Blood Moon

by Graeme Reynolds

  Steven took a deep breath and closed his eyes before he answered. “What that was, was a werewolf. I told you there was more than one kind. I’ve told you that over and over again. The quadrupeds and the big, nasty, two-legged bastards.”

  “Yes, and you told me the bipeds were only a problem on the night of a full moon, and that they were mindless beasts. That certainly didn’t seem to be the case this evening.”

  “What the fuck do you want from me? I told you what I knew. The bipeds I’ve encountered, John Simpson included, were mindless monsters that only came out to play under a full moon. The four-legged fuckers were always the smart ones. It’s not like there’s a bloody spotter’s guide to these things. In my experience, and from what I got from Carl’s journal, that is how it was. Am I surprised that’s not always the case? No, I’m not. I stopped being surprised by anything those things do a long time ago. Am I an absolute authority on werewolves? Not even close. What I am is the best you’ve got.”

  Colonel Richards’ mouth curled into a sneer. “Well, apparently that’s not nearly good enough.” He seemed to register Rose’s presence for the first time and half turned to her. “Doctor Fisher, I’m glad to see that you survived your ordeal intact. Would you mind waiting outside in the corridor for a moment? I’ll be with you shortly.”

  Rose didn’t need telling twice. She saluted her Commanding Officer then slipped out of the door, letting it close behind her. After a few more minutes, the door opened and Colonel Richards joined her, along with the two armed guards and Phil Fletcher. The Colonel locked the door behind them then waited until Phil and the soldiers had moved away before turning his attention to Rose.

  “I want you to know that I don’t blame you for what happened here tonight. Given the circumstances, anyone would have done the same. I’m just glad that you’re still alive. We’ll have to do a full debriefing in due course, but for now, are you able to work?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m fine, Sir. What happened here? No one has really brought me up to speed yet.”

  The Colonel’s shoulders sagged. “The facility has been compromised and we’re currently making arrangements to relocate to Lindholme. We’ll start moving personnel over in a few hours. While the situation here was regrettable, unfortunately that’s not our biggest problem.”

  “The strike teams? Are you saying that the operation didn’t…?”

  “I’m saying that the operation was an absolute bloody catastrophe. We sent out twenty teams of five last night. One hundred men. Of those one hundred, more than half were killed in action, with another thirty grievously wounded. The United Kingdom’s armed forces hasn’t suffered a loss like that since the fucking Falklands. Not in a single day. The press will have a damned field day with this, and the Minister wants answers. We did manage to contain almost thirty lycanthropes, but another forty five are unaccounted for, running around the countryside doing God knows what.”

  Rose’s mind reeled. She grappled with the numbers and the potential consequences. “The wounded men…?”

  “Are being taken to Lindholme. The camp there has basic medical facilities, and the prison next door has a reasonably well equipped infirmary that we’re going to use. I’d like you to get out there today.”

  She nodded. “Of course. Can you tell the medics to take blood and tissue samples from each of the men at hourly intervals. Spinal fluid as well, if they can. If nothing else, it should give us a better picture of how quickly the infection spreads through the host body.”

  “Doctor Channing has already instructed them to that effect, and he’s going to accelerate his research, so please relay your findings directly to him. He’s confident that we can begin human trials within the week.”

  This brought Rose up short. “A week? Sir, with respect, that’s insane. We have no idea what this is going to do to the test subjects. It could kill them, or worse.”

  “I’ve cleared this with the Minister, Doctor Fisher. What tonight has proven is that we are horrendously outmatched when dealing with these creatures. We sent a hundred of our best men into a meat-grinder, and I saw first-hand what they are capable of. We simply cannot allow that to happen again, especially now that we have dozens of the damn things running around out there. We need to be able to meet them on an equal footing.”

  She sighed. “Understood, Sir. If there’s nothing else, I should really begin making my travel arrangements.”

  A grim smile played across Colonel Richards’ lips. “There is one more thing you should know.” He motioned towards an open doorway.

  Rose looked into the room, then back to her CO. “Oh good. That’s very good indeed. I’ll be needing that in Lindholme as well, if it’s at all possible.”

  The Colonel closed the door and engaged the lock, the smile still on his face. “Yes, I rather thought you might feel that way.”

  Chapter 8

  25th December 2008. Trecorras Cottage, Llangarron, Herefordshire. 07:45

  The soft buzz from the satellite phone brought Daniel awake in an instant. He sat up on the bed and silenced the device before it woke Michael and Marie, then checked the message. The display showed a phone number with a Moscow area code that he didn’t recognise. It certainly wasn’t one of the many that Steffan had used in the past. The communication channels with the pack had been severely restricted over the past few weeks, but this new development bothered him. Why send a text message of a telephone number when they could have simply called him?

  He slipped off the bed, picked up his boots and pistol, and crept out of his room. He’d not undressed after last night’s escapades, simply lying on top of the bed covers in his army issue fatigues. Things had been, and continued to be, dangerous and unpredictable. If a situation developed, the last thing he wanted to be doing was scrambling around for his clothes.

  Rhythmic snoring came from Michael’s room, while Marie’s breathing was shallow and regular. Good. Both of them needed to rest, and he didn’t want either of them around when he called the number he’d been sent. Taking care to move as quietly as he could, he made his way downstairs, put on his boots and opened the back door.

  The icy air burned his cheeks as he stepped outside. The sky had cleared overnight, and the temperatures plummeted under the clear skies. The clouds to the east burned crimson against an indigo background, and animal tracks criss-crossed the frost-covered lawn of the cottage. The first chorus of morning birdsong began in the small wooded area to the south, and the air smelled fresh and clean. It was especially welcome after the lingering blood-stench in the cottage. He’d have to burn Michael’s combat gear when he finished making his call. The smell was proving to be a distraction, and his wolf had whined and growled at the back of his mind all night as a result.

  Daniel walked to the end of the driveway and hopped over the decaying wooden fence that separated it from the farm track, relishing the sounds of the world coming back to life around him. He arched his back, taking some small satisfaction at the cracking of his spine, then rolled his neck to release the knots in it. His muscles still ached from the previous night’s exertions, although the cold air was blowing away the last few cobwebs of fatigue better than a cup of Marie’s vile coffee. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the tranquillity for a moment. Then he fished the encrypted satellite phone out of his pocket, forced his doubts away and dialled the number he’d been sent.

  The phone rang twice before it was picked up. Daniel suppressed a groan as Lukas’ voice crackled through the handset. “Comrade Braun, what took you so long?”

  Daniel rubbed his forehead with his left hand. “I was sleeping, Lukas. What do you want?”

  “I take it then, that you have not seen the morning news?”

  “No, Lukas. As I told you, I was sleeping.”

  “Yes, I imagine you had something of a late night, given that your description is all over the media. Apparently you are wanted for questioning along with Marie Williams. Strange, but I could have sworn that you were
under orders to eliminate her. Was that not the case?”

  Daniel’s head spun. He should have realised that word of last night’s exploits would get back to Lukas. The old bastard never missed a trick. “Other matters took precedence, Lukas. I made the decision that it was more important to secure the release of our alpha than to follow an ill-considered order to the letter.”

  This time it was Lukas’ turn to go quiet, a fact that Daniel took no small amount of satisfaction in. After a few seconds’ silence, his voice returned. “And you were successful? In freeing Mikhail?”

  “Yes, we were. Michael is out of their clutches and plans to return to Moscow as soon as possible.”

  “Daniel, there are things you are not aware of. Matters escalated last night. The British launched a number of raids on werewolf families living in the United Kingdom, presumably based on information sent to them by Connie Hamilton before her demise. Twenty families were attacked during the night. Almost half of them were captured or killed. The council decided that we needed to act, quickly and decisively. And act we did. As of two hours ago, Mikhail is no longer the alpha of this pack. That honour now belongs to Krysztof. His first order was to declare Mikhail a traitor and order his immediate execution. You will dispose of our former alpha and his sister, and you will do so immediately.”

  Daniel massaged his temples. He’d been expecting this to happen, although he’d hoped they would have had more time. “I’m sorry, Lukas, but I’m going to need more than your say-so before I execute anyone. Where is Steffan? I want to discuss the matter with him before I do anything.”

  “Steffan has been detained until his loyalties can be determined. You will take your orders from Krysztof or myself only, unless of course you decide to turn away from the pack and take your chances with our former alpha. What is it to be, Comrade Braun? Are you with us or not?”

  He leaned against a frost-encrusted fencepost and sighed. Michael had been a good alpha over the years and treated his pack mates with respect, for the most part. He couldn’t, however, ignore the grave errors that he’d made recently. He’d broken pack law to protect his sister, and his mishandling of Connie had been the main contributing factor in the current debacle. Krysztof was a brash idiot, but Lukas was cunning and smart. Perhaps he’d be able to control Krysztof’s more extreme tendencies. If he went against them now, he’d be an outcast, hunted by both the humans and his own people. His chances of survival in that scenario were remote. He gripped the telephone tight enough to make the plastic case groan and his knuckles whiten. “Alright. I’m with you. I’ll do as you ask.”

  The smug satisfaction in Lukas’ voice made Daniel sick to his stomach. “Excellent. I’m glad you have decided to stay loyal to your pack. Once you’ve disposed of their corpses, you are to rendezvous with the survivors of last night’s unprovoked attack. We need someone with current field experience to co-ordinate them.”

  “Co-ordinate? You mean getting them out of the country? Lukas, it will be almost impossible. They are all known to the authorities. If we had to smuggle one or two out, we might be able to do something. But twenty or more families? It’s impossible.”

  Lukas laughed, a harsh humourless bark that set Daniel’s teeth on edge. “Comrade, you misunderstand. We do not need you to get them out of the country. We need you to prepare them. Krysztof has decreed that we cannot allow such acts of aggression to go unpunished. You will take the surviving pack members in the United Kingdom and you will use them to strike at the humans. It is time they learned to fear us again.”

  “That’s insane. There are children there. Old people. Most of them have never been anywhere near a field team.”

  Lukas’ voice turned hard. “You have your orders, Comrade Braun. I suggest that you carry them out. We’ll be in touch again, after you meet up with the others. Oh, and just in case you were considering letting the traitors slip away from you, I’d like you to send me a photograph of their severed heads before you depart. If I do not get this evidence, then I shall have to assume that your loyalties lie elsewhere.”

  Daniel began to reply, but realised that the line had gone dead. “Fuck!”

  He felt like hurling the phone into the nearest field, or smashing it underfoot, but resisted the urge. There was nothing to be done. His loyalties were to the pack and he had his orders. He retrieved his pistol from his jacket and began to retrace his steps along the frozen track to the cottage, where Michael and Marie lay sleeping.

  25th December 2008. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 08:15

  The first thing Sophie noticed was the nausea. She floated in darkness, aware of nothing but a terrible sickness. It lurked on the fringes of her mind like some vast, unseen monster, gnawing on the edges of her consciousness. I need to get up and go to the toilet. Mum’ll go mad if I’m sick in bed.

  A stab of grief surged through her chest, but her mind was heavy, and she couldn’t quite understand why she’d felt that. Something had happened. Something bad. But she was unable to remember what.

  She became aware of the pain. A steady throbbing in her chest. An itching, burning ache that pulsed throughout her entire body, setting her nerve endings tingling. She tried to call out for her mother, but couldn’t quite get her body to do as it was told. Determined, she swam up through the thick, cloying, narcotic blanket that enveloped her until the darkness began to recede and turn red. Voices were speaking somewhere. She could just make them out, but they were muffled. Indistinct. As if she was listening to a radio in another room. Her eyes flickered open and several blurred faces appeared.

  “Mum?”

  “Sophie, oh my baby,” said her mother, who gathered her up into her arms and held her tight. “My darling. Oh thank God. I thought I’d lost you.”

  The sudden movement was more than Sophie’s delicate condition could handle. Her head swam, and her stomach went into violent spasms, sending a jet of vomit down her mother’s back. She wiped her mouth with her pyjama sleeve. “Mum, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  Her mother clucked at her. “Don’t be foolish. You’ve not done that to me since you were a baby, but it’s hardly the first time it’s happened.” The bear hug tightened. “I won’t ever let you go again.”

  “Mum… you’re hurting me.”

  The pressure vanished and her mother withdrew, instead placing her hands on Sophie’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Sophie’s eyes were beginning to focus properly now. Uncle Dmitri and Aunt Kasha stood at her bedside, next to her mother. That was strange. She was sure they’d gone on holiday. Maybe they’d come back? Her mind struggled to make the connections, the pieces of the puzzle refusing to fall into place. Then she noticed the bed. It was hard, with a steel frame and scratchy grey blankets. The air was cold, and the walls were brick, painted a horrible green colour like they used at school. This wasn’t her room! She sat up in bed and looked around. “Mum, where are we? Where’s Dad and Adam?”

  Her mother threw her arms around her once more and her voice was thick with barely suppressed tears. “Oh, Sophie. Some men came to the house last night and they… they shot your father. He’s dead.”

  Sophie pulled away from her mother. This had to be some sort of terrible joke. Her dad couldn’t be dead. He was big, and strong. He’d have protected them from the bad men. She looked to her Aunt Kasha, but she was weeping into Uncle Dmitri’s shoulder, and tears flowed freely down her uncle’s cheeks. She jumped to her feet on the far side of the bed and backed away from her family. “No! It’s not true. You’re just saying that. Take it back!”

  “Sophie…”

  “No! You’re lying. Where’s my dad?” she yelled, then ran towards the double doors at the far end of the room and threw them open. The view beyond the doors stopped her dead in her tracks.

  Twenty-foot-high steel fences, topped with coils of razor wire, stretched out as far as the eye could see, with tall towers every fifty feet. Rows of single storey buildings, identical to t
he one she’d just come from, sat in the middle of a large expanse of concrete, and beyond the fence she could see armed soldiers patrolling with savage-looking dogs. Two CCTV cameras whirred and angled themselves towards her as she stepped outside. Her mother came up behind her and put her arms on her shoulders. “Come back inside, Sophie. Please. It’s not safe out there.”

  Sophie turned to her mother, unable to get the words out past the tightening in her throat at first. “Mum… are we in prison?”

  Her mother didn’t answer, just stroked her hair and guided her back into the building.

  She looked up into her mother’s tear-filled eyes. “But why? We didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I know, darling. They didn’t come for us because of anything that we’ve done. They came for us because of what we are. Do you understand?”

  “Because we’re werewolves? Like they said on the news?”

  “That’s right, sweetheart. Some people are scared of what they don’t understand. They hate anything that’s different to themselves. We need to be strong, and we need to help each other. Can you be a big girl and help me?”

  Sophie sniffed and wiped her nose on her pyjama sleeve. “Yes. I can be a big girl. I’ll take care of you. The others will come for us soon. Michael and the rest of the pack will come and kill all of these bad men and then we’ll be able to go home again.”

  She looked up into her mother’s face, hoping to see her agreement, but she turned her head away and wiped her eyes. “I hope so, baby. I really do.”

  25th December 2008. Trecorras Cottage, Llangarron, Herefordshire. 08:15

  Marie rolled over in bed and reached out for the warmth of John’s body, but found only empty space where he should have been. She momentarily wondered where he’d gone before the memories of the previous night flooded back and the sudden wave of grief threatened to engulf her. She could smell his lingering odour on his pillow, which still bore the indentation of his head. His clothes were folded neatly on the chair in the corner of the room. It was as if he were still here instead of lying on a mortuary slab in that military base. As if he would come through the bedroom door at any moment with a cup of coffee, kiss her on the forehead and retreat before she could tell him to fuck off and leave her in peace. What she’d give for another chance to have him make her breakfast. To apologise for being such a bitch. To throw her arms around him, hold him close and tell him that she’d always loved him. The crushing loss was like a weight on her chest, making it hard to draw breath or find the will to do so. She felt as if she’d been hollowed out and all of her thoughts and emotions replaced with a terrible, cavernous emptiness that nothing would ever fill.