No. Move away. Back, into the woods. Quick, before he stops coughing his guts up.
The beast was struck with indecision. The human voice was right, but the instinctive urges were powerful and difficult to resist. The human forced his way into the beast's mind and added his will to its own. With reluctance, the werewolf bounded away from the bleeding carcass and back into the woods. After a few seconds, the man in the tree stopped coughing and looked down into the clearing. The heady scent of fear blossomed from him, and he scanned the undergrowth with his rifle in panicked, darting movements. Satisfied, the beast settled in and waited for the prey to come to it.
***
14th November 2008. Mill Woods, High Moor. 09.06.
The creature that had once been Malcolm Harrison sniffed the air and let out a small growl of frustration. The old man in the tree had not yet come down from his hiding place and had even called for help. The beast’s sensitive ears had listened to both sides of the telephone conversation while the human half of the creature's mind recognised the voice on the other end of the line. John Simpson. The anticipation was almost too much. Once John arrived, the old man would leave the security of his platform, and then they would both be prey.
A scent drifted through the woodland. Faint and strange, yet familiar somehow. The beast moved away from the clearing, picking a wide circle through the bracken as it homed in on the smell. Growing closer, it could identify two such odours. One was muted, masked against the stink of man-sweat, dirt, and dried human blood. The other was stronger. A heavy, animal musk, laden with pheromones. Female. Both scents moved into the woods, with the female circling the male in long arcs that never came closer than a hundred yards. The male was heading straight for the clearing where the old man cowered. Simpson. It has to be John Simpson.
The Malcolm part of the creature understood in that moment what had happened. Simpson and the female, most likely the Williams bitch, were like him. He remembered his split knuckle from the fight and the subsequent infection. The stink of dried blood emanated from the male, but lacked the raw animal reek of his flesh. It wasn’t his blood. Malcolm had a good idea who it belonged to, though. He felt a pang of regret for his dead friends that turned into righteous anger in a heartbeat. Taking care to stay downwind of the female, he circled around and moved in to engage his enemies.
He got to within two hundred yards before the female picked up his scent. She came crashing through the undergrowth towards him at an alarming rate. He sprayed hot dark-yellow urine against a pine tree to mark his territory, then submerged himself in a black stagnant pool and waited.
The female, a large beast with green eyes and light brown fur, burst into the clearing and snarled. She sniffed the air and followed the scent to the tree that he’d sprayed moments before. The female bent to sniff the mark. That was when Malcolm pounced.
He burst from the water in a flurry of teeth and claws and barrelled into the surprised werewolf. She struggled to regain her footing, but Malcolm was on her before she could recover. His jaws grasped the back of her neck and squeezed. Marie thrashed about, but was unable to break his grip. He applied more pressure. Vertebrae popped and Marie whined in pain and frustration.
Malcolm felt the beast inside his thoughts as a series of mental images and emotions. No. Don’t kill female. Mate with female. Kill other male. Be strong. Be Alpha. He tightened his jaws a little more and felt the female go limp. He dropped the unconscious body to the ground and watched with disgust as the wolf retreated back into the woman.
He heard the male stumbling through the undergrowth towards him, shouting the woman’s name, and knew he would have to get away from this place and take the female with him. Somewhere dark and safe.
With great reluctance, he transformed from the powerful wolf to his human form, now devoid of all excess body fat, picked up the unconscious woman in a fireman’s lift, and walked off into the woods.
Chapter 30
14th November 2008. Mill Woods, High Moor. 09.34.
John and Steven trudged back to their parked cars. The mood was tense, and although Steven insisted that Malcolm was long gone, both men scanned the trees with nervous eyes as they left the deep woods and stepped onto the maintained footpaths near the housing estate.
When they arrived at the cars, Steven let out an audible sigh of relief and unlocked his 4x4. John grabbed the older man’s arm. “Where are you going? We need to get after them.”
Steven’s pale face had the texture of parchment. “John, stop and think for a second. We don’t know where they’ve gone, and even if we did, neither of us is in any shape to go after them.”
“I couldn’t give a shit. I’m fine. Marie might not be. God knows what that sick fuck’s doing to her right now.”
“You’ve not slept for more than twenty-four hours, John. You look ready to drop, and I know that I’m running on empty as well. Like I said, we don’t know where they are, and we have no plan. Charging in like idiots will just get us both killed.”
John looked back to the woods and sighed. Steven was right, no matter how much he hated to admit it. There would be no full moon tonight. When he went up against Malcolm, he would be doing it as a man, not a werewolf. “OK, so what are you suggesting?”
“Follow me back to my place. We can get cleaned up, grab some breakfast and coffee, then try to outthink the son-of-a-bitch instead of running headlong into a trap. Sound like a plan?”
John’s shoulders sagged. “I’m not happy about it, but it’ll have to do for now. It’s not like we have much choice.”
John got into his car and followed Steven through the town. The national press had picked up the story of the deaths last night, and the news reports on the radio talked about nothing else. Even the DJs on the music station were talking about Malcolm’s handiwork. Six people dead, including his wife, their two children, and his brother-in-law. Malcolm was listed as missing, but was not yet a suspect.
John knew that he was responsible for this. All of it. If he’d stayed away, then nine people would still be alive. The guilt gnawed at his already frayed nerves. More people were going to die today, and those lives would be on his conscience as well. He cursed himself.
They left the town and drove along a series of winding country lanes until they arrived at two huge metal gates that slid open to allow them inside. They pulled up to the farmhouse and Steven got out of the car. John was about to follow when Steven shook his head.
“You probably want to stay here for a minute, until I turn the security systems off.”
“Why? You worried I might sneak a look at your alarm code?”
Steven chuckled and then fought to suppress a cough. “No, the security system has a few special features. Just knowing the code won’t really help. Wait here and you’ll see what I mean.”
Steven opened the front door and stepped inside. A penetrating, high-pitched shriek rang out from the house. John gasped in pain and clamped his hands over his ears as the sound reverberated inside his skull. Three seconds later, the ultrasonic alarm cut out and Steven stepped out of the front door.
“OK, now you can come in.”
John got out of the car and followed Steven inside the house. His ears were still ringing, and he felt nauseated. “Can’t say I’m loving your anti-werewolf alarm. How the hell did you afford this lot on an ex-copper’s pension?”
“Carl. The old bastard left me everything in his will, on the condition that I carry on with his work. Ten million quid. And that was back when ten million was considered a lot of money. He knew I was screwed, financially. Laura had just left, and I was suspended without pay. Son of a bitch knew I wouldn’t be able to say no.” Steven pointed to a door, further down the hall. “There’s a shower in there. Get yourself cleaned up. No offence, but you smell like an abattoir. I’ll get some coffee on, and then we can try to figure out our next move.”
***
John emerged from the shower to the smell of frying bacon. He got dressed in a clean T
-shirt and baggy sweat pants that Steven had put outside of the bathroom door, and followed his nose to the living room.
Steven looked up from his desk as John entered the room. “You took your time. My ex-wife was faster in the shower.”
John shrugged. “You know how it is. After last night, I needed to do a lot of scrubbing. Even then, the stain never really goes away.”
Steven turned back to the desk. “Well, there’s some bacon sarnies and coffee on the table. Help yourself and then come take a look at this.”
John took two bacon rolls from a serving dish and poured himself a large black coffee, then joined Steven at the desk.
Steven had spread out an ordinance survey land-ranger map of the area in front of him. Coloured pins with yellow Post-it notes beside each one adorned the map. He pointed to a red pin. “It looks like your friend changed while he was still at home, around six o clock last night. The next attack took place roughly four hours later, here,” he said, and pointed to a yellow pin in the centre of the Coronation Estate. “And then the last two happened here, in the town centre, just before eleven. After that, there’s no sign of him until he shows up at three a.m. in the woods. The purple pin is where my hide was located. The orange one is where he attacked your friend.”
“So, where did he go after that? Back into the woods?”
“I hope not, for our sake. I’m just not sure where else he could go. He can’t have gone home. The place will be crawling with police and reporters by now. He can’t have walked naked through a housing estate carrying an unconscious naked woman either. If he’s found a lair in the woods, then we’re screwed. Tracking him will be nigh on impossible, and he’d know we were coming long before we spotted him. You knew him. Can you think of anywhere that he might have taken Marie?”
John shook his head. “I knew him when we were kids, but I’ve only been in contact with him once since then, and it’s not like we talked about much. He was too busy kicking the crap out of me. I’ve got no idea where he might have gone.”
Steven pulled out a chair for John and took a sip from his coffee. “Well, grab a pew and let’s see if we can work it out.”
***
14th November 2008. King's Close School, High Moor. 11.14.
Marie awoke to find herself lying on a cold, concrete floor. The back of her neck still ached, and she felt the sting of several open wounds across her naked body. Her arms and legs were bound so tight that her fingers and toes were numb. She ran a mental inventory of her wounds, and, when she was satisfied that nothing important was missing, opened her eyes.
The room was large, windowless, and constructed from rough concrete blocks. Metal pipes ran along the ceiling, and rows of steel shelves stacked with cleaning equipment and tools ran in parallel lines along the entire length of the room. An industrial gas boiler growled in the far corner. Opposite the boiler was a concrete staircase that led up to a single wooden door. The stink of bleach hung in the air.
She rolled over onto her side and then sat up, wincing as the electrical cable bit into her wrists and ankles. She ignored the pain and wriggled in an attempt to slacken her bonds.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Marie jumped at the voice and craned her head to find the source.
Malcolm Harrison squatted in the corner of the basement, behind the boiler. He was naked and covered in dried blood. His face was hidden in the deep shadows, but his eyes gleamed out from the darkness.
“Malcolm. You need to listen to me.”
Malcolm shuffled forward on all fours and grinned at her. “I don’t need to do anything, bitch. I’m the fucking alpha here, and you do what I say, or else. Got it?”
“I know what’s happened to you is confusing, Malcolm, but I can help, if you’ll let me. I work for some people. People like us. I find others and bring them into the family. Teach them about what’s happened. How to live with it. How to control it.”
Malcolm snorted and the bones of his right hand began to contort and stretch. “I can control it just fine. I don’t need your help or anyone else’s.”
“Do you have any idea what you did last night? The number of people you killed? The police will be looking for you. Everyone will be looking. Eventually they’ll find you, and then they’ll either kill you or dissect you in a lab. I can get you out of the country. Get you somewhere safe. But first, you need to untie me.”
Malcolm shuffled closer and brought a single talon up under her chin, pushing her head back. “This is my place. My lair. Let them come. I’ll kill them all.”
“You can’t kill everyone. I know you feel invincible now, but that’s just your beast talking. You’re letting it take over, and soon you’ll just be a little voice in the back of its mind. You say that you’re an alpha? You’re not even in charge of yourself at the moment, let alone anyone else. If you don’t take control of the situation, then you’re going to spend the rest of your life pissing against trees in the woods. This is your last chance, Malcolm. Let me go and let me help.”
Malcolm pushed his face forward so that he was almost nose to nose with Marie. His lip was curled up in a snarl as he spoke. “You’re going nowhere. You’ll see. I’ll kill your friend John, and then you’ll know that I’m the strongest.”
Marie shook her head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
***
14th November 2008. Steven’s House, High Moor. 14.26.
John slammed his fist against the wall. “This is useless. We’re getting nowhere.”
Steven sat back and cricked his neck. “Maybe we should take a break and look at it with fresh eyes. I need a smoke.”
John walked back across to the table and looked at the map again. The woods were bounded by the river to the north and a mixture of housing estates and open farmland to the south, east, and west. There were no obvious places where he could exit the woods without being seen. Nowhere that indicated where he might go. Perhaps Steven was right. He needed a break. He walked across to the table, poured himself a glass of water, turned on the television, and selected the BBC news channel.
The same woman that John had seen reporting on the initial attack was back in town and didn't look happy about it. She read her report with the expression of someone that had just been served uncooked road-kill in a five-star restaurant. “So far, no further bodies have been discovered. Mr Malcolm Harrison, a janitor at the local school, is still missing, and further missing persons' reports have been filed for several of his acquaintances. Police are, at this time, refusing to comment on any connection between the disappearances and the deaths that occurred last night.”
John turned off the television and checked the map again. King’s Close School, the place that Malcolm had burned to the ground as a child, lay nestled within a housing estate, but one side of the school field bordered Mill Woods. The school was less than half a mile from where Marie had been attacked. And all of the schools were closed. John ran from the room, out to the garden where Steven was smoking a cigarette.
“What? Can’t a bloke finish his ciggie in peace?”
John grinned. “You can finish that later. Come on. I think I know where they are.”
***
14th November 2008. King's Close School, High Moor. 17.44.
John and Steven sat in the back of a white transit van, parked in a residential street close to the school. Steven had helped John prepare. He’d scrubbed himself raw with unscented soap, brushed his teeth with baking soda, and had been doused in a nasty chemical spray that burned his skin. He’d then been ushered into the back of the van wearing nothing but a towel, and Steven had driven to their destination.
John shuffled on the wooden seat. “Did I mention that this is a stupid plan?”
“You did. Several times. Unfortunately you didn’t come up with any better suggestions, so this is the one we’re going with. You know what you have to do?”
“Yeah. It’s not me that I’m worried about. Are you sure you want to do this?�
��
Steven laughed. “Like hell. Again, not really seeing an alternative. Come on, it’s almost time. Get your gear on.”
John removed an airtight container that held a full set of clothing, including boots. All the items had been sprayed with the scent eliminator after they’d been washed. John broke the seal and dressed as quickly as he could. Steven handed him a pistol.
“You sure that pop gun’s going to be enough? I’ve got plenty of guns with more punch.”
“It’s fine. I’ll stick with what I know.”
“OK. You ready?”
John fought down the butterflies in his stomach and managed a weak smile. “As I’ll ever be.” He opened the rear door of the van and stepped outside. “Good luck.”
Steven nodded. “You too, John, you too.”
***
14th November 2008. King’s Close School, High Moor. 17.57.
Marie wriggled and tried to get comfortable. She couldn’t feel her hands and feet anymore, and she worried that if she didn’t get out of her bonds soon, she'd be damaged beyond her ability to heal. Dead flesh didn’t get better. It stayed dead.
Malcolm paced the basement. He’d been doing it for over an hour now, and it was getting on Marie’s nerves. She supposed that it was an improvement on the hours before that, when Malcolm had just crouched in the corner and stared at her.
“Malcolm, you need to undo these cables or I’m going to lose my hands and feet. Come on, please. What am I going to do? We both know that you’re stronger than I am.”
Malcolm stopped his pacing and looked at her with a feral gleam in his eye. “Do you think that I’m stupid, bitch? There’s no way I’m letting you go. Not until I’ve dealt with your little friend.”
Marie’s temper flared. She’d been trying to play nice and it was getting her nowhere. “Do I think that you’re stupid? Fuck yes. You're given an incredible gift and you waste it by hiding out in a bloody basement, holding prisoner the one person on the face of this earth that has a chance of helping you survive this. Stupid? Stupid doesn’t even come close. You’re a fuckwit, Malcolm. A pathetic excuse for a man and an even worse excuse for a wolf.”
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