Blood Moon

by Graeme Reynolds

  She hurried through the dark alleyway and, despite there being no cars on the road, walked further along the street to use the crossing in order to avoid two of the high street’s busier public houses without making it look too obvious. A few wolf-whistles and lewd comments were hurled in her direction, but she quickened her pace and reached into her bag for her keys, looking forward to her food and wine away from the Neanderthal locals.

  She unlocked the door and made her way upstairs, not bothering to turn the light on. The kitchen was to the right, and she planned on dumping her things, getting out of her army uniform into something a bit more comfortable, and settling down for the night. Once at the top of the stairs, she reached out for the light switch.

  A hand grabbed hers from the darkness, and a shape moved from the shadows behind her and clasped a hand firmly over her mouth. Her takeaway and wine fell from her grasp. The bottle shattered on the tiled floor, while the foil takeaway cartons scattered her beef in black bean sauce across the kitchen, mingling with the shards of glass and red wine to form a dark, steaming puddle.

  Her attackers held her firm. One had an iron grip on her wrist, while the other one restrained her from behind, preventing her from screaming for help. They probably thought that they had her right where they wanted her.

  Their mistake.

  Rose brought her heel down hard on the foot of the man behind her, feeling satisfaction at the hiss of pain that escaped from his lips. The bear-hug loosened, and she bent her knees, sliding forward while lowering her centre of gravity. The movement put her assailant off balance and he flew over her shoulder onto the shards of broken glass scattered across the kitchen floor. If these bastards had broken in here expecting to find some poor, defenceless girl, then they were about to get the shock of their lives. Plus, by now, all of the shops would be closed. She’d not be able to replace the wine or food, meaning that she’d have to spend Christmas bloody eve sober, hungry, and no doubt cleaning this mess up. Not to mention the tedious task of having to deal with the police. They were going to pay for that.

  “Bastards!” she hissed.

  The shape on the kitchen floor struggled to get to his feet, while the one grabbing her arm tried to shift his grip to get a better hold. Rose delivered a sharp kick to the prone figure’s chin and he slumped face down into the puddle of glass and wine.

  One down, one to go.

  She twisted her hand, then stepped backwards and brought her other hand up to her captor’s, locking the other man’s wrist in a very uncomfortable position. In theory, she could hold him like this until the police arrived, but her anger and outrage at being assaulted inside her own home boiled up from within, and instead, she struck out at the joint, delivering an open-handed blow that shattered the man’s wrist like porcelain. The grunt of pain was immensely satisfying, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. Twisting the broken joint further around, she locked out the man’s elbow, and was about to deliver a vicious strike that would break the intruder’s arm when the unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked came from behind her, and a woman’s voice said, “I’d rather you didn’t do that, Rose. Why don’t you be a good girl and let my friend go.”

  Cold metal pressed against the back of her head. There was no way she’d be able to disarm the woman before she blew her brains all over the kitchen. Not while she still had hold of the man with a broken wrist, anyway. Her stance was all wrong. “Look, there’s not a lot here. I don’t have any cash, and the TV’s a piece of shit. Just take what you want and go, alright?”

  “Oh, Rose. You honestly didn’t think we came here to steal your telly, did you?”

  Before she could reply, the handgrip of the pistol came down on the back of her head, and bright bomb-bursts of pain lit up the inside of her skull. Then the darkness claimed her.

  ***

  Rose had no idea how much time had passed. As consciousness returned, she kept her breathing steady and remained motionless as she tried to assess where she was. The back of her skull throbbed, and she’d probably have a mild concussion, but couldn’t feel any more injuries, which was good. She also still had all of her clothes on, which was even better, even if the wet fabric felt uncomfortable against her skin. What was not quite so encouraging was the fact that her wrists and ankles were tightly bound with what felt like electrical cable. Her best chance to get out of this was to play dead for a while longer and see if any opportunities for escape presented themselves.

  “She’s awake,” said a male voice with a thick German accent.

  Bollocks. So much for that plan.

  Rose opened her eyes and looked into the faces of her captors. The man was tall, grey-haired with a muscular build, while the woman was much smaller, her hair cut short and sporting a bad black dye-job. Both wore army uniforms, and the woman looked familiar. Rose cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, instantly regretting the sudden movement as the throbbing at the back of her skull erupted into a white-hot blaze of pain and a wave of nausea surged up from her stomach.

  Yep. Definitely a concussion.

  The woman smiled at her, crouching down on her haunches until they were face to face. “The reason we’re here tonight is that we’d like to talk to you about the base you work at. And we’d especially like to talk about some of the people there. Michael Williams for one.

  “I don’t know any Michael Williams. I just work at the training camp up the road, for God’s sake. Patching up TA grunts who hurt themselves on the assault course.”

  The German spoke again. “She’s lying. You were right. She’s got Michael’s scent all over her. Wilkinson’s too. And, Marie… I can smell blood on her. Michael’s blood.”

  The woman’s eyes widened, and she grabbed Rose’s chin. “My friend had better be wrong about that, Rose. Because if you’ve hurt my fucking brother, you won’t like what happens next.”

  Rose began to connect the pieces, despite her concussion. The woman was Marie Williams, the corpse which had vanished from the morgue in High Moor six weeks ago. She recognised her from the newspaper photograph now, even though her hair was different. If her brother was the werewolf that Doctor Channing was experimenting on, and the German could smell his scent on her, then that meant that she was in a hell of a lot more trouble than she’d realised. She’d seen the photos of Olivia Garner and her husband after Connie Hamilton had attacked them and she knew she didn’t stand a chance unless she co-operated.

  “Alright, but I’ve not hurt him. I’m just a doctor. He had a lot of injuries when they brought him in, and I’ve been taking care of him.”

  Marie Williams curled her top lip up into a snarl. “You’d better hope that’s the truth, pet. And you’d better not bullshit me anymore. We can smell it when you lie. If I think you are being anything other than completely truthful with me, then I’ll let my mate, John, teach you the error of your ways.”

  Another man entered the room, wearing nothing but army combat trousers. He turned to her and smiled, and Rose couldn’t stop the whimper of terror escape from her lips. She recognised the man instantly. How could she not when his face had been on the front page of every newspaper for the last month? John Simpson. The thing responsible for all of those deaths in High Moor. She knew then that her chances of getting out of here alive had reduced to virtually zero.

  Her terror must have been plain to see because Marie smiled at her. “Good girl. I can see we’re going to get along like a house on fire.”

  24th December 2008. Underhill Military Base, Sublevel Two. 21:35

  Phil hurried along the corridor to where Colonel Richards was talking to a junior officer. “Colonel, can I have a word please?”

  Colonel Richards looked up at him and acknowledged his presence with a nod. He returned his attention to the young lieutenant, taking the clipboard from his hands and scrawling a signature onto a piece of paper. The lieutenant gave Colonel Richards a hasty salute before hurrying off through the double fire doors, leaving the two men alone. The Colonel
smiled at Phil. “Mr Fletcher. What can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping we could have a chat about Paul Patterson.”

  The Colonel made an exaggerated show of checking his watch. “Of course, but you’ll have to make it quick. I’ve got to attend the mission briefing in a few minutes.”

  “Well, I’d really rather that you didn’t use Paul. Not this time around, anyway. He’s been through a hell of a lot, and I don’t think his head’s in the right place. He should be getting psychiatric care, not being sent back into the field to face those bloody things again. It’s too soon. You give him a gun and he’ll probably just stick it in his mouth.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I’d agree with you, but unfortunately our options are limited. The only people we have access to with combat experience against these creatures are Paul Patterson, Steven Wilkinson and your good self. Clearly, Wilkinson is in no physical shape to go out into the field, and if I’m honest, I’m still not comfortable with the idea of having a werewolf out there alongside my men. Yes, Paul has been through a difficult time, but he’s a trained firearms officer, and unless you are prepared to take his place, he’s the only experienced asset we have that I can send into the field. Are you saying that you want to go along instead of him?”

  Phil’s shoulders sagged. “No, I’m not weapons trained. I’d be an even bigger liability than Paul is, and there’s no way you’ll get me to face down one of those things by choice. I’ve seen what they can do.”

  “Then I’m afraid we aren’t left with any alternatives. As valuable as Mr Wilkinson’s intelligence has been, there really is no substitute for first-hand experience. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to brief the combat teams on their respective missions.”

  “There is one more thing. I was wondering when I’d be allowed to go home.”

  “Ah, yes. I’m afraid that it won’t be for a little while yet.”

  Phil had been expecting that response, but his stomach still sank with disappointment. Sharon was staying with her sister in High Moor, and while he’d been allowed to speak to her on the telephone, it just wasn’t the same. There’d been times over the last couple of days where he’d locked himself away in his room, weeping silently into his pillow, wishing that his wife was there to hold him close. He’d never spent more than a few days apart from her in over twenty years, and without her he felt lost. “I realise that you still need me here, Sir, but all I’m asking for is a few days to see my wife. Maybe spend Christmas with her at her sister’s?”

  Colonel Richards shook his head. “I’m sorry, Phil. I really am, but it’s out of the question. At the moment, you are one of the few people on the planet who has first-hand experience of these things. You’re too valuable an asset to risk at this time. Other governments would quite literally kill for the knowledge you possess, and let’s not forget the creatures themselves. You’d put yourself and anyone around you in terrible danger if you were to leave this facility now. If it would make you feel better, I might be able to arrange for your wife to be brought here instead?”

  Phil was taken aback, and for a moment seriously considered the offer. Then he shook his head. Sharon would hate being confined to this place, even if her presence would make him feel better. He couldn’t do that to her. She was better off at her sister’s house. He shook his head. “No, thank you, Colonel. That won’t be necessary.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. Now, if you don’t mind, I really must get on.”

  Phil sighed as the Colonel turned and walked down the corridor to the briefing room. He felt useless, impotent, frustrated and more than a little bored. Steven Wilkinson was the werewolf expert, while Paul, despite his state of mind, was a highly capable firearms officer with combat experience. In contrast, Phil was little more than a bystander. There really wasn’t anything he could offer that the others couldn’t do better. With nothing else to do, he went back to his room and lay on the bed, wishing that Sharon was there beside him.

  ***

  Phil looked at his watch and groaned. He’d been alone with his thoughts for almost two hours now. There was nothing on television that managed to hold his attention, and his mind was too active for sleep. The base was quiet now. There’d been a flurry of activity about an hour ago as the combat teams finished their briefing and departed on their respective missions. The corridors had been filled with the sound of boots and shouted commands, but now there was only an eerie silence. He picked up his phone and thought about calling Sharon, but at this time she’d either be in bed or at the midnight Christmas Eve mass with her sister. Better to leave it until the morning. Still, he was tired of looking at the plain beige concrete walls of his room and wanted to talk to someone. Anyone. He sat up on the bed, wincing at a twinge of pain in his lower back, slipped on his shoes and walked out into the corridor. With Paul gone, there was really only one other person he could speak to. He just hoped that Steven Wilkinson was in the mood for a visitor.

  The elevator to sublevel four, which housed the medical and detention facilities, was situated at the far end of the underground complex, along a twisting maze of identical corridors. Phil still found himself becoming disoriented in this place on occasion, and as he made his way through the labyrinthine passageways, was acutely aware of the sharp echo of his own footsteps. There was no sign of anyone else. The military personnel that had not gone out into the field would be in the situation room on the next level up, monitoring the mission. He reached the elevator and punched the call button, a vague feeling of unease nagging at the back of his mind. He’d not actually been forbidden to go down to sublevel four, but it had certainly been implied quite heavily that he was not to stray beyond the accommodation level. Still, if he was discovered, he could always plead ignorance.

  The doors slid open, and Phil found himself face to face with two stern looking army officers: a powerfully built man and a dark haired woman who seemed familiar, but whose name he was unable to place. His heart sank and he cast his eyes down to the floor, expecting to be challenged, but after a second, when nothing was said, he got into the elevator and pressed the button for sublevel four. All he could do at this point was to act as if he was supposed to be here and hope for the best. Still, in the cramped confines of the elevator, he had the uncomfortable feeling of eyes boring into the back of his neck. His heart began to race, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He forced himself to regulate his breathing and calm down. He’d know soon enough if they were going to prevent him from progressing any further.

  The elevator lurched to a stop and, after what seemed like an eternity, the doors slid open. Phil stepped out and turned to his left, towards the medical facility, very much aware of the numbness in his legs and the hammering in his chest. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the two army officers were walking in the opposite direction, toward the detention area, and breathed a sigh of relief. They might mention having seen him to Colonel Richards at some point, but they clearly weren’t going to place him under arrest there and then.

  He reached the door to Steven’s room, rapped twice on it, and let himself in, allowing the reinforced door to swing closed behind him. Steven lay on a metal hospital bed in the centre of the room with a drip running into his arm and an array of machines behind him that monitored his condition. “Hi, Steven, hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced. Just wondered if you were up for having a visitor?”

  Steven winced in pain as he sat up on the bed. “I’m glad of it, Phil. I’ve been going stir crazy in here on my own. It’s…” Steven’s eyes widened and the machines behind him let out a cacophony of warning alarms.

  Phil rushed to his side. “Steven – what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Steven grabbed Phil’s arm. “They’re here. Oh, God, they’ve come for me.”

  “What do you mean? Who’s come for you?”

  “Who do you think? The fucking pack. I can smell them on you, Phil. You stink of the bastard that was hunting me on the last full moon.
There’s a pack assassination team down here with us.”

  Chapter 5

  24th December 2008. Underhill Military Base, Sublevel Four. 23:52

  Marie breathed a sigh of relief as she watched Phil Fletcher disappear around the corner. “Thank fuck for that. I thought he’d recognised me for a second.”

  Daniel smiled. “The human mind is adept at rationalising things. The last thing Detective Fletcher expected was to see you here. He’s never actually met you in the flesh, remember. I doubt he made the connection.”

  Marie frowned. “Well, let’s make this quick. The last thing we need is him to work it out and raise the alarm.”

  Daniel stopped outside of a store room and put his hand on Marie’s arm. “I’m not comfortable with this approach. By rights we should be burning this place to the ground and getting rid of anyone who knows too much. Destroy any evidence. It’s what we were trained to do.”

  Marie shook his arm away. “I know, but our priority has to be finding Michael and getting away without anyone noticing. We’re in a bloody secret military base, for fuck’s sake. We can’t fight our way out of here.”

  Daniel nodded his acceptance, then paused and sniffed the air. “There’s one more thing you should know. Wilkinson is here. I just caught his scent.”