Blood Moon

by Graeme Reynolds

  He could make out movement in the older buildings. There were definitely people inside. There was a chance that they would just be other people from the town, but there wasn’t much else to do so he decided to take a look. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and shrunk down inside his jacket to keep the bitter wind off his cheeks, then began marching across the open ground towards the low wooden structures.

  The feeling of exposure – of dozens of watchful eyes marking his progress – intensified as he left the shelter of the temporary buildings. He felt an urge to run, but knew that would just draw attention so he forced himself to maintain a steady, even pace. He was almost three quarters of the way across the compound when he noticed a red dot dance briefly in the snow before vanishing. He smiled. His friend Billy had a little laser pointer that he tormented his pet cat with. Or he had, until the cat had brought down the curtains in the living room and knocked a vase over onto the laminate floor. Then Billy’s mum had taken it off him. He wondered if maybe Billy was in one of the wooden buildings, and was signalling to him. Someone was. There wasn’t any other explanation he could think of for the red laser light. Grinning, he made his way towards the nearest building and pressed himself against the wall. The windows were too high for him to see through. He tried jumping, stretching his neck, but he was still too small. There were definitely sounds from within, though. There were people in the building. He could hear them talking in low whispers and could make out the shuffling of feet. He decided to try something else, and, gripping the window ledge with cold, numb hands, he scrambled against the wall, feet flailing as they searched for something to give him leverage.

  The red dot was back. It appeared on the wall beside him, then disappeared again. He creased his brow and turned his head, only to find his world turned red. Just like it had when Billy shone the pointer in his face. That had made him see spots for almost a week and had made his eyes hurt. Instinctively he put his arm over his eyes, just as a pair of strong hands grabbed him and whisked him off his feet.

  “Hey, get off! I didn’t mean anything. I’m sorry! Don’t tell my Auntie Sharon!”

  Matthew looked around him. He’d been carried inside the wooden building so quickly, he’d hardly noticed the transition from outdoors to in. An array of faces looked at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. The arms released their hold on him and he turned to see a woman, her dirty face wearing an expression that was somewhere between concern and anger – a look he’d seen on his own mother’s face on many occasions. He felt the memories try to push their way into his consciousness, but he forced them down. No way did he want to start blubbing in front of these strangers.

  The woman gripped his shoulders, and spoke with a thick accent. “My God, boy, are you trying to get yourself killed? Another second and they’d have shot you.”

  Matthew furrowed his brow. “Shoot me? Who was going to shoot me?”

  The woman bent down until she was level with him. “The soldiers. Who else do you think?”

  Matthew laughed, the first genuine one since New Year’s Eve. “The soldiers are the good guys. They’re here to protect us from the monsters. You’re just being silly.”

  The woman turned to look at some of the other people. Matthew couldn’t see her expression, but he saw some of those gathered around – another woman around the same age, a man the same age as his dad and an old man with one leg – nod as if in agreement. The woman turned back to him. “What is your name, little one? Why are you here, in this place?”

  He beamed and held out his hand. “My name is Matthew Baxter. Pleased to meet you. I don’t know why I’m here. They brought us all here after the monsters came. The ones that were left, anyway.”

  “What monsters? What happened to you, Matthew?”

  “They came in the middle of the night. The werewolves. They killed nearly everyone. They…” his voice cracked and tears began streaming down his cheeks, “they killed my mum and dad and Ian…”

  He couldn’t carry on – giving voice to his pain had suddenly made it all far too real. The woman gathered him in her arms and held him tight until, eventually, the tears stopped. Matthew wiped his nose with his sleeve. His throat felt tight and the empty hole within him had grown into an aching chasm. The others in the room were muttering to each other, and the atmosphere had definitely taken a dark turn that he didn’t understand. The expressions on the other people’s faces were strained and drawn with worry. The woman brushed the hair back from his eyes. “Why did they bring you here? Did the werewolves hurt you?”

  He shook his head. “They didn’t hurt me. They did hurt almost everyone else, though. My Auntie Sharon got clawed on the leg, and Mandy on the shoulder. A lot of people were worse though. My Auntie Sharon got me into the cellar before they could eat me.”

  “Well, it’s alright now,” the woman said, although there was a strange wavering in her thick accent. “Sophie? This is Matthew. You go play with him while we work out how to get him back to his Auntie Sharon.”

  A pretty blonde girl, maybe a year or two older than him, pushed her way through the crowd and held out her hand. Matthew felt his cheeks flush. She really was very pretty. He took her hand and she led him back through the sea of adult legs, towards the back of the building. “I’m Sophie, “she smiled at him. “Don’t suppose you brought a Nintendo or anything with you?”

  He shook his head. “No. I didn’t get to bring anything. I’ve been soooo bored!”

  Sophie grinned. “Don’t worry, I scrounged a deck of cards from one of the guards. Do you know how to play Fish?”

  Matthew returned the smile and nodded. Suddenly his new surroundings didn’t seem so bad after all.

  2nd January 2009. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 11:20

  Sharon felt nauseous with fear. Two days ago she couldn’t have imagined that she would ever be in the position of being led at gunpoint to some unknown destination, but here she was, flanked by two armed guards, being marched towards the gates they’d been driven through last night. She turned to the man on her left and said, “Can you tell me what this is about?” but the man just motioned forward with the barrel of his gun and returned her gaze with a look that made her heart lurch. There really was no question in her mind as to what would happen if she gave them any trouble. They would gun her down without a second’s hesitation. Then there would be no one to look after Matthew and Mandy. She tried to calm herself and will life into her numb legs. One step after another. Trying to ignore the dancing red beads of laser sights on the snow ahead of her, the sudden ache of her bladder and the urge to lie down on the cold, wet ground and weep.

  The journey across the compound seemed to take an eternity. Beyond the gates, the place was a hive of activity. Squads of armed men marched in ranks around the perimeter while others unloaded crates from the olive green Bedford trucks. A helicopter gunship roared overhead, so low that she could feel the downdraft from its rotors. It felt like she was in a war zone. To all intents and purposes, she supposed she was. The werewolves had declared war on the British people and she was at the epicentre of the response, or at least it seemed that way. For all she knew, there could be dozens of places just like this all around the country. She shuddered, the chill of the bitter January morning only partly responsible.

  They led her to the main prison complex and ushered her through a series of heavy steel doors, the unlocking of each accompanied by a loud buzzer and the clank of metal. They walked down long, featureless corridors, past empty offices, until they arrived at what could only be described as a cell. The man she’d spoken to opened the door and motioned for her to go inside. Whatever they’d brought her here for was inside that room. Fighting down a fresh wave of adrenaline, she accepted her fate and stepped inside.

  The room was small with no windows; a flickering fluorescent light encased in a reinforced steel cage the only source of illumination. Two armed men stood in the corners of the room, their rifles raised. She registered all of this, bu
t none of it mattered. The only thing in the room that did was the man sitting behind an ancient laminated table in the centre of the room. Phil.

  She rushed forward to embrace him, weeks of suppressed emotions surging to the surface. Not knowing whether he was still alive. Wanting nothing more than to be in his arms and have him tell her that everything would be all right. The world slowed down. Phil began to get to his feet, his face concerned but also showing delight and relief. Her heart sang and tears streamed down her face. Then the two soldiers pulled their rifles into their shoulders, aimed them at her and screamed, “Don’t move!”

  Sharon froze, the joy vanishing in an instant. “I… I don’t understand.”

  The soldier motioned to a plastic chair on the other side of the table from Phil. “If you attempt any form of physical contact, we have orders to open fire. Now sit down. You have five minutes.”

  Phil turned to the man. “Hey, this is my fucking wife. There’s no need for any of this.”

  “Sir, Colonel Richards’ orders were explicit. I suggest you make the most of the four and a half minutes you have left.”

  Phil muttered a curse under his breath and sat back down. Sharon did the same, doing her best to stop the tears from coming. Phil went to put his hands across the table, an instinctive reaction, then realised what he was doing and pulled them away once more. Sharon’s heart broke. In some ways this was even crueller than her confinement. To be so close to the man she loved, but unable to reach out and hold him. If she’d had any doubts as to her status before, they evaporated. She was a prisoner – worse actually – the military looked at her not as a victim or survivor. To their mind she was already a monster, and they would gun her down given the slightest excuse.

  “Phil…” she managed through her constricted throat, only too aware of how cracked and strained her voice sounded, “I’m so happy to see you. For so long I thought… I thought you might have been hurt. When they… when they stopped letting us talk I worried that something had happened to you.”

  Phil’s expression was a mixture of impotent rage and concern. “I tried to get away, Love. They didn’t need me anymore. I don’t think they knew what to do with me, but after everything that happened they just locked me up. It wasn’t until… well… you know, that I could convince Colonel Richards to let me see you. God, I wish I’d brought you to me at the base. I thought you would be safer with Helen. I thought…” Glistening beads of moisture formed at the edges of Phil’s eyes. He took a moment to regain his composure before continuing. “How are the kids? Paul told me that Matthew and Mandy were with you. Are they holding up?”

  She shook her head. “Mandy hasn’t said a word since it happened. Matthew seems alright, but he misses his mam and dad. Bless him, he’s putting a brave face on but you can see it in his eyes. Phil… What’s going to happen to us? Mandy and I… well, I’m sure they told you that we’ve been scratched. Matthew though… he’s alright. They didn’t touch him. He shouldn’t be in there with everyone else. It’s not safe for him there. Can you speak to the Colonel? Maybe he could stay with you instead. In case…”

  Phil nodded. “I’ll see what I can do. About everything. It’s not right, what they’re doing to you. You’re all victims in this and they’re treating you like…” His face reddened, and Sharon could see that he was doing his best to keep his temper under control. Her heart ached for him. She could see he was in as much pain as she was, but they were separated by the table and the soldier’s watchful gaze. Those couple of feet might as well have been a hundred miles.

  The soldier who hadn’t spoken stepped forward. “Okay, that’s it for now. Mr Fletcher, if you would please remain seated. Mrs Fletcher, can you slowly stand up with your hands above your head and face the door.”

  Sharon did as she was told and very carefully stood with her hands raised. She risked a backwards glance as one of the soldiers moved to the cell door. “I love you, Phil.”

  Phil managed a smile. “I love you too, pet. I’ll see you again soon.”

  She let herself be led away, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d never see her husband again. They marched her in silence through the cold, featureless corridors, out into the snow and back to the prefabricated buildings. Sharon felt exhausted, her nerves raw and shredded from the experience. All she wanted to do was collapse on her bed and cry, but she knew she couldn’t. Not in front of Mandy and Matthew. They’d been through more than enough and she needed to maintain the façade for their sake. She reached the end of her bed and looked up and down the building. Mandy was still staring at the far wall, but there was no sign of Matthew. Panic began to blossom in her stomach. She tried to remain calm, walking slowly up and down the narrow walkway between beds, checking every group to see whether her nephew was among them, and under the metal bunk beds to see if he was hiding from her as a joke. It didn’t take long before she came to the inescapable conclusion that Matthew was not here anymore. The cold knot of fear began to turn into something else. Anger. There were fifty people in this building. Fifty. And they were all so absorbed in their own personal tragedies that they had, apparently, not thought to watch out for anyone else but themselves. One person in particular should have been taking care of Matthew in her absence. One person whose inattention was no longer even remotely acceptable. She strode over to Mandy’s bunk and kicked it. When she spoke, there was no hint of anything but anger in her voice. “Mandy, where the hell is your little brother?”

  Mandy seemed dazed, but her eyes focused on her aunt for the first time in two days and there seemed to be some awareness creeping back. “I… I don’t know. I thought he was with you?”

  “For Christ’s sake, Mandy, I know you’ve been through a lot, but so has everyone else here. If I’m escorted out of the building by armed bloody guards then I expect you to step up and make sure that your brother’s alright.”

  Mandy sat up and looked around the building. “Have you checked everywhere? Did you ask anyone if they’ve seen him?”

  Sharon’s cheeks flushed at this. “Of course I’ve checked everywhere,” she snapped, but then walked towards the group closest to the door with Mandy following behind her. She was angry, embarrassed at being called out by her niece for not doing the most obvious thing and actually asking someone if they’d seen him, but most of all, she was worried about what might have happened to Matthew. The soldiers were not there for the protection of the survivors. She knew that now. And she doubted if any of them would think twice at shooting a child. Especially one they considered no longer human.

  She stood before the closest bed to the door, where a woman with haunted, empty eyes sat cradling a little girl. “Excuse me, but I can’t find my nephew. He’s seven years old, with dark brown hair.”

  The woman moved her head and looked right through Sharon, her mouth hanging slack. After a moment she seemed to wake up a little and said, “Sorry, what?”

  “My nephew. He was here before they took me away, but now I can’t find him. Have you seen him? Did any soldiers come after I left?”

  The other woman seemed confused, as if she had just awoken from a dream. “No… I’m sorry… I wasn’t paying attention… where did you say he went?”

  Sharon turned away from the woman and projected her voice so that it cut through the silence of the hut. “My nephew, Matthew has gone missing. Did anyone see where he went? He was here twenty minutes ago.”

  Silence.

  She couldn’t believe it. In a room full of fifty people, not one of them had paid the slightest attention to what happened to Matthew. “Anyone? Are you saying a seven year old boy just vanished into thin fucking air?”

  A small voice spoke from the bed beside her. “He went out to play. I wanted to go as well, but Mummy wouldn’t let me.”

  “He went out to play? On his own? When?”

  The little girl, still held fast in her mother’s arms, smiled. “Right after the men came for you. He opened the door a
nd went outside.” She glared at her mother. “When I asked if I could go with him, Mummy just hugged me so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

  Sharon turned, opened the door and stepped outside. Immediately she saw three red points of light appear on her chest, but she didn’t care. “Matthew? Matthew, where are you?”

  Mandy appeared beside her. “There – in the snow,” she said, pointing to a trail of small footprints leading across the empty yard towards one of the low, wooden buildings.

  They set off across the yard, Sharon setting a steady, determined pace, trying to push the knowledge that they were both a finger-twitch away from death out of her mind. The distance to the wooden building seemed vast, the white glare of the snow distorting her sense of perspective. As they arrived at the hut, the door burst open and a woman ushered them inside. “Get inside, quickly, both of you, before they open fire.”

  The relief as the door closed behind them was palpable, and Sharon realised that her heart was racing. She felt quite nauseous, but also enormously relieved. She looked up to the woman. “I’m looking for my nephew. A little boy called Matthew.”

  The woman smiled. “It’s fine. He’s here and he’s safe.”

  “Oh, thank God. If anything had happened to…”

  The words dried up in Sharon’s throat and she recoiled in absolute horror. The crowd parted and she saw Matthew, but standing beside him, with his hand on her nephew’s shoulder, was her worst nightmare. John Simpson. Murderer. Serial killer. Werewolf. Monster.