“You obviously didn’t give it enough.”
“It was recommended dose for … girl her age.”
Marta’s derision is palpable even through the wooden door. “Imbecile! She … it … is not an ordinary girl.”
It howls.
“Shock it again. I cannot abide that noise.”
A second yowl cuts short, obviously halted by the electric shocks being administered by the collar.
“Get Chapman up here. He can shoot it.”
Javeen sighs with relief. They are going to kill it.
“I thought you wanted it alive.”
“Are you a total idiot, Doctor Petrov? Of course I want to keep it alive.”
“I take offence Doctor Steward. I am not total id-”
“I care not one whit if you are offended, Petrov. Chapman can shoot it with a tranquiliser gun and then you can make sure it stays sedated—completely sedated.” She tacks across the room, perhaps next to the window. Her voice softens and Javeen presses her ear to the door. “These … things … are absolutely deadly. If you make another mistake, we could all end up gutted like Walton. You saw the video.”
Doctor Petrov groans. Javeen is sure it is involuntary. “Yes, Steward. I did.”
A man’s voice adds to the conversation. “When can we begin trials?”
“When Doctors Marston and Petrov have figured out how to keep them sedated for long enough, and you have supplied us with a suitable receptacle to keep them in. These cages are meant for dogs, not monsters.”
“Them!” The words are hoarse in Javeen’s throat, their noise instantly regretted. Quiet, Jav! She pulls her lips together. “Did you hear that? They’ve got more than one.”
“Or getting more.”
Marta tack, tacks across the floor and the lab door opens then bangs to a close.
Crouched, the ache in Javeen’s thighs begins to burn. She eases her backside to the floor, closes her eyes, and continues to listen to the voices. What she hears makes her heart beat faster, what she hears makes her realise no one will come to their rescue.
46
Marta scans the treeline. Nothing moves although she knows, without doubt, that there are monsters waiting deeper inside the forest. The black outline of the tree’s tops are a sharp contrast to the fading blue horizon. She shudders. Despite the security Titan Blane Industries had provided, her heart hammers several beats faster every time she catches a glimpse of the trees and the darkness that lays between them. The Institute is surrounded by the forest, a forest where the creatures - she can’t bring herself to say ‘werewolves’ although that is how Blake Dalton had at first laughingly referred to Max and Lois - now reign supreme.
Over the past few days she has watched the activities in the woods with horror, and a growing fascination, listened with greedy interest to Dalton’s plans for the creatures, and put her not inconsiderable scientific talents into designing further trials. Dalton had called her proposed modifications ‘genius’ and was sure that they would be of interest to Titan Blane’s demanding, ruthless, and grotesquely well-funded customers. That their use of the monsters she would create would be unethical made not one scratch on her conscience.
Blake eases himself down into the leather sofa and peers out of the window before picking up the binoculars and scanning the treeline. He doesn’t appear to share the same apprehension – let’s be honest – the same shit-your-pants, yet thrilling, fear that Marta is experiencing. He lays the binoculars on the table beside the sofa and huffs a dissatisfied sigh and walks across to the monitor. The screen is black. He clicks a key and it brightens with lines of green, and multiple red dots.
Outside, the heavy chop, chop of the helicopter begins to whir and the windows vibrate. Marta joins Blake at the desk, pushing her hip against his shoulder. “Have they got him yet?”
“Max? No. Not yet. He’s been sighted twice, at least Staines thinks the werewolf he saw is Max.”
“Don’t call him that!”
“Pah! What do you want me to call the freak? Huh? He’s covered in hairs, has fangs, eats people, and seems to be immortal. Add that he was infected by a mutated rabies virus and-”
“Calling him a werewolf is just stupid. It makes it all ridiculous. What next? Vampires?”
“Well, he does appear to be immortal.”
Marta scoffs. “Of course he’s not immortal. The dog he was bitten by was part of a trial exploring the regenerative capabilities of stem cells. His body has somehow, miraculously, adapted after being infected.”
A beep sounds and a red dot flashes on the screen. She leans against Blake and peers at the monitor. “What is it doing?”
Blake taps a key and the screen changes to a live-action feed. Martha grimaces as one of the creatures walks across the screen, scurries across to a tree, and shimmies into its branches. It disappears.
“Follow it!”
“I will.”
Blake’s tone has an edge to it and Marta pushes down her desire to snap back. She is tired and edgy, but the last thing she wants is a surly, and uncooperative, Blake Dalton. He manoeuvres the camera to follow the creature. It sits in a higher branch, pulling at something. Blake zooms in. Marta gags. In its hand it holds a lower leg, a lower leg still attached to a body. It lifts the leg to its mouth and clamps its jaws around the calf. Marta looks away. “Why do they have to be so disgusting?”
“They’re fascinating.”
She agrees; they are fascinating, but utterly horrifying too. Pulling away from the screen, she wipes damp palms against her skirt, reaches for the bottle of wine, and pours the last of it into her glass. Damn! Another bottle empty already. Blake will have to get another one from the store room, or at least come with her; going anywhere near the back of the Institute with its ridiculously fragile orangery makes her knees weak. Blake may think the Institute is safe with its armed guards, but as soon as they collect enough specimens and tag the rest she is out of here. She takes a gulp. At least the alcohol soothes the edges, her nerves are like pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.
“Look at how it just jumps down!”
If I must! Marta turns back to the screen and catches a glimpse of the figure as it darts off screen.
“They’re incredible. Do you see how honed their muscles are?” The camera catches up with the figure once more before it disappears.
Hairy, muscle-bound monsters! “How many have your men tagged so far?”
“Two?”
“And how many are there now?”
“At last count, twenty-three confirmed individuals.”
Marta takes the final mouthful of wine and paces the floor, her guts twisting. There had been two creatures—Max and Lois, and now there are twenty-three, possibly more! Pain spikes at her innards. Blake continues to scrutinise the screen, a smile stuck to his lips. How the hell could he sit there and smile, as though it were some sort of game?
“That’s not a great success rate, Blake. In the past two days you’ve only managed to capture one and chip two.”
He twists the chair to face her. “These creatures are the ultimate apex predator, Marta. What they’re capable of is quite incredible. You saw what Max did to Walton. I’m prepared to take some risks, but I’m not sending lambs to the slaughter. We’ll get more. We just have to be patient. Tracking them in the forest is too dangerous. We’re waiting for them to go to the village.”
She huffs. Her guts twist. The last thing she wants is to stay here any longer.
“Why don’t you go back to the lab and get on with what you’re good at? Huh? Leave me to organise my men.”
She pulls her lips back against her teeth. If she could walk away from this right now, she would, but she was in way too deep, she knew way too much for them to let her just walk away, and besides, if she could hold her nerve, she would never have to worry about money again—ever.
Blake eyes her, locks onto her gaze and stands. “Marta.” He places hands on her shoulders. “I know this is terrifying. You
don’t think I worry about that too? But we’ve got to trust in the guys down there,” he motions out of the window towards the lawn where the patrol keeps guard, “and get on with our part of the plan. The potential here is enormous. Corbeur has said that he’s had expression of interest from the Saudis, the Russians, and the North Koreans, as well as the US. Only one will get what we have to offer. They’re going to be chewing their hands off to get the … product. These creatures are incredible predators, they can hunt and rip a man to shreds before he even has a chance to realise anything is there. They’re the next step in biological warfare. Can you imagine what carnage a pack of these could do?”
She grimaces. “I’ve seen what they can do.”
“They can be a force for good.”
“How the hell do you figure that?”
“Right, so, ISIS. We’re both agreed that they’re monsters—one of the most brutal and disgusting terror groups that has ever existed, right?”
“Right.”
“They hide among civilians. When soldiers go in to ferret them out, there’s always the possibility that they’ll be the next victim. These,” Blake motions to the screen, “are apex predators that could sniff them out and kill them before they’ve even had a chance to realize they’re in the same room. If we can control them, then they’ll be a new biological weapon to be used against terrorists. Plus, the wolfmen are expendable. No one would care if they’re killed in action. They’re just another weapon that has been utilised. No harm done.” Blake’s eyes gleam. “And … and this is the amazing part, if they pro-create, we can train them from being … pups.”
“Jesus!”
He laughs. “We are all God’s creation.”
“These aren’t.”
He laughs again. “True. These are yours and Max Anderson’s babies.”
She shakes her head. The idea was … disgusting. The idea was brilliant. Any country that had a pack of these monsters would be feared—the regimes Titan Blane Industries peddled their wares to would snap their hands off to gain them, the bidding war would be beyond her wildest dreams. She snorts. “You may get your wish, Blake. They’re constantly shagging, perhaps they’ll even have litters.”
His eyes widen with a greedy glimmer. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Marta.”
She leans into him. “Only one, Blake?”
47
The pain down Freddie’s side is excruciating, a stitch he hasn’t experienced since high school. Sweat beads at his temples and trickles down to his sideburns. He knows with certainty that if the things catch up with them, there is no way on God’s earth that they can outrun them. He’s pushed himself as hard as he can, pushed Hayley and Jude too, encouraging them to move faster, always faster. Judy is the slowest, but none of them are in pique fitness. He wishes now he’d listened to Hayley, and joined her runs in the morning, used the gym on the rig. Instead, he’d sat with the blokes, drinking a beer after his shift, playing cards, or just chewing the fat. Now, it’s Hayley who is keeping a good pace and, despite her heavy breaths, they’re not gasping ones like his, and her face isn’t puce. “Stop! Just for a minute.” He bends over, hands on knees, catching his breath, then stands, fingers digging at the stitch in his side. Judy catches up.
Beyond, as the crow flies to the south, is the edge of the forest. To their right is the river that leads off Kielder lake. Jake down at the sailing club was fond of boasting that it was the biggest man-made lake in Europe. Now it sits as a silent expanse of black glass in the far distance whipped by the wind into wavelets and spattered with rain. Another gust of wind blows, and icy water spatters against Freddie’s cheeks. He welcomes the chill against his burning cheeks, and takes another drag of cold air.
“Have you noticed how the howling has stopped?”
“Yeah.”
“Last time they seemed further away.”
Freddie disagrees. To him they had sounded even closer, but he won’t contradict Judy—he needs her to stay calm. He nods. “Could be.”
She sighs, blowing out a great breath, shoulders sag. “I can see the edge of the forest.” She jabs a hand to where the line of trees comes to an abrupt halt. Beyond that a large swathe of land has been logged, and stumpy orange-brown trunks litter the area. In the distance is movement, slabs of grey rolling along the winding hillside roads.
“What if they follow us?”
The prospect of the creatures following them out of the forest isn’t something that Freddie has considered. His whole thought process, all his energy, has been geared towards reaching the edge; that is their escape point—that is safety. “They won’t.” He snaps back. Instant regret. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to snap. What I meant to say was that-” She’s not listening.
Judy bites at her bottom lip, oblivious to his apology. He follows her gaze. The trees seem to undulate, their trunks fluid, until Freddie realises that the movement doesn’t belong to the woods. Figures step out from behind the trunks, naked bodies, that blend with the brown of the trees and the forest floor. He swallows hard as his eyes flit from face, to face, chests to navels, to naked thighs, genitals, and buttocks. He swallows again as he recognises their faces. The small one behind the leader is Rachel Kendrick. He quickly shifts his eyes from her naked teenaged body, to the large male standing out in the open. Max Anderson. He remembers him as a friendly, bespectacled studious type, obviously in love with his new wife. He’d even attended their evening wedding reception. He scans the others. Another child—this one a male—Jake Ashton’s boy. And Lois Maybank! But it can’t be! He’d shot her through the neck, and this creature’s throat, though still smeared with blood, seems undamaged. He’d seen the wound, the gaping hole left by the bullet, bullets that were meant to expand and explode inside rats and mammals. How could she still be alive? Ridiculously, her hair, though matted, is still hanging in a side plait, a pink bow dangling at her ear. Some of the others he doesn’t recognise, their features too corrupted to tell. Others, all males, though grotesque with blood-pooled eyes, elongated jaws and inch-long incisors unfamiliar to him. Perhaps the policemen PC Latimer had claimed were attacked in the woods? He attempts to swallow again. Fails. His mouth is completely dry. There must be at least thirty of them, all staring back at him with blood-filled eyes, jaws opening and snapping shut. His gut twists. Hayley’s fingernails dig into his forearm.
The biggest, the one at the front, Max Anderson, tips his head back. In that second, Freddie realises that he is sounding a charge. “Run!” He screams and grabs Hayley’s arm, ignoring Judy in his periphery. “Down the hill!” She scrambles as he yanks her.
Max Anderson howls. The noise bellows from his chest, carrying across the air, filling Freddie’s ears. All other sound disappears. There are no thoughts.
He charges down the hill. Behind him, the air fills with the thunder of yaps, yowls, and thuds as feet crash over the forest floor. His pulse thuds in his head, his breath rasps, Hayley gains on him. Judy screams.
Freddie turns to the scream. Judy is surrounded, forced to the floor by the creatures, her arms visible as she punches out. The largest male lunges down and her screams stop. As he turns back in horror, sprinting harder, a clawed hand slashes down at her belly.
Pain sears his shoulder and old wounds open as claws rip down his back. He powers forward. No thoughts pass, only the desperate need to gain distance between himself and the creature at his heels. Below him, Hayley jumps down to the river’s bank and wades into the water.
Breath blows hot on Freddie’s cheek. Teeth gnash, brushing against his skin. His nostrils fill with the stench of stagnant water.
He stumbles, his foot catching on a root and he’s airborne. Arms flailing, he lands with a thud. A dull and heavy pain breaks through his body and somewhere at the edge of his awareness Hayley screams. Then he’s being dragged. Ice cold water laps over his face and he splutters, scrabbles against the ground. Cold wraps around his feet, legs, belly, and his mouth fills as he’s pulled deeper into the water. A h
and cups beneath his chin, lifting his head to the surface, he gasps, pulls air into his lungs, catches sight of the bank. The creatures stare at him, their yowls and yaps filling the air as he finds his feet next to Hayley.
One moves forward, steps a toe in the water and jumps back. Incredulous, Freddie scans the figures along the bank. They stand in a huddle, some run backwards and forwards, others twist in circles yapping and snarling. Hayley pulls at Freddie’s arm, taking him deeper into the river. The water rises to his thighs. A female runs across the pebbles, staring straight at him, knocks into another and is shoved. She turns, gnashes her teeth. In the next second, the larger female attacks, biting down on the smaller one, scratching at her arms, ripping gashes in her back. The smaller female, retreats, makes herself small, then scurries to the back of the group.
“They’re not coming in.”
Unable to take his eyes from the chaotic group, and the large male that stands at its centre, steadfast as the others yap, snarl, and run along the bank. Freddie stands with the river’s force pushing against his leg.
“Freddie! Come on.” Hayley tugs at his arm again.
He breaks away from Max’s blood-filled eyes and scans the river and its banks. Only fifteen feet stand between them and the ravenous horde of monsters. Another ten feet to the other bank.
“Which way?”
“If we follow the river we can get out of the forest. If we go back upriver then we can get back to the lake and the village.”
A howl erupts from the large male and the hairs on Freddie’s arm prickle, painful on his cooling skin. The water pushes against his legs, his toes already becoming numb.
“If we follow the river out of here, we’ll be safe.”
The figures on the bank cluster around the male then, as a pack, run back up the steep bank and disappear into the forest. Only two remain.
“Come on, Hayley.” Freddie takes first steps down the river. The creatures keep pace.
“They’re following us.”
The Kielder Strain: A Science Fiction Horror Novel Page 25
