His mother turned her attention to Rose then, sitting quietly by Vijay’s bedside. ‘Who is this?’ she asked.
‘It’s my friend Rose,’ said Vijay.
Rose stood up.
Vijay’s mum looked her up and down, taking in the girl’s bedraggled appearance. ‘Were you there last night too? Did the boys drag you along?’
‘I was there,’ admitted Rose. ‘But they didn’t drag me along. I wanted to go.’
‘And what do your parents think of that?’
Rose said nothing.
‘I see.’ Vijay’s mother was boiling with anger now. ‘Vijay, you should think about other people first. You put yourself in danger, and this poor girl too.’ She rounded on Aasha. ‘And if you hadn’t insisted on going out, none of this would have happened. You were lucky to escape with just a torn dress. From now on, you two are grounded,’ she said to Aasha and Vijay.
Aasha protested loudly at this, but her mother was adamant. ‘Your friends may come to visit you if they wish, but you will stay at home until further notice. And that is all I have to say on the matter.’
Chapter Five
South East London, New Year’s Day
Chris Crohn was still trapped in London, despite all his carefully laid escape plans. Worse, the car that belonged to his best friend Seth had been smashed and wrecked during the overnight riots and was now useless. Worse still, all the survival gear he’d so carefully stockpiled in the preceding days and weeks had been stolen from the back of the car.
But there were positives too. He and Seth had come through the riot unharmed. Better still, Seth now finally believed in the werewolf apocalypse, having fought off a werewolf himself with nothing more than a pen knife. Chris still had his map of the British Isles, and Seth was clutching the Japanese origami book that Chris had given him for Christmas. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. To survive the apocalypse you needed to look on the bright side.
Seth was having trouble seeing the bright side of anything right now. ‘My car,’ he groaned. ‘Look what they did to my car.’
They were standing in the road near where the car had finally ground to a halt the previous night, hemmed in by rioters and hooligans. A werewolf had attacked them while they sat huddled in the car, but together they had fought it off. For a brief moment they had been heroes, champions, apocalypse warriors valiantly charging into battle. But now their steed was just a burned-out husk. The car, or what was left of it, stood in the middle of the street. Only its steel frame remained. The tyres were gone, the windows were smashed, one of the doors had fallen off, and the interior was blackened and bare. A gang of rioters had stolen all their stuff from the rear of the car and then set the vehicle ablaze while Chris and Seth sat huddled in the front seats. They had barely escaped with their lives.
‘It’s gutted,’ said Seth. ‘Destroyed. Trashed. Finished. Useless. Broken.’ He stopped, his lower lip quivering, but seeming to have run out of words to describe the ruined car. ‘Dead,’ he added finally.
‘We were lucky to get out unharmed,’ Chris told his friend. ‘We can fix this.’
Seth raised his mournful face to look at Chris. ‘How?’ he wailed. He turned back to look at the remains of the car. ‘How can we fix it?’ His heavy mop of brown hair had fallen over his eyes and he seemed to lack the energy to flick it away like he normally did.
‘We still have money,’ said Chris. In fact, Chris was carrying more money than he’d ever had in his entire life. Technically, none of it was his. It all belonged to the banks. In theory he would have to repay the loans very soon, but that didn’t matter. Very soon the banks wouldn’t exist, and neither would money. By Chris’ reckoning, money was already worth a lot less than it had been the day before. People were freaking out, trying to withdraw cash from the banks, panic-buying food and other essentials. The financial markets would open in a day or two, and they were bound to crash. The money Chris carried would soon be almost worthless. The only problem then was how to spend it quickly.
In view of the fact that they had lost their car and most of their possessions during the riot, it seemed likely that one problem might solve the other.
‘We’ll just hire a new one,’ said Chris. ‘A black SUV. A big one with tinted windows and extra-wide wheels. It’ll be awesome.’ He could picture it already. The two of them driving the black beast through a post-apocalyptic wasteland, headlights blazing in the darkness. He could hardly wait to get going.
‘I just want my old car,’ said Seth, gazing miserably at the blackened wreck.
‘Come on, Seth. This is going to be a huge adventure. Remember how good it felt when you fought off the werewolf last night? That was just the start. We’re going on a journey and it’s going to be packed with awesome.’
‘My car,’ repeated Seth mournfully. ‘I want my car.’
Chris sighed. Seth was behaving like a baby. It was probably the shock of having his entire world tipped upside down. Yet hadn’t Chris warned him enough times that the apocalypse was coming? It seemed that some people just weren’t emotionally equipped to handle the end of the world. Someone needed to take charge, and that someone would have to be Chris.
He took hold of Seth’s sleeve and led him gently away from the burned-out wreckage. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Your car’s dead, and we will be too if we stay here. We need to be out of London before nightfall so we don’t get caught up in any more rioting.’
Seth said nothing as Chris dragged him across the street.
Chapter Six
Upper Terrace, Richmond upon Thames, West London, New Year’s Day
Sarah watched as the Prime Minister walked forward onto the pavement immediately outside Number Ten, Downing Street, a grim but determined look on her face, her security team fanning out to either side of her. Behind her, three more men appeared and took their places at her side. Sarah recognized the Mayor of London and the Police Commissioner, but the third man was a stranger to her. He wore a dark blue military uniform decorated with elaborate gold sashes and shoulder epaulettes. His silver hair was shorn short, although his eyebrows were untamed, meeting in the middle in a bushy monobrow. The peaked cap fixed rigidly to his head looked as much a part of him as the stony scowl he wore on his face, and the row of brightly striped medals pinned to his chest was almost too wide even for his broad girth to encompass.
‘That’s the head of the army,’ commented Grandpa, and for once he was right.
‘Standing with the Prime Minister are the Mayor of London, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, and General Sir Roland Ney, Chief of the Defence Staff,’ explained the reporter. ‘General Sir Roland Ney is the head of the British Armed Forces and reports directly to the Secretary of State for Defence.’
The Prime Minister stepped up to a lectern that had been hastily positioned by the roadside in front of Number Ten. She gripped the edges of the lectern with thin, bony fingers and looked around at the cameras and journalists arrayed before her. In characteristic style, she wasted no time in getting to the point. ‘Good morning to you all. I have come to you directly from an emergency meeting of the government’s COBRA committee, called in response to the terrible overnight events that you will all no doubt have seen on your television screens.
‘Present at that meeting were the Mayor of London, the Metropolitan Police Commissioner and the Chief of the Defence Staff.’ She indicated the three men towering at her side. ‘First, let me extend my sincere condolences to the families of those who were killed last night. Secondly, let me assure you all that this country will take whatever action is necessary to ensure the safety of its citizens. While the precise nature of the threat is still to some extent unclear, I have today authorized a number of actions that I believe necessary to restore order. All police leave is cancelled, with immediate effect. Since last month one thousand specially-trained police officers equipped with SIG 516 semi-automatic carbines, sniper rifles, and Glock nine-millimetre sidearms have been patrolling key public spaces. A f
urther two thousand Authorised Firearms Officers will now join them. These officers will be authorized to use their firearms where necessary to restore order and ensure the safety of the public.’
The Mayor shuffled uncomfortably at her side and glanced down at his feet as the Prime Minister made this announcement, but the Police Commissioner faced the cameras with grim resolve.
The Prime Minister continued. ‘Make no mistake. Rioting, looting and violence on the scale we saw last night will not be tolerated. Furthermore, in recognition of the severity of this crisis, and to deal with the threat posed by the as-yet unidentified creatures that were witnessed in this city last night and in recent weeks, I have asked the Chief of the Defence Staff to deploy the army at strategic locations throughout the country, and in particular in London. The presence of the army on the nation’s streets is intended to bring about the prompt capture or destruction of these dangerous animals, and to make the country safe for ordinary people to go about their everyday business. General Sir Roland Ney will now explain the details of this operation.’
A hubbub went up from the TV reporters, but the PM stood back to allow the General to take his position at the lectern. The tall, barrel-chested man waited patiently for quiet to return to the briefing. ‘Thank you, Prime Minister,’ he began, in the clipped voice of command. ‘I have been asked by the Prime Minister to restore order to the streets, towns and cities of Great Britain, and I intend now to explain the operational details of how that will be brought about. First, let me state that while the primary role of the police and military in the days and nights to come will be to prevent any repeat of the looting, rioting and vandalism that occurred on New Year’s Eve, our secondary purpose will be to capture and exterminate the creatures that now roam the streets of our capital, and which have become known in the popular press as Beasts. To that end, the army will be deploying soldiers in London and other cities, including Birmingham and Manchester, to root out and destroy this threat.’
The General paused briefly, and a few voices called out questions. The General raised his hand to silence them. ‘With immediate effect we will be deploying troops from the Air Assault Brigade, comprising the Air Assault Task Force and associated units, drawing from several battalions of the Parachute Regiment. These units have served recently in Afghanistan and Iraq, and are experienced in full spectrum rapid reaction combat missions. The Parachute Regiment is a light and agile force, able to deploy to any part of the world in five days. The Prime Minister has requested their immediate deployment in their home country, and so I can tell you that they will begin their duties later this day, and will be fully operational by midnight tonight.’
The General frowned, and his steely eyebrows knotted together with fierce determination. ‘I am therefore able to announce the imposition of a curfew beginning at midnight and extending until six am tomorrow morning. The army will patrol the streets of the capital during these hours and will arrest anyone found breaking the curfew. This curfew will remain in place until the current situation has been resolved.’
The General stood down from the lectern amid a huge wave of shouts and questions from the waiting journalists.
Once again the Prime Minister returned to the microphone. She waited for the noise to die back before she spoke again. ‘I realize that the curfew and the troop deployment that the General has announced are unprecedented in modern British history. But so, too, is the threat we face. I do not mean simply the criminal behaviour of the rioters, looters and arsonists who attacked our country last night. I refer to the dangerous creatures that also spread mayhem and destruction. Until these twin threats have been dealt with, I ask all of you to fully support and cooperate with the police and military operations I have outlined. I promise you that if we stand together as a nation, we can defeat this grave threat. And now, if you will excuse me, there are many urgent tasks that I must attend to.’
Sarah stared at the TV screen in disbelief. A curfew? She had never heard of such a thing. And the army deployed on the streets of Britain to arrest curfew breakers? It was unthinkable.
The old man in the bed coughed loudly and gripped her arm weakly. ‘That’s all very well,’ grumbled Grandpa, frowning in irritation, ‘But now my tea’s gone cold.’
Chapter Seven
Brixton Village, South London, New Year’s Day
Ben Harvey woke early on New Year’s morning, the first rays of the winter sun forcing their way through a crack in the bedroom curtains and triggering a headache he knew would stay with him for the rest of the day. He manoeuvred himself carefully out of bed, his head buzzing as furiously as a wasp’s nest when he stood. He propped himself against the bedroom wall for a minute until his vision cleared. Headaches, blackouts and dizziness had been a part of his life ever since Mr Canning, the headmaster, had landed that kick on his head that fateful day at school. Minor traumatic brain injury, more commonly known as concussion, had been the doctor’s glib assessment. Keep taking ibuprofen and call back if the symptoms haven’t cleared in a few weeks. It had been two weeks so far, and he didn’t need to swallow quite as many pills now. Another week and he ought to be okay.
The mirror in the bathroom seemed to tell another story. Bloodshot eyes, dark rings framing them, and the scar on his forehead gave him the appearance of a reanimated corpse. His headache was worse than any hangover he could remember, and he hadn’t even been out for a New Year’s drink. Happy New Year, Ben. Never mind. Things could only get better.
Unless they got worse. He’d slept fitfully after watching the violence unfold on his TV screen the previous night. Rioting, looting, arson. Dozens feared dead. And something even worse – bizarre images of dangerous beasts on the streets. Creatures like giant wolves, attacking and killing people. He shook his head and instantly regretted it. If he could just remember to keep his head still, the world wouldn’t feel like it was constantly exploding.
He washed a couple of pills down his throat, showered quickly, dressed and hurried into the kitchen to switch on the radio. The news that greeted him was as bad as he’d feared. Not just dozens killed, but hundreds, and many more with serious injuries. People were blaming the mysterious beasts for the worst of the carnage. The Beast of Clapham Common had graduated from rumour to fact, and had brought its friends along for a New Year’s Eve party, if the eyewitness reports were to be believed. Ben would have said it sounded impossible if he hadn’t personally witnessed the headmaster devouring one of his own students at school. After seeing that, it was difficult to rule anything out.
He couldn’t face breakfast, but made himself a cup of coffee and went to look out of the window. The sunny morning had banished the night horrors, welcoming in the new year with a brightness that was completely at odds with his own mood. People were already out in the street, and a group of neighbours had gathered outside his house. Watching the body language of the people, it was quickly apparent that they weren’t there to enjoy the sunshine. Their raised voices were audible even over the sound of the radio.
He switched the radio off and took his cup of coffee outside to see what was happening. About half a dozen people had gathered in the street. He recognized Mr Kowalski, the shopkeeper from the local Polish supermarket, his bushy walrus moustache completely covering his mouth. A couple of other faces were familiar, but most were strangers.
Mr Kowalski was gesticulating angrily with his heavy hands at a man Ben knew vaguely by sight but not by name. ‘What use are police?’ he demanded. ‘They do nothing when people break into my shop. They do nothing.’
The other man shrugged. He was taller than Mr Kowalski, and heavily built, with beefy arms visible under his shirt. He wore no jacket or coat, even though it was only just above freezing. ‘What do you expect? The police have bigger problems to deal with than your shop.’
‘I expect protection,’ shouted Mr Kowalski. ‘Protection for honest working people. Is that too much? What are police for, anyway?’
Before the argument could get more
heated, a woman stepped between the two men. Ben recognized her from his regular morning journeys to school. He had exchanged pleasantries with the woman and they’d sometimes shared their grumbles about the state of the buses or the weather. Her name was Salma Ali, and she was some kind of human rights lawyer, if he remembered correctly. Even though it was a holiday, she wore a black trouser suit, her long dark hair tied back neatly. Ben had never seen her in any other kind of outfit. ‘Mr Kowalski, Mr Stewart, please, this is no time for us to be arguing amongst ourselves. We need to pull together as a community.’ She spotted Ben standing on his doorstep and beckoned him over. ‘Ah, Mr Harvey, perhaps you can help us here.’
Ben walked over to the group reluctantly. ‘I don’t know what I can do to help,’ he said. ‘What exactly is the problem?’
Mr Kowalski began speaking first. ‘My shop is broken into last night. Looters from the rioting. They are common criminals.’ He punctuated each statement with a jab of his blunt fingers.
‘Did you call the police?’ asked Ben.
‘Of course. I dial 999. Police too busy to come.’ He lifted his hands in frustration. ‘What use are they?’
‘They were dealing with the rioting and the wolves,’ said the other man, Mr Stewart. ‘Do you think your shop matters more than that?’
‘If my customers have no food to buy, then it matters, yes.’
The raised voices were making Ben’s head throb angrily. He threw up his hand to quieten the two men. ‘Okay, okay, but what do you expect me to do about it?’ he snapped. The question had come out all wrong. He hadn’t meant to sound critical of the shopkeeper, but he was out of patience lately.
Salma Ali stepped in. ‘An excellent question, Mr Harvey. What can each of us do to protect our community?’ It seemed to be a rhetorical question. Everyone waited for her to elaborate. ‘The police are clearly tied up dealing with the big picture, and rightly so. But that doesn’t mean we are powerless to act locally. We can start by building on the existing Neighbourhood Watch scheme. If we organize groups to patrol the area we can keep everyone safe. All we need are some volunteers, and someone willing to coordinate.’ She cast her gaze around the group. ‘Do I see any volunteers here?’
Lycanthropic (Book 2): Wolf Moon (The Rise of the Werewolves) Page 3
