by R D Shah
Within five minutes they were pulling into the village’s main street, where Taylor brought the van to a screeching halt just in time to avoid running into a crowd of terrified inhabitants fleeing in the opposite direction. Paulson jumped out of the passenger side and slid open the side door to retrieve his camera equipment, as Taylor hustled past the flow of frightened people and pulled himself up on the vehicle’s bumper to see what was happening further down the street.
Anarchy was right, Taylor thought as he watched a surge of freaked-out faces all pushing their way towards him. Further up he could see a teenage boy trip up and disappear underneath them as an elderly woman was barged off the pavement by two petrified-looking men who then trampled right over her. He jumped down off the bumper just as Paulson arrived with the camera perched on his right shoulder, and immediately pointed out the old lady who was now being crushed by yet another group of frantic people trying to escape.
‘We have to do something. She’s being flattened!’ Taylor shouted.
‘I’ll get her away,’ Paulson shouted over the ruckus of the crowd, and he began to pass the camera over to Taylor who immediately shoved it back into the cameraman’s arms with a look of astonishment. ‘Don’t try to help her, you idiot,’ he fumed, repeatedly pointing towards the frail old woman whose raised arm was beginning to go limp. ‘Film her!’
As Paulson busily burned up tape of the old lady slowly being crushed to death, Taylor leapt back on to the van’s bumper and scanned the street for any sign of the wolves he had heard about on the police radio. At first he couldn’t see anything other than screaming people but, finally, as the crowd began to thin out, something else caught his eye at the top of the street. Something black. Something big. It was too far away to make out any of the features clearly, but he called out to Paulson and pointed in its direction. Turning back to get a better look he just caught the dark apparition darting away down a side street whereupon Taylor jumped off the bumper, grabbed Paulson and pulled the cameraman in front of him.
‘OK,’ he said, taking the microphone from Paulson’s jacket pocket and holding it up to his mouth. ‘Keep the footage fluid and follow me. Be ready because I want to get some close-ups of these creatures.’
Paulson nodded warily. ‘Where are they?’
‘Along there,’ Taylor replied, gesturing towards the end of the street where he had last spotted the dark shadowy form. ‘In three, two, one … I’m Russell Taylor reporting to you from Valdemanco where there have been reports of nature reclaiming this once idyllic village in the form of a pack of ravenous wolves that are currently attacking the residents. We have unconfirmed reports of over twelve people already dead and, from what we have gathered since arriving here, something has got the entire populace running scared. We can confirm we are the first outsiders on the scene, and the police have yet to arrive. Presumably they will bring specialised units capable of handling these vicious animals. Come with me now as we attempt to shed some more light on this horrible event that could be taken straight out of a Hitchcock movie …’
From somewhere up ahead a deep growl echoed down the street, silencing Taylor mid-sentence. He dropped the microphone to his side and signalled for Paulson to follow him, even as a dark shadow appeared from one of the side streets. The animal’s thick coat was jet-black in colour, making it difficult to clearly determine its features in the gloom, and the only thing Taylor could make out for sure was that it walked on four legs.
The reporter watched as the animal made its way into the centre of the street and then it stopped and stared back at the pair of them. Further high-pitched whines could be heard as yet more of the beasts emerged from the shadows and joined the first one, until there were four of them in all, silently staring in Taylor’s direction.
Behind him Paulson continued to film. ‘Russell,’ he called out nervously, ‘Those things are not wolves. We should get back to the van.’’
Taylor was still gawping intently, as if mesmerised by the creatures, when one of them did something that caused him to take a step backwards. The leader reared up to stand on its two hind legs with the balance of a human being, and sniffed the air for a moment before dropping back on to all fours. It then took a step forward, and then another and another … with each step becoming quicker until it was running full-pelt towards them.
‘Run.’ Paulson cried out as he dashed back to the van, leaving Taylor standing frozen to the spot. Paulson flung open the passenger door, jumped in and then aimed his camera back towards Taylor, just in time to catch the creature reaching him.
The force of impact sent the reporter flying backwards on to ground, with the animal clinging to his struggling body. It began to tear into his neck with a set of sharp, jagged, white teeth that sent an eruption of dark blood spraying on to the road around them like a burst water balloon. Further down the street, the rest of the pack were now sprinting with the same ferocity as the first. But when they reached Taylor’s lifeless body, instead of joining in, they kept going and headed straight towards the van.
Paulson had already thrown the camera on to the dashboard and he was frantically twisting the ignition key, and the engine burst into life just as the animals reached him. Two of the beasts went to either side as the third jumped up on to the bonnet and head-butted the windscreen with such force that the safety glass, although remaining intact, shattered and thus prevented Paulson’s view of the creature as it continued to slam against it.
He threw the engine into reverse and sped backwards before sliding the vehicle round almost one hundred and eighty degrees, sending the one on the bonnet flying off and down on to the road, just as another of the beasts collided with the side door with a weighty thump. Paulson then flipped the van into first gear and sped off like a maniac, clipping two parked vehicles in the process, as deep growls and snarls resonated alongside the van. As he began to gain some distance, he could hear the sounds of howling begin to fade and he allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
‘What the fuck,’ he muttered, struggling to relax his shaking hands that were clasped so tightly around the steering wheel. Whatever those things were, they weren’t wolves. He now took a moment to steady himself, thankful that the only sound he could now hear was from the van’s engine as he accelerated faster.
Regrettably for the cameraman, he would only have a few more minutes of such calm before the road beneath him began to tremble.
Chapter 29
The bolted-on ladder creaked beneath him as Harker warily made his way deeper into the murky void, the dim sunlight shining down from the chapel above illuminating only the wooden steps themselves. He could just make out a floor at the bottom before, with one final stride, he stepped off the ladder and onto it, chips of gravel crunching under the soles of his shoes. The air was cool but not at all damp, as Harker had been expecting, and he pulled out his iPhone and switched on its light, holding it out in front of him to reveal his surroundings.
It wasn’t any ordinary basement, that much he was certain of, and as he swung the tiny beam of light around him, he realised he was standing in an excavated stone passage about three-metres-high and with roughly hewn side walls. This narrow channel ran for a further twenty or so metres, until it turned a corner that was illuminated by a dim glow of light coming from somewhere further up. At first Harker thought it was from a torch held by someone moving it back and forth, but on second glance he realised it was the flickering of a flame that cast dancing shadows along the intervening walls.
‘Are you coming back up?’ Shroder hissed from overhead. ‘Or am I coming down?’
Harker said nothing but instead gestured for the MI6 agent to join him. He didn’t want to risk making any noise until he was sure the light source up ahead wasn’t in human hands.
Shroder understood and unclipped the two gasmasks from his belt and dropped them on the floor next to the opening, before silently making his way down the ladder to join Harker who was already taking his first steps into the passageway.<
br />
‘We won’t need gasmasks deep down here,’ Shroder whispered on turning his attention to the dark passage. ‘It’s not just a basement, then?’
Harker shook his head and motioned forwards with his hand before continuing quietly towards the corner up ahead. There he gingerly poked his head round the corner to see what lay further on.
The passage shortly opened up into a larger cavity which was empty bar a solitary oil lamp held in place by a rusty bracket attached to the wall with metal rivets. The hollowed-out space acted as a crossroads for another two passages, leading left and right, with the original alleyway continuing directly ahead of them, lit only by an identical oil lamp placed further along.
‘We follow the light,’ Harker whispered quietly, after flashing his phone torch down the other two passageways and seeing nothing but gloom.
Shroder nodded silently and, with his automatic clasped firmly in both hands, he followed closely as Harker continued along the lit passageway.
They had covered just a few steps when a shuffling noise forced both men to swiftly retreat and duck into the darkness of the passage leading off to their left. Harker immediately turned off his torch as both men moved deeper into pitch blackness, each hugging the wall. They then waited as the now recognisable sound of footsteps got closer.
A hooded and robed figure emerged into their line of sight, then came to a halt right in the middle of the crossroads. Carrying a small wicker basket containing an assortment of vegetables, the figure placed it on the floor and then slowly pulled back his hood to reveal a sight that made Harker feel sick as he watched from the shadows. The man was missing his left ear which appeared to have been crudely ripped off, leaving tags of flesh, and even though long healed the sight brought one single thought to Harker’s mind: Skoptsy.
The mutilated man lifted his nose and began to sniff the air around him with interest and then turned and stared in their direction with a pair of piercing, dark-brown eyes.
Harker was sure the man must have seen him but he remained motionless holding his breath and all the time cursing that small bottle of cologne he had found and made use of during the flight over.
The man took a few more sniffs and once satisfied he replaced his hood, picked up the basket, taking a moment to light another one of the wall lamps with a plastic Bic lighter, before continuing around the bend until well out of sight.
Harker expelled a breath of relief even as Shroder tapped him on the shoulder and motioned towards the now better-lit passage, urging him to follow. They made their way cautiously down to the bend and then stopped as, further along, the robed man came to a halt next to a wooden door. He then unlocked it and made his way inside, leaving it open behind him.
Before Harker had time to decide on what to do next, Shroder was already making his way quietly towards the open door. Then, with the butt of his gun raised ready to strike, he waited. A few seconds later the same man reappeared and, as he turned to close the door behind him, Shroder brought the weapon down hard against the back of his neck. The robed man fell to the floor and was promptly dragged back inside by Shroder, even as Harker hurried over to join him.
Inside, Harker found the earlier man splayed out on the stone floor wearing nothing but a pair of filthy longjohns while Shroder, having whipped off his belt and relieved him of the robe, was already hog-tying him.
‘Put on that robe.’ Shroder urged as he finished securing the unconscious victim but this instruction was met with a look of defiance from his companion, who was wrinkling up his nose at the smell of the filthy and heavily stained garment.
‘I’ve got another idea,’ Harker replied resentfully. ‘Why don’t you put it on?’
‘Because I’ve got the gun, remember,’ Shroder said, waving the Browning automatic in front of him, ‘and you need a disguise.’
Harker once more glanced down at the foul-smelling robe, before turning back to Shroder. ‘How about I take the gun and you take the disguise?’
His request was met with an uncompromising stare from Shroder, and Harker exhaled a disheartened sigh.
‘Fine,’ he said, picking up the robe and begrudgingly slipping it on over his clothes, and then inspecting the garment further. ‘Is that a urine stain?’
A light murmur coming from a pile of loose hay in the corner stopped him from answering his own question and they both spun around with Shroder’s gun raised defensively.
They watched in silence as a hand reached up above the pile, then flopped limply back down, as another deepening murmur could be heard. Harker instinctively moved towards it whilst Shroder continued to cover him. He reached the hay pile and his eyes followed the hand to a body lying directly behind it, out of sight from where they had been standing. Harker reached over and brushed away wisps of hay to reveal a woman’s face. In an instant all thoughts of the noxious robe vanished as he found himself staring into the eyes of someone who had occupied his thoughts frequently over the past four months.
‘Claire?’
Claire Dwyer stared back at him, wearing a similar if not vastly cleaner robe than his own. Her eyes were glazed, her lips dry and cracked, and she winced in pain as she struggled to speak. ‘Alex? Is that you?’
He had mulled over many times exactly what he would say to this woman that had betrayed him so callously back in Vatican City all those months ago. But, as he looked down upon her in such a weakened state, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the miserable and wretched-looking creature that lay in front of him. ‘Yes, it’s me, Claire.’ He began pulling her up off the floor and gently laying her on top of the pile of hay, even though she yelped in pain.
‘You know her?’ Shroder asked, closing the door for fear of the interest another yelp might attract.
‘It’s a long story,’ Harker replied, glancing back at him before returning his attention to Claire and the skin discoloration now visible through a gap in her robe. Harker reached over and carefully tugged at the cloth, and it slipped away to reveal such a horrific and disturbing sight that he raised his wrist to his mouth to stop himself gasping loudly. Both of her breasts had been removed and the open wounds then cauterised by a branding iron, in some kind of medieval mastectomy. The burns looked fresh but there had been no attempt to dress or bandage these wounds and, judging by the amount of pain Claire was in, no drugs or painkillers had been given.
The sight would have made Harker vomit had it not been for her eyes staring up at him as if looking for any sign of reassurance, compassion or anything for that matter.
Behind him Shroder lowered his gun and his eyes widened at the gruesome sight, while Harker began to wipe away the thick beads of sweat covering her face.
‘Oh, my God, Claire,’ he murmured trying to remain strong for her sake. ‘What have they done to you?’
Claire’s lips quivered as she struggled to talk, the pain clearly so absolute that it clouded her mind and scattered her thoughts. ‘The Skoptsy have … the child,’ she managed to hiss through clenched teeth. ‘You have … to save him.’
‘Don’t talk, Claire. It doesn’t matter right now.’ Harker glanced around the cell for anything that might offer her even an ounce of comfort – water or anything – but all he could see was the basket of vegetables in the wicker basket that had been brought here no doubt for sustenance. He turned back to her as she clasped his hand, her sweaty palm slipping against his, but he held on firmly as she continued to force more words from her mouth.
‘No, you need to know the truth,’ she spluttered while fighting the fresh wave of pain that overcame her. ‘I’m … I’m …’
‘I know you’re sorry, Claire,’ he guessed not wanting her to strain herself any more than she had to.
She shook her head forcefully as she struggled to control the spasms convulsing her. ‘I’m not sorry …’ she continued, as her eyes begin to flutter. ‘I’m a Templar.’
With those last words, Claire’s whole body seemed to wilt, her limp hand slipping from Harker’s and fallin
g to her chest.
‘Claire!’ he shouted, pressing his finger to her neck and feeling for any trace of a pulse. But there was nothing. ‘I can’t feel a pulse,’ he yelled back towards Shroder who dropped the gun and pushed Harker to one side before beginning to administer CPR.
Harker watched completely numb as the MI6 agent lifted up her neck into the correct position, then placed his mouth over hers and exhaled fresh air into her lungs. He then placed both hands on her scarred, seared chest and began to push up and down rhythmically. ‘Did you know she was a Templar?’ he questioned, as he worked on Claire’s still lifeless body.
‘No,’ Harker replied and completely shocked by her admission. ‘I had no idea.’ His mind was buzzing so hard he was finding it difficult to focus. Claire Dwyer a Templar? Could it be true? And why didn’t Brulet know? Harker shook his recognising at the obvious illogical assumption on his part. Of course Brulet knew. He just didn’t tell him … but why?
‘She’s gone, Alex,’ Shroder uttered despondently, before wrapping the robe back over her body and resting his back against the wall. ‘I’m sorry but there’s nothing else I can do.’
All the questions and accusations flying through Harker’s mind were suddenly replaced with a furious anger at the sight of Claire’s motionless body, and he turned towards the unconscious Skoptsy lying tied up on the floor next to him. ‘How the fuck could someone do that to another person, especially a woman?’ Harker uttered aggressively, his fists clenching and a feeling of uncontrollable rage fizzing in his veins.
‘These people are sick bastards, that’s how,’ Shroder answered, and he began to say something else but Harker didn’t hear it because all he could do now was focus on the Browning handgun discarded on the floor. He lunged over and snatched up the automatic and then leapt on to their hog-tied captive, pushing him over on to his side and pressing its muzzle against the man’s temple. He then cocked it and, with a shaking hand, fought a growing impulse to pull the trigger. ‘What kind of man does that to a woman?’ Harker repeated, searching for a reason not to give into absolute and complete bloody rage.
