Freddie slumps down on the couch-cum-bed as Hayley opens a packet of Jaffa Cakes. He takes one with gratitude, his bare legs resting against the opposite seat and bites down. “Never in my life has a Jaffa Cake tasted so good!”
Hayley bites down on her own biscuit, sits opposite, her bare legs matching his across the walkway. “You’re not wrong.”
The gaslight of the tiny stove burns blue. A bright LED hangs between them illuminating the cabin. Wet jeans hang over the railings, crystals of frost creeping across their threads. Hayley shivers and wriggles her toes. Freddie takes her foot and rubs, wriggles his toes and nods with a raise of his eyebrows, waiting for her to take the hint. She laughs and cradles his foot on her lap and rubs. Though cold in the cabin, it is warmer than the freezing lake, and the stove, with its burning gas combined with their body heat, is bringing it from uncomfortable to cosy. Freddie’s cheeks burn as his body temperature rises.
After sharing the packet of biscuits and drinking a cup of black tea, they search the cabin for other supplies. Among the ropes, wellies, and tools is a box for emergencies. Hayley grabs a tube and holds it up. “Is this a flare?”
Freddie peers down. “Says it is.”
She puts it back. “No point using that. There’s no one coming to rescue us.”
“Nope.” Freddie pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
“We’re on our own.” Another howl splits the night and Hayley pulls at her own blanket.
“They’ll think we’re dead anyway.”
Another howl and what could be a scream carries on the air to the boat. In the distance, on the other side of the forest what sounds like the chopping blades of a helicopter hums in the air.
“They’ll be too busy just trying to stay alive.”
19
The helicopter swings over the trees, the cameras picking up nothing but black in this part of the woods. Marv Chapman, glances down to the forest below where the high intensity beam is exposing grey trees beneath the blanket of black night. This had to be the strangest, and potentially most terrifying job he’d ever been assigned to. Blake Dalton hadn’t exactly been honest when he’d first contacted him to set up the mission, but he couldn’t really blame the man, the truth would have sounded insane. Even now, Marv isn’t sure he hasn’t imagined the creatures pictured on the drones’ video recordings. That there were large, fast-moving creatures down in the woods was undeniable, the thermal camera had picked them up, and whatever they were, they moved with incredible speed and agility.
“Gotcha!” Ryan McPherson, one of the other members of the group blurts with undisguised excitement.
Marv turns back to the camera where untidy orange dots move across the screen.
“Ah! Wait. No. That must be a herd of deer – they’re moving all wrong.”
“Let’s take a look.” From his vantage point Marv can see nothing. “Swing left, Archie.”
The pilot manoeuvres the helicopter and a beam of light shines down from the helicopter to the area of open grassland below where the forest gives way to a clearing. At its centre a herd of deer gallops into the forest where the thermal camera picks them up winding between the trees.
“Comfirmed. Let’s head to the village.”
Two minutes later the thermal camera picks up heat. The village streetlights are on, casting a dull orange haze, several of the houses glow.
“Must be some survivors down there?”
“Dunno. You’ve seen the videos. Does anything stand a chance against those monsters?”
Marv has heard the talk, listened to Blake brag about the superhuman agility of the ‘werewolves’ and watched the videos. They had made his stomach churn. He couldn’t bring himself to call the infected and deformed monsters, that now infested the forest and preyed on the people left in the village, ‘werewolves’, but that they were lethal predators with incredible speed and strength was not in doubt. They also seemed to have astounding regenerative capabilities. Marv had never seen anything like them. Marv’s best guess is that the Institute had been carrying out some possibly illegal, definitely unethical, drug tests that had gone wrong. Now the ‘patients’ had gone AWOL and were rampaging through the town and it was Marv’s job to bring them back in. The fence that was being constructed 24/7 around the village made him uneasy. It took real money, deep state kind of money, billionaire kind of money, to put up a thing like that. There had been a total media blackout about it too. He’d checked online, snooped around, and there was nothing. Nada. Zilch.
Thermal outlines of moving shapes appear on the camera’s screen. “Got some!”
“Let’s get a look at these beasts then.”
Marv reaches down to his bag and pulls out the tranquiliser gun. Marston had assured him that there were enough drugs in a single shot to floor an elephant.
“Going down.”
Two figures bound along the road then scuttle to the left. The helicopter’s side door slides open and Marv fires a shot. The beast drops to the floor. “Got it!”
“We need two.”
Marv reloads as the creature’s companion stops. O’Keefe fires. The second orange outline stops moving.
“Job done!”
The helicopter lands, though the blades continue to rotate.
Marv jumps to the tarmac, scanning the area, the torch on his helmet flooding the scene ahead. The two monsters lie fifty feet up the road. “O’Keefe. Let’s haul them in.” Marv is under no illusion; for the next few seconds they’re vulnerable. McPherson jumps to his side, scanning the area, his rifle’s safety catch off and ready to fire at anything that moves.
“Go!”
Senses heightened, alert for any movement among the houses, or in the front gardens, Marv makes his way to the bodies. Deep in the forest a howl erupts, carries on the wind, and makes the hairs on his neck tingle though it is too far away to be of concern, and makes quick strides to the prone bodies of the creatures. This is first contact - for him at least - and he’s eager to get a close inspection of the creatures he’d seen in the grainy video footage.
The first thing that strikes him is the smell. His nose wrinkles.
“God that hums!”
O’Keefe grunts as he shines his torch on the first body. “Take a look at this, Sarge.”
Marv leans in, nose wrinkling, a deep and questioning frown across his brow. “What in the very name of God is it?”
“It’s a woman, Sarge.”
O’Keefe puts out a tentative hand, then pushes at the creature’s leg, rolling it over onto its back. The tranquilising dart sticks out from its neck.
“That is one hairy beast.” O’Keefe snorts as he points a finger at the creature’s genitals. Thick and curling hair spreads over the rising mound, spreading across its belly and down its legs.
“Tits could do with a Brazilian too.”
McPherson snorts.
Scanning its body, the lean muscles, the curve of its belly and hips, the breasts full and rounded, it appears athletic, young. Marv crouches, inching closer for a better view. The woman’s – no, female’s – face is threaded with blue veins, and dark hair has grown over its top lip, cheeks, and forehead. Its mouth hangs open as it lies unconscious. Incisors at least an inch long hang down from its upper jaw, those on the bottom jaw are shorter, but no less sharp.
“It looks like some fucked-up dog/human mutant.”
“Sarge, do you think those sick bastards at the Institute did this?”
Yes, I fucking do. Marv holds his tongue. Whatever, whoever, was behind this wasn’t someone he wanted to cross. “We’re here to do a job, so let’s do it.” He stands, slips the torch back in its holder and unzips his bag, pulls out the cable ties and passes them to McPherson. O’Keefe lowers the stretcher next to the unconscious creature. “Secure the subject and get it on board.” He makes his way to the next body. A howl splits the air. A howl that sounds much closer than the last. His heart palpitates. Grabbing a handful of cable ties, he proceeds to bind th
e hands and ankles of the male’s feet. It twitches as he grabs its wrists and crosses them. Marv flinches, scans its face for signs of awareness. The black eyes are open, but don’t appear to see him. The pulse throbs steadily at its throat. He slips the thick black plastic tie around its wrist and then does the same for its ankles. He grunts with relief as he pulls at the tie—the thing was secured and sedated, showed no sign of waking, and he’d been reassured that the effects of the tranquiliser would last long enough for them to bring it back and secure it at the Institute. Sweat beads at his brow, the cloth under his arms is damp.
“Get these fuckers on board and get the hell out of here.”
His heart won’t stop hammering against his ribs until he’s back on board with the blades rotating and the chopper twenty feet off the ground. Take it easy, Marv. Just take it easy. He takes a breath, wishes he hadn’t. Despite the relief of easing the tension across his chest, his nose fills with particles of its stench, a revolting aroma like his Grandfather’s old gundog. Grandad would always put the dog, a very friendly, but sadly odorous, English Springer Spaniel, in the back-place after a day’s shooting. The dog would have mud up to its knees, black marsh mud that clung in thick lumps to its fur, and stank.
The first body has been hauled up into the helicopter, dumped unceremoniously on its bare metal floor, and the stretcher brought back for the male. He grabs beneath its armpits and hauls it across. The thing twitches again, then snorts. Marv scans its face. Still no sign that the thing is conscious, but Marston had promised that it would be in a state of complete paralysis, which meant that it should not be bloody twitching. For a moment he considers leaving it on the ground. If it woke during the flight … Just get back to base and offload the thing! “Let’s get it to the helicopter. O’Keefe, keep this one next to the door and a shot ready.”
“Yes, Sir.”
A screech splits the air. The skin of Marv’s scalp tightens.
“What the hell was that?”
“It was close.”
“Get in!”
At the open door of the helicopter, Marv jumps in, kicks at the female’s thigh – it makes no response – then gestures for McPherson and O’Keefe to lift the male on board.
The screech is followed by a howl. The noise is close, could be coming from one of the nearby gardens.
Startled, O’Keefe stumbles. One side of the stretcher slips from his grip. The creature slides to the ground, knocking its head on the tarmac with a grunt.
“For fuck’s sake!”
“Sorry! It’s those fucking howls. They shit me up.” The stretcher lowers to the road.
“Just haul the fucker up. Grab its wrists and ankles and throw it in.”
The men bend to grab its ankles and wrists. As they straighten, grunting with the burden, movement catches in Marv’s peripheral vision. He snaps his head to see. A figure, steps out from behind the brick pillar of a garden wall. More movement, this time to his left, and then another figure, its features contorted by the streetlight’s orange haze, jumps across the bonnet of a parked car.
“Drop the body,” Marv commands. “And get in!”
Breath catches in Marv’s chest as the men release the creature. It thuds once more to the tarmac, a spasm rocking its body. Eyes flick open, teeth instantly bare.
“In! In! In!”
He scrambles back as his men haul themselves into the helicopter. “Go! Take off! Take off! Take off!”
The creatures sprint. The one besides them twists, and with one smooth and powerful movement, jumps to its feet. Marv’s heart thuds. The helicopter tips. Marv grasps the safety handle as he’s thrown towards the road and the creature standing there. Hot breath brushes his cheek and the thing snaps its teeth, nearly scraping Marv’s skin as he leans back. The helicopter lifts from the ground. Angry grunts and yelps fill the air. Like a pack of dogs—a bloody pack of demented dogs! Teeth bared, the screeching grunts of the animals running towards them pierces Marv’s ear. They hurtle forward as the male at the helicopter’s open door gnashes its teeth and pulls at the cable ties. The plastic splits with ease and the ties flick from his wrists. Marv pulls at O’Keefe’s shoulder, grasping his shirt. The fabric bunches in his hand, leaving the man’s back bare. “Get in!” His voice is almost a scream as the thing next to O’Keefe reaches to release its feet. Razor-sharp talons slice through the thick plastic tying its ankles. It turns and Marv’s guts clench. He gives an almighty yank and O’Keefe stumbles inside, flailing, landing on the prone female. He scrabbles to right himself and reaches for his rifle. Light reflects in the creature’s black eyes. Marv fires a shot. It hits the larger male in the shoulder. Punched by the force, it staggers back, rights itself, then continues its sprint. He shoots again. The creature lurches to the left just as he shoots and the bullet misses. McPherson scrabbles to board the helicopter.
As McPherson heaves himself onto the platform the creatures reach the helicopter. The blades thwack, thwack in a steady monotony as it lifts higher. A clawed hand slams down on McPherson’s back. He screams and the helicopter sways. Marv grabs McPherson’s arm as he’s pulled back towards the ground and three sets of snapping jaws. McPherson screams as another hand digs its claws into his back. Nails slice through his jacket, tears open the fabric. The third creature scurries away from the helicopter, turns, then sprints forward and with one enormous leap lands on McPherson’s back. Teeth snap only inches from Marv’s face and the weight of the creature on top of McPherson breaks his grip and the man slides from his hands.
“No!”
Released, the helicopter sways, ascends, then rises above the road.
“No!” Marv shouts, spittle flicking back at him as the blades aggravate the air.
On the road, McPherson disappears beneath a frenzy of biting jaws and grabbing hands. His screams pierce Marv’s soul. In one swift movement, he grabs a rifle, takes aim, and pulls the trigger. The bullet hits home, passing through a monster’s open jaw and hitting McPherson immediately above the bridge of his nose. The man’s face obliterates as the bullet explodes. It was the only humane thing to do.
As the helicopter lifts above the cottages and turns in the direction of the Institute, the female moves. Marston had assured him it would be completely paralysed—comatose for hours! Marv, still reeling from the death of McPherson, the image of his head exploding with a burst of blood and bone, the creatures sitting back for less than two seconds, then lunging back down to devour his headless corpse, grabs for the case strapped behind O’Keefe’s head. He grunts as Marv fumbles with the straps, but doesn’t complain, his eyes fixed to the jerking creature on the floor.
It doesn’t appear to be fully conscious, the spasm could be involuntary, but Marv is taking no chances. He rips open the case and grabs one of the pre-prepared syringes. Marston had told him exactly what to do in this eventuality; instructions that Marv now suspects were a back-up for Marston’s guesstimate on how long the sedative would work on the monsters. Not as bloody long as you calculated, Marston. Nowhere near. ‘An intramuscular injection at the ventrogluteal site is the best option for a rapid absorption of the drug. Use the Z-track technique, so pull the skin laterally away from the injection site, inject the medication, withdraw the needle, and release the skin. Using this site allows us to use a longer needle with a larger gauge therefore penetrating deeper into the muscle with a larger dose’. Translated this meant, stab the fucker in the arse with a big dose of poison to close it down. Marv rolls the monster to its side, repulsed by the hairs on the woman’s hips and buttocks. A dark stain appears beneath the hairs at the lowest point of her back. A tramp-stamp! The damned thing’s got a tramp stamp! He stabs the long needle into its rump then pushes the plunger down until all the medication has been absorbed into its body and withdraws the needle.
Within two seconds the jerking and spasms stop and the creature lies still but for the pulsing throb at its throat.
“Jesus, it stinks.”
Marv stares down at it, grits hi
s teeth, and clenches his jaw. Every ounce of his being wants to take his gun and blow its head off. Every rational, sane, instinctive desire wants to destroy it. He grips the gun in his hand and points the barrel.
“Chapmen, put the gun down.”
“It’s unnatural. Obscene. Things like that shouldn’t be alive.”
“Yeah, but it is, and its our job to bring it in.”
He glares at the monster laid out across the floor—this repulsive parody of a woman. Something glints in its hair and he bends to retrieve it.
“What is it?”
He plucks the metal from the lock of hair. “It’s a hairgrip.” He holds it up for inspection, a prong of softly zig-zagged metal sits between his thumbs.
“My sister uses those.” O’Keefe gently moves the creature’s black hair to the side to reveal its ears. A stud of gold sits at the centre of its lobe. “What the hell have they been doing at that laboratory? This is … was … a woman.”
Marv sits back hard against his seat. “Something fucking evil.”
20
The night had been uncomfortable. The sound of the helicopter taking off along with the haunting noise of the wolfmen’s howling had penetrated the confines of the canteen’s food store. Sleep had been broken and shallow as they took it in turns to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps, or, Javeen’s worst fear, the breaking of the orangery’s glass walls. Her heart had palpitated as they’d stepped inside the cupboard and she’d realised just how vulnerable the glass structure made them. If one of them got in, it would be goodbye cruel world, hello a savage death or, perhaps worse, a walking death. Either way, it wasn’t good. To her relief, as the grey light of morning filtered in through the small window, the glass hadn’t been shattered, and she hadn’t been savaged to death by a stinking and hairy beast. Their stink was one of the abiding details of Ben’s story of the two females’ visit to his bedroom. ‘Stank like shit, it did—their breath. Shit and wet dog.” Strange how that detail seemed more repellent than the knowledge that they’d rip out your innards and eat your kidneys.
Caged: An Apocalyptic Horror Series (The Wolfmen of Kielder Book 2) Page 11
