She sits with head in hands, knees pulled up to her chest until the long shadows of late afternoon creep across the room and the cold of the floor makes sitting uncomfortable. As her heartrate slows, calm descends. She has to warn the village. With Stangton gone, perhaps even dead, it was up to her to protect them all. How in God’s name was she supposed to do that?
A knock raps at the door. Startled, she cricks her neck to the window as a shadow falls across the room. The curve of a palm presses up to the glass, and a face peers in. The man notices her, taps at the window, and gestures to the door. The ordinariness of his gesture seems surreal, and Javeen rises, unlocks the door, and allows him in. With a furtive glance, she scans the carpark and surrounding trees, then closes the door behind him, wishing his aged frame could move faster.
She has to remain calm. It’s up to her now.
“PC Latimer.”
She takes a deep breath. Be normal. Be calm. “Yes?”
The man looks flustered and out of breath. She resists the urge to shout that she hasn’t got time to deal with him, and sits him down in one of the chairs pushed up against the wall—the station’s paltry waiting room.
“We want to know what’s going on, officer. What’s being done about Jimbob and his daughter. They’re still missing you know. And Doctor Anderson. Laura, his wife, is beside herself with worry. She’s been having the most terrible nightmares.
You want to know what’s happened to Jimmy boy? Javeen swallows. Jimbob and Anita hanging in a tree? K. I. S. S. I. N. G. The old man searches her eyes. And Max Anderson? Well, there’s a story to give you nightmares. She suppresses the hysterical laugh that wants to burst from her mouth. It would sound maniacal if she let it out.
Unable to speak, Javeen slumps in her chair.
“PC Latimer? Is everything alright.”
Get a grip, Jav. Just get a fucking grip. No, everything is not alright, and that’s with a capital N. “Yes, Mr Pemberton. We have everything under control.”
“Everything under control?” He frowns.
Tell him everything is going to be OK. That’s what they want to hear. They don’t want the truth. She reverts to her training. “There’s no cause for alarm. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“PC Latimer?”
All efforts must be made to keep the public calm; any hint of danger could lead to mass hysteria, then tensions erupt etcetera, etcetera. She laughs, forces down the hysteria. She can’t imagine the riot situations she’d been trained to deal with happening in Kielder, but tensions were high, and only likely to get higher.
“May I ask what is so funny?”
The door swings open. Javeen jolts. She hadn’t locked it! Three figures stand as silhouettes against the lowering sun. Her heart hammers as she starts, then Billy Oldfield enters followed by Jack Renwick and Simon Carter. She makes an effort to appear calm, but her attempt at a professional smile reveals as a grimace.
Simon huffs. “Old Pemberton beat us to it!”
The others make gruff rumbles of agreement. The group are dour, their usual bar room bravado gone.
“We’ve come to find out what’s happening. Jimbob’s still missing, and, from our count, there are more villagers unaccounted for, and Ken says that you think a girl who was out camping’s gone missing too. The village is getting tetchy, Latimer.”
“I was just asking her,” Pemberton explains. “She seems a little … confused.”
“The road’s blocked at-”
“We’re aware of that,” Javeen interrupts, remembering Jenny’s hideous last moments.
“You’ve seen it then? Up at Stannersburn?”
“Oh. No. It was down at t’other end where I saw the blockade.”
“What the hell’s going on, Latimer? That’s both main roads out of the forest blocked.
“‘Tweren’t roadworks neither.”
Javeen remembers the rifles so quickly and expertly utilised to destroy PC Osborne and shakes her head in agreement. “No,” she almost whispers.
“We can’t find Stangton. Where’s he gone?”
No idea.
Javeen’s hands tremble. The tension in the room cranks up. She makes one last effort to calm the situation and with the last of her energy, gathers herself. “Misters Oldfield, Pemberton, Renwick, and Carter. Rest assured that we are doing everything we can to deal with the ongoing situation.” Mr Pemberton nods, accepting her words. “My advice would be to go home-”
“But we wanted to help, you see. Kielder is such a small village, like family, and when one of us is lost, the others help to find them. We were-”
“No!” She jerks forward. “No. You mustn’t go into the forest.”
“Well, its-”
“We should at least go and look!” Carter blusters.
“No!” she repeats. Think, Javeen! “If Jim and his daughter are lost in the forest then we need a team to systematically search the area. It needs a concerted effort by a team of trained people.”
“Like the ones that came this morning?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“And where are they?”
“They’ve gone home for the day,” she lies. “We’ll be resuming the search tomorrow.” She sits back. Mr Pemberton seems to accept her explanation though the others are eyeing her warily. Oldfield narrows his eyes as he searches her face. She hasn’t got him fooled, but she just needs time to collect her thoughts. Once she’s figured out the next step, he’d forgive her lies—he’d have to.
“You’re lying, Latimer.”
The other men scrutinize her face, Mr Pemberton looks embarrassed for her. She closes her eyes and leans back in her chair. She is lying. Lying to buy herself time, to try and control this impossible situation. She can barely think straight after what happened, but she can’t be honest about the slaughter in the forest. Can she? There is no way out of the village, and they are trapped by whatever those creatures are in the forest, and the men that guard the escape routes.
“Well?” Oldfield prods. “Well, Latimer?” His voice has an edge to it. “Why are you lying?”
She can think of nothing to say that is convincing enough to be a plausible explanation. She decides to brazen it out and tell the truth.
She locks her gaze to Oldfield’s. “The truth is … that there are wolfmen roaming through the woods. They’ve slaughtered the team of officers that came here to search for Doctor Anderson and Lois Maybank. And … I think it was Anderson and Maybank that killed the team.”
A snort of derision.
“Silly bitch.”
Oldfield mutters darkly.
Mr Pemberton crosses himself and his thin frame quivers inside his overlarge jacket. “The Reverend warned me.” His voice is reed-thin and goes unnoticed by the other men.
Javeen continues. “Both roads out of the village are blocked by armed men. They won’t allow us to pass. I tried earlier and they shot PC Jenny Osborne, fatally wounding her. She had herself been bitten by Lois Maybank and become infected.”
“Infected!” Snorts and an outburst of laughter.
“We are trapped in the village.”
“Do you really expect us to believe that shit?” Carter slams his fist on her desk to coincide with his explosive ‘shit’.
“You wanted the truth. I gave it to you.”
“Silly cow! You must think we’re stupid.”
Oldfield mutters. “I did see it.”
Her head thrums as pain tightens across her scalp. Glancing at the window, the sun has dropped behind the trees. She stares back into Carter’s glaring eyes and holds his gaze. “It will be dark soon. Go home. Stay safe behind locked doors. Barricade yourselves in and don’t come out until sunlight. If you have weapons, arm yourselves.”
“Hang on, Latimer. You’re going over the top now.”
“She’s right,” Oldfield adds.
Carter scoffs. “You were drunk!”
It’s her turn to become angry. “Listen!” She bangs her fist on the desk. “
If you’d seen what I’ve seen this afternoon, how fast these creatures move, how quickly they can gut a human being and rip out its entrails, then you wouldn’t be standing here ignoring my advice. Go home. Lock yourselves inside. And don’t come out until daylight.”
Carter searches her face. A flicker of recognition registers in his and he draws back. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, Latimer,” he says more quietly. “Don’t mean that I believe you, like. But I think you believe yourself. Like you say, it’s getting dark. Tomorrow I’m leaving this village, blockade or not.”
The others murmur agreement and she catches their tentative glances towards the forest beyond the carpark.
“Right,” Carter says finally. “I’m off.” He disappears through the door and the room empties.
30
Javeen slumps back in her chair, head thumping, and runs her hands through her hair, the short fringe sticks up, then slowly flops down. The smell of her own body odour rises to her nostrils, and she has a sudden yearning to feel the strength of Andy’s embrace. Unable to think clearly, her heart still beating too hard against her ribs, she takes a breath to ease the tension. Her priority has to be to protect the village. The others are dead. Certainly Osborne, Ted, and Callum had been savaged, and Jerry Sykes sure to be bitten and infected, if not dead. Perhaps Harry too. Is that what had happened to Max and Lois? It seems fantastical, she wasn’t given to a belief in the supernatural, or men changing into werewolves at the full moon, but the creatures she had seen resembled the missing doctor and student. The creatures looked human, but not. Had something happened in the laboratory? It’s the only sensible explanation. Perhaps one of the dogs was infected and bit Dr. Anderson who then went on to infect Lois in turn? But did that explain their ability to run at seventy miles per hour and jump from tree to tree with superhuman agility? No. Her head throbs. It was all too much. Perhaps she’d wake from this nightmare and everything would be normal. Perhaps it wasn’t real and she’d imagined it all. She’s losing the plot. She takes another calming breath. Think!
Tipping forward she takes a pen and paper, and lists all the names of the people so far recorded as missing. Then lists all the people who have reported a sighting. One name springs out. Max Anderson. If it was him that had vaulted his own wall, then perhaps he has infected Laura too. Javeen’s flesh creeps as the implications of the situation settle over her.
She switches on her monitor, opens Word, and begins to type:
A notice is hereby given that from immediate effect a curfew is in place for Kielder Village from the hours of sunset to sunrise.
Beneath it she types:
To discuss the recent unusual sightings and incidents in Kielder Forest, a meeting is to be held on 9am at the Village Hall. It would be advisable for all villagers to attend.
With the pile of notices slipped into a folder, she locks the Station door, checks for movement among the trees, then sprints to the van. She will deliver as many as she can before twilight and then pay a visit to Laura Anderson—if she can summon the courage.
As Javeen finishes her interview with Laura and makes her way back to the police van with bile rising in her throat, Agent Carl McGuire tightens the last screw fixing the sign to the post. He stands back to admire his efforts as PC Stuart Stangton secures a length of wire mesh across the road. In the twilight, the white sign, with its extra-large red print, is still visible. It reads: BIOLOGICAL HAZARD. CONTAMINATED LAND. ENTRY PROHIBITED.
Max uncurls from beneath the workbench, and away from the warmth of Lois’s body curled next to his. His breath billows white in the early evening gloom. His belly aches with hunger. He salivates as his thoughts return to the woman with the dark hair. Sinking his teeth into her throat will be an ecstasy. He nudges the woman at his side. An ache passes over his groin as he leers over her naked flesh. Later, he will fill her again, but now he needs food. He prods at her shoulder. She grunts as she wakes, and snaps at him with a curling lip. He snarls in return and prods harder, grasps for words, grunts and points to the door. The noise from his throat rasps through his vocal chords.
At the door, he breathes in the forest air; rich and rotting loam mixes with the faeces of a thousand tiny mammals and birds. The reek of a deer’s rotting corpse carries in a twirl of stinking particles. He needs fresh meat. Without waiting for the woman, he sprints into the forest, leaving the shed door to bang against the slatted wood. The nearby cabin, once bright, is dark. Ignoring the small house, and with Lois close behind, he sprints into the woods. Body alive with adrenaline, his legs power him forward, lithely jumping over fallen trunks, easily moving between the trees and their low-hanging, scratching branches. The moon isn’t yet high, but his eyes see through the growing shade. Lois runs parallel with him through the trees, her quick panting interspersed with dry cackles. He glances at her and grins, the red of her eyes sparkles in the moonlight. Aroused by her scent, he leaps to her side, tripping her to the dirt. They embrace and roll among the rotting leaves, jaws snapping. Fangs sink into his neck, an ecstasy of pain as she wraps her legs around his hips. She cackles and grunts as he thrusts at her heat.
Finished, he tips his head back, opens jaws wide, and howls. She grabs his arm, pulling him towards the village and the prey that cowers there.
31
Freddie flinches at the howl as he swings his legs over the bed and sits. Startled from sleep, his head throbs, and he regrets staying up so late, although the time had been well spent. He glances over to Hayley, blonde hair splayed across the pillow, bedsheet doing nothing to disguise her curves. An ache of desire. He reaches over to pull at the covers – there’s no time Fred. Just a little look then. Another howl fills the room, one so loud that it could have been called from beneath the bedroom window. He drops the sheet as the hairs on his neck prickle and his scrotum shrivels. What the hell was going on in this village? The bedside alarm trips. Hayley murmurs in her sleep, pulls at the bedclothes. He crosses the room, kicking yesterday’s jeans to the skirting, and steps to the window. An orange haze from the single streetlight fills the road outside. Nothing moves. Across the village there are one or two windows filled with light.
Another howl rips through the dark morning as Freddie steps out of the warmth of the bedroom and onto the pitch-black landing. He shivers as he fumbles for the light switch and closes the door behind him, not wanting to wake Hayley. The radiators haven’t come on yet, and the stone-built cottage is quick to lose heat in the winter months. He scratches at his beard, walks down the stairs, shivers and pulls the cord on his dressing gown a little tighter, already missing Hayley’s warmth and dreading the lonely nights ahead on the rig. He shivers again as cold creeps at his neck and pads to the bottom of the stairs.
Moonlight brightens the dark hallway to grey where a white fold of paper sits bright on the doormat. Reaching down, he grabs the leaflet, steps into the kitchen and flicks the light to on. Toby, their liver and white Springer Spaniel, raises its head from its basket next to the radiator and eyes him for a moment, decides he’s of no interest, and returns to sleep. The windows reflect the room and he’s suddenly aware that if anyone is standing outside, they’ll be able to see inside. He dismisses the thought; apart from the fact that theirs was the last cottage on Church Lane before the road disappeared back into the forest, no one would be outside at this time in the morning. There’s only him that’s dumb enough to be getting up this early. Today is the first day back after a couple of weeks off from the grind. He checks the clock. Five-thirty am. If he doesn’t get a move on, he’ll miss the boat out to the rig. For once, he’s anxious to get back. All the howling in the village is setting everyone’s nerves on edge, and even Hayley, usually so laid back and unafraid of anything, is getting the creeps. He grabs a bowl, fills it with muesli, sprinkles it with walnuts and almonds, then adds some more, mindful of his mother’s warning voice to get enough protein.
The paper sits on the table, he pushes in another mouthful of cereal, dripping milk onto the ta
ble, and, with nothing else to occupy him, unfolds the sheet. No doubt another flyer about the village dance, or perhaps Marjorie Maybank is on the warpath again about dog mess on the path? Freddie had been much more vigilant since she’d read him the riot act in front of Sid at the shop, and he’d faithfully scooped the poop since then. Having Marjory’s wrath descend upon him once again was not something he was about to invite. He gives the dog a baleful glance as he remembers the encounter, then reads the large red and black print on the sheet.
“What the-” He chokes as he shouts at the words stamped across the paper, spraying muesli across the table as milk and particles of oats are sucked to the back of his throat.
“Curfew!” He reads further. “On your bike, lady!” There is no way he, Freddie Barnes, is going to be forced to stay in his house between sunset and sunrise. Silly cow was as bad as the others—getting spooked by things going bump in the night and some creature howling in the woods. It’s like Farmer Burdon had said, the Lynx Trust had done the dirty and freed the lynxes on the sly. What else would have killed his sheep unless it was a dog gone mad? He muses that for a moment. If that were the case, then the rabies outbreak down in Whitby had perhaps travelled as far as Kielder. They said it was untreatable and virulent—a mutated form. The media were scaremongering there too – as per bloody usual – calling the outbreak a plague, likening it to the Spanish flu of 1918. People really needed to get things in perspective, but it sold papers and advertising space no doubt.
He takes another spoonful of muesli, crunches down hard on a hazelnut and shakes his head as he reads the remainder of the notice. ‘To discuss the recent unusual sightings and incidents in Kielder Forest, a meeting is to be held on 9am at the Village Hall. It would be advisable for all villagers to attend.’ Sod that for a laugh! Hayley could go. He’d be well on the way back to the rig by then, and she had another day off before getting back to work. He lays the notice by the side of the kettle and returns to the bathroom to dress.
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