by Paul Kane
Peel had rubbed his hands. This was all good stuff, better than going to the pictures this was! Moss was really going to kick himself that he’d missed it all, Peel had thought. But then he’d spotted his sergeant through the windscreen, wandering about out there amongst the armed response units. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near them, Turlough had made that clear; they were only to provide back-up and keep out of the way really. Enjoy the show, reap the rewards of having set the ball rolling in the first place.
Moss had glanced back at Peel, smirking. That mad bastard, he was just trying to get a better view, and nobody seemed to be saying anything. Peel had his hand on the door, was halfway to opening it when he noticed something weird. Something about his sergeant’s face. It was rippling, changing. Suddenly it was much hairier, like his beard was spreading to the rest of his face. Except the mouth; that was now full of teeth which were getting bigger by the second.
There was something about his eyes as well, the way they were starting to glow bright red. Moss was also growing taller, broader, his uniform vanishing and being replaced by hair as well ... No, not hair: fur.
“What the...?” whispered Peel, and even found his eyes rolling upwards to check whether it was a full moon. It wasn’t.
By the time he looked again, it had started. The confusion, the mayhem.
The carnage.
Blood—so much blood! Peel had never seen so much red in his life. As the creature—surely the one from the nightclub, and also his sergeant apparently—ripped through the police men and women assembled, sending limbs flying in all directions. Turlough had been the first victim, having had the top of his head cleaved off so that the grey matter of his brain was exposed. But he was only now dropping to his knees, dropping his megaphone where it clattered to the concrete floor with a whine of feedback.
The noise was replaced by gunfire, rapid bursts; trained officers trying to target and hit the beast. None of them even came close, it was so fast. And, from what Peel could make out, it would vanish and then crop up again out of the blue—as if it was changing its shape again, becoming the people around it, so they didn’t know who to fire at.
One policeman was sliced clean in half, the two sides staying together for a second or so, then separating, the top half sliding off the bottom. Another officer was chopped into chunks in a frenzy of fur and claws. Another still was leapt on from the top of a van, and had her chest bitten into, flesh and bone wrenched away as the creature took a rare moment to feast. Then it was like watching a Tasmanian Devil cartoon again as the thing tore through the rest of the troops like they were made from tissue paper; working its way around the ring of police and vehicles, hopping from one to the next and working its way back to the start. Now Peel knew why they covered up stuff like this; no fucker would ever believe it!
Then as soon as it had begun, it was over. There was nobody left but Peel in his patrol car.
The beast rose and stared at him through the windscreen. Peel held up his hand, as if that would ward it off—maybe make it remember that it had once been his sergeant, that they’d once been friends.
But, as his racing mind was telling him, this monster had never been his friend. It had replaced his friend, probably killed the sergeant when he went out there to relieve himself. Mimicked him just like it had been doing with the troops out there.
Peel had no choice, he had to scramble over into the driver’s seat and get the hell out of there before—
He looked down and saw that there were no keys in the ignition.
Looked up again and saw the creature was right in front of the car, still had that smirk plastered across its face, only now there was blood and slaver pouring from its mouth, drooling down its chin.
Peel was a dead man for sure. It would be inside here in seconds.
He closed his eyes, and everything went black as he braced himself for the end. What followed happened in the space of just a few moments.
The car rocked and juddered as the creature must have climbed on the bonnet; next there was more gunfire coming from somewhere; finally, he heard an explosion off to his left, and the car rose with him inside it. Pitching him sideways against the window, slamming his head against it.
Then everything went black—permanently.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As soon as the fighting—and he used the term loosely—broke out, he’d ducked back inside the chalet.
Hunter dragged the bag off the bed nearest to him, dragged it down onto the floor where he was, underneath the window. He began searching around inside again, dragging out weapons, but couldn’t find his axe ...
Then he remembered he’d taken it out last night, left it out—but when he looked up he couldn’t see it anywhere. “Damn!” The gunfire from outside drew his attention, and he risked a look through the window. They were being decimated out there, had no idea what they were up against. That guy with the megaphone had asked for the animal, and they’d got it. The blasted thing had somehow followed them here—wouldn’t be the strangest thing that had ever happened regarding those things. God, they were being crucified out there. He had to do something.
Tucking his knife into the back of his jeans, he grabbed the Heckler & Koch MP5K rifle and primed it with a click. He hated these blasted things—more Craddock’s style than his—but that didn’t mean Hunter wasn’t well versed in using them. By the time he emerged again though, it was all but over: the beast was just mopping up the dregs really. Jesus, it was quick! Maybe faster than any other creature Hunter had encountered.
There just seemed to be one survivor that he could see, trapped in a patrol car being plagued by the beast. It took him a moment to place the lad, but he recognised him as the acne-riddled PC he’d spoken to at the crime scene from last weekend. Why wasn’t he just driving off? Hunter asked himself. He looked petrified, so maybe that was it?
Well, if he could only save one of them that would be something. Hunter aimed at the creature in front of the car, let off a burst of silver bullets in its direction. Somehow it sensed what he was doing, springing out of the way—but Hunter kept on firing, tracking it with shot after shot.
Not one of them hit their target.
“Right,” Hunter said under his breath. “Hey, you ugly fuck! Dodge this!” He tossed a grenade that he’d shoved in his back pocket, hoping it wouldn’t come to that. It landed not far away from the creature, who looked down and just about had time to spring up before it went off. The explosion was small, contained—but large enough to engulf the beast. Unfortunately, it also caught the petrol tank of a police van not far away, causing that to blow as well. The van went up in the air, carried on a plume of flames, and blew over the patrol car with the young PC inside like it had been hit by the breath of God Himself.
Hunter shielded his eyes again, not just from the light this time but also the heat. When the first flush of it died down, he looked over and saw the mess it had made of the patrol car. He might well have got the creature, but at what price? Hunter started over towards the wreckage, in the hopes that he might still be able to drag the young PC out—the car wasn’t on fire ... yet. Had been blown clear of, and by, the second blast in fact. There was still a chance.
He’d only taken a few steps towards the patrol car before there was movement on his right. Hunter turned, but barely had time to spot the figure diving through the flames before it was on him. The rifle was knocked out of his hand as he was pitched backwards, careered into and shunted all the way back to the chalet wall. All the air exploded from his lungs at once and he saw stars.
Hunter shook his head, dazed. Tried to clear his vision. The creature was standing not ten metres away from him, fur a little singed but otherwise okay. It must have flipped back out of the way of the main explosion and then jumped through to take him by surprise. He’d let his guard down, so sure he’d completed his mission—but he shoul
d have known this particular monster wouldn’t die so easily.
He made to get back on his feet again, but slid down the wall again.
“Ugly fuck?” the beast growled, the first time he’d heard it speak. “Ugly fuck?” As it reared up and started to walk towards him, the creature was already changing, morphing into something else. Someone else. “Then maybe you might prefer this,” it said.
By the time the thing reached him it had completed that change. And standing in front of Hunter was the woman he loved more than life itself.
Rachael Daniels.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“No,” breathed Hunter.
“No, what?” asked Rachael, wearing a sly grin on her face and nothing more. “Surely you must have known all along? What she ... what I was.”
Hunter shook his head. “No, you don’t get to use that face! That body!”
Rachael looked puzzled. “But it’s mine ... Oh, okay, not originally, I grant you. But I do kinda like it.” She bent down. “You’re confused. I understand that ... But not half as confused as Rachael after she was eaten. Strong one, I’ll give her that. A survivor, just as much in spirit as she was in the flesh. She fought me, oh how she fought me! But in the end there could only ever be one winner.”
“No,” repeated Hunter. But then he started to think back to all the times when he’d questioned Rachael, the times she’d vanished or he’d left her and another attack had happened. The blackouts. The fact he’d found her in her flat with her dead mother. The wound still there on her body, from the silver scissors—had to be! Zoë’s detector going nuts. It made sense ... but his mind still refused to believe, couldn’t cope with the truth. Then he remembered something. “Mirror. I checked. The reflection ...”
“Like I said, lover, she was strong. Special. She actually thought she was herself. Trick doesn’t work then. Only when you know what you really are. Only when you know yourself. There was a battle of wills raging internally—one hiding, one trapped—but there could only ever be one winner of the war. She couldn’t hide forever.”
“No!” he said a third time, gritting his teeth, mind rushing back to last night.
You lie down with dogs ...
Rachael leaned in closer: “Believe it!” She stood up again, hands on hips. “But it has been a good game and nothing lasts forever. Time to say goodbye.” She was changing back again into the creature, mouth widening, teeth growing and eyes so very red, just like they had been back in that coffee shop. That just made it all the easier to hate it—to attack it!
Hunter pulled the knife out from behind his back and, using what little strength he had left, he lunged at the wolf, intent on stabbing it in the heart. It saw his clumsy attack coming from a mile away, though, and angled itself sideways. But this wasn’t Hunter’s first time going toe-to-toe with one of the creatures, and he transferred the blade to his other hand, managing to at least slash the thing with it across the flank. The wolf howled in pain, as Hunter dropped to his knees—readying for another lunge.
The beast spun around though and grabbed him, flinging him through the window of the motel. The cheap glass gave instantly, cutting Hunter’s bare torso to ribbons. The monster grunted with satisfaction, touching its bleeding side. Then it headed towards the chalet to finish the job it had started.
No sooner had it walked through the door, however, than a barrage of bullets were loosed: a bleeding Hunter having dug out from the weapons bag an M11 Sig Sauer and a Smith & Wesson DA Revolver; a pistol now in each hand and firing. One of the bullets went straight through the creature’s thigh, another grazed its upper arm before it could do anything about the assault.
But when it did, it swiped the weapons out of Hunter’s grasp—sending them clattering across the room. And then it stuck its claws into his gut, lifting Hunter and flinging him over its head like they were wrestlers in a ring. When he landed on the far bed it was with such force that he broke it.
Hunter rolled off, groaning—dragging bloodied sheets with him. He hit the floor with a thump. Struggling to raise his head, Hunter moaned as the creature approached. It cocked its own head, studying him, relishing his pain.
“It was a good fight, little man. You should be proud. But now the game must come to an end.” The beast rolled out its tongue, running it over teeth and lips.
It grinned again.
“Game’s not over yet,” said someone from the doorway. Now Hunter did raise his head, recognising the voice. Recognising who it belonged to.
“Now get. The fuck. Away from him. Bitch!” snarled Rachael Daniels, as the wolf finally cast a look back over its shoulder.
CHAPTER TWENTY
There had been a battle raging internally.
Two battles, in fact. Battles of the mind, of the soul, for supremacy over one particular body.
* * *
In the first scenario, a man faced a creature in a cave—just as he had done many centuries ago. Finch had fought the beast, a giant wolf. And, eventually, he had been victorious, not least because he had pierced its heart with the end of his spear. A spear, the tip of which had been made from a metal he would later come to learn was silver.
Then, trapped beneath the creature and half-starved, he had eaten. In so doing, something strange had happened. He had taken on the characteristics of the wolf—absorbed it somehow on a level he could not have anticipated, and because of a skill, a mutation, he didn’t even know he had. The ability to take on different forms.
It would be the beginning of his reign as the beast.
This time, however, when he killed and ate the creature, he realised when he was finished it wore another face. The face of a very special young girl. A girl he would kill and eat in the future in a place called Greenham Estate. And instead of absorbing the wolf, he’d absorbed her.
She became him, inside and out.
* * *
In the other battle, Red had been hiding—running away from the beast, the wolf that had been trailing her. Another replay of the past. Until, finally, they came face-to-face back at the cabin where her grandmother and the man who’d saved her, the huntsman, had been killed. The creature had attacked and—unlike what had happened in the original tale, where she’d gotten away—this time the girl had fought back. This time it had left her no choice. And the only weapon to hand had been the huntsman’s silver axe, which Red had snatched up and struck the wolf with—killing it stone dead.
Two battles, two personalities. One outcome.
Rachael had won the war. Had finally won complete and total control over Finch and his form.
* * *
She’d woken from the final dream outside, totally naked, and holding Tom’s axe. Rachael looked around, not sure where exactly she was in the dark. The last thing she remembered was being in bed with Tom. Then she spotted the lights of the motel in the distance and realised that she’d been sleepwalking, just like her mother told her she used to do.
It was as she started on her walk back again, that she heard the noise. The sound of shooting. Saw the explosion when it happened.
And that’s when she’d started to run.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The creature sniffed the air, as if trying to work out who—what—this newcomer was.
Then it laughed. “If I’m a bitch, then you’re a bastard. The bastard I came looking for. The one I intended to mate with, to purify the line. Finch: the Adam to my Eve. If you were the first, then I was definitely the second; all the rest were just pale imitations. Shadows ... no, reflections that we allowed to exist.”
Rachael frowned. “I ... I don’t ...”
“Understand? Not really surprising,” growled the beast. “Nobody has ever gone through anything like you have before. Even now, you’re still denying to yourself what’s happened. That you’re a squatter in someone else’s house. I
admit, I had a little trouble myself with it at first when I found out. When I gained access to the memories. Oh, that’s a little trick we can do—if we want to and both are willing participants, or one party is a little ... confused. It’s how I showed you all of my delightful kills. The edited highlights at any rate. I thought they might wake the bloodlust in you.
“The nightclub ... the warehouse. Now that was fun—pretending to be his friend Craddock ...” The creature thumbed back at Tom. “Letting the girl in that alley get away and making mincemeat of the soldier, so they’d take me right into the bosom of their family ‘home’. Then there was your mother, of course. Pretending to be you, and not for the first time. Just ask your old flame, Mike ... only don’t expect an answer anytime soon. Making you think it had been you at the flat, getting stabbed by those scissors. Convinced you even to the point where your guilt made a wound appear on that stolen body of yours. Made you see yourself tearing into her and—”
“Stop!” screamed Rachael, tears welling in her eyes. “Just stop ...”
The wolf stared for a moment or two, then said: “He’s still there, you know, inside that skin you wear. Finch. Always will be to some extent. But what there is of him lies dormant, subdued, useless. And you’re no good to me in this condition ... Besides, I do so hate sloppy seconds.”
“In this condition...?” Rachael shook her head. “Look, just get away from him.”
“Or what? What are you going to do about it? You’re just a memory of someone who once was, pretending to be something that shouldn’t even exist—simply because you don’t know any better.”
Rachael brought the axe up in front of her.
“I didn’t come all this way, impersonating that sergeant and hanging around at the police station all evening, just to walk away now. I need to tie up the loose ends ...” The beast pointed a clawed finger at Rachael, before reversing it and pointing back at Tom. “Only then I can be on my way.”
