A whoosh of air above Mandy’s head. A screamed war cry that sounded something like “Fucking have some ya bastard!” A yelp of pain and shock as Gary smashed a bottle of Newcastle Brown ale into the werewolf’s slavering maw like a club, shattering the monster’s fangs into fragments of bloody bone.
Ian looked at his father. “Now!” he yelled, and both men got to their feet, swinging the aluminium flight case at the large plate glass window. The record box crashed through the glass, large sheets exploding into vicious splinters that rained down across Mandy and her family.
A terrified scream rang out and suddenly Gary wasn’t standing next to Mandy anymore. She only caught a glimpse of his trainers as he was dragged over the top of the DJ console. Mandy reached out instinctively, trying to grab the man. Save him from the fate that he’d saved her from, but she was too late by far.
Her father grabbed her by the shoulders. “Mandy, listen to me. If we get separated, then get to the church. Get to your Auntie Sharon and Matthew. She’ll keep you safe.”
Mandy nodded. Ian kicked the last of the glass shards out of the window frame and hoisted his sister up. She looked back into the bar and saw that Gary’s assault had galvanised the patrons of The Sandpiper into action. Many of them lay dead or dying on the dancefloor, but many more were taking the attack to their assailants. Men leapt on top of the snarling creature with nothing but chair legs, pool cues and broken bottles for weapons. The werewolf was a brutal killing machine, but it was badly outnumbered, and the townsfolk of High Moor had a certain reputation within the area. The town was not considered to be a rough shithole for nothing. Astonishingly, fuelled by terror, rage and alcohol, they seemed to be winning. One man speared a broken pool cue through the back of the thrashing monster. Another man wrapped his arms around the beast’s neck and was trying to saw its head off with a broken bottle, despite some grievous injuries.
Something collided with Mandy, sending her flying back into the pub. Something huge, heavy and covered in thick, foul smelling fur. Another werewolf, presumably stalking the outside of the pub to prevent anyone escaping, had hurled itself at her and now stood on her chest, vicious claws penetrating her clothes, pinning her to the floor. It snarled at her and brought its fangs to her face. The beast’s lips curled back, spraying her with blood-flecked foam. Mandy closed her eyes. Then suddenly, the weight was gone. She opened her eyes and saw her father and Ian wrestling with the huge, enraged werewolf on the dancefloor. Others moved to help, brandishing makeshift weapons. She cried out, “No! Dad! Ian!”
Her father looked at her and yelled, “Go!” Then the creature’s jaws closed around his head and crunched down, turning his skull into a jellied mass of blood, bone and brains.
The monstrous beast vanished beneath a sea of drunken, enraged northerners, lashing out with anything they could get their hands on, and failing that, using their fists and feet. Mandy couldn’t see Ian anymore, and knew she couldn’t wait to find out if he was still alive or not. She’d lost both of her parents in the space of half an hour. She needed to get away, get to Auntie Sharon and Matthew. Ignoring the pain from her wounds, Mandy vaulted onto the window frame, then leaped out into the night.
She groaned as her bare feet plunged into the snow. Shards of glass from the broken window stabbed into her, but the cold soon numbed the pain. She knew that she couldn’t stay here. Pain and fear surged inside her, but she blocked them out, concentrating on the present. The church was normally less than a ten minute walk from here – a journey to the top of the high street, then up the hill for half a mile until the narrow terraced houses opened out to the green expanse around the old stone church and the hall behind it. From the screams emanating from the high street and market square, however, she knew that wasn’t an option. Instead, keeping low to the ground she hurried across the road into the housing estate beyond.
Despite the lack of lighting, the snow made the ground glow with enough ambient light to allow her to make out some details of her surroundings. The door of each house lay open, the locks shattered and the wooden frames splintered. Whatever had happened in High Moor that evening had clearly not been confined to the pub and the town centre. The werewolves had gone from door to door, slaughtering people as they slept or celebrated the New Year. Occasionally she would come across dark patches in the snow where some unfortunate had met their end, but mostly the streets were pristine, white and empty. Her ears strained for any sign of life as she scurried from garden to garden. A telltale crunch of snow that would indicate a survivor or a lycanthrope stalking her, but the town was silent save for the occasional distant scream. The monsters had done their work and moved on, spreading out from the town centre to the outlying houses like ripples in a pond.
It took her almost half an hour to make her way through side streets and gardens to the church hall. Like everywhere else, the door swung open on the frigid breeze and the interior was dark, cavernous and silent. She stepped inside, expecting to be attacked at any moment. The floor was wet and sticky, with soft things squelching between her frozen toes. The werewolves had obviously been here as well and did not appear to have spared anyone. The last shred of hope that Mandy had been clinging to evaporated. Her Auntie Sharon. Her little brother. Dead. Slaughtered like her mum, her dad and Ian. She fell to her knees and began to sob, the wall inside her crumbling and the emotions flooding out. She was alone. Everyone she knew and loved had been killed. Torn apart for no reason she could understand. At that moment, Mandy longed to join them. Wanted death more than anything else in the world. She didn’t even react when she sensed something behind her. A presence in the darkness. She closed her eyes and waited for the end. Instead she felt the light touch of a hand on her shoulder.
“Mandy, love. It’s Sharon. Come with me. I’ll keep you safe.”
Mandy let herself be led towards the basement door, her mind numb. She only knew one thing. She wasn’t safe. She would never be safe again. The puncture wounds from the werewolf’s claws on her shoulder guaranteed that.
Chapter 16
1st January 2009. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 06:50
John crouched before the small electric fire and tried to warm himself. The siren had sounded at 6:30 as usual – apparently Colonel Richards didn’t believe in allowing his guests a lie in on New Year’s Day – and he’d showered and dressed without enthusiasm. The water had only been lukewarm, and the temperature in the barrack building hovered just above freezing. He glanced from the threadbare curtains at the floodlit compound and sighed when he saw it was covered in snow. He hated snow at the best of times, and the flimsy gym shoes provided by the military wouldn’t do much to keep his feet warm and dry as he waited in the line for breakfast. He considered skipping the meal, but the growling in his stomach persuaded him otherwise. As rank as it was, and despite the fact it was laden with narcotics, he knew he needed to keep his strength up. The rations they were given were not quite small enough to make them starve, but they were definitely enough to keep the prisoners weak. He’d already had to tighten his belt two notches in the short time he’d been here. If he went without too many meals, he wouldn’t have the strength to leave his bunk, let alone defend himself if some of his pack friends decided to challenge him again. No sooner had the thought flashed across his mind than the door to his hut opened. He snapped his head round to find Kasha, her husband Dmitri, Sonja – Sophia’s mother, and two large, heavily muscled men entering and closing the door behind them.
John got to his feet, eyes searching desperately for something he could use as a weapon, knowing it was no use. The beds were bolted to the floor. He supposed he could hit one of them with the electric fire, but in reality, the only weapons he had were his fists, feet and, if it really came to it, claws and teeth. There was no way he would go down without a fight, even if it meant a Hellfire missile obliterating the hut and everyone else in it.
Kasha stepped forward, her hands raised. “We did not come here to fight you, Simpson. Relax.”
John’s muscles remained tensed. “Really? Then what are you doing here? You’ve all made it perfectly clear that you want me dead. Forgive me if I’m struggling to believe you’ve all come for a friendly chat.”
Sonja joined the other woman, while the three men remained by the door. “I wanted to thank you. For what you did. For persuading them to let us change. Some of the others are angry, but they are complying, and even those among us who are unhappy with changing in a cell at least know it’s the only way we’ll survive the full moon. You saved us. You saved my daughter.” She paused and looked back to Dmitri, who gave a small nod. “We wanted you to know that there won’t be any more trouble for you. Not from us. Not anymore.”
John unclenched his fists, but remained tense. “Really? It’s that simple. We’re all best friends now? Sorry if I have trouble accepting that.”
Sonja walked across the room, took John’s hand in hers and kissed it. “Believe it. As a mother you have my gratitude. Dmitri and Kasha have spoken to the others. But you must be honest with us. Sophie says that you are not a moonstruck. Is this true? Because if you are, then your efforts to save us will be for nothing. In a few weeks, you’ll change and kill every one of us. We need to know. We need to be certain that you are not a threat.”
John looked into Sonja’s eyes and saw no trace of a lie in them. “I used to be. Marie taught me to control the change. When I do turn I’m… well, I’m not like the rest of you. I think my body got so used to being in that form that it’s what I become now. But I can think. I’m rational. I’m just… different.”
The woman nodded. “You may be different, but you have more in common with us than with those animals,” she spat on the floor, “that cage us. That take us away and experiment on us. It’s time we all accepted that.”
The tension left John’s shoulders and he nodded. While he was not about to take this change of heart from his fellow prisoners at face value, all he could really do was play along, hope for the best and watch for any sign of betrayal. In the short term, at least it might make his life a little easier. At least until one of his new friends cut his throat while he slept. “Okay. I’ll believe you. Not saying I completely trust you, but I’m willing to put the past few days behind us.” He looked at Sonja and held out his hand. “Fresh start?”
Sonja clasped John’s hand in hers and shook it. “Yes. Fresh start.”
The other pack members joined her, each shaking John’s hand in turn. Then Dmitri put his huge hand on John’s shoulder. “They say you were with Mikhail. When you were captured. Is that true?”
“Yeah. We broke into the base where they were keeping him. Marie, Daniel and I. They got me, but I think the others got away. I hope so, anyway.”
Dmitri smiled and clapped John on the back. “That is good. Very good. We can only pray that they managed to prevent Krysztof doing something stupid.”
The loudspeakers crackled into life. “All prisoners must remain in their quarters until further notice. Any deviation from this order will be met with lethal force. I repeat. All prisoners must stay in their quarters until instructed otherwise.”
Kasha, Sonja and Dmitri exchanged worried glances. John moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside. It was still dark outside, but the floodlights illuminated the compound, casting a glare from the unblemished snow. The main gates were open and rows of armed soldiers took up position inside with their weapons raised. Behind them, John could make out a line of heavy lorries, each fitted with a crane and carrying a Portacabin. The trucks made their way to the exercise area and began unloading the temporary buildings while more soldiers made their way into the compound and took up position.
Sonja stood beside him. “What is happening?”
John turned back to the pack werewolves and shook his head. “Nothing good. I think we’re going to have some new arrivals.”
1st January 2009. Underhill Military Base, Sub-Level Two. 15:40
Phil wriggled on the hard mattress, struggling to get comfortable. Ever since his failed escape attempt he’d been confined to his room on Colonel Richards’ orders. He was escorted to and from the mess by armed guards, and he’d been reduced to using a bucket in the corner of what he now considered to be his cell as a toilet. That meant, given the reaction the mess food was having on his stomach, that the atmosphere in the small, claustrophobic room was rarely pleasant. He thumbed through the paperback he’d been given without much enthusiasm. A bloody horror novel – and about fucking werewolves at that. As if he wanted to have anything to do with werewolves again. Clearly his military captors had a warped sense of humour. He glanced at his watch and sighed. Another two hours before he was taken for whatever slop was served up as his evening meal, then back into solitary confinement until morning. He dreaded to think what Sharon must be thinking. He’d not spoken to her since Christmas Eve. She must be going out of her mind.
The sound of a key turning in the lock made him sit up, and he put the book down on the bed. A break from the tedium of his daily routine was welcome, but he also knew that if someone was bothering to visit him, it probably wasn’t good news. Of course, the Colonel might have decided to let him go, but he wasn’t holding out much hope.
The door opened and Paul Patterson, dressed in full combat gear, stepped into the room and locked the door behind him. His face was pale and his expression pained. Phil’s hands gripped the side of the bed. “What’s this? Come to put me out of my misery? Colonel Richards sent you to tie up loose ends?”
Paul leaned the weapon against the door. He didn’t say anything at first, as if he couldn’t find the words. “Phil… I…”
“What? What’s happened?”
Paul pulled out the red plastic chair and sat down. Phil couldn’t help but notice his former colleague’s hands had a distinct tremble to them, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. Paul paused, taking a deep breath as if to steel himself, then began speaking.
“Phil. There’s been an attack. Christ, more than an attack – a fucking slaughter. God knows how they did it, but…”
Phil felt his heart drop through his stomach. He didn’t want to hear the rest of what Paul had to say. He already knew.
“It was High Moor, Phil. I was on the QRF team that went in, but by the time we got there it was all over. They cut the town off, took out the power and mobile phone masts, and then went door to door. Fuck… I’ve never seen anything like it. It was… monstrous.”
Phil got to his feet and grabbed the younger man by his webbing. “What about Sharon? Are you telling me my fucking wife’s dead, Paul? Are you telling me that the military and the government just let a pack of werewolves wipe out an entire bloody town and kill my wife?”
Paul shook his head. “No, Sharon’s alive. I found her myself. She was in the basement of a church hall with a bunch of kids. Saved them by all accounts.”
The strength drained out of Phil and he collapsed back on the bed, tears of relief streaming down his cheeks. “Oh thank God. Thank fucking Christ. When you said… Jesus.”
Paul sat down beside his former boss and put his hand on his shoulder. “Phil, it’s not all good news. She got scratched in the attack. Most of the survivors were scratched or bitten. She’s infected, Phil. Sharon’s a werewolf.”
He turned his head to Paul, lips curling into a snarl. “Where is she, Paul. Where have they taken my wife?”
Paul sagged. “Lindholme. They’ve taken all the survivors to the internment camp at Lindholme.”
Phil got to his feet. “Then get off your arse. You’re taking me to that camp so I can have a chat with Colonel bloody Richards.”
1st January 2009. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 17:35
Sharon stared out of the bus window at the snow-covered landscape, trying to make sense of what had happened, and what was going to happen. Matthew had finally fallen asleep, fatigue and grief getting the better of the boy. He sat between her and Mandy, his head resting against her arm. Mandy hadn’t
said a word for hours and just stared ahead. Any attempt at conversation had resulted in grunted responses. She couldn’t imagine what the girl had gone through. From what little Mandy had said, it had been appalling. Worse even than what she and Matthew had survived in the church hall.
Sharon had broken down in tears when the army had found them that morning. The relief had almost been too much to bear. That one of the people through the door had been Phil’s colleague, Paul Patterson, had reduced her to a weeping mess. Paul had escorted her and the children from the basement towards an army truck. She’d done her best to ignore the carnage in the church hall. Most of the corpses were unrecognisable, but the glance she’d taken had burned itself into her consciousness. So much blood – made worse when she recognised pieces. A sweater worn by one of the children. What remained of Tonia and Angela, their mouths open in silent screams. The wide eyed look of anguish and terror on what remained of little Bella. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel at the time, making herself strong for the sake of the children. Telling them not to look and to keep their eyes on the floor instead. A few wretched sobs and sniffles from her charges had told her that some of those children had ignored her, and had seen things that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
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