by Amy Cross
"The wolf thing?" I ask, trying to work out what to do. "That was Chaucer. He took some kind of injection and..."
"Chaucer?" the man says. "You're lying".
I pause, not sure what to say. "My name's Jess," I say. "What's yours?"
He doesn't answer at first. He just keeps the gun trained on me. "Withers," he says eventually. "John Withers".
"This battle's over," I say. "Your boss turned out to be a pretty big old werewolf himself, which is pretty Freudian if you think about it. If you kill me, the others will hunt you down. So just put the gun away and everything'll be okay".
He's clearly not convinced. "That was Chaucer?" he asks.
I nod. "I don't know what happened to him. He injected himself with something and then... you saw what happened next".
Withers keeps the gun trained on me for a moment, and then he slowly lowers it. "Chaucer's crazy," he says.
"I know," I say.
"I saw those syringes," he says. "I didn't know what was in them but -"
"Show me," I say.
With the wolf cub following us, Withers and I head into Chaucer's tent. Withers shows me a small box, but it's empty now. There are syringes on the floor.
"He was just a drug addict," Withers says.
"Not just any drug," I say. "Whatever was in these syringes, it was turning him into... whatever he became".
Withers goes to a set of bags by the door. "He had more of it," he says. "He had so much, I was never sure what the point was, but he injected himself several times a day".
I go to the table and look through the drawers. "Nothing here," I say. "But -"
There's a sudden scream from behind me. I turn to see Chaucer standing in the doorway, still in his wolf form, still standing on his rear legs. And as I watch, he rips Withers' head from his shoulders.
9.
Dropping Withers' head to the floor, Chaucer starts walking towards me. The wolf cub runs to hide behind me as I back away, looking around in the hope that I'll find something I can use. But there's nothing, and soon Chaucer is almost on top of me.
"Run!" I shout to the wolf cub, and we both shift into our wolf forms. Chaucer swipes at me but I just about manage to slip around him, and then I instinctively turn around and bite his leg as hard as I can. I rip a chunk of flesh away from him and he falls to the ground as I try to get clear. I turn and see the wolf cub running, then I look back to see Chaucer trying to get to his feet. Blood is pouring from the wound on his leg.
My first instinct is to run. But as I look, I see Chaucer's wound is already starting to heal. He's getting stronger by the second, so I rush at him and bite the side of his neck, ripping half of it away. Blood flows across my face as I land and turn, and he reaches out and tries to grab me. I immediately bite at his arm, biting straight through and ripping part of it away from his body.
From behind me, there's a noise and Duncan arrives. Without even stopping to look at me, he jumps straight onto Chaucer and bites a chunk from his shoulder. I leap at Chaucer's face and bite off as much as I can, then I fall to the ground, turn and bite one of his feet off. He falls to the ground, with Duncan ripping more flesh from his body. I go to bite his head again, but he lashes out and knocks me back, then he throws Duncan to the ground and climbs on top of him.
As I get to my feet, Chaucer starts to shift back to his human form, but then he seems to get stuck halfway between the two. His human face roars out at us from his werewolf body. Duncan reaches up to bite him, but Chaucer puts a hand around Duncan's throat and forces him back down. Turning to me, Chaucer roars again but I duck away from his other hand and clasp my jaw around his waist, biting down hard. Blood flows into my mouth, and I feel Chaucer grab the back of my neck and lift me up.
"Damned werewolves," Chaucer says, blood erupting from his mouth as he bites my shoulder. Although he still has his human, rather than wolf, mouth, he still manages to pull some of my flesh away. He then roars in pain as Duncan bites more of his neck. The problem is, Chaucer seems to be healing faster than a normal werewolf. Whatever we do to him, the wound heals up almost completely in just a minute or two.
I look over and see Withers' decapitated body on the other side of the tent, with the gun still in his pocket. Pulling myself free from Chaucer, I limp over. As Duncan screams behind me, I grab the gun, turn and fire straight at Chaucer. Then again. Then again. And finally a fourth time, before the gun is empty. Chaucer drops to the ground and releases Duncan, but he's still conscious and still breathing.
Duncan shifts to his human form. "Grab him!" he shouts.
Still in my wolf form, I grab hold of Chaucer's body and start dragging him out of the tent, with Duncan - in his human form - helping. We get him over to where one of the vaporiser machines is parked, and we throw him into the back. The machine isn't switched on, and I run around to look for the way to turn it on. Duncan follows and finds the button, punching it with his fist. A grinding sound starts up and blood starts to spray from the machine.
Duncan searches frantically for the button to start the vaporiser. I run around the back of the machine to try to find it, but as I pass the back of the machine I look in and see Chaucer being sliced up by the grinder. Because he can heal so quickly, the pieces of flesh keep recombining and trying to reform, only to be cut up again and again. And in that mess of flesh that is being constantly ground into pieces, there's a face - half human, half werewolf - roaring out at me, and one arm starts reaching to try to grab me. Each piece of flesh keeps getting sliced away, but other pieces grow back. I stare and stare, and suddenly Chaucer grabs my neck and starts pulling me into the machine. I try to hold back, but he's too strong. And then, just as I think I'm about to get free, I lose my grip on the side of the machine and I'm pulled in. The blades slice through my body, ripping my lower torso apart, and I reach out to try to grab hold of something, but it's too late and I'm pulled all the way into the machine.
Then there's a flash of bright white light, and everything goes dark.
I open my eyes and look up at a bright blue sky. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, and then I remember the feeling of the huge blades slicing through my body. And the flash of the vaporiser. And -
I sit up and see that I'm on a patch of grass near a forest. I get to my feet and run my hands over my body. I'm in my human form, and I seem to be totally healed. I turn and look around. I have no idea where I am, or how I got here.
"You look better," says a voice behind me. I turn to find Hamish walking out of the woods. "I told Duncan you'd wake up on my watch".
"On your watch?" I ask.
He smiles. "You've been healing. It took you a couple of days, and Duncan and I have been taking turns watching over you".
"What happened?" I say, still stunned.
"Well," he says, "you came within a couple of inches of being pulled into the vaporiser. Fortunately you were just clear. You got cut into quite a few little pieces, though. Took a hell of a time for your healing powers to work their magic".
I take a deep breath. Is that really what happened? I got cut up into little pieces and then spent a couple of days slowly healing back together?
"What about Chaucer?" I ask.
"Vaporised," says Hamish. "Gone. Thanks to you and Duncan".
I think back to the last thing I remember. I was looking at Chaucer as he was trapped in that machine, the blades constantly cutting him up, his pieces of flesh constantly reassembling, his face roaring out towards me. A shiver goes up my spin.
"Are you sure he's dead?" I ask. "I mean... really, really sure".
"Completely vaporised," Hamish says.
We walk together back towards what remains of the military camp. Duncan spots us and comes over, and he and I embrace.
"Have you seen?" he asks.
I stare at him for a moment, and then I see the wolf cub running past. He's completely healed.
"I wish Darla had survived," I say.
"Everything has its time," Duncan replies. "At least she died
for a reason. Most people don't have that privilege. Most people die of old age, but Darla died saving a younger life".
I nod. "I keep expecting her to have survived somehow".
Duncan puts an arm around me. "When things die," he says slowly, "they die. They become very still. But they sleep in our minds, and they're still there. You'll never forget Darla".
"What about the humans?" I ask. "Won't they just launch another attack? And another?"
"Don't worry about that," Duncan says, leading me away from the others. "I'm going to sort that out once and for all".
"Let me guess," I say. "You've got a plan".
"I do!" he says. He sees that I'm not convinced. "I do! Didn't I come up with a plan last time?"
"Yes," I say reluctantly.
"And I've already got a new plan this time," he says. "Although I'll need your help. Again".
"And then what?" I ask.
"And then..." His voice trails off. "I'm supposed to stay here now. To stay on the estate forever. To help rebuild the society we once had here".
I nod. I understand that he has this duty, and... Looking around, I figure I could probably get used to a life here. It's not a bad place to live, and the others seem friendly enough.
"Don't worry," says Duncan. "We're not actually gonna stay".
"We're not?" I ask.
"No," he replies. "I was thinking we could head abroad for a while. Werewolves of India, how does that sound? Or we could..." He smiles. "We could stay here and repopulate the species".
"Werewolves of India sounds fine," I say.
"Cool," he says. He seems lost in thought for a moment. "Do you remember that first night I met you? When you were living rough in London and you found me in that building?"
I nod. "It seems like such a long time ago".
He smiles. "I could tell, even at that first meeting, that I was going to see you again. Even after you almost got me killed by Frank Marshall".
"Sorry about that," I say. "So, what's this plan of yours?"
"Plan?"
"To make sure that the humans never, ever attack the werewolves again?"
"Oh..." His voice trails off.
"You don't have a plan at all, do you?"
"I do!" he insists. "I really do. It's just that it's... well, it's a bit weird. And crazy. And stupid. Slightly dangerous. Maybe even rather dumb. But it'll work. All my plans work".
"Uh-huh". I smile, then I lean up and kiss him on the side of the face for a moment. "I've got a much better plan".
Epilogue 1
Doctor Hastings looked at the naked body on the slab. He sighed. Another Friday night, another old woman to cut open. It hardly seemed worth bothering to determine a cause of death. Just writing down 'Old Age' would usually cover most cases like this. But there were procedures to complete and rules to follow, so he had to get the job done. Usually he'd have an assistant at a time like this, but it was late and he couldn't be bothered to call anyone in.
He checked the name on the toe tag.
"Hello Margaret," he said wearily. "Sorry we have to meet under such difficult circumstances".
He grabbed the rib-spreaders and started to cut down the middle of Margaret's chest. But as he did so, he became aware of something unusual coming from the wound. He looks closer. It was... It looked like... light. Energy. As if something inside the old woman's body was shining bright.
Hastings stopped. Heading over to the other side of the mortuary, he picked up the phone and dialled a number. He waited, and eventually a voice answered on the other end.
"It's me," Hastings said. "Listen, I can't quite believe I'm saying this, but... That thing you said would happen. You told me to call you if it did. Well... it just happened".
Epilogue 2
"This is your plan?" Duncan asks as we stand in a dark corridor, outside a pair of ornate doors.
"Is it better than your plan?" I ask.
He pauses. "My plan involved a hot air balloon, a motorbike and lots of dynamite".
I smile. "My plan's better than your plan".
"Okay," he says, shrugging.
"One," I say.
"Two," he continues.
"Three!" I say, and we kick the door open. The two elderly people in the large double bed immediately sit bolt upright, startled looks on their faces as Duncan and I enter the room.
"Your Majesty," Duncan says to the lady. He turns to the man. "Your Royal Highness".
"What is the meaning of this?" the woman shouts out. "Call the guards!"
"The guards are asleep," Duncan says. "They'll wake up soon, but my friend and I needed an uninterrupted word with you first". Duncan and I go to either side of the bed. Duncan sits next to the woman. "I've come to tell you a secret. A deep, dark secret. Are you ready?"
The woman stares at him, her mouth hanging open. "Is it you?" she asks. "Merlin, is it -"
"Here's the secret," Duncan says, interrupting her. "You will never, ever, ever, ever send troops after the werewolves again. Nor will you allow any government to ever do so. And this commitment of yours will be passed down from one generation of the Royal Family to the next, forever. Do you understand?2
"I..." the woman says.
"Or," says Duncan, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper, "this will make its way to every newspaper, every blog, every Twitter user, every Facebook page, every everything". He throws the piece of paper onto the woman's lap.
The woman picks up the paper and looks at it. As she reads it, her face goes completely white.
"How... how... how..." she stutters.
"Never mind," Duncan says. "The point is, you don't want this particular piece of information to become public knowledge, now do you?"
The woman frowns, anger spreading across her face. "This is outrageous," she says.
"No," says Duncan. "What's outrageous is genocide. And extermination. And deciding to kill all the werewolves just because you want to reclaim the tiny little estate your family agreed to give us many centuries ago". A dark look comes across his eyes. "Do you want me to tell you how many people died this week? Do you want me to tell you the horrors that -"
"No!" the woman says, before pausing and regaining her composure. "No, that's quite alright. I'm sure we can manage to come to some sort of arrangement".
"Excellent," says Duncan. He turns to me. "Come on, Jess. We've got to get to India". We leave the room, turning as we reach the door. "Sorry to have bothered you, Your Majesties," Duncan says.
"Yeah," I add. "Sorry".
Duncan pulls the door shut, and we're once more alone in the dark corridor.
"That went well," I say. I think about it for a moment. "Did she call you Merlin?"
"Yeah," says Duncan, laughing and looking a little awkward. "Crazy old coot, eh?" He looks concerned.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says.
"Tell me!" I insist. "I know that look you get when something's wrong!"
"Well..." He pauses. "Before we go to India, there's something I need to pick up".
"Cool," I say. "What?"
He seems reluctant to tell me. "It's... Well, it's complicated. I'm not entirely sure where it is".
"Right".
"Or what it looks like".
"Okay".
"Or who has it".
I stare at him.
"Or what it really does".
"What is it?" I ask.
He pauses. "It goes by many names," he says.
"Spit it out".
He turns to me. "Have you ever heard of Excalibur?"
Bonus:
The Grid I
Prologue 1
Dr. Felix Ellinger of the United States Space Monitoring Service ran as fast as he could down the steps, hurtling along the next corridor and finally coming to a stop in the command room. Out of breath and almost collapsing, he immediately attracted the attention of the half dozen military officers gathered around the briefing table.
“Is there a
problem, Dr. Ellinger?” asked General Kincaid severely, looking up from the laptop that he was trying (with no success so far) to connect to the base's Wi-Fi network.
Ellinger tried to speak, but he was breathless. He'd run at full speed all the way from the observation room down here to the command room, and his lungs were about to burst.
“Im...” he spluttered, “Im... Im...”
“Im?” Kincaid asked, a nervous smile crossing his lips. “Do we have a problem or not, Doctor?”
Ellinger nodded. “Impact in fifty seconds, sir,” he finally managed to blurt out.
“Impact?” Kincaid asked. “Impact of what?”
Ellinger looked up, knowing what was about to hit: invisible, unstoppable, devastating.
Prologue 2
The city shakes again. Looking up at the sky, I see plumes of thick black smoke billowing behind nearby buildings. Just as I'd expected, the attacks today are stronger and more focused; they're determined to take New York by whatever means necessary, and they're more than willing to inflict significant destruction in the process.
Someone screams nearby. A woman. I look around, but at first I can't see her. Finally, she runs into view, and I duck back down behind a trash-can. As I watch, the woman is pursued by three men – if you can call them that – who chase her across the deserted street and finally haul her down to the ground in front of what used to be a high-end fashion boutique.
Turning and scurrying away, I ignore the woman's cries for help and concentrate on making sure that I'm not noticed. I've learnt from bitter experience that there's no point interfering when anarchists are on the loose. At times like these, every second is a battle for survival, every move is a potentially fatal mistake.
Besides, they won't kill the woman. That's not what they do with their victims...
“Stop!” shouts a man, jumping out in front of me. He has an axe in one hand.
“Get out of the way,” I say. “There are anarchists back there”.
