Sir Differel Van Helsing shifted her posture, but in a slow, careful manner that avoided large body movements. She had sat in the same position for too long and her muscles were sore, but she didn't want to call attention to herself or she might frighten off her prey. The rock outcrop was too hard to feel comfortable, despite the pad under her rear. At least there wasn't a wind, but it had started snowing a couple of hours before. Not too heavily, but enough for the camouflage netting that covered her to become dusted like a powdered donut. Though bundled against the cold--she wore a fur-lined snorkel parka while wrapped in a blanket with thick leggings under her ankle-length skirt--she felt chilled after several hours of inactivity, and certain parts of her body, such as her face and hands, had to be either exposed or covered only by a thin garment. She couldn't use any kind of heated wrap that might melt the snow and make her look unnatural, though she wore battery-operated thermal socks under her fur-lined mukluks. On top of all that, the coffee in her thermos had grown cold, and lunch had been an unheated portable military ration consisting of a meat and cheese pocket sandwich, crackers, a nutrition bar, and trail mix. Having eaten it she understood why soldiers referred to them as mystery rations and considered them inedible. Fortunately she had the foresight to bring along a few extra snacks.
She pulled an apple out of a pocket and polished it against her parka as she leaned forward and peered through the spotting scope draped in more netting. As bad as she thought her situation was, she wouldn't have traded places with the poor ewe staked out on the heath about twenty yards in front of and below her. As least it wore a thick coat of wool, but to her it looked rather miserable standing in the snow unable to move farther than the length of its tether. Besides which, it was meant to be bait to lure her target within range of her Weatherby Mark V .460 Magnum rifle. She realized that ammunition may have been overkill, since it had been designed to bring down rhinoceroses and elephants, but she preferred not to take any chances. No one knew what the Beast of Exmoor was, and she wanted to kill it with a single shot if possible.
She took a bite of the apple as she sat back. Since the seventies, locals had reported seeing a phantom cat haunting the Exmoor region straddling Somerset and Devon along the Bristol Channel. They described it as resembling a panther, between four and eight feet long from nose to rump, and either black, gray, or tan in color. Various theories had been proposed to explain it, including misidentification (which she considered unlikely since the locals were very familiar with the regional wildlife), a new version of the black dog myth (which she thought ridiculous since people still claimed to see black dogs), or an outright hoax (which she couldn't discount). At first she had favored the idea that it was a pet released after the passage of the 1976 Dangerous Wild Animals Act, which made it illegal for private citizens to own big cats. However, after she investigated more thoroughly she discovered four pieces of evidence that convinced her otherwise.
One was the longevity of the Beast. If it was the same individual it would be at least as old as herself, and while she had no idea how long big cats usually lived in the wild, she figured twenty-two years was rather ancient. Another was that the Beast had been seen before 1976; in fact, local records indicated it had been observed for centuries; the seventies were just when it came to national attention. Then too it displayed an odd behavior pattern. The Beast often received the blame for dead sheep and red deer found on the moor, as well as an occasional moor pony foal or farm calf. However, roughly every seven years the number of killings sharply increased for a year or so, then dropped off; over 200 animals had been killed or disappeared between 1983 and 1984 alone. She had consulted zoologists and ethologists who were experts on big cat behavior and none of them could describe anything similar in any known species. Finally, a big cat killed its prey by biting the throat and suffocating it. When the current outbreak began, she had asked Dr. LeClerc to examine a number of bodies. Most showed the telltale signs of having been killed by dogs or people, but a significant number had had their necks broken by a powerful bite.
But if it couldn't be an escaped or released big cat, she had no idea what it might be.
"Base to Differel." Aelfraed's voice came over her radio. "Base to Differel. Come in Sir Differel. Over."
She set the half-eaten apple aside. "Sir Differel here, Base. Over."
"Report, please. Over."
She smiled. Politeness was unnecessary and inefficient for radio communication, but since it was her he couldn't help himself.
"All's quiet. Haven't seen a thing all day, except for a few ponies, some Devon cattle, and the Emperor of Exmoor and its harem. Wish I had a camera." The Emperor was a red deer stag that was the largest wild animal in Britain. "What of the other posts? Over." Half a dozen other snipers had been positioned in that local area, gunning for the Beast.
"Nothing different, Madam, though LCpl. Bennings thought he saw something ninety minutes ago. Unfortunately it stayed too well hidden to identify. Over."
That was the perennial problem with the Beast. The BBC described it as "famous yet elusive". During the height of the '83 outbreak, Royal Marine snipers had been sent in to kill it, but whereas many of them reported seeing it, none felt a successful shot was feasible. Their commanding officer had reported that it seemed to behave with high intelligence, almost human-like at times, and that it "always moved with surrounding cover amongst hedges and woods." The attacks did decrease during that time, but increased again as soon as the Marines withdrew. She hadn't expected the Caerleon Order to fair much better, though she had hoped that better camouflage and tempting it with food would work. She began to wonder if they had become involved too late.
"Any news on the search for Patsy? Over."
"Unfortunately no, Madam, and with the storm front moving in the constabulary holds out little hope of finding her alive. Over."
She frowned as a grim mood settled in her mind. That had made the current outbreak different from all previous. There are had been four since the first confirmed sightings: 1976 as well 1983, both of which made the Beast national news, followed by 1990, and finally the current one that had started the previous year. Unfortunately, it coincided with the invasion of the Fomorian wizard-king Grendel, and the United Kingdom had been too busy fighting for its life to worry about a cryptid. By the time Grendel had finally been defeated, the current Beast outbreak had wound down. She followed it mostly out of curiosity for the rest of the year, but was too busy rebuilding the Order to get directly involved, until five days before when Patsy Conover, a nine year old farm girl, had disappeared. Her Majesty then ordered her to deal with the situation, and while she assigned what few agents and guards had survived the invasion to help the local constables with the search, she and Mr. Holt planned and organized the hunt in the hopes of eliminating the Beast once and for all. Not that that would help little Patsy, but it might prevent any more children from being taken.
She suspected only Vlad could find her. Not for the first time she keenly felt his loss.
"What time is it? Over."
"Three, Madam. Over."
"Wait another hour, then come and collect us. Make sure you have plenty of hot food and coffee at the pub, and I think I'll take a long bath tonight. Over."
"Already on it, Madam. Over."
She grinned. Aelfraed prided himself on always thinking ahead.
She opened her mouth to sign off, when she spotted something creeping across the heath towards the ewe. Though the heather partially obscured it, the newly fallen snow made it stand out better than it otherwise would have.
"Stand by." She reduced the magnification on the scope to widen its field of view and swung it around as she peered through it. Once she spotted the creature, she zoomed in on it.
"Have spotted the Beast. Repeat, have spotted the Beast. It is taking the bait."
It was well within the range of the rifle. Technically she should try to get off a shot before it disappeared into deeper cover or ran off, but she decided to
study it first.
"Begin recording. Over."
"Recording begun. Over."
"This is very interesting." She paused as she mentally catalogued its characteristics.
"How so? Over."
"It looks like a bloody big housecat; triangular ears on the top of the head, apple-shaped face, larger cranium, less pronounced snout, lime-green eyes. That could explain the photos and videos dismissed as showing pets. I estimate the length to be six feet; that could explain the variation in size, based on misjudgment. Color is dark gray; under different lighting conditions it could look black or tan. That could explain the color variation, and its ability to hide so well in this kind of environment.
"It's not simply a scaled-up version of a domestic feline; there is some added bulk to it, but the proportions are very close. It has rather long legs and a lanky body; more like a cheetah than a leopard, though not as extreme. This thing would be fast, but its bulk suggests it would also be fairly powerful. I wish I had a camera." She paused again, fascinated by the sight of the phantom cat.
"Considering that we should soon have an actual body, that seems irrelevant, Madam. Over."
She smirked as she snapped back to reality. "Yes, of course. It's getting closer; I'm going to try for a shot.
The Beast of Exmoor Page 2
