Blood Moon

by Graeme Reynolds

Sergeant Peyton raised her right arm and made a fist. Corporal Raines and Private Lewis froze in place, then dropped into firing positions in a single co-ordinated and sinuous movement. Half a second later, Paul mirrored them, only too aware of the fact that he’d reacted slower than everyone else. It felt like he’d lost a game of musical statues for the tenth time in a row. The woods began to thin a little way ahead of them, and the hazy sky visible between the trees glowed orange with the reflected glare of the sodium streetlights against the drifting fog. Their target was just beyond the treeline. The realisation unleashed a surge of adrenaline that deadened his limbs and brought on a wave of nausea that he struggled to control. His mind felt fuzzy, heavy with the combined effects of the drugs he’d been given back at the base, and the first hints of panic began to bubble up from his subconscious.

  I shouldn’t be here. I can’t face these things. Not again. Phil was right. Oh, God, I feel sick. It’ll be a massacre. Those fucking werewolves will tear through us like cattle. I’ve got to get out of here.

  He shook his head and fought against the rising tide of terror. Remembering the reason that he’d agreed to come on this mission. The faces of his wife and daughter the last time he’d seen them. Happy, smiling and looking forward to the Christmas break when they could spend some time together as a family. The look of pain and terror on their faces when they’d died. The screams of Emma as she tried to shield Sam from the savage teeth and claws of Connie Hamilton, and the high-pitched shrieks of terror from his daughter as she watched her mother being slowly torn apart, turning into hitching, pleading sobs as the monster turned its attention to her.

  He grabbed hold of the fear and doubt, forced it into submission, and moulded it into something he could use. He poured in the ache of his loss and his guilt, forging it on a cold flame of rage until it became a razor-edged blade of raw emotion. His heartbeat slowed and his vision cleared. He became acutely aware of the frozen, dead woodland around him. The distant hoot of an owl as it searched the frost-covered fields for prey. The shriek of a fox behind them and the answering call from its mate. The sporadic rumble of cars on the main road. The position of his squad mates, spaced out before him in the darkness, invisible but for the plumes of their breath as it reacted with the frigid air.

  Sergeant Peyton gave the signal to advance, and this time, when the squad started towards their target, Paul’s movements were as graceful and silent as the rest of them.

  The dark skeletons of the trees thinned, then vanished abruptly at a low, wood-panelled fence. Beyond it lay a neatly maintained garden. A frost-covered climbing frame and slide glimmered under the reflected light. A gravel path ran along the length of a small lawn, and a sand-pit sat beside a small wooden shed, its contents frozen as hard as concrete. The house at the far end of the garden was dark and silent, save for the twinkling lights of a Christmas tree, barely visible through the kitchen window.

  One by one, the team vaulted the fence, clearing the gravel and landing on the lawn without making a sound. Sergeant Peyton gave a series of hand gestures, and the squad spread out in a combat formation, weapons trained on the dark openings of the kitchen window and back door. A shadow momentarily obscured the shimmering lights of the tree and Paul felt his heart lurch in his chest. Then Sergeant Peyton gave the signal to attack.

  Private Lewis raised his weapon; a modified SA-80 with an under-slung grenade launcher, and fired one of the explosives directly at the kitchen window. The squad threw themselves to the ground as the 40mm grenade shattered the glass and exploded inside the house. Shrapnel peppered the wooden fence, and the rest of the glass in the window and back door blew out. The squad were on their feet before the blast had finished echoing around the neighbouring houses.

  Sergeant Peyton, Corporal Raines and Private Lewis began making their way toward the smoking ruin of the back door, while Paul stayed back to provide cover. He knew that Lieutenant Foster would break through the front door with Private Cross in a matter of seconds, and they’d proceed to clear the house of hostiles. That grenade should have annihilated anything in the kitchen, but according to the intelligence reports, that still left two lycanthropes in the property. And Paul doubted they would go down without a fight.

  Corporal Raines reached the doorway first. He didn’t bother checking the remains of the kitchen, no doubt assuming that the grenade had done its job and killed everything within a five meter radius. Instead, he shone his tactical light through the shattered doorway that led to the front hall and stepped inside the building. Paul couldn’t believe his stupidity. He’d told them how hard these bastards were to kill. Connie Hamilton had healed from a point-blank headshot in less than twenty seconds. He opened his mouth to warn the soldier, but before he could get the words out, the huge, muscular form of a werewolf burst through one of the upstairs windows in an explosion of glass and wood.

  Private Lewis and Sergeant Peyton swung their weapons around to face the threat, but hesitated once they realised what they were facing. The beast was huge. Triangular, pointed ears lay flat against the monster’s head, and it’s long, tapered snout was wrinkled into a snarl, revealing rows of vicious, gleaming teeth. Muscles flowed like liquid beneath layers of coarse, black fur, giving a sense of the thing’s raw power. No matter how well trained they might have been, their minds struggled for that vital fraction of a second to comprehend the nightmarish creature before them. And that fraction of a second was all the werewolf needed. It tensed its muscles and leaped into the air, jumping over the hail of bullets the two soldiers unleashed with ease. It slammed into Private Lewis and clamped its jaws down around his neck, severing the man’s head in a single bite. Sergeant Peyton threw herself backwards just as the monster lashed out with its claws. The movement, along with her Kevlar vest saved her life. Just. The claws ripped through the protective clothing, but from where Paul stood, it didn’t look like the attack had penetrated all the way through. She scrambled backwards and brought her weapon to bear on the werewolf, just as Corporal Raines began screaming from inside the house.

  The scream snapped Paul out of his stupor. He’d faced these monsters before. That was the whole point of him being here. As the massive creature stalked towards Sergeant Peyton, he raised his SA-80 and opened fire.

  The attack seemed to take the werewolf by surprise, almost as if it either hadn’t noticed him, or had discounted him as a threat. He stitched the creature’s flank with bullet holes, sending it crashing against the side of the house, and fought to control the wave of revulsion that washed over him as he watched the werewolf’s bones shatter, twist and reform as it turned back into a naked man. Paul wasn’t finished yet, however. Drawing his pistol, he strode over to the creature and fired a silver bullet straight into its skull.

  Sergeant Peyton’s mouth hung open. “What the hell are you doing, Patterson? We’re supposed to take these things alive.”

  Paul felt his lip curl up into a sneer. “You’re fucking welcome,” he said to her, then shouldered his SA-80 and strode through the back door, into the darkness of the house.

  It didn’t take Paul long to find what was left of Corporal Raines. His eviscerated corpse lay in several pieces along the hallway. Dark puddles of blood had stained the light carpet crimson around the stumps of his severed limbs, and his throat had been slashed. The front door hung open on shattered hinges, and the wood around the lock was splintered. He could make out a boot print just beneath the lock. The other fire team had clearly executed their part of the plan, but were conspicuous by their absence. Sergeant Peyton pointed to the closed living room door, then to the staircase. Paul nodded his understanding and crouched at the bottom of the stairs, his weapon pointed into the darkness while the Sergeant carefully turned the handle of the living room door, then pushed it open.

  The twinkling of the lights on the Christmas tree glittered in his peripheral vision, but Paul kept his weapon trained on the stairwell. Sergeant Peyton stepped through the door, weapon raised, then fired two shots. A high
pitched yelp came from the living room, followed by a thick, guttural snarl from the darkness at the top of the stairs. A pair of green eyes glowed in the shadows. Paul squeezed off three rounds in rapid succession as the werewolf burst from cover and launched itself into the air towards him. The rounds slammed into the creature’s body and he side-stepped out of its path as the naked, bloodstained body of a woman crashed into the wall behind where he’d been standing. He drew his pistol to administer the coup de grace, but felt Sergeant Peyton’s hand on his arm. She shook her head, then tapped her throat mike. “Charlie Oscar, this is Fire Team Tango. Targets neutralised. Requesting immediate evac and medical assistance.” She nodded to Paul, her face a grim mask. “We got the bastards. Now let’s see if anyone else is still alive.”

  25th December 2008. Underhill Military Base. 00:18

  The soldiers led Marie, Daniel and Michael through the upper levels of the complex, keeping a respectful distance from their captives, until they reached a pair of double doors that led outside onto a flat expanse of tarmac. Marie risked a backward glance at the nervous soldiers, and took some satisfaction in the fact that they all pulled their weapons harder into their shoulders. “Where are you taking us?” she asked.

  Colonel Richards said nothing at first. When she repeated the question, he gave a grim smile. “Clearly this facility has been compromised, so we’ll be taking you to a new, secure location for interrogation. Now, please keep moving. I’d hate to be forced to have you shot.”

  A hard knot of fear clenched her stomach. The fact that Michael’s injuries had healed so quickly meant that they were probably armed with standard silver bullets, not Steven Wilkinson’s silver and mercury rounds. Michael and Daniel would most likely survive a confrontation. The same could not be said for her, and she realised that her companions were only going along with this to protect her from harm. A wave of guilt and nausea washed over her. Whatever happened to them next would be her fault, and she couldn’t see any way out of the situation.

  They made their way across the tarmac, away from the subterranean complex, towards the dark silhouette of another building that loomed up from the swirling mist. To her left, she could just make out the orange glimmer of the streetlights on the main road. Two hundred yards across open ground to safety. Even with the darkness and inclement weather on her side, she knew that she’d have no chance of crossing the distance before a bullet found its target. Their captor’s SA-80’s were equipped with IR scopes which would light her up like a bloody Christmas tree. She’d be lucky to make it ten feet.

  Attacking them was also out of the question. The men were well trained and maintained a set distance of about three meters behind them, spread out in a loose semicircular formation. Daniel could probably close the distance and kill one of them before the rest opened fire. Michael might be able to, but she had no way of knowing how badly the drugs they’d been pumping into him had affected his reactions. The adrenaline would be wearing off now, and her brother had never been on the field teams. Despite being silver immune and possessing his lycanthropic gift, Michael was nowhere near as efficient a killer as Daniel or herself. She cursed Stephen Wilkinson again. Six weeks ago, she could have taken these soldiers out without breaking a sweat. Now, in her maimed, weakened, human, state, she’d be lucky to beat one of them in a fair fight. Not that fighting fair was ever high on her list of priorities.

  As they drew closer to the row of buildings, she began to make out the details. Heavy steel roller-doors opened up to reveal the cavernous interior. The rumble of an idling engine and the smell of diesel fumes reached her. The building was the base’s motor transport section, and somehow she doubted that they’d simply be loaded aboard a standard troop carrier once they reached the garage. An armoured prisoner transport vehicle would be more likely. Once they were secured inside of that, the chances of escape reduced to pretty much nothing. She glanced at Daniel and he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. He understood what was about to happen, and knew that if they were going to act, they had to do it now. Marie tensed her muscles in preparation and visualised what she was going to do next. A feigned stumble, a roll beneath the firing arc of the weapons. Get in close and kill without hesitation or mercy. Her eyes flicked to Daniel one last time. The German’s nostrils flared and he slowly shook his head. His body language was clear. He’d caught a scent on the breeze. Something that had made him revise their attack strategy. Marie felt a momentary confusion as to what would make him change his mind. A second later, a long, mournful howl echoing out from the swirling fog answered her question. John.

  The soldier’s reaction was instantaneous. Cries of “Stand to,” rang out, and while two of them kept their weapons trained on their prisoners, the remainder of the squad brought their weapons up to their shoulders and scanned the darkness for the new threat. Colonel Richards held a 9mm Browning semi-automatic pistol in a two handed grip, a sheen of sweat visible across his forehead and a look of barely contained panic on his face. He momentarily caught Marie’s eyes, and she took great pleasure in slowly curling her lips into a smile.

  The Colonel grabbed her and pressed the barrel of his pistol against her temple. “How many more are out there? Tell me, or I’ll blow your brains all over the road.”

  Marie didn’t flinch and kept right on smiling. “Enough. More than enough. You and your men were dead the second you set foot outside of that building.”

  A dark shape darted between two trees. One of the soldiers screamed “Contact!” and opened up with his rifle, filling the empty air with 5.56mm rounds. Another one followed suit before their squad leader, an older man wearing sergeant’s stripes, yelled at them to hold their fire and check their targets.

  Another howl rang out, reverberating between the buildings. Even without enhanced senses, Marie could almost smell the terror emanating from the soldiers. Colonel Richards removed the pistol from her head and cast quick, nervous glances around him. Marie looked across to Daniel and Michael and saw clouds of steam begin to rise from them as they brought their wolves close to the surface of their minds. Daniel’s eyes had already become flat, phosphorescent discs, and she could smell an unmistakable animal musk emanating from the two men.

  The sergeant, to his credit, seemed to recognise the signs of rising panic in his men and took steps to take control of the situation. “Right, you lot. Form up and get ready to move. We are heading to the MT section as planned. Double time it. Weapons free, but for fucks sake, check your targets. Dobson, I’m talking to you. Now, move out.”

  The soldiers closed ranks and took on a defensive formation before moving as one towards the open roller doors. Marie, Daniel and Michael were ushered forward at gunpoint, their captors so far failing to recognise the signs of Daniel and Michael’s imminent transformations. They’d made it almost halfway across the open expanse of tarmac when a scream rang out from the darkness. A body flew through the air, covering almost fifteen feet before it was cut down by a volley of automatic weapons fire and crashed to the floor in a tangle of bloody limbs. What remained of the corpse wore standard army fatigues and was still twitching as the last of its blood leaked out to form a dark mirror on the ground.

  “Damn it, I told you to check your targets. Does that look like a bloody werewolf to you?”

  They began to move forward again, more slowly this time, the men’s fear beginning to override their training. They were focusing their attention on the unseen threat in the mist, and seemed to have forgotten, just for a moment, about how dangerous their prisoners were.

  A pair of glowing green eyes shone out from the dark shadows between the MT building and the adjacent hanger. A thick, guttural snarl filled the air. The soldiers swung to face it as one and, as their weapons trained on the lurking werewolf, Daniel, Marie and Michael made their move.

  The vinyl ties around Daniel’s wrists snapped, and the big German stepped back, grabbing the stock of the nearest soldier’s SA-80 with one hand, while slamming the other into his throat. Michael
kicked out at another man, shattering his kneecap. As the soldier cried out and fell to the ground, Michael grabbed his head with both hands, twisting it clean off before hurling it at Colonel Richards. It connected with the commanding officer’s skull with a sickening crack, and he collapsed, seemingly unconscious.

  Panic spread through the troops. Several of them opened fire at the dark shape of John, who had burst from cover and ran directly towards the soldiers and their captives, seemingly oblivious to the bullets that buzzed through the air around him. Marie grabbed the rifle from the man Daniel had killed and swung it like a club at the head of the sergeant. The plastic stock of the weapon shattered in her hands, but the man fell forward and didn’t move. She grabbed Michael’s arm as he finished off another soldier. “Come on. We need to get to the truck.”

  Her brother looked at her for a moment, his eyes shining with joyous bloodlust, before he snapped out of it. More soldiers were running from the subterranean complex, and bullets exploded into the tarmac at his feet. He nodded his agreement and they sprinted towards the open hanger doors, with Daniel following close behind them.

  More bullets slammed into the concrete walls of the garage as Marie reached the comparative safety of the building. The air was filled with screams and the sound of automatic weapons fire. Daniel passed her and reached the idling prisoner transport vehicle, yanked open the driver’s door and hurled the startled soldier behind the wheel into the side of an adjacent truck. Marie pulled open the rear doors and threw herself inside just as another hail of bullets peppered the reinforced walls of the vehicle. Michael joined her less than a second later. She crouched behind the closed door and risked a glance outside. John had reached the squad that had been escorting them, and was hurling bodies away from him as if they were stuffed toys. His muscular form lashed out at anything in a uniform, but, she realised, without inflicting serious injuries. His attacks were restrained, avoiding fatal blows to the armed men, or even anything that would break the skin and transmit the curse. He was fighting like a man in a bar brawl instead of letting his animal side dictate the flow of the battle.