

  John slammed what remained of his door, which was more than the last surviving hinge could stand. The shards of broken wood crashed to the floor.

  Caroline fought for control of her emotions and pushed the tears deep inside until she’d done what she had to. When she spoke, her voice was firm and authoritative. “I know it’s not fair, John, but we don’t have any choice. Now pack your bags and get your arse downstairs and in that car. Don’t make me get your father.”

  Caroline turned and walked away without waiting for a response. She made it downstairs and into the kitchen, before the wall inside her crumbled and the tears came.

  John trudged downstairs ten minutes later. His face was red and swollen, and he struggled with two large rucksacks stuffed with the entire contents of his bedroom.

  The back door opened and George entered the kitchen. He picked up two suitcases and was about to take them outside to the car when he noticed John. “I thought I told you to only get the essentials, John?”

  “If you’re really making me move away, and never see anyone ever again, then my computer, books, and comics are essential.”

  George looked at his son and sighed. “OK, fair enough. Now come on and help me get these things in the car.”

  “Can I at least say goodbye to Marie?”

  George and Caroline exchanged glances. “No, John. I’m sorry, but Marie lost her brother last night. Her parents don’t want you going round there and upsetting her more. They have enough to deal with.”

  John trudged after his father and helped load the car. Once the cases were in the boot and his mother checked that the gas was turned off for the fourth time, he was ushered into the back seat and locked in.

  As the car pulled away, John looked back at Marie’s house. She stood in her bedroom window, palm against the glass. She mouthed something to him that he didn’t understand. John raised his hand in a mirror image of her pose. Then the car turned the corner and drove away.

  ***

  24th June 1986. Bishop Auckland General Hospital. 14:45.

  Steven pushed back the thin curtain and stepped into the cubicle. Carl Schneider lay asleep on the bed, flat on his back and snoring.

  Steven was shocked at his friend’s appearance. His skin was off-grey, and the lines on his faced seemed more pronounced than before. A cocktail of intravenous drugs entered his system through a long, clear tube that disappeared beneath the blood-spotted bandage on the stump of his right arm. Steven was about to say something, but thought better of it and turned to leave.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re sneaking off to?”

  Steven turned to face Carl. “I’m sorry, I thought you were asleep.”

  The old man regarded him with dull, flat eyes. “Well, I was until you came trampling through here like an elephant with a bee up its ass. Do you know how hard it is to get any shut-eye in this place?”

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I just wanted to see how you were.”

  Carl raised his stump. “How the fuck do you think I am? It’s your little errand that did this.”

  Steven bristled with a mixture of guilt and anger. “Well, I didn’t expect your chew toy reference to be taken so literally. I thought you were suppo
sed to be able to take care of yourself, you miserable old bastard.”

  Carl let out a weak, half-hearted laugh in spite of himself. “Ain’t that the fucking truth. Shows how much I know. So, no flowers? No chocolates? I’m offended.”

  Steven grinned. “I didn’t take you for a flowers-and-chocolate sort of bloke. Don’t worry, I’ll take the bottle of scotch I brought back to the shop and change it.”

  “If you do, I’ll crawl out of this bed and shove your flowers and chocolates up your ass. Come on, don’t leave an old man in suspense.”

  Steven produced a small bottle of whiskey from inside of his jacket pocket and put it on the bed.

  “Bells? You brought me blended shit? You cheap fuck.”

  “It was the best that they had at the shop. Unless you would rather have had the own brand stuff? That was almost two quid cheaper. Again, I can change it if you like?”

  Carl grabbed the bottle from the bed and held it to his chest. “I suppose I’ll have to make do.” He raised his right arm and moved it towards the bottle, then stopped and looked at the screw cap. “Ah fuck, for a moment I forgot about that. Don’t suppose I could ask a favour?”

  Steven took the bottle and removed the cap, then handed it back. “Are you supposed to be mixing that stuff with the drugs?”

  Carl took a long swig from the bottle. “Do I look like someone who gives a shit? What’s the worst that could happen?”

  “Well, you could have a reaction and drop dead.”

  “Like that’s a bad thing. You should have let me bleed out.”

  “Oh come on, Carl. Like I would have done that? People lose limbs every day. They make adjustments to their life and move on.”

  “Losing the hand ain’t the problem and you know it. It’s what took the hand. It’s what the bite is going to do to me on the next full moon.”

  “Look, we can manage it. We’re managing the boy, we can manage you. You just need to sort your head out and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Carl glared at the younger man. “Feeling sorry for myself? Bet your sweet ass I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m a fucking cripple, and in a little under four weeks I’m going to turn into the very monster that I’ve been hunting for nigh on four decades. I can’t live with that, Steve. I just can’t.”

  “Oh come on, Carl. That’s bollocks. We’ll find somewhere secure and lock you in for the night. Problem solved.”

  “Steve, I’m serious. When the time comes, I want you to take care of business. Can I count on you to do that?”

  Steven looked at the floor. “I’m not going to kill you in cold blood, Carl. I’m sorry, but I won’t.”

  “Then we have nothing more to say to each other. Get the hell out of my room, Steve, and don’t come back.”

  ***

  12th July 1986. Castle Hotel, Durham City. 22.10hrs

  The steady patter of rain against the window was punctuated by a pounding, bass rhythm from below and the sounds of raised voices. Sebastian got out of the bed and steadied himself against the bout of dizziness that swept through him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and for a moment, he thought that he might pass out again. Then he regained control of his wounded body and walked across the room to the window.

  Two police officers stood in a shop doorway across the street. One spoke into his radio, while the other looked on with visible apprehension. The sounds of glass breaking drifted up, and the younger officer said something to his companion. The other man put his hand on his colleague's shoulder and shook his head. After a few moments, the cacophony of noise from the bar subsided, and the only sounds were the bass thump of the music and the hiss of the rain.

  The door to Sebastian’s room opened and a large man with dark hair stepped inside. “It’s madness down there. Why could we not have booked into a nice country hotel instead of this place?”

  Sebastian didn't turn to face the newcomer. “Did you not enjoy your evening, Ivan?”

  “These people are lunatics. The rain is coming down in sheets, and yet they walk around, half-naked, as if oblivious. There was another fight downstairs, and as far as I could tell, it was the top floor fighting those on the ground floor. They looked like they wanted to kill each other, and then they all just stopped and carried on drinking as if nothing had happened. I saw one of them buying a drink for someone that had punched him not two minutes earlier and congratulating his assailant on how hard he had been hit.”

  Sebastian chuckled. “It does no harm to spend time among the humans. If you can understand them, then it becomes easier to blend in. The ones in this place do seem a little stranger than some of the others I have encountered, I will admit.”

  “What is there to understand? They are animals.”

  Sebastian laughed out loud. “Ivan, if you do not see the irony in that comment, then there is no hope for you. Anyway, enough of the lessons on local customs. Have you heard from Dmitri?”

  “Yes, I got his message earlier. He made it across the Austrian border and expects to be with the Pack in three days.”

  Sebastian nodded. “Any problems?”

  Ivan shrugged. “There was an incident in France. Two customs officials with an overactive sense of curiosity. Dmitri made it look like an accident.”

  “It used to be so much easier to smuggle a corpse across borders. I miss the old days, Ivan. Things are becoming so much more complicated than they once were.”

  “You should have gone with him, Sebastian. The rest of us could have finished up here, and you could have gone back to recuperate.”

  “I’m fine, my friend. This is not the first time I have been shot with silver, and I doubt if it will be the last. I need to see this through.”

  “Because of Mirela? Or Joseph?”

  “Yes. I loved my brother, and I miss him more than you could know, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was a fool. My mother’s situation was tragic, but if Joseph had not run with her, she would have been able to die with dignity, surrounded by those she loved, instead of being gunned down in the dirt. My big brother made a mess, and it falls to me to clean it up.”

  “I know that it’s important to you, Sebastian, but why wait another week for your system to purge the poison when I could take Boris and end this tonight? We could be on the ferry first thing in the morning and home in a few days, instead of hiding out in this cesspool until the full moon.”

  Sebastian walked across the room to Ivan, grasped his shoulder, and moved his face to within inches of the other man’s. “We need to know whether the boy is moonstruck. If he is not, then we will take him back with us. I appreciate your concern, Ivan, but the matter is not open for discussion.” Sebastian released his grip and stepped back. “Are they all still there?”

  “Yes, hiding out like rats. The policeman comes and goes, and the American did not return when he left the hospital. The boy and his parents never leave.”

  “Good. Have patience, my friend. This will all be over in a few short days. Then we can go home.”

  Chapter 21

  21st July 1986. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 18.55.

  Steven turned off the main road and drove through a maze of narrow country lanes. The evening sun flashed between the tall hedges, and the air was heavy and humid with the earthy scent of impending rain. He slowed the car and turned off onto a narrow gravel track. Dust clouds trailed his Ford Escort. He had to brake several times to avoid pheasants that leaped from the hedgerows and ran along the track ahead of him before darting away into the fields.

  He passed between two parallel rows of horse chestnut trees that bordered the road, their limbs entwining to form a thick canopy. Then the house came into view.

  The building was once a farmhouse. George’s grandfather had owned most of the land around the property, but over time sold off the majority of the surrounding fields to neighbouring farms. By the time he died, only fifteen acres of woodland and pastures remained with the family. George had been trying to sell the place for six months, since h
is parents died. With the nearest neighbour over a mile away, it was a perfect place to hide, although the isolation made Steven nervous.

  He parked the car next to George’s Toyota, grabbed a canvas holdall and a large cardboard box from the boot, then walked up to the front door and let himself in. George walked from the kitchen to meet Steven, and took the cardboard box from him.

  “Jesus, George. How many times do I have to tell you to keep the bloody door locked? I could have been anybody.”

  “I’m sorry. I could have sworn I locked it. Did you get everything?”

  “Yeah. I got everything on your shopping list. No luck on the ammunition though. There’s not many places around here making silver bullets, and even if there were, they wouldn’t sell them to a suspended police officer with no firearms certificate. We’ll have to make do with what we have and hope it’ll be enough.”

  George carried the box of supplies into the kitchen and put it down on the worktop. “Are you sure that they’ll come tonight?

  Steven shrugged. “No idea. If it’s going to happen, then the night of the full moon seems a likely candidate. Our attention will be split between John and them, and Carl wouldn’t be able to help, even if he was still around.”

  “What makes you say that? Even one-handed, I’m a better shot than you’ll ever be.” said a voice from the hall. Carl Schneider stood in the doorway with a heavy pack slung over his back. “You should lock this door. Anyone could walk in.”

  “Carl? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “That’s gratitude for you. I’m here to save your sorry ass. Again.”

  “That’s not what I meant. What’s going to happen when the moon comes up?”

  Carl winked at Steven. “Don’t you worry yourself about it, Steve. I got it all under control.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I got it all under control. Now, are you going to stand there gawking, or are you going to give me a hand with this stuff? I seem to be one short.”

  Steven took the pack from the old man and almost dropped it due to the weight. “Jesus, what the hell do you have in here?”