The Wolfmen of Kielder: Bitten: An Apocalyptic Horror Survival Series (Lycan Plague Origins Book 1)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Incinerated.” The Director’s voice has a nasty edge.

  Lois swings around and shines the light directly into her face. Bitch! “You’ve murdered them all?”

  Marta scoffs. “They are test subjects.”

  “They’re vital for our research.” Anderson.

  “What you’re doing is cruel! Why do you have to use animals? They have rights too!”

  Crack!

  “No!” Anderson shouts again as Nate lifts the laptop to smash it again on the floor. It lands with a crack. “No! My work.”

  “Calm down, Max. It’s all saved on the cloud.”

  The man quietens then and drags his eyes from the broken laptop to Lois. “We’re doing research that can save peoples lives. You have no idea how important our work is.”

  “I don’t care how important your work is, mate,” Nate counters. “Testing on animals is barbaric. Now, just how do we get onto the cloud?”

  “You’re not.” The Director’s voice is steel.

  Nate stares back at the woman. “We are. And,” he holds up the hammer, “I’m prepared to break bones to get in.”

  Anderson’s eyes widen with fear. Lois turns back to the cages, watching Nate intimidate them churns her stomach. She opens the cage of the older beagle, he licks her hand and she crouches to stroke his head. “Good boy. Do you want to come home with me?”

  Behind her Anderson is shouting about ‘disease’ and ‘outbreaks’. Something about ‘Whitby’ and ‘dogs’ and ‘rabies’ and ‘one hundred percent morbidity’.

  “Come on, boy! Come on out,” she croons to the beagle. The label clipped through his ear makes her stomach churn. She’d take that out straightaway.

  Anderson’s voice breaks into her thoughts. “That’s my dog!”

  Lois swings around to the doctor. “Your dog? Then why’s he in a cage?”

  “He belongs to the Institute. Put him back!” Marta butts in.

  “Marta!”

  “So, he’s been tested on then?”

  “No, he’s just my-”

  “He’s crucial to our research. As you can see he’s perfectly healthy.”

  He does look alright. “But what about the others—the eight puppies that were in the pen outside? You tested on those didn’t you! And now they’re all dead. He’s coming with me. I’m going to set him free.”

  “No!” In unison from Marta and Anderson.

  “Why don’t you test on humans and leave the animals alone?”

  “That can be arranged,” Marta mutters.

  Dr. Anderson pulls away from the hand that grips him. Lois notices with satisfaction that Nate’s efforts at intimidation don’t seem to be working as well as he thought; she’s not the only one who’s incompetent.

  “Tell me why you don’t use humans. At least they could give their consent. Huh?” The beagle takes a step out of the cage and Lois turns her attention back to the younger puppy. It sits at the back of the cage, its eyes watchful.

  “Yeah, why not use humans?” Jamie asks.

  Anderson pats his leg and the older beagle runs across the lab, twists and begins to growl at Nate, Jamie and Errol. They back off as it snarls.

  “Well, the ethical implications-”

  The dog snarls and Nate takes another step back.

  “For crying out loud, Nate, that’s not a staffie or a rottweiler it’s a bloody beagle. It won’t hurt you.” Jamie shouts as the dog begins to bark. “Get him to tell you how to get into the cloud!”

  Lois smiles as Jamie takes the lead. Now they may get somewhere; the last time he’d been riled a policeman had lost a tooth

  Nate trains his torch back on Anderson, raises the hammer, and slams it down on the desk next to him. The dog growls but cowers.

  “See! The dog won’t bite.”

  Nate wrestles with Anderson as the man attempts to grab the hammer and Jamie jumps forward too. With a satisfied grin as chaos breaks out across the lab, she unclips the latch holding the second cage closed. The pup stands. “Come on boy.”

  Bang! The hammer slams against the table. Marta screams as Jamie grabs her and swings a fist into his cheek.

  “Leave the dog!” Anderson shouts as Nate’s arm grips across his chest. Noise fills the small room. Startled by the note of high anxiety in Anderson’s voice Lois backs away from the cage. She has to set it free. She reaches for the wires and pulls at the latch.

  “No! Don’t let him out.”

  “I’m going to set him free. What you’re doing here is despicable.”

  “Grab his arm, Nate!”

  Anderson grunts as Jamie pushes him face down on the desk, right arm slammed across its surface. “Give me the access code or I’ll smash your-

  Ignoring the men, Anderson continues to shout. “Leave him inside. He’s part of our trial. The Lyssavirus-”

  “Leave her!” Marta hisses. “Take the dog. We’ve finished with it anyway.”

  “Marta!”

  “If she wants him as a pet, let her take the dog.

  “Marta. You know-.”

  “Take it!” the woman shouts as the cage door swings open.

  “Marta! No!”

  “Shut up, Max. I’m not about to let a bunch of scruffy, smelly tree-huggers ruin our work.”

  “Hey! I’m not a smelly tree-hugger.”

  Anderson is screaming now. “Leave the dog inside the cage.” The pup trots forward. Lois puts her hand into the cage, holding her hand to stroke it. “The Lyssa virus—if it bites you there’s no-”

  Nate punches Anderson, catching a blow across his cheek and the man staggers back. The pup bares its teeth. Spittle froths along its gums, the flesh of its mouth an ugly, purplish-red. Lois pulls back her hand as it snaps. In a split second the pup has gone from adorable to vicious. Heart tapping a rapid beat of fear, Lois snaps at the cage door. Too late. The dog springs on its haunches, teeth snapping. Lois makes a quick side-step and the dog flies past her in a rage of snapping teeth and frothing spittle. She screams as it lands and turns back to face her. Its snarls fill the room. The lab door bangs as a figure runs out. Whether it is Nate, Jamie or Errol she can’t tell. The dog, its hackles raised, is snapping at her like a demented beast.

  “Help!”

  She looks beyond its snapping jaws to the room. Torches trained on the dog, the others have disappeared behind the light. It snaps at her again then pounces. She shines her torchlight straight into its eyes and darts to the left. It crashes against the cages as she runs behind the central desk where she’d last seen Nate, Anderson, and his blonde boss. She screams as she bumps against the older dog and then a body. Her foot cockles as it kicks against something and the dog yelps.

  “Get out of here.” Anderson. “The dog has rabies. If it bites you then you’ll be infected. There’s no cure.”

  “What the hell have you done, you stupid bitch?” Nate.

  Typical of him to call her names! The evening was turning into a shambles. First, Anita refused to come along, now Nate was turning into Mr. Nasty, and the dog she’s trying to save has become a demented beast.

  “Just head for the door,” Anderson shouts as the pup continues to snap and snarl. It twirls in the light, as though chasing its tail, and Lois watches mesmerised as it goes round and round. “To the door!”

  Torchlight swings across the room and highlights the door as Nate swings it open. Trust him to be the first out—he was spineless when it came down to it, a spineless bully. The Director follows him and then Jamie. Errol has already fled. As Lois makes a move to follow them, Doctor Anderson starts for the door too, and the pup stops its psychotic roundabout. Its red and glistening eyes lock on Lois. It snaps its jaws, froth dripping to the floor. Lois freezes as it lowers its head, hackles raised, ready to attack. A hand grabs her arm. “Run!” Anderson again. She follows as he tugs. The dog pounces. Lights flicker and the room brightens. Anderson pushes her away and she crashes against the desk, out of the dog’s trajectory. In the split second that it takes her
to fall against the desk, the dog pounces, launching itself at where she had just been. The older dog barks, its snarling adding to the cacophony of guttural sound. Anderson’s arm is thrown up to protect his face as the pup launches itself with preternatural strength. The older beagle jumps, its teeth snapping as it launches across Anderson’s body. Spittle flies and teeth gnash. She screams as incisors bite down into flesh and the younger dog sinks its teeth into the older beagle.

  “No!” Anderson’s turn to scream. His voice rings with pain.

  The pup is attacking the older dog like a thing demented. The dog snaps and snarls back, its teeth bloodied as they tear at the younger dog’s flesh. Red froth fills the crazed dog’s mouth.

  Desperate, Lois looks around the lab. She has to stop the pup tearing at the older dog. On the wall, just feet away, is a fire extinguisher. She steps to it. The pup snarls, drawing its teeth from the older dog, watching her movements. She stops. It snaps. She lurches and grabs for the cannister, ripping it from its tether. Claws click against the tiled floor in quick succession as the dog leaps towards her. As it pounces, teeth bared, blood-red froth sliding over its teeth, eyes wide and staring, the whites stained red, she swings the cannister. Cold and heavy in her hands, it thwacks against the dog’s head. The dog falls to the floor. ‘If it bites, there’s no cure’. Before it has chance to right itself, she follows her swing through with another blow, smashing the dog’s head against the tiles. It yelps. She smashes down again. Bone crunches beneath the metal and Lois screams. Fear, anger, terror, all rise and she smashes again and again until the dog stops snarling and lies still. Blood and brains ooze across the white tiles. She pants, her arms suddenly weary, her hands trembling, and drops the extinguisher to the floor.

  Anderson crouches over the older dog. A sob breaks the silence in the room. The dog moans and pulls itself towards the man.

  8

  Max shines the torch on Shep though the lights make it unnecessary. Blood soaks the fur around his neck and the flesh around his muzzle is torn, baring its teeth to the light. “Shep!” His whisper breaks from his throat. The girl steps close.

  “I’m sorry!”

  He ignores her as the dog licks at his hand. He retracts it quickly and is instantly overwhelmed with guilt. Shep needs him now, and Max is only full of fear. His anger turns on the girl.

  “This dog is a hero! You have no idea what you’ve done. You stupid, stupid girl.”

  “I … I said I was sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Yes, I-”

  “Just shut up. Just shut the hell up. You’ve destroyed this dog’s life. Do you know that?” He rounds on her. “He’ll die now. The other dog … he was infected with a virus that we have no way of treating. It has a one hundred percent mortality rate. Do you understand? A one hundred percent death rate.”

  She remains silent and he turns again to Shep. The dog looks at him, his brown eyes pleading. At the edges of his brown iris the white has turned to pink. The speed with which the virus is taking over startles Max and he steps back. He has only one choice; to destroy the dog himself. It will be the kindest thing to do. He’s well aware of the torment the dog will go through otherwise, and watching Shep descend into a raging and violent madness is more than he can bear.

  “Step away from the dog. The virus is quick to act and if it bites you …” The girl backs away.

  Max strides to the cupboard, aware of the dog’s movements and reaches for the vial of pentobarbital and phenytoin. Shep’s death will be painless—he can do that for him at least. A sob catches in his throat as he pierces the vial with the needle and fills the syringe. He had wanted this to be Shep’s last week at the Institute, but not this way. At home he’d already placed a basket with comfortable cushion next to the log burner, ready for Shep to make it his home. He sniffs, pulling back the tears. Get a grip, Max. This has to be done.

  Shep lies still as he approaches. The girl cowers behind the desk, the bravery she’d shown when the pup had attacked seems to have vanished. Syringe in hand, he kneels to Shep. The dog eyes him. Red rings the dark brown of his eyes, though a glimmer of their soulfulness still remains. Max frowns. The flesh on his nuzzle, which had been gaping and pink only minutes before, was … he must be imagining things … was healing; torn and gaping streaks of pink flesh are narrowing. Incredible. Mesmerized by the flesh as it knits together before his eyes, the syringe is forgotten.

  “What is it?” the girl asks.

  “It’s a miracle.” The last of the pink disappears. “His body is healing.” Shep’s eyes dart from Max to the girl as she steps closer.

  “Is he going to be ok, then?”

  Max’s trawls through his knowledge, desperately calculating. Shep is already a miracle, but this … if his body can repair like this, then perhaps it could destroy the virus?

  “I think he should be put back in his cage. I can monitor him then.”

  “I thought you said the virus was deadly.”

  “It is, but Shep …” he doesn’t want to divulge any sensitive information, and the results of their research were not for public knowledge. “Shep is different. I’m hopeful he can fight it.”

  The girl remains quiet as Max lays the syringe on the desk then slips his arm beneath Shep’s head. The dog closes his eyes, accepting the stroking hand and they sit together. Max waits for any signs of change. The dog remains still, and as the minutes tick by Max is encouraged. Perhaps there really will be a miracle here tonight.

  “Is it working then?”

  “It’s too early to tell.”

  “But you said it would change, and it hasn’t.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Don’t you think you should put it in a cage—just in case?”

  “Yes. I should. Come on Shep.” Max lifts the dog’s head as he slides his other arm beneath its back end. The dog’s eyes snap open. Max catches his breath. Something in the dog has changed.

  Teeth bare. Max withdraws his hand as Shep jumps to his feet. Max jumps back, but the dog pounces, jaws wide, and bites down hard on his arm. The girl screams as the teeth sink into his flesh. Shep pulls back, snaps, snarls and turns his attention on the girl. Before Max has a chance to shout a warning, Shep launches at the girl, sinking his teeth into her throat. She falls to the floor with the beagle straddling her. Gurgling screams fill the air as she bats at the dog’s sides. Max grabs the syringe and stabs it into the dog’s haunches then grabs at the scruff of its neck. Its jaws remain locked. The girl’s screams drown in the blood spurting from her throat. As Max continues to hit at the dog, its power wanes, slackens, then dies. He pulls Shep away from the girl and throws him towards the wall.

  Horrified, he stares down at the bloody mess on her neck as she grasps a hand to her throat. There’s no point in her trying to stem the flow of blood. She’s already dead. They both are.

  9

  Marta sits down with a slump in her chair and taps the keyboard to reanimate the live feed from the lab. As the infected dog had hurled itself at that stupid little bitch and started to snap and snarl, Marta had sprinted out of the lab. She shivers. The dog had looked hideous with its red eyes bulging from their sockets. Of course, she’d seen the videos of the infected dogs at Whitby with their frothing mouths and snapping jaws, but seeing one that close, it was obvious the thing was insane. The pup had seemed so docile when she’d seen it earlier and Max had been so hopeful that the vaccine had worked this time – she’d been hopeful too as there was a very lucrative bonus tied up with finding a vaccine quickly, one that she and Max would benefit from.

  The screen flickers back to life and Marta watches with rage waning to frustration as Max sits with Shep across his lap. The dog is lifeless. She slams her hand on the desk. All that work! She runs a hand through her hair. Never mind; they had the trial results, and enough data to keep the project progressing forward without too much of an issue. Thankfully, Blake had seen the dog for himself this afternoon and had agreed to commence with hum
an trials.

  Marta notices the girl’s legs, cut-off by the edge of the monitor. She manoeuvres the camera with a click of the keyboard and swallows hard then reaches a trembling hand for her phone. Calling an ambulance is what she should do, but that would raise so many questions. She zooms in on the girl. It is Lois Maybank – the daughter of Marjory Maybank, one of their trustees. She’d noticed her in the canteen the other day. Billy hadn’t said anything about her being an animal right’s activist and there was no mention of her being involved in this morning’s ruckus outside the gates, although the fracas in the canteen later in the morning was perhaps an indicator that she was.

  The camera focuses on her upper body. She’s grasping her neck, blood is seeping through her fingers. She pulls the camera back. On the floor the crazed puppy lies with its head a mess of blood and gore, a large fire extinguisher at its side. The girl pulls her hand away and Marta gasps. The front of the girl’s throat has been torn and is a gaping wound. She can almost hear her gasps of air. Blood pools around her. Marta fingers her phone. She really should phone the police, or an ambulance at the very least.

  Max enters the frame, crawling on hands and knees. He has a bitemark too. If they’ve both been infected the authorities could close the Institute down, at least whilst they investigated, and they could lose Blake Dalton. She wasn’t prepared to do that. She continues to watch as Max crawls towards the girl. Her skin is waxy, her eyes wide as she gasps. He places a hand on her shoulder and speaks. No doubt trying to assure her that all will be well. Another lie, Max, but you’re good at those, aren’t you! She zooms in on the pair. She’s never seen anyone die before, on the television and in films, yes, but not in real life. Ghoul! The girl jerks against the wall her eyes rolling back in her head, lips drawing back from her teeth. Marta clamps a hand to her own mouth and sits back in her chair, unable to break her attention from the scene. The girl is dying, and in the most painful way. She should call an ambulance. No! If they find out. Anyway, she’ll be dead before they get here. Perhaps Marta could carry the body to the furnace? Her belly knots; that isn’t something she can do on her own.