The Kielder Strain: A Science Fiction Horror Novel

by Rebecca Fernfield

  As the car hurtles back towards the village, Amy checks back through the rearview mirror; the thing is hobbling to a stand. How in the very hell did it get up from that? She’d reversed into it, had been sure that wheels had crushed its legs. Pain spears her belly as she grips the steering wheel. Jasmine’s scream pierces her eardrums.

  “OK, Jasmine! OK! We’ve got away. Now stop screaming … Please!”

  The girl quiets, her breath coming in deep sobs.

  “It was a woman, Mum. Did you see it?”

  The image of the naked woman squatting with her vagina open to the world, and her hair-covered breasts hanging freely, wasn’t a sight she would forget any time soon.

  “Yes, Caleb. I noticed.” She forces herself to focus on the road ahead, obsessively checking in the mirror for any sign of movement. Bodies lie scattered on the verge and the road, figures still run between the cars, small groups are running into the forest, only two cars appear to be moving.

  “Are all women like that?”

  “What?” She stares at the cars as they manoeuvre to follow her.

  “Women. Are they all … hairy like that? Does it … does their … vagina really look-”

  “Caleb!”

  “What?”

  “Can we talk about this later? Please?”

  He grunts.

  Typical kid! They were fleeing for their lives and he was obsessed by the woman’s anatomy.

  “Just asking!”

  “Caleb, we need to focus on staying alive. Got it?”

  “Got it?” He turns to the rear window. “There are two cars behind us.”

  Amy checks the mirror. He’s right.

  “Mr Shelby is in one. I don’t know who the other is.”

  Just two cars! Just two cars out of the entire convoy!

  “Where are we going, Mum?”

  “To find PC Latimer.”

  37

  Javeen peers out of the window as the first car pulls up. Amy Carmichael. The woman corners, tyres screeching, then rolls to an abrupt halt only feet from the front door, almost scratching Javeen’s car. Swinging the door open, Amy stops with one foot on the tarmac as their eyes meet. Javeen opens the Station door, as Amy ushers her children from the car, pushing them over the threshold. Javeen slams the heavy door behind them, quickly locking and bolting it.

  As she waits for Amy to catch her breath, a second car passes the station, reverses, enters the car park, and screeches to a stop next to Amy’s. Conrad Shelby jumps out followed by Tilly Stangton and his wife Moira. The woman’s face is red and it’s obvious that she has been crying. Javeen unbolts the door to let them in as Amy pulls her arms around her children, her sob heavy with relief.

  “We were attacked,” Conrad blurts as soon as the door shuts behind him. Javeen slides the bolt across the door. The thick iron slots into place with a satisfying, and reassuring, clack.

  “Please,” Javeen says pulling up Stuart Stangton’s chair for Tilly; the woman is on the verge of collapse. “Sit down.” Tilly sits, a massive sob erupting as she catches sight of the framed photographs of herself that Stuart kept on his desk.

  She turns her attention to Conrad. “What happened?”

  “The roads are blocked, as you said, but the steel barriers you spoke of at the village hall have been upgraded to impassable, twenty-foot high steel girders.”

  “And the men?”

  “There were no men, not at first, but, as we were leaving, I saw a vehicle pull up on the other side and armed men get out.”

  “Police?”

  “From the vehicle and their demeanour, I would say a private security firm, although one of military standard.”

  “What does that mean?” Amy butts in.

  Javeen isn’t sure. “Well, I think that … perhaps …”

  “My assessment of the situation is that whoever it is knows just how dangerous these creatures are and wants to keep the situation contained.”

  “Contained?”

  “One of them had a tranquiliser gun.” Caleb adds. “I watched him fire it at a werewolf.”

  “They’re not werewolves!”

  “How do you know it was a tranquiliser?”

  “I saw it stick into the werewolf’s neck—it had feathers on it like they do in the wildlife programmes. I saw one where they were shooting at elephants from a helicopter.”

  “Why would they tranquilise them? They should be killing them—to protect us!”

  “Perhaps saving us isn’t the main objective.”

  “How can that be so? If there are wild animals trying to kill us, shouldn’t the military be coming in to try and rescue us.”

  “Perhaps they will.”

  Javeen’s head throbs. Their communications with the outside world, their ability to call for help, to report what is going on, has been blocked, as have their escape routes. Whoever is in control of this situation doesn’t want anyone knowing about it, of that she is certain.

  “And take a look at this, Latimer.” Conrad pulls his phone out of his pocket.

  For one moment Javeen’s hopes flare. “You’ve got a signal?”

  Conrad shakes his head. “Sorry, Latimer. No. But I did get a photograph of the sign that has been bolted to the fence.”

  He pushes the mobile’s screen into view. The knots in Javeen’s stomach tighten as he scrolls back through the photographs, flickering past a scene that begins with dark figures running from the woods, to them lingering in the shadows, the rows of cars, and then several of the sign, all of differing quality. He clicks on the one that is most legible.

  She reads, “Biological Hazard. Contaminated Land. Entry Prohibited.” Her mind flits back to the meeting at the Institute on the morning Billy Oldfield had called them to oust the placard waving vegan activists from their gates, the small group of oddly incongruous men in Marta Steward’s office, and Blake Dalton’s shocked face when he’d received that call at the Hound and Stars.

  “I heard him talking about ‘staying calm’ and ‘seeing it as an opportunity’”

  “Who, Latimer? And what ‘opportunity’?”

  “Blake Dalton.”

  “Who?”

  “A colleague of Doctor Steward’s from the Institute. He was armed.”

  “Why would a scientist be armed?”

  “He wouldn’t. I mean, he isn’t.”

  “Armed?” Conrad’s frown deepens.

  “No, he’s not a scientist and he was armed. I saw the gun strapped next to his ribs.”

  “So perhaps military?”

  “I have no idea. The men at the fence who shot up PC Osborne looked as though they could be soldiers.”

  “Hmm.”

  Tilly Stangton erupts with a sob. “Mavis is dead!”

  Moira walks across to Tilly and puts an arm around the woman.

  “Mavis is dead. Kelly … Kelly Gray split her belly open like a packet of crisps and ate her insides!”

  Jasmine begins to cry.

  “That thing – Kelly – she was going for me, but Mavis … Mavis got in the way, and she ate her instead.” Tilly dissolves into sobs, and Caleb puts his arm protectively across his bigger sister’s shoulder. He stares for a moment at Javeen, and then at Conrad, a frown creasing between the brows of his young face.

  “I’ll kill them monsters.” His teeth bare as he speaks. “They’ll not hurt my mum or my sister.”

  Pain flits across Amy’s face and she manages a weak smile at her son. “We’ll protect each other, love. Don’t you worry.”

  Amy stands. Looks out through the window to the darkening sky. “We should go home. Before it gets dark.”

  “No!” Tilly blurts. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  Javeen catches Conrad’s glance at Tilly. “You can come home with us.”

  Caleb stares at Conrad. “What about us? Can we come home with you too?”

  “Conrad!” Amy interjects. “We’ve got our own home to go to.”

  “Yes, but no man to protect us, Mum.
”

  “Sorry. Phil is out on the rig. He’s not due back until next week.”

  Another flare of hope. Of course, people will try to get into the village and Phil is bound to raise a stink if he can’t get back to his wife and children. There is sure to be a rescue mission, there will have to be.

  Another car passes the Police Station, but this time doesn’t turn into the carpark.

  “Hell!” Conrad blurts. “There were more than thirty cars in that convoy, Latimer. So far only three cars have made it back.”

  Javeen swallows. Even if there was a rescue mission, at that rate of destruction, by this time next week, it will be too late.

  38

  Andy steps back through the French doors at the rear of his house. He has spent the last few hours searching at the end of his garden, going into the woods, as far as he dared, to look for Topsy. Bag of chicken flavoured treats in his pocket, he clicks the sliding doors shut with a sigh. The woods had been quiet, no sign of any ‘beast’, but no sign of Topsy either. He breaks his shotgun over his arm, removes the cartridges, lays it on the dining room table then locks the doors and draws the curtains. The sun has dropped below the forest canopy leaving a jagged bank of trees black against a blue-grey sky tinged apricot. A single star shines bright.

  A rapid series of knocks comes at the front door and he strides to answers. Javeen! She practically falls into the hallway, her face flushed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Close the door.”

  “I am.” The door closes and he locks it as Javeen makes her way to the kitchen. “What’s wrong.”

  “Everything!”

  He flicks the kettle to on.

  “The convoy was attacked by the wolfmen. Only three cars made it back.”

  “Which convoy?”

  “Conrad’s.”

  “Hell!”

  “Andy, he said the fences there were massive and that there is no way of getting through and the villagers were ambushed by the wolfmen and-”

  “Slow down, Jav.”

  “There were at least ten of them.”

  “Wolfmen?”

  “Yes!”

  “I thought there was only Max Anderson and Lois Maybank.”

  “Tilly Stangton recognised Kelly Gray, and Conrad said there was a girl that could have been Jim Kendrick’s daughter, and another woman that could have been Maria Konstapolis. Caleb Carmichael said there was another girl too, that could be her daughter. And there were two males that no one recognised, but … but from the descriptions, I think they could have been Harry Pilkington and Jerry Sykes—the Police Officers attacked in the forest.”

  “So … what we’re talking about is a pack?”

  “Yes! Conrad is sure that’s what’s happening. They’re hunting in packs. They waited, Andy. They waited at the treeline until Max Anderson showed up. He appeared to give a signal for attack.”

  “Signal?”

  “He howled. After that they charged. The villagers didn’t stand a chance.”

  Andy is silent with his thoughts. It was all so outlandish, would sound unbelievable to anyone who hadn’t seen it.

  “So … so people are being bitten and becoming werewolves? Is that what we’re saying?”

  “… kind of.”

  His stomach knots as realisation dawns. “So, they’re being bitten and develop superhuman abilities and a desire to eat human flesh?”

  “I think so.”

  “And we’re trapped here with them …”

  “Yes.”

  “I went into the woods earlier. There was no sign of them.”

  “That’s so dangerous, Andy.”

  “I know, but I had to try and find Topsy.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, not a sign of her.”

  The kettle boils and Andy spoons coffee into two mugs, covers them with milk, and pours in the water.

  Javeen takes a sip of coffee and leans into him. Even though she’s more than a foot shorter than Andy, he feels comforted by the arm that slips around his back.

  “Tilly said something odd. Kelly – the monster – she sniffed at Conrad and then went for Tilly. She’s only alive because Mavis tried to save her.”

  Andy takes another sip of coffee as Javeen continues.

  “It was like she smelt him and decided he was off or something.”

  “Maybe he’s sick? It would make sense. They obviously see us as food—if the food’s bad we can’t stomach the smell so leave it. Didn’t that happen to the Reverend too?”

  “It did!”

  “He’s got pancreatic cancer.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Billy told me. Kathy said he’s terminal—only got a few months left.”

  As they stand in silence, holding each other, sipping their coffee, a howl waves in through the open window quickly followed by another.

  “Sounds like playtime again.”

  Andy reaches for the hammer on the kitchen table, walks across to the window, and nails the last few wooden boards into place.

  Squatting at the edge of the forest, the purple haze of twilight hangs as a mist over the village. Lights flick on, bright points of life against the dark. The pain of hunger stabs at Lois’ stomach and she pulls in the sweet stench of the Screamers hiding in their light. The particles of their life-smell … their meatiness ... their loving blood … their intestines, their hearts, their livers – she groans with pleasure – their slipping, dripping kidneys, hangs in the air among the trees like tendrils of smoke. She raises her nose to it and sucks it in. Her mouth waters. A door bangs somewhere among the lights. An engine starts. A Screamer calls, his voice is distant but tapping at her eardrums. ‘Topsy!’ it calls. ‘Topsy!’ Behind her the Others gather, pushing their warmth against her. A Small clings to her side, wrapping its arm around her back. Sharp claws dig into her flesh as it anchors its hand. She growls but lets it lay its head against her shoulder.

  The One steps to her side, kicking at the Small. It scurries to her other side, clings to her there. The One, the Max, grunts. She cackles as he points at the lights, the urge to tear warm, pulsing flesh riding her, making her jaw ache, and teeth gnash with anticipation. Kelly-Bitch, slides up beside him, her arm passes across his back. Lois springs up, knocking the Small to the ground, and slaps at Kelly-Bitch’s arm. She yelps and bares her teeth, but moves back, and Lois stands against Max, then squats, looping her arms around his leg narrowing her eyes at the Kelly-Bitch. Mine. The One, the Max, is mine. Only mine. She strokes at the muscle of his thigh, and waits. The Small sits crouched beside her. She grunts at it. Later, Small, you will eat later.

  The One tips his head back and howls.

  With a bound, Lois springs out from the treeline and runs. The One is ahead, Kelly-Bitch behind. The Small waits behind the trees. Lois’ arms slide rhythmically at her side, powering her down the hill. She jumps with ease over rocks and fallen trunks. The air whistles as it passes her ears. Behind her she can discern the pounding of feet, the breath of the Others that have joined them, the ones she curls with, warming her body as they sleep.

  Another light flicks on as she reaches the village boundary. She runs to it, crouches beneath the window, then peers inside. A man sits in a chair, a fire burning in the hearth. For a moment, a sadness rides over Lois. Before … her infected synapses poke at her memories … tears prick at her eyes … A memory rises; a woman smiling at her, bending low to offer her a mug swirling with mist. The liquid inside was wet and sweet, warm as it ran down her throat. The woman passes the man a mug and another figure, smaller than the others, runs through the door. Lois’ belly aches and saliva drools from the corner of her mouth, catching on the hairs along her jaw. She grunts as Kelly-Bitch pushes up beside her. They both drop beneath the sill as a figure pulls at the curtains and draws them to, blocking out the scene. Kelly-Bitch laughs then scurries around to the side of the house. Lois follows, pushing past Kelly-Bitch.

  In the near distance a scream eru
pts. Lois licks her lips. The first kill. Memories of slashing and pulling and sinking of teeth transport her to past moments as she listens to the Screamer. She pushes down on the backdoor’s handle. It moves with ease and the door swings open. Inside, a girl sits at the table, blonde hair pulled up on top of her head, skin honey-brown, dark lashes rimming a perfect circle of brown. Broad shoulders, lean body, swelling breasts. Her lips part as her eyes widen and Lois pounces, reaching her within a second of opening the door. The table smashes against the kitchen counter as Lois lands on it, kicks it back, and straddles the girl forcing the chair to tip back and her head to knock against the floor. In the next second, before the girl has had a chance to gasp for breath, Lois bites down on her shoulder, she licks at the blood as it oozes from the wounds. The girl stills beneath her and she withdraws. In the background, as she watches the girl’s eyes roll to the back of her head, thuds and screams that spike her eardrums, sound from the living room.

  Leaving the girl, as blood streaks across the whites of her eyes, Lois bursts through to the living room. Kelly-Bitch is straddling the man, holding his wrists down hard against the carpet. As he bucks, she lunges down, jaws snapping, and rips at his throat.

  A voice erupts behind her. “Lois! It’s Lois Maybank!”

  Lois turns to the woman. A flicker of recognition. The woman’s lips are orange and the colour has leaked into the crevices of her ageing skin around her mouth. A memory of rage. A memory of – her cheeks begin to sting – humiliation. Dog’s arsehole. She has a dog’s arsehole for a mouth. The woman’s pulse beats at her throat as she holds an iron poker high in the air.