The Kielder Strain: A Science Fiction Horror Novel

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Steady, Cass.”

  A branch bounces, spraying pine needles onto the forest floor. The dog growls, its teeth bared. The officers watch with concern. Javeen’s heart pounds against her ribs.

  “Ted!”

  The large, heavy-set German Shepherd must weigh more than forty kilos, and its head easily reaches Ted’s waist. As it barks, it jumps forward, standing on two legs, pulling Ted with it.

  Thud!

  Behind the tree something has dropped to the floor.

  “Ted!” Javeen shouts. “Ted, come back.”

  The dog barks, snarls and leaps forward. Ted is dragged along the forest floor. PC Drake takes action and grabs for the lead. With the extra weight, the dog is pulled back, yelps, then strains forward once more.

  Javeen is hyper-aware of everything that surrounds her: the trees and undergrowth that move; the flashes of something between the branches; Osborne pointing, her mouth hanging open; Ted struggling to stand again as Callum pulls at the dog’s lead; and the creature that has dropped down behind the tree staring at her.

  A guttural howl that sends a shiver of fear down deep into Javeen’s bones, pierces through the chaos and the figure bounds forward.

  The fear is instant: her bowels suddenly weightless, she has the urge to defecate. Run! Just fucking run!

  Branches snap, shudder, and divide as the things that have tracked them down make their final move.

  Cass snaps and snarls as the figure pounces. Hands clawed, it slices through the air and the dog jumps, teeth bared, snapping at the attacker. Ted stumbles, the lead still tightly wound around his hand, and is trapped beneath the dog as the creature pins it down. In a single, decisive, and fatal movement, the ‘thing’ clamps its jaws around the dog’s throat, and tears. Blood spews over Ted. He pushes at the writhing dog, desperate to get from beneath it as the beast turns its attention to him.

  Watching in horror, rooted to the spot, time has speeded up. As Ted screams, sharp claws slice across Callum’s belly, and another figure darts from behind a clump of tall ferns. The scene takes place at the periphery of Javeen’s vision as she watches PC Drake’s bowels slither from the gaping wound. Screams fill the space as another beast hurtles towards Sykes. Within a second, the young recruit is snatched up and carried off into the trees.

  Osborne grabs her arm. “Run!”

  Another creature jumps from a tree and lands beside Harry Pilkington. Osborne pulls Javeen, her fingers digging into her bicep, and yanks at her to run back in the direction of the cars. As Javeen turns to follow, the first creature is crouched over Ted. His legs jitter as it reaches into his abdomen. To her right, next to a clump of ferns, Harry is kicking his legs and bucking against the thing that straddles his hips. The thing is naked, and the light covering of dark hairs can’t disguise that it is female. She holds Harry’s flailing arms by the wrist and, as she bends down to him, she gazes into his screaming face. As Javeen runs, the female rocks her hips over his, tips her head back and howls.

  Javeen runs, powering herself away from the horror, her mind focused only on reaching the cars. How the hell will they be able to get away from those … abominations? Run, Javeen. Run. Every ounce of her being is focused on running. She jumps the writhing worms of roots, careful not to trip, knowing that it will mean death. She barges past trees, pushing their branches out of her way, following the path that they’d trodden minutes before. Her breath comes hard. Osborne is behind her now; she can hear the woman’s harsh breaths. With each second, she expects the branches beside her to bounce, and one of those hideous creatures to jump out and gut her too. Jesus, what had she seen? Her pulse thumps in her head. Focus! Focus on getting out of here. Behind her, Osborne’s pounding footsteps match her own. The woman grunts. Javeen looks back, sees her stumble, right herself, and continue running. In the distance she spots the white, blue, and yellow of the police van. The keys. Who has the keys? Her mind races, fumbles, she can’t think straight. She remembers. Osborne was driving. She’ll have the keys.

  “Osborne! The van is ahead …” she turns to speak and her eyes catch the movement of a figure running between the trees. She bites down the urge to scream. “The keys, Osborne. Get the keys ready.”

  Osborne catches her gaze as she glances at the running figure, turns, then looks back, eyes alive with terror. The woman pumps her arms harder, jumps another root, and gains pace with Javeen.

  “The keys!”

  The van is fully visible now. The creatures must be playing with them, the way a cat would do a mouse before it goes in for the kill. Will they paw her body before tearing it apart? Her arms pump harder. Metal jangles.

  “Keys!” Osborne pants. The lights on the van flash. Thank you! The van would be open as they reached it—they just had to throw the door open and climb in.

  A figure runs parallel to Javeen, she can see it in the corner of her eye, something that looks like a man. It runs with great strides and pumping arms. Naked, it keeps pace. It glances at her, seems to smile, then disappears. The van is only feet away. Behind her Osborne grunts.

  Javeen turns. Osborne is on the floor, her foot hooked beneath a raised root. The keys are next to her outstretched hand. Javeen grabs at the keys, and pulls at Osborne.

  Thud!

  A creature appears behind Osborne, a different female. Its face is covered with a soft down of dark hair, long incisors snap in an elongated chin, its eyes almost completely black. Like the other it is naked, young breasts pert with erect nipples, its waist slim, buttocks rounded, hands clawed with talons for nails. Its hair, though straggled, is plaited and tied to the side, and a pink flower, like the one Lois Maybank’s mother had described her daughter as wearing, is clipped at the temple.

  To the right, the male that had kept pace with Javeen, waits in the shadows and watches. The female – Lois – takes a step forward. Javeen grabs Osborne’s hand. “Get up.”

  Osborne scrabbles to her feet, her face flushed with running, her chest heaving, gasping for breath. Javeen takes a step back, reaching out for the van’s door. Her hand touches the metal.

  Hope suddenly returned, she grabs again at Osborne. “Get in the van,” she hisses. “We can make it.”

  As Javeen turns to pull the door handle, Lois pounces. The door opens and Javeen yanks Osborne just out of reach as Lois lands. Her claws rasp down Osborne’s jacket to the noise of tearing fabric. She grabs the jacket and pulls. It shreds beneath her talons. Osborne screams as nails slice into her flesh. Javeen pulls, yanking Osborne away from the slashing hand. She steps into the van and, with every ounce of her strength, pulls Osborne away from the creature.

  “Get in!” Javeen screams as she pulls.

  The creature snarls, pulling lips back and gnashes its teeth at Javeen. From this distance she can see that its eyes aren’t black; the pupil is dilated, its iris just a thin ring of dark amber, the rest of the eye is dark red, and Lois, or whatever she has become, is insane. Lois jumps forward, sinks her teeth into Osborne’s now bare shoulder, and bites down. Osborne screams, her eyes wide with shock. Instead of pulling, Javeen waits. Lois stares with crazed eyes, and a low moan leaks from her throat as a clawed hand moves to grip Osborne’s genitals. Osborne shrieks and bucks against the creature. It withdraws its incisors from Osborne’s shoulder and Javeen gives a mighty yank, hurling Osborne into the van. She scrambles inside as Javeen aims her boot and kicks the creature in the belly. The first kick lands on its hip. She pulls her foot back and kicks it in quick succession: belly, hip, belly, ribs, vagina. The thing screeches as it staggers back and in that second Javeen withdraws her leg and reaches for the door. She can’t afford a single mistake. The male has sprinted from the trees and Lois is already jumping forward. The door slams shut and Lois bangs against it.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Javeen screams as she hands the keys to Osborne.

  Osborne drops the keys. “Shit!”

  The male pounds on the window, his teeth gnashing, saliva smears across the glass.

 
; The engine starts.

  “Go!” Javeen screams as the male raises its arm.

  The van rocks as its fist slams against the window.

  “Go!”

  Tyres screech as Osborne floors the accelerator. The thing that had been Lois Maybank jumps in front of the van, teeth gnashing, eyes staring, saliva hanging between her teeth. Without flinching, Osborne slams the van into third and powers forward. She swerves but hits Lois with a thud. Checking through the driver’s window as they pull away, Javeen catches a glimpse of Lois. She staggers to a stand then limps to the male and crouches at his feet, curling her arms around his legs. He stands oblivious to her as he watches the van move away.

  28

  The van gains speed, swerving along the forest track, screeching around corners. Osborne drives with a grim determination, totally focused on the road ahead, unspeaking. Javeen clicks her seatbelt into place. “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”

  Checking the side mirror Javeen can see only trees, ferns, and the road behind them. “I don’t think they’ve followed us.”

  Osborne grunts. Her back is seeping blood, long gashes scratched along the skin. At her shoulder, puncture marks are already swelling.

  “Pull over, Jenny. You’re hurt. Let me drive.”

  “In a minute. Once we get out of the forest, then you can drive. It’s not safe yet.”

  Javeen’s nerves on edge, they drive until they reach the turn-off they’d taken from the main road into the forest. Jenny turns in the direction of the village, then pulls over. She sags against the wheel.

  “You OK?” Dumb question. It’s obvious that she’s not. “I mean … I know you’re not OK, but … how much pain are you in?”

  Jenny sits back against the seat and flinches, pulling her torn flesh away from the fabric. Small fibres stick to her skin and a damp patch of blood remains on the grey seat.

  “Agony!”

  “It looks bad, Jenny.” The blood trickles freely down her back, the scratches angry and littered with dirt. “Swap over. I’ll drive.”

  Jenny’s skin is pallid, all blood seems to have drained and, where minutes before her cheeks had been flushed, now they are pale and threaded with veins. Her pulse throbs at her temple and her eyes droop. Shocked at how quickly her colleague is deteriorating, Javeen swings the van to face the opposite direction and begins the journey to the nearest hospital. She picks up the receiver of the police radio and presses the button. Static crackles from the handset.

  “Victor X-ray this is Charlie Foxtrot 3-1. Do you copy?” She listens. Only static returns. She tries again. Again, only static returns.

  As Jenny groans and slumps against the van’s door, Javeen takes the van from forty miles an hour to fifty, then sixty. The roads are empty, fairly open, and straight along this stretch, she’ll make headway where possible. Further ahead, where the roads begin to climb the last hill before the forest gives way to moorland, then farmland, she’ll have to slow down.

  The sun has reached its highest point and is beginning its return to earth. Javeen glances at the van’s dashboard, 3:45pm. It will soon be dusk, and dark will quickly follow, but at least, by then, Jenny would be in hospital.

  Movement catches her attention through the side window. Her belly flips and a trickle of urine escapes as she momentarily loses control of her bladder. Through the window, above Jenny’s dark hair, a figure runs beside the van. It’s him. The male ‘thing’ from the forest. His arms pump preternaturally fast and he glances into the van as she stares. The van bumps as she loses awareness of direction and she swerves it back to the road. The speedometer reads forty-five miles per hour. She floors the accelerator. The engine revs and the dial rises. Fifty and it still keeps pace. Its teeth bared, it pushes on. Sixty. Its head disappears. For a millisecond she senses relief, then clenched teeth and dark, glaring eyes reappear, closer to the window this time. Sixty-five, seventy. He’s gone. She pushes the engine, ninety, one hundred. In the rear view she can see the figure running, but the distance grows between them and then it stops, turns, and disappears back into the trees.

  The road ahead stretches out to a clearing then disappears back into the forest. Beyond that, is the end of Kielder, and open road.

  Jenny groans.

  “It’s OK, Jenny. We’ll soon be there. We’re nearly out of Kielder. The hospital isn’t far.” Although it is, it’s at least another fifty miles. Once they’re beyond the forest, once they’re safe, she’ll pull over and check in the first aid kit for anything that could make Jenny more comfortable.

  The van speeds around the corner and the road darkens as trees overhang the road once more. Javeen frowns. Ahead, at the very edge of the forest, three vehicles are pulled across the road; it is completely blocked. In front of the cars thick steel barriers, set in heavy concrete bases, have been erected.

  As she nears the blockade, she slows the van. Five bulky men, all wearing bright orange hi-viz vests, complete with hard hats, step out from behind the cars. Something isn’t right. Since when do highway maintenance engineers use Range Rovers with tinted windows?

  She pulls the car to a stop and steps out. Jenny groans.

  “I need to pass,” she calls. “I have an injured officer on board who needs immediate hospital treatment.”

  The men step in front of the barriers. A stocky man, with extremely well-toned biceps, triceps, and squared, muscular shoulders steps forward. He doesn’t resemble the heavy-set, slightly overweight roadworkers she’d become familiar with during her travels along the motorways of North East Lincolnshire and Yorkshire. None of them did.

  “I’m sorry miss-.”

  “PC Latimer,” she corrects.

  “PC Latimer,” he corrects himself. “The road is closed. You’ll have to find an alternative route.”

  “There isn’t an alternative route.”

  “Then you’ll have to go back the way you came. There is no access beyond this point.”

  “But … back that way, I’ll have to travel fifty miles to Scotland. PC Osborne needs immediate medical attention. She was attacked in the woods and …” She stops speaking. At the mention of the attack, the man has drawn a gun from beneath his tabard. Heavy thudding has broken out behind her. Three of the five men run to their cars.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Javeen turns. Jenny is rocking to and fro inside the van. “She’s in pain,” she tells the man with the gun trying to understand why he would have a firearm drawn. “Put down your gun.”

  Jenny smashes the side of her head against the van’s window and the vehicle rocks.

  “No! Jenny, don’t do that.”

  The three men return; all are armed.

  Confused, she continues to berate Jenny. “You’ll hurt yourself,” she calls as Jenny smashes her head at the window again. Through the glass, Jenny’s face is a rictus of pain as she thrashes against the window. Javeen opens the door, pulling it away as Jenny attempts to smash her face against the glass. As the door opens, and Jenny’s blood-filled eyes stare into her own, Javeen realises her mistake. Behind her the men are shouting. Jenny tumbles to the road. In an instant she turns, and snaps her teeth.

  “She’s infected!”

  Shots fire, gravel sparks against the van, amid the unmistakable sound of bullets penetrating soft flesh. Jenny screams, running in circles as Javeen sprints to the other side of the van. As she watches through the window, the men line up behind the barrier, military grade rifles trained on Jenny as she tears at her face, screams, twists, then launches herself towards them. A hail of bullets opens fire and she dances as their force spends itself in her flesh. Blood sprays from her shoulders, belly, and thighs. She drops to the floor, then pulls herself forward, teeth gnashing. How the woman is still alive after five men have delivered at least fifty shots into her body, Javeen can’t comprehend.

  29

  Scrambling back inside the van as the men focus on obliterating Jenny, Javeen starts the engine, slams it into gear, stamps on the accelerator and swings
it back to face the village. At any second, she expects a barrage of shots to pierce the metal panels. The bullets don’t come, and as the van’s speed increases, she dares to look in the rearview mirror. The men are standing around what’s left of Jenny, rifles still pointing at her inert body. Heart racing, pounding as though it will burst, she grips the wheel and stares ahead at the road. What the hell just happened? What? Fuck! She slams her fists on the steering wheel. Her mind searches for understanding, fails. “Fuuuuuuck!” she screams until her voice slips and she coughs to clear the splutter.

  Banging hands against the steering wheel, images of the carnage in the forest, of Ted, Mark, and the dog being torn to shreds sear her mind. The hanging bodies in the tree. The wolf-woman grinding her genitals over Sykes’ hips. “What the fuck!” She can’t think straight. Nothing makes sense. Calm it, Latimer. Calm-the-fuck-down! The van powers forward as she accelerates. Jenny! The engine screams. Oh, Christ. What had happened to Jenny? She’d been bitten and … she swallows hard as she remembers the woman’s blood-filled eyes, the crazed look of absolute agony on her face as she smashed her cheek against the van’s window again and again. She’d been infected by the bite—like a fucking zombie. Javeen’s chest is so tight she can barely catch her breath, and she takes shallow gulps of air as pain tears at her lungs. Head pounding, she’s suddenly aware of the engine, its revs way too high, and she slips it into fifth.

  She checks the rearview mirror. Nothing. She checks the side mirrors. Again, nothing. Ahead, the village sign comes into view and then the Police Station. She pulls into the car park, stops the van as close to the door as she can, checks for signs of ‘them’ through the mirrors and darts to the Station door. Keys in trembling hand, she unlocks the door and almost falls inside before slamming it shut and locking it tight then slamming the bolts across at top and bottom. The converted cottage was old, its door thick, its walls thicker, and the bolts were solid iron. As the final bolt slams into place, she leans her back against the door and sinks to the floor.