The Kielder Strain: A Science Fiction Horror Novel

by Rebecca Fernfield

  45

  As Freddie, Judy and Hayley run through the forest, Javeen steers the car up the road to the Institute. She’s anxious to reach the building before the afternoon sun has the chance to begin its descent. The attacks seemed to have settled into a pattern, she isn’t superstitious, doesn’t believe that the wolfmen’s appearance is linked to the moon’s cycle, but the creatures seem to have become nocturnal. No attacks have been reported as having taken place during the day; only in the haze-filled hours of twilight, during the night, or the earliest, still grey, morning. The howling fades to silence in the early hours. As she manoeuvres the car around yet another bend, and moves into a lower gear to manage the incline, she doesn’t feel safe—not at all, but neither does she have the creeping sensation of being watched.

  A chop, chop, chop nags at the edge of her awareness as another bend looms and she instinctively leans to the window and peers up to the sky. Andy leans forward too, and grunts his surprise. In the near distance, hovering above the Gothic turrets of the Institute, is a helicopter. It sways, turns ninety degrees, then lowers out of sight. Javeen pushes down on the accelerator.

  “Slow down, Jav.”

  “But that’s how we can get out of here.” She takes another bend, leaning into the door as stones scuttle beneath tyres. “They can help us evac-”

  “Pull over.”

  She ignores him and shifts up a gear.

  “Jav. Think for a minute. Whoever is in that helicopter, isn’t our friend.”

  She slows.

  “They could be.”

  “You’re right,” he replies as she pulls the car to a stop. “But what if they’re not. What if they’re the ones who have fenced off the village. Whoever did that, knew what they were doing. Knew just how dangerous those things were.”

  Javeen pulls the handbrake and slips the car out of gear then slumps back in her seat. Andy is right.

  “We came up here to find out what was going on.”

  “Did you just expect to walk in and talk to the Director?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think it through. I just knew I had to come up here and see if I could find out. Plus, I wanted as many of the vials of that drug they have for putting dogs down.”

  “What use is that?”

  “Well, apart from maybe using it on them, if one of us got bitten, we could … we could use it on ourselves.”

  Andy is silent as he searches her eyes then shakes his head. “It won’t come to that Jav. We’re going to survive this. We’ll find a way out.”

  “But what if we don’t?” The unrelenting horror of this morning’s discoveries, and realising that the villagers were being hunted even in their own homes, had chipped away at her reserves of fearlessness. She was strung out and tired, putting on a brave front, but being the stalwart local bobby for the villagers was wearing her down. “What if they,” she jabs a hand at the Institute, “won’t let us out? And what if we can’t escape from them?” She jabs her finger at the forest. Andy is silent again. Javeen runs fingers through her hair. “I think we still need to go up there … There’s plenty of light left in the day. We’ll go in on foot.” Andy shakes his head and glances at the trees with a flicker of apprehension. “Maybe there’s a phone in there that works. We could call out for help.”

  Andy blows out a massive breath. “Alright PC Latimer. Get as close as you can.”

  Javeen smiles, slips the car into gear, takes the rest of the hill at under ten miles per hour then pulls into a passing place just before the final bend and the Institute’s gates. She checks her watch. They had at least three hours left before the afternoon drew to a close.

  As they approach the gates, keeping out of sight of the main entrance, a figure is standing beneath the stone arch of the main door. “That’s not Sam Fletcher,” Javeen quips comparing the gangly youth in his ill-fitting uniform who’d been at the gate when she’d visited the Institute to deal with the vegan extremists and the thick-set man dressed in khaki combats with a matching shirt, and complimentary black bullet-proof vest. In his arms he’s holding a rifle, a pair of binoculars hang around his neck. He is alert and, by the look of the way he’s holding the rifle, ready for action. As Javeen looks on, three figures walk around the corner, followed by another two soldiers, and disappear into the Institute.

  “Did you see them? That was Marta Steward and Blake Dalton.”

  “What about the other one?”

  “No idea. I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Something stinks, Javeen.”

  For one moment she thinks Andy is referring to the waft of body odour coming from her armpits. “Sorry, deodorant has failed. It’s been a tough day.”

  He manages a short laugh. “No! I meant them, although come to think about it, you do whiff a bit.”

  The prickle of embarrassment stings at Javeen’s cheeks. “You’re a bit ripe yourself, mate.”

  “Shh!” He pulls her back as one of the guards raises his rifle and steps out towards them. They wait, listening to the crunch of gravel underfoot until the footsteps move away and then the front door opens and clacks shut.

  Andy peers around the stone pillar that secures the spiked iron gates. “We’re not going to get in this way. The gates are padlocked and there’s a guard at the door.”

  “We can go along the fence until it opens out into the forest. The gate is only for show, it’s not fenced off all the way around the property.”

  “Go into the forest, you mean.”

  Javeen swallows. Yes! “We just have to follow the fence until we find a gap. There are other doors at the back and sides of the Institute.”

  “Right.” Andy doesn’t move.

  Javeen’s legs seem to be trapped to the ground. “Right.”

  “You first then.”

  Come on, Jav. Get a grip. “OK.” She glances over the gravel track through to the forest that covers the hillside. Inside, despite the day’s bright sunshine, the forms of rotted and moss-covered stumps sit in shade. All it needed was a bat to come flying down from one of the Gothic turrets and it would be the perfect setting for a classic horror; they already have the werewolves. Javeen pulls at her jacket, and stiffens her arms about her torso, instinctively making herself smaller. The entire forest floor is a sea of green mounds and hillocks.

  The Institute’s stone wall runs from the tall pillar that supports its gate, and disappears into the forest. She can barely move forward, her feet want to turn, to run to the car.

  “Come on, Jav.” Andy beckons, already several feet ahead.

  Wait! Don’t leave me. A wave of panic. She shuffles forward, then strides to join him, aware that the sweat under her armpits is flowing again. Calm it, Jav. They’ll smell you a mile off! She shudders. Glances quickly at the forest, and a shiver runs down her spine. Perhaps they will smell her! Oh, God. Our Father … Who art in Heaven …

  She catches up with Andy, and stays close, as the wall ends and a fence of horizontal wires takes over.

  “Here.” Andy stops beside the fence. Their position is adjacent to a wall of large bay windows on the ground floor, smaller rectangular windows line the upper floors.

  “That’s Marta Steward’s office.” Javeen points to a window on the second floor, the only one with a light on. A man walks past the window then disappears from view.

  “I thought you said there were doors here.”

  “At the back. There’s one that leads into the café on the ground floor and another for the security and janitorial staff.”

  “They won’t be open.”

  “We have to try.” The security guard from the front door appears on the gravel, speaks into his radio, then walks back across the drive until he disappears. “Let’s go.” Andy slips a leg between two wires and begins to manoeuvre himself through the fence. Two more guards appear from the back of the building. He freezes as they walk along the side of the building, guns clasped. Although alert, the men don’t notice Andy, or Javeen at his si
de, and disappear around the corner to the front of the building.

  “Fat lot of good those blokes are!”

  At the rear of the Institute, the gardens open out to a wide expanse of expertly manicured terraces and then a lawn that ends where the forest claims the land. On the lawn the helicopter sits empty. Attached to the building’s imposing stone wall is a large, and ornate, orangery arranged with huge potted plants, round tables, and expertly mismatched chairs. At one table, a prettily flowered and fluted teapot sits at its middle, two cups with saucers sit by its side. Marta Steward leans to reach for the cup and lifts it with a slim wrist to her lips.

  “Steward. I thought I saw her upstairs.”

  “You did.”

  Marta jerks, tea spills, and another figure walks into view.

  “She’s jumpy.”

  “So am I.”

  The man sits down with a thud next to her and runs his hands through his hair.

  “Looks like he’s on edge too.”

  “That’s Blake Dalton.”

  “I recognise him. He was in the pub that night.”

  “Yeah, when Billy put a bet on me.”

  Andy nudges her with his elbow. “Not complaining, are you?”

  “No. He’s a cheeky bugger though.”

  As Marta lifts her hand, the cup visibly shakes. She leans forward, takes a sip, then rummages in her bag before lighting a cigarette. The man talks at her, she throws her hands in the air and strides to the door, swinging it open, the smoke from her lit cigarette winds into the air as she stands, one arm clamped to her belly, the other rigid at her mouth.

  “She’s scared shitless.”

  “Yeah, bet she doesn’t finish the fag.” Javeen whispers. Too many minutes are passing with them standing out in the open and her stomach rolls with a queasy and watery pain.

  As predicted, Marta takes a couple of drags, blows the smoke out from her lungs in a rapid and billowing puff then pulls the door shut. Within a minute both Marta and Blake have disappeared from the orangery.

  Bile swirls in Javeen’s stomach and her back burns. Why the hell had she suggested coming up here? They should be back in the village making preparations for the next assault. She checks the sky; still bright enough to make her wince. She tugs at Andy’s sleeve. “We go in or we get back to the car.”

  He nods and without warning sprints to the glass door of the orangery, opens it, and slips inside. Javeen follows, breath caught in her throat, scanning the surrounding woods. Her heart thuds against her ribs as she runs with light steps across the tiled floor to the doorway where Andy beckons her. In the next second the door closes and she breathes a sigh of relief as the space darkens to grey, the only light in the cupboard coming from a small window at head height. The cupboard smells of orange zest and cinnamon and is stacked with packets of tea, cannisters of coffee, mugs, cups, and plates.

  “Bloody hell!” Andy’s face breaks with a smile.

  Javeen takes a breath, letting relief flood over her. They were inside. Safe. Away from the monsters in the forest. Now they just had to face the humans inside. Her heartbeat steadies. “I want those vials, Andy. They’ll be in the laboratories on the first floor.”

  “Then we talk to Steward?”

  “I’m not sure that would be a good idea. Since when does a researcher need an armed guard? She’s hiding something and if she thinks we’ve found out what it is then it may be us they feed to the wolves.” Javeen swallows as she realises the implications of her own words. Whatever is going on at the Institute is funded either by the government, one of its secretive agencies, or a corporation with deep pockets. Whichever it is, they have been ruthless enough to quarantine an entire village and let the population die, not just die, but be hunted to extinction.

  Last year Javeen had discovered exactly how corrupting even a little power was, her ‘disappearance’ to Kielder at the command of Nigel ‘bloody’ Parker, was proof of that, but this was on an altogether different scale. Maybe not quite as deep-state as the European Union’s subversive destruction of the country’s defence industry, but potentially fatal to minions such as herself and Andy, given the military grade rifles the Institute’s guards were carrying.

  She remembers her father’s tight voice as he’d told her, during their last phone call, that he’d be out of work soon, that Rolls Royce was going into administration, its constituent parts to be sold off to Europe, China and the US. ‘It’s gone,’ he’d said, and she could hear the grief in his voice. ‘They’ve sold us out. Germany’s won after all.’ She’d felt powerless in that moment. He’d ranted then. How the hell had it been allowed to happen? Two world wars and here Britain was, being subsumed by a war-mongering Federal Europe, finger-pointing at Russia and America as its enemy. He’d spat about military union, EU military command centres built by the British army lads to NATO specs, their lads with the EU insignia sewn onto their uniforms returning from Kosovo, a single point of command under EU control, and the end of the British armed forces—the end of Britain. He’d sniffed. She could tell that he was crying, and it had taken a hard bite to her lip to stop her own tears—men don’t cry, especially not her own dad.

  “Andy, what if it’s them that created the wolfmen?”

  He scoffs. “Don’t be daft. That’s just for films.”

  She quiets then. It was all bizarre and surreal, but it was happening. “These creatures exist. They shouldn’t, but they do. Something created them. They’re not exactly a new species that some explorer has discovered.”

  Silence falls between them, the only sound the inhale and exhale of their breath.

  “You’re right,” he says finally. “The whole thing is rotten to the core.”

  “I want to find out exactly what’s going on.”

  He nods. “We get the vials first.”

  “Agreed.”

  As they step out into the silence of the orangery, Javeen checks the sky. Still bright. Still safe.

  It takes them fifteen minutes to make their way through the Institute to the first laboratory. From the noises inside various rooms, there appears to be a small number of people still working. On two occasions they have to make themselves invisible. The staff that walk the hallways aren’t ones she is familiar with and their uniforms are of an unfamiliar military style.

  The first laboratory is Max Anderson’s. There’s no evidence of the attack that took place, all traces of blood and gore have been cleaned away, and even the tables wiped down and tidied. On the table, however, is an open folder and next to it a pen. Someone was working in here, and from the mug of coffee sat next to the folder, they could be back at any moment. Dr. Steward had explained that the Institute was working on a vaccine for the deadly rabies outbreak down in Whitby, perhaps they were still here working on that?

  Javeen heads straight for the chiller. Inside are various glass bottles all neatly stacked. Each one is labelled with a neat hand; ‘WLV1’ or other variants. Not the euthanising drug she’s looking for. She checks the cupboards as Andy does the same. The second cupboard is stacked with narrow cardboard boxes. She reads the sides. “Bingo!”

  “Keep it down!” Andy reprimands.

  “Damn! Sorry, but I’ve found it.” She pulls at a box to check the label. ‘Beuthanasia D-Special. Contains pentobarbital and phenytoin. Warning: for canine euthanasia only.’ She reaches back in and takes out the stack of boxes then continues her search for syringes. The poison would be useless without them. After two minutes she finds a box of syringes then looks for something to put them in. Finding nothing, she empties the wastepaper bin with its single screw of paper and drops the vials and syringes inside.

  A growl.

  The noise scratches at her memory and the fear is instant. Javeen snaps her gaze to Andy. His fingers are curled around a cupboard door handle, his body held stiff. He catches her gaze as something scuffles behind them.

  Jesus, help me!

  Another growl. Javeen twists to the bank of cages that fills one wall o
f the laboratory. Something moves inside a larger one at floor level. A pair of blood-red eyes glare at her through the wire mesh. Bone-white teeth, with incisors at least an inch long, fill its snapping jaws.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ in heaven. They’ve caught one.”

  Its fingers dig through the mesh and it gnashes its jaws. A red light pulses next to the cage, and then an alarm sounds. As Javeen stares at the creature, she realises it is a young girl, naked apart from a thick ring of black plastic around its neck. Outside the laboratory, doors bang and running footsteps approach.

  “Hide!”

  The thing rattles the cage door. If it gets out! Javeen searches the room for somewhere to hide. At the far end is a door. “There!”

  The thing howls as she grabs Andy’s arm and lurches across the room. As the laboratory door swings open, they step into a walk-in cupboard and close the door with a soft click. The laboratory fills with noise as men shout, and the thing in the cage squawks and yaps. The lab door slams open and the distinctive tack, tack of a woman’s high heels cuts above the noise. The wolf-girl screams, then quiets for a second, before erupting with a howl that pierces Javeen’s eardrums and drowns out all other sounds. As it finishes Marta Steward’s voice can be heard shouting above the men’s.

  “For God sake, electrocute it! That’s what the collar is for.”

  Another yap is cut short and then another before the noise stops.

  “Doctor Petrov, this thing needs tranquilising again.” Marta Steward’s heels tack across the floor.

  A woman’s voice, heavily accented. “There is no way to safely do that.”

  “You were supposed to be keeping it sedated. How in the very hell is it awake?”

  “I do not know. I gave dose calculated by Doctor Marston. It had enough to induce coma.”