Blood Moon

by Graeme Reynolds

  The town itself had been just as bad. Every door hanging open with claw marks carved into the wood and the frames splintered. Windows shattered, some with ruined corpses impaled on the glass. The snow had long since stopped falling, but it seemed that almost everywhere she looked there were red stains on the pristine white blanket covering the town.

  The soldiers had taken everyone to the town hall, where medics had dressed injuries and handed out blankets along with hot cups of sweet tea. The air was filled with the sounds of orders being shouted and the almost constant hum of helicopters landing and departing from the market square. There were so few people there. The town of High Moor had thousands of residents. Thousands. Yet, by her reckoning, there were fewer than two hundred people gathered in the building, and most of them bore terrible injuries. A man beside her had a blood-soaked field dressing over what was left of his face. Others were even worse. At least three people had died from their wounds before an officer informed them they were going to be moved to a temporary refugee facility near Doncaster, and those who were able to walk had been shepherded onto four buses. Four buses holding all that was left of the town of High Moor. It seemed impossible. The sort of tragedy you saw on the news but never imagined it could happen here, in such an ordinary little town. A place that should have been a safe environment for families to raise their children but instead became a slaughterhouse.

  She glanced around at the others on the bus. No one was speaking, although a few women wept softly. Most of the other passengers were silent, with haunted expressions that she was sure mirrored her own. The only hope she held out was that Phil would be waiting for her at the other end of the journey. All she wanted right now was to feel her husband’s arms around her, holding her close and telling her everything was going to be all right. That they would be able to prevent the wounds she’d received from turning her into a savage monster like the things that had killed so many last night. She couldn’t bear the thought of becoming that. After everything that had happened in the last few months – from what happened to Olivia, Paul’s family and now Helen, Chelfyn and Ian – it seemed that almost everyone she knew and loved had fallen prey to the teeth and claws of something that, up until November, had only existed in horror movies. She’d kill herself first.

  Sharon shook her head, trying to banish the dark thoughts. She couldn’t think like that. She needed to be strong for Mandy and Matthew. She was the only family they had left and couldn’t afford to lose hope. Hope was the only thing that any of them could cling to anymore.

  The convoy of buses and military vehicles turned off the motorway onto a long straight road surrounded by flat, featureless fields that stretched off as far as Sharon could see. It felt strange for there not to be any hills on the horizon. She’d spent most of her life in County Durham, and the openness of the countryside here made her feel somehow lost and exposed. As if the flat expanse of farmland went on forever. There was almost no other traffic on the roads, and the small villages they passed through seemed deserted. Cars were parked in driveways with a covering of snow across their roof and bonnets. Only the warm glow from behind closed curtains gave any indication of life. She imagined the families warm and safe behind those windows and wished that she was one of them. There with the people she loved instead of being driven to a refugee camp in the middle of nowhere.

  The buses slowed and Sharon spotted a sign on the carriageway. HM Prison Lindholme. A small coal of fear ignited in her stomach and she felt her shoulders tighten, although she tried not to let it show. Mandy didn’t seem to notice and continued staring into the middle distance, although Sharon couldn’t fail to see the tears dampening her niece’s cheeks. She reached across and put her hand on the girl’s arm, making her flinch. “Mandy, love. It’s going to be alright. I’m here for you both and I’m not going anywhere.”

  Mandy turned her head and gazed at her with hollow, empty eyes, then turned her head back to the front of the bus without uttering a word. Sharon felt her heart break a little more, wishing she could do or say something to help her niece, but knowing that there was nothing she could do but be there for her when the walls inside her finally crumbled and the pain and grief came flooding out.

  Their bus arrived at a huge set of steel gates topped with razor wire. The gates swung open and Sharon’s heart sank further. The compound was filled with armed soldiers, with sniper towers every two hundred meters along the perimeter. A series of low brick buildings sat near the entrance, with rows of Portacabins and concrete barrack blocks behind them. A soldier with a pair of glowsticks directed the buses to the right, away from the entrance, where they parked side by side. Armed troops flanked the vehicles, weapons raised. Then the doors hissed open and they were instructed by the driver to step out.

  The cold bit into Sharon’s face as she filed out with the rest of the passengers. Matthew had grumbled and called for his mother as he’d woken, but now stood next to Sharon, gripping onto her injured leg so tightly that it was all she could do not to cry out in pain. Her twisted ankle no longer seemed to be bothering her, but she didn’t want to think too hard about what that meant. The blanket she’d been given at the town hall did little to keep the chill wind from bringing her arms out in goosebumps. More soldiers arrived, flanking the survivors of High Moor, while others arranged themselves in outward facing ranks, crouching down and pointing their weapons at the concrete barrack blocks. A man dressed in an immaculately pressed army uniform, accompanied by a young, dark haired woman, marched to the front of the crowd.

  “Good evening. My name is Colonel Richards, and this is Doctor Rose Fisher. I apologise for the surroundings, but given the short notice, I’m afraid we will have to improvise as best we can. You will each be shown to your accommodation shortly, and then Doctor Fisher and her staff will assess each person’s injuries. In the meantime, I would ask that you remain in your assigned accommodations. There are other residents in this facility who I would not recommend mixing with. I should also regretfully point out that, as of now, you are all in quarantine, and any attempts to escape from this facility will result in swift and decisive action. Any questions you may have will be answered in due course. In the meantime, I suggest you all make yourselves as comfortable as possible.”

  As the Colonel turned and walked away, and the soldiers began ushering them towards the Portacabins, Sharon felt that small ember of hope she’d frantically clung on to fade and die.

  Chapter 17

  2nd January 2009. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 10:45

  Rose adjusted the stack of folders in her arm and rapped twice on the door to Colonel Richards’ office. The military had taken over a wing of the prison, as well as the administration centre, much to the displeasure of the warden. The regular prisoners had been shipped out to other facilities and the only people she saw now were wearing olive green army uniforms. The military could be a slow, ponderous machine at times, but when the shit hit the fan, they could operate with surprising speed. Not that this was much comfort to her. She was still reeling from the events of the day before. Everyone was. An atmosphere of fear had gripped the country. The tabloids were busy spreading panic, but in all honesty, they didn’t need to. That the worst terrorist incident on record had happened in an insignificant little town like High Moor meant no one felt safe. Everyone was potentially in danger, not just those in the big cities like London or Manchester. The werewolves could not have picked a better target. The fact that the monsters responsible for the assault had then vanished without a trace did nothing to calm the public. Already, the papers were screaming for blood – for some reaction to the atrocity. She shuddered to think what that response might be. But for now, she had a bigger problem to deal with. She rapped again, feeling impatience bubble up within her. This time, the Colonel’s voice responded with an abrupt “Enter.” She pushed open the door, holding the folders under one arm and saluted her commanding officer.

  The Colonel was reading something on the antique PC in fro
nt of him and didn’t look up as he waved her towards a wooden chair with faded, frayed fabric arms. “Please take a seat, Doctor Fisher. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Rose sat down and placed her folders on the desk. The office had belonged to one of the middle managers, and Colonel Richards hadn’t even bothered to remove the former occupant’s personal effects. Books on accounting theory sat on dusty shelves, along with several photographs of a severe looking man, a mousy woman and two red-faced, overweight children. Stacks of paperwork were piled in a corner. Only the desk had been cleared; a new plastic in-tray placed on one corner, already overflowing with documents stamped Top Secret. A lingering smell of tobacco smoke seemed to ooze from the furniture and the walls. Clearly the former occupant had believed that the smoking ban in public buildings only applied to other people.

  The Colonel looked up from the computer screen and sighed. “Are those the casualty reports on the High Moor refugees?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Almost all of them have injuries. Most are clearly the work of lycanthropes. Others… well, my findings are inconclusive. Even those with obvious bite or claw marks are claiming they cut themselves on broken glass while escaping. I can’t say I blame them, really. But some of the others might be telling the truth. I suggest we remove those without injuries and the borderline cases to another part of the facility for observation.”

  “Out of the question. You’ve seen how things are here. They are in the most secure location as it stands. We can’t take the risk of moving them. If even one of them is infected and turns, the damage they could inflict doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  Rose leaned forward in her chair. “Some of them are children, Colonel. There are a number of them that I’ve examined from head to toe and there’s not a scratch on them. Surely you can’t mean to keep them locked up with the others?”

  Colonel Richards’ face was an immobile mask, his eyes cold and emotionless. “My orders stand, Doctor. We absolutely cannot risk any of them getting out of here, or running rampant through this facility. We simply don’t know enough about how this contagion spreads.”

  “We know it spreads through scratches and bites. That’s it. If there’s an incident, those children will be slaughtered. We have to move them somewhere else.”

  “Doctor Channing tells me he’s isolated a viral component, but is unclear as to exactly how it’s transmitted, or whether there is a chance it could mutate and become airborne or transmissible through contact. Just think about the ramifications of that for a moment, Doctor. My orders stand.”

  Rose’s stomach did somersaults at the thought, but she fought to retain her composure. “If that was going to happen, don’t you think it would have happened before now? These things have been around for hundreds, if not thousands of years. Everything we’ve seen – everything we’ve been told – backs that up. The condition is transmitted by a bite or scratch from the infected.”

  The Colonel fixed Rose’s gaze and she felt herself wilt a little beneath it. “I have very strict orders on the matter, Doctor. I am passing those orders to you and I expect them to be obeyed. To the letter. Am I making myself clear?”

  Rose felt the fight drain out of her. “Yes, Sir. I understand. But what happens on the full moon, Sir? Everything we’ve been told says that those infected refugees will turn on the eleventh. And they won’t be like the pack ones. They’ll be like John Simpson, if I understand matters correctly.”

  That got a response from the Colonel. His marble facade cracked for a fraction of a second to reveal something of the emotions beneath. She was sure she saw fear in her superior’s eyes, but it vanished as soon as it appeared, and the walls came down once more. “As I understand it, there’s nothing we can do about that. They will change on the next full moon, and won’t be able to initiate the change in a controlled manner. When that happens, we will simply have to be prepared to handle matters.”

  “What do you mean? Handle matters?”

  “That, Doctor Fisher, is none of your concern. Circumstances within our chain of command are in flux. I take it that you are aware of the fact a vote of no confidence has been passed against our current government? I fully expect that the leader of the opposition will be sworn into power as an emergency measure in the next few days. He has already been in direct communication with me regarding this, and has outlined a number of measures to deal with things on the eleventh. One thing is certain, however. We shall not allow any of the infected to leave the compound. For any reason. Any medical examinations you feel necessary will be conducted within the confines of the detention facility. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m sure you have things you need to attend to.”

  Rose got to her feet, feeling sick to her stomach. She was only too aware of what those measures were likely to involve. There was a reason all of the infected were being kept in a relatively confined area. It made extermination that much simpler. She got to the door, then paused and turned around to face her commanding officer. “One more thing, Sir. Where’s Steven Wilkinson? I’ve not seen him since he was transferred here. As his Doctor, I…”

  “Mr Wilkinson has been transferred to Doctor Channing’s care. He is no longer your concern, Doctor Fisher. Now, if you please, I have other pressing matters to attend to. As do you.”

  Rose saluted Colonel Richards and let herself out of the room. Her emotions were in turmoil. All of those people. All of those families – after everything they’d been through – had less than two weeks left to live. And Steven Wilkinson… She didn’t want to think about what might happen to him in Doctor Channing’s care. The man was as much a monster as the things he experimented on. She wiped a single tear from the corner of her eye and did her best to push her emotions down. Something terrible was going to happen, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  2nd January 2009. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 11:17

  Matthew Baxter was bored. The last two days had been horrible – the worst he’d ever experienced in his short life. When he thought about his mum and dad, and how he’d never see them again, his throat constricted and he couldn’t hold back the tears. But because he saw that Auntie Sharon and Mandy were upset, he did his best not to let his mind travel along that path. The last thing he wanted to do was upset them even more. He was the man of the family now, and he needed to start acting like a big boy if he was going to take care of them. Despite the pain, things had seemed exciting at first, once the danger was over and the monsters had gone away. All of the soldiers, with their guns and helicopters and tanks, had been, quite frankly, awesome, although he’d secretly been disappointed that he’d not had a ride in one of their helicopters or even the big green trucks with canvas sides. Even so, if he didn’t think about the other things, this was very cool – like being in a movie. He wanted to tell some of his friends about it and found himself looking forward to telling the story in school. Then he remembered that his friends were mostly dead, along with their parents and his teachers, and again the tears came. The day after, he’d found himself able to focus on the flurry of activity around him, keeping his thoughts on the present and trying to identify the different vehicles or weapons the soldiers used. He’d found enough that was interesting to distract him from the large, empty pain in his chest. Even when they’d been put on the buses and brought here, it had been new – scary, but sort of exciting at the same time. Now though, the novelty had worn off and he was bored. Which made it so much more difficult to keep the sadness at bay. Mandy didn’t want to talk to anyone, and the other children on the buses were mostly the same; either that or their mums seemed to have them locked in a permanent death-hug and refused to let them out of their sight, even for a second. There was no TV, no video games, and no comics. Not even any books. As far as Matthew was concerned, this was just cruel and unnecessary punishment.

  He looked up from his lumpy, uncomfortable camp bed as two soldiers entered their cabin. They walked all the way down to where he was, and a surge of excit
ement and guilty terror ran through him. Why did he feel as if he’d done something wrong when he’d just been sitting here, minding his own business? The feeling intensified as the soldiers got closer, replaced in an instant with a strange mixture of relief and disappointment as they stopped by his Auntie Sharon and asked her to come with them. Part of him wanted to go with her, to break up the long hours doing nothing but staring at the walls and listening to people weeping. At least now he had a narrow window of opportunity to relieve his boredom and explore the compound. Maybe even find some more children to play with.

  He glanced across to Mandy’s bunk, but his older sister lay with her back to him, knees pulled tight against her chest. No one else seemed to be paying any attention, so he slipped from his bed, put on his shoes and jacket, then walked purposefully towards the door that his Auntie Sharon had vanished through a few minutes before. His heart began pounding in his chest as he approached the door and his hands were slick with cold sweat. The temptation to turn around and see if anyone was watching became overwhelming, but he ignored it. He’d learned from Mandy over the years that you could get away with almost anything if you acted as if you were supposed to be doing it. One guilty glance over his shoulder could alert some goody-two-shoes grown up, who’d make him go back to his bed and tell on him to Auntie Sharon. His hand closed around the cold metal of the handle – his heart lurched in his chest and, for a moment, he felt lightheaded – then the cold bite of the January wind stung his cheeks and he was outside, the door clicking closed behind him.

  Now that he was out, he felt exposed. Auntie Sharon might come back at any moment, and he really didn’t want to get caught right away. There were soldiers outside the gate, and stationed in the towers along the fence, but they didn’t bother him. They were the good guys, after all. Just there to make sure that no more monsters could hurt them. His eyes darted around the compound, taking in his surroundings and seeking out anything that seemed interesting. The building he’d just escaped from was modern looking, like a bigger version of the sort of thing you’d see on a construction site. It sat in the middle of a whole lot of identical ones, and he assumed that this was where the other people from the buses had been put. That would be no fun. They’d probably be full of the same crying adults as the one he’d just left. It looked like they’d been put on some sort of exercise yard, like they had at school but a lot bigger. Across the way, there were rows of older, wooden buildings, with a large, official looking brick and concrete structure behind them.