Blood Moon

by Graeme Reynolds

  Then Krysztof ripped his clawed hand free, with Michael’s heart clutched in his talons. The hot coal of agony in his chest flared into a sunburst. He tried to speak. Tried to cry out, to tell Marie that he was sorry, but the darkness around the edges of his vision closed in around him and he couldn’t force the words past the bubbles of blood in his mouth. He was dead before his body hit the floor.

  ***

  A solemn silence fell over the warehouse. Even the Moonborn seemed shocked at the sudden brutality of the execution. Michael’s corpse slumped forward and lay face down in a spreading pool of blood. He was gone. Her brother was dead and she was all alone in the world. For the next few minutes anyway. She knew she’d join David, Michael and John very soon. The loss consumed her – a savage pain in her chest like a fist of ice clamping around her heart, squeezing every last shred of her out. Her love, her compassion and her humanity. What was left was an arctic inferno of pure cold rage. She sensed her young wolf recoiling from the burning silver, but also feeding on her fury. Gaining strength. The loss of herself in the run across Europe had changed her. Made her more in tune with her animal nature than she had ever been before. And cornered animals did not lie down to die. They fought their way out of the hunter’s trap or died in the attempt. Krysztof turned his back to her and held her brother’s dripping heart aloft for all to see. Displaying his trophy. Then the hulking Armenian brought the organ to his lips and bit into it in a spray of blood.

  That was as much as Marie could take. More. She surged forward, her arms held high, and wrapped the silver chain of her manacles around Krysztof’s throat. Krysztof yelped in surprise and pain as the metal burned his flesh. For all his size, he’d never been on a field team, and had never gone through the silver immunisation process. He was as vulnerable to the metal as she was. And Marie didn’t need her wolf to be deadly. Her muscles bunched as she tugged tighter, using her arms in a sawing motion, cutting into the hulking werewolf’s throat. Blood trickled through the links in the chain. She relished the coppery stink and the stickiness of it on her hands. The strangled cries from Krysztof as she tried to cut the bastard’s head off. Then a sharp pain erupted in the back of her skull, forcing her to relax her grip. Strong arms seized her, dragging her away from her victim. Marie cried out in fury, thrashing against her captors, while Krysztof sagged to one knee, gasping for breath.

  The Armenian got to his feet, hands around the raw wound in his throat. His eyes burned with rage, but also delicious fear. She’d wounded him. The scars around his throat would never heal. They would be a constant reminder to him for the rest of his life of how close he had come to dying by her hands. He strode forward and punched her in the face. Marie spat blood back into his.

  “Fucking bitch-whore. I’ll gut you for that!” he said, smashing his massive fist into her face again.

  Marie grinned at him through a mouthful of blood. “You’re weak, Krysztof. And you’re a fucking idiot. Even after things went public, the situation could have been handled. Instead you started a war. A war we can’t win. Michael may have made some terrible mistakes, but what you did means there can never be any going back. You want to find someone to blame? Take a long look in the mirror, you mindless fucking moron. This is your doing as much as Michael’s or Connie’s.”

  Krysztof spat a wad of stinking phlegm into her face. “You talk too much, bitch. Past time you joined your brother in hell.” He raised his hand and his brow furrowed in concentration as he willed the change. Nothing happened.

  Marie grinned at him again. “What’s the matter, fuck-nugget? Can’t get it up?” She was still grinning as she brought her foot up into Krysztof’s testicles with enough force to lift him off the ground.

  He staggered away from her, then fell to the ground, clutching his ruined balls and gasping for breath. “Bitch! I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll feast on your heart. I’ll…”

  Then the door at the rear of the room exploded.

  Marie didn’t need to use her enhanced senses to understand what was happening. The Russians had found them. And Krysztof, in his arrogance, had gathered almost the entire pack in one place. A single, well placed bomb would have wiped them out. Fortunately the Russian commanders had yet to face werewolves and had elected to send in teams of Special Forces troops.

  Not that this made a vast amount of difference. The deafening roar of gunfire echoed around the warehouse as the soldiers charged into the room. One of the concrete walls blew inwards, knocking her and the Moonborn holding her to the floor. Silver bullets, fired from automatic weapons, tore into the assembled werewolves. There were field operatives here, but the vast majority of those present were not immune to silver, and were cut down in a steady hail of automatic gunfire. Krysztof got to his feet, opened his mouth to speak, and then the top of his head exploded, spraying blood and grey brain matter across Marie’s face. Jets of sparkling fire burst from the nozzles of flamethrowers, turning everything they touched into screaming torches. Men, women, children – the fire made no distinction, and as most of the wolves present were not combat trained, there had been, as yet, no response to the slaughter.

  She had to do something or it would be a massacre.

  More troops streamed through the breach in the wall behind her, firing as they went. The turned Moonborn wolves hurled themselves into the throng, tearing and rending flesh in gouts of bright arterial blood. Body parts sailed through the air, and the highly trained Russian shock troops began to panic. Gunfire stitched the creature’s flanks, but clearly these wolves were field operatives and they simply shrugged off the wounds. For now at least. They would fall if they were damaged badly enough. Marie snatched up the submachine gun from one of her stunned captors, then rolled and opened fire. The soldiers wore bullet-proof vests as part of their combat equipment, so Marie sent a hail of bullets across them at groin height. Men fell screaming to the ground, only to have their throats torn out by the turned werewolves in their midst. Soon the entire pack of soldiers lay dead on the floor. Marie yelled at the wolves. “Both of you – to the rear. Protect the civilians.” When the two Moonborn looked uncertain – this woman had, after all been a prisoner only minutes before – she stepped forward, snarling. “Did I fucking stutter? Move! Now!”

  With the alpha’s headless corpse lying not five feet from them, and Lukas nowhere to be seen, the two werewolves came to a decision and darted across the warehouse to where the other soldiers were firing into the mass of panicked lycanthropes.

  Her wolf still recoiled from the silver shackles. It was young and strong, but not strong enough to fight past the poisonous metal. She retrieved a knife from one of the fallen soldiers and used it to break her bonds; the shackles clattered to the floor at her feet. Her wolf surged forward, but she held it at bay. Just below the change threshold. Teeth and claws were not going to win this. A trained killer with heightened senses, strength and reflexes, however… that was a different story entirely. She picked up a blood-soaked AK-47 from one of the corpses and brought it to her shoulder. The main battle was utter chaos. Some of the werewolves had tried to turn, only to find themselves caught mid-transformation by the terrible sparking gouts of flame. Ordinarily, it would take a lot more than a flamethrower to stop a pack wolf, but she instinctively knew that the sparks within the flames meant the fuel contained silver particles. She followed one of the flame-jets back to its source, took aim and fired.

  The effect was instantaneous. The 7.62mm rounds pierced the fuel tank and a ball of flame engulfed the soldier and everything around him. Secondary explosions ripped through the warehouse as other flame units ignited. The air was filled with the smoke, the stench of burning flesh and the screams of the dying. The Russian shock troops couldn’t see through the smoke, and the intense heat of the fires made their night vision equipment useless.

  The surviving werewolves, however, did not suffer from this problem.

  The brief respite Marie’s actions had won them gave some of the survivors the time to begin their
transformations. The throng of bodies twisted and contorted amidst the burning corpses of their friends and family members. Where moments before these people had been frightened civilians, fleeing for their lives from an assault force, they now showed their true nature. An apex predator on its own territory. One by one, the great beasts bounded off into the smoke and flames, seeking an outlet for their sorrow and rage. From the shrieks of terror that emanated from the billowing smoke, it seemed that they had found exactly that.

  Dozens of werewolves had been killed. Perhaps hundreds. The dead and dying covered the warehouse. Those too injured to fight staggered away from the carnage, towards the relatively clear space where Marie stood. She had to get them out of here. No matter that the tide of battle had, momentarily, turned their way, she knew they could not survive a sustained assault. It would only take a well placed missile or the arrival of heavy armour to finish the job. She motioned to the running survivors. “This way, quickly. We need to get out of here. Now.”

  The werewolves did not need to be told twice. They came to her, many bleeding from grievous injuries. Those who were unable to walk were carried by the more able survivors. Those with silver wounds would not be able to change until the next full moon. They needed another way out.

  Then she had an idea. Those troops had not walked here. There would be transports outside. Almost certainly guarded, but it at least gave them a fighting chance. If not, then the werewolf species would essentially be wiped from the face of the earth. She whistled, and two turned werewolves came bounding over to her. One still had a Russian soldier’s severed arm in its mouth. “We need to clear a passage to the troop transports for the wounded. Both of you, go out there and take care of any guards. We’ll follow you in a couple of minutes.”

  There was no other word for it – the two huge werewolves grinned at her, then loped off through the shattered wall into the night. After a few moments, there was a rattle of gunfire and a series of long, agonised screams. Then the night was silent once more. Leading what remained of the pack, Marie hurried out into the bitter night towards the waiting transports.

  6th January 2009. Romashkovsky Forest, Moscow. 03:10

  Tendrils of freezing fog swirled under the truck’s headlights as they pulled into the forest clearing. Ethereal and wraith-like, it formed indistinct yet vaguely recognisable shapes in its dance, before dissipating back into the impenetrable white blanket shrouding the trees. Marie turned off the engine and got out of the vehicle, wrapping her arms around herself in a vain attempt to fight off the chill of the frigid Russian winter. The convoy halted behind her. Two more trucks and a couple of cars. A little under a hundred werewolves – most of them families – were all that remained of their species. Krysztof’s arrogance had come close to wiping them out. It still might. They were a long way from being safe, even now, hidden in the forest to the west of the city. It would not take long for the authorities to track them down and mount another assault, and she doubted they would make the same mistake again. The next time the Russians came for them, it would be in helicopter gunships and armoured personnel carriers. They would not risk losing any more Spetsnaz in a ground assault. The Russians were many things, but they were not idiots. The next attack, when it came, would be decisive.

  The others had gotten out of their vehicles and stood behind her, silhouetted against the billowing mist. Steffan stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder. “Marie. What now? What do we do next?”

  She turned slowly and regarded the old man with confusion. “What do you mean? How the hell should I know?” she snapped.

  Steffan stepped closer and gripped her arm with surprising strength. “These people are lost, Marie. They are injured – mostly civilians. There are only fifteen left with any field experience, including yourself. They are looking to you for direction. You are now the alpha of the pack.”

  Marie recoiled in horror. “What? No! Fuck that! I’m no alpha. I’m as much to blame for this mess as anyone. I can’t think of anything I want less than to be in charge. Fuck!”

  Steffan gave her a small, sad smile. “Don’t you see? That is exactly why you are the only person who can do it. You turned an impossible situation to our favour and saved their lives. You can’t turn your back on them now. They need you. All of us need you. There is no one else they can turn to.”

  She staggered back, then looked at the expectant faces. All of them watching her every move. Like fucking children, waiting for their mother to tell them what to do. “Fuck!” she hissed, and kicked the tire of the army truck. She turned back to the survivors and took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll get us out of here. We still have safe houses and weapons caches for the field teams all over Europe. We have to leave Russia. Get somewhere remote.” Her mind raced, trying to wrap itself around the problems they faced. She knew they would be hunted anywhere they went and, based on the methods they’d used in Britain, the humans were getting better at detecting them. Nowhere in their world would be safe. Nowhere within their towns or cities would they be able to blend in or disappear for long. The assault on High Moor had guaranteed that. Any newcomers would be treated with suspicion and it would only be a matter of time before the authorities came to investigate.

  Then it hit her. There really was only one way out of this situation. The only thing they could possibly do to survive. It was a big step – no, it was a colossal one. Something that they would never be able to come back from. But it was also the only way out she could see. Marie raised her voice once more. “There is a way we can stay safe. But it will mean leaving all of this behind. The lives you knew will be gone forever. Is that something you all think you can live with?”

  A woman stepped forward. Around the same age as Marie, blonde and attractive, but Marie couldn’t place her name… She looked uncertain, but then raised her head and looked Marie in the eyes. “There’s nothing for us here anymore but death. I want to live. Wherever and however that might be. If that’s something you can offer, then I’m all for it.”

  Others joined her, each stating the same thing – slowly at first, but then more and more, until the entire pack cheered their would-be saviour. The woman who would save and damn them.

  No, she thought. Not the entire pack. According to Steffan, there were still almost forty pack members held captive by the British military. A sizable number before, but now almost a third of the total werewolf population on the planet. There was no way she could let them rot there. She’d seen what the bastards had done to her brother during his incarceration. There was no chance in hell she would condemn those families to the same fate.

  She turned to the old man beside her. “Steffan, I need you to liquidate as many of the packs assets as you can. Michael told me once that you and he had talked about a last resort. A plan that could be put into action if the shit ever really hit the fan.”

  Steffan’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious?”

  “Can you see any other way? I’m open to suggestions.”

  He thought about this for a moment, then shook his head. “No. You are right. There really is no other way. Alright. I’ll make the necessary arrangements, but it might take some time.”

  “You have until the next full moon. If I don’t join you two days afterwards, then take these people and get them safe.”

  A look of confusion crossed Steffan’s face. “You’re not coming with us now? Why? What on earth are you intending to do.”

  She gave him a lopsided grin. “I’m going to take what’s left of the field teams, and we’re going to get the rest of our people back from those bastards in England.”

  Chapter 20

  6th January 2009. Trecorras Cottage, Llangarron, Herefordshire. 11:15

  Daniel sighed and threw the novel he’d been reading onto the bed. He couldn’t concentrate and really wanted nothing more than to sleep. The only problem was that for the last few days, sleep had eluded him. The pain from his broken arm aside, every time he closed his eyes he saw the faces of those he�
��d killed and those who, by his actions, had been allowed to die. He’d killed before, of course. Over a decade working on field teams had made him as efficient and ruthless a butcher as it was possible to be. The attack on High Moor though – that had been something different entirely. The people in that town had stood no chance. Well… almost no chance. The patrons of one of the public houses had somehow managed to subdue and kill Matt Cash with nothing more than broken bottles – sawing the young werewolf’s head off as he howled and thrashed beneath them. But for the most part, it had been a massacre. Hundreds of people dead. Hundreds more maimed and cursed to become ravening moonstruck monsters in a couple of short weeks. That he’d been following orders did nothing to assuage his crippling guilt. As a German, he appreciated the bitter irony more than most. Hitler’s thugs had, after all, just been following orders as they committed genocide. As far as he was concerned, he was now no better than the worst of them. He hated Krysztof for putting him in that position, but even that was a pale shadow compared to the depths of loathing he had for himself. He’d considered ending his life, but it would not be an easy thing to accomplish. His silver immunity meant traditional methods of despatching his kind would be ineffective. And there was also the question of what the pack of young lycanthropes in his care would do if he was not there to lead them. Already they grew restless – Melissa and others had been continually harassing him about what their next target was. They had a taste for blood and vengeance now. In all honesty, they were little better than moonstruck. Worse, actually. A moonstruck was nothing but instinct, pain and rage – an elemental force of nature that destroyed everything in its path. There was no rational thought behind it. No malice or intent. It simply was. The creatures he now commanded were calculating, brutal murderers with a taste for slaughter unsurpassed by anything he’d ever encountered. They were monsters, pure and simple, and they terrified him. As much as he dreaded whatever their next ‘assignment’ would be, he feared not getting one more. Sooner or later, he knew, they would tire of being told what to do and seek their own entertainment. They would become a roving plague of teeth, claws and death.