‘I don’t want to fight you,’ said James. ‘Just give me my money back.’
The boy lunged suddenly, the knife in his outstretched hand, but James was too quick. He grabbed the boy’s arm and twisted it hard. Bones crunched and the arm became loose. The boy screamed and the knife dropped from his grasp. He stumbled and fell, then crawled away, his arm dangling, squeals coming from his mouth.
The gang leader turned and ran.
James ran after him.
The boy was tall and wiry with long limbs and he sprinted fast, but James outpaced him and caught him up. He grabbed the boy by the arm and spun him around. The boy staggered and fell to the ground. He lay there panting, his eyes wide with fear. ‘Don’t hurt me,’ he pleaded.
‘I don’t want to,’ said James. ‘Just give me my money back.’
‘Yeah, sure, blud,’ said the boy. He reached inside his jacket, but instead of pulling out the money, his hand emerged clutching a knife. The knife was the largest James had seen, an evil-bladed weapon with a serrated edge and a bright green plastic handle. The boy rolled to the side and jumped to his feet. He lifted the knife toward James.
James dodged aside, but he was too slow. The knife sliced into his left arm, catching him near the wrist and drawing out a fine spray of blood. The wound stung, bringing James’ fury bubbling over. He slashed at the teenager with his good arm, catching him across the face and drawing dark droplets of blood from his cheek. The boy cried out, but James didn’t slow. He grasped the boy’s knife arm in an iron grip and sank his teeth into the leather jacket.
The thick leather shielded the boy from the worst of James’ savagery, but he dropped the knife and screamed as James bit down hard.
James pulled away, a hunk of leather between his teeth, blood dripping from his mouth.
The boy gasped at the sight of his bleeding arm and staggered backward. His fingers began to tremble and shake. He made to run, but dropped to his knees instead, unable to stand. The boy’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground, shaking all over. An anaphylactic shock reaction had already set in and there was nothing James could do to stop it. He spat the mouthful of leather from his bloody mouth. ‘You could have made it easy,’ he shouted at the boy. ‘Why did you have to make it so difficult?’
But the boy couldn’t hear him. He rolled back and forth on the pavement, just the whites of his eyes showing. Blood flowed from his arm and his tongue lolled out helplessly. There was nothing James could do to help him. He bent down and retrieved the wad of stolen money from the boy’s pocket.
‘Call an ambulance!’ he shouted to the other gang members, who were watching from a distance. ‘If you want to save your friend, call an ambulance right away.’
But he knew that no one could save the boy now. The infection was likely to kill him in minutes. Even if he lived, he would become a monster. A monster just like James.
Chapter Fifty-One
King’s College Hospital, Lambeth, South London, new moon
‘Chris Crohn? Is that really you? Come closer! Let me see you.’
That voice. It was so familiar to Chris. But impossible. The owner of that voice couldn’t be here. He couldn’t.
‘Come closer, I said. I want to look at you.’
Chris felt his flesh creep. He wanted to sneak away. But the voice wouldn’t let him.
‘It is you, isn’t it? Come over here, now!’
Chris crept closer to the hospital bed, eyeing its occupant with fear. It couldn’t be him. The man who spoke like that was surely dead. But no, there could be no doubt. The nightmare that had engulfed him had somehow taken a turn for the worse.
Since they’d been brought to the hospital, Chris had hoped that things might get better, but that familiar voice embodied his very worst fears. He stood in front of the man in the hospital bed, hardly believing what he saw.
‘I thought it was you,’ said Mr Canning, the headmaster. ‘What a nice surprise, meeting you again. And in such pleasant surroundings.’ He waved an arm to indicate the hospital quarantine ward. Nurses and doctors attended to the wounded and the sick, but armed soldiers guarded every door, and the windows were securely barred.
The headmaster sat up in his bed, a large cotton pad covering one eye. He looked different to how Chris remembered him. At school, Mr Canning had always dressed immaculately in a suit and tie, his silver hair combed neatly in a side parting. Now he wore pyjamas and his hair was matted and straggly. A thick growth of grey hair covered his chin and neck, and his eyes glittered yellow.
‘But you’re dead,’ blurted Chris. ‘That girl stabbed you in the eye with a ballpoint pen.’
‘Ah yes, Rose Hallibury, Year 10,’ said Mr Canning. ‘Such a pretty little thing, and surprisingly resourceful under pressure. My eye is gone, as you can see, but apart from that everything seems to be in full working order.’
Chris stared at the dressing that covered one half of Mr Canning’s face. The girl had stuck a pen right through the man’s eye. How could he still be alive? ‘You tried to eat her,’ accused Chris. ‘You ate that other girl.’
‘I ate five children in total,’ said Mr Canning with satisfaction. ‘Four boys and one girl.’ He licked his lips. ‘I would have eaten Rose too, if it hadn’t been for that interfering busybody, Ben Harvey.’ He smiled, showing Chris his teeth. ‘But what are you doing here?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Chris. ‘The soldiers took us prisoner. Me and my friend. It was all a big mistake. We’re not werewolves.’
‘Are you not?’ said the headmaster, his smile turning more wolfish. ‘Never mind. I’m sure you can still be of use to me. Oh yes, I’m absolutely confident of it.’
Chapter Fifty-Two
Upper Terrace, Richmond upon Thames, West London, new moon
When James returned to the house in Richmond, he was loaded up with bags of shopping. The knife wound on his arm had stopped bleeding, but it still throbbed with pain. The pain would be James’ penance, a reminder of the violence he had sworn to avoid, but had committed nonetheless. ‘I bought the food and drinks,’ he told Sarah. ‘But I had to give all my money to the shopkeeper.’
‘All of it?’ asked Sarah, sounding surprised.
She had given him plenty of cash, far more than he ought to have needed. ‘Most of the food shops are empty or closed,’ he explained. ‘I had to walk miles to find one that was still open. They asked how much money I had and demanded all of it. I suppose I could have haggled, but I don’t really know how. Shops are supposed to have fixed prices, aren’t they?’
‘I guess the world has changed,’ said Sarah. ‘You did well to find food at all, by the sound of it. In any case, we’re not short of money.’
She noticed the wound on his arm then. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Your arm is bleeding.’
James didn’t want to talk about it. ‘It’s not serious,’ he said. ‘The bleeding has already stopped.’ He didn’t want to tell Sarah what he’d done to that street gang. He didn’t even want to think about it. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said to her. ‘The wound will heal at the next full moon.’
‘Let me put a bandage on it,’ said Sarah. ‘Or a plaster at least, and some antiseptic.’
‘I’m okay,’ said James, but he allowed Sarah to dress the wound. Tending to his arm seemed to make her happy.
‘This is all I do now,’ she joked. ‘I nurse the sick and tend the wounded.’
‘You’re good at it,’ said James. ‘Thanks.’ He could tell Sarah wanted to ask him something. ‘What is it?’ he said.
‘You said that the wound would heal at the next full moon,’ she said curiously. ‘Is that when you change into a wolf?’
‘Yeah,’ said James. There was no point trying to deny it. The monthly change had become a regular part of his life now, but it must sound very strange to Sarah. ‘If I go out and the moonlight from the full moon falls on my skin, then I will change, and any injuries I have will heal.’
‘If you go out?’
/>
‘Yeah, if,’ said James. He hadn’t previously considered the possibility of not going out. He needed to feed after all. But that meant killing. He didn’t want to kill again. He wouldn’t. If he stayed indoors he would avoid the change.
‘What happens if you don’t go out?’ asked Sarah.
‘I don’t know,’ said James. But the answer was obvious. If he didn’t go out, he wouldn’t feed. And if he didn’t feed, he would die. Perhaps that was the answer. Perhaps that was what God wanted.
‘The next full moon is the wolf moon,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s all they’re talking about on the news right now. The name seems, well, … ominous.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed James. ‘It does.’
Sarah finished dressing the wound and went to the kitchen to store the food and groceries away.
Wolf moon. He had asked God to send him a sign. Perhaps this was it. But what did it mean exactly? There was no clear answer, but there was a clear choice. Become a wolf, or don’t become a wolf. The choice was his, and his alone.
He paced the house silently, lost in thought. If he never killed again, he would die and join Samuel in Heaven. He had promised not to kill, and the thought of spending eternity with Samuel, never having to make another difficult decision again, held a lot of appeal. But the wolf moon sounded like an invitation. If it really was a sign from God, then it seemed to suggest that God wasn’t done with him yet. But what his purpose might be, he had no idea.
Thinking about the next full moon and whether he would go out hunting was just too difficult. It took all his effort to concentrate on the immediate future. He would need to go out again soon, that much was clear. The groceries he had bought wouldn’t last long. But there was another reason to go back outside. His parents’ house was just a couple of miles away. He could walk that distance easily, provided he avoided street gangs and muggers.
He wouldn’t show himself to his parents, not after all he had done. It would be too upsetting for them. How could they cope, knowing that their son was a werewolf? The idea horrified him. It was better if they gave him up for dead. But he would watch over them and see that they were safe. Perhaps he could help them in some way. Perhaps he could take them food.
He would go the following day, back to the shop where he had bought groceries today. He would buy food and leave it on his parents’ doorstep. And he would take more care this time, so that he didn’t run into trouble.
He was sure that Sarah would give him money again. Sarah was generous. She probably wouldn’t even ask why he needed it. But if she did, he would tell her. He needed to atone for his sins.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Battersea, South London, new moon
Liz gazed out of the side window of the patrol car as she and Dean cruised the evening streets of South London. They were on the lookout for trouble and she didn’t think it would be long before they found some. Grim faces stared back at her: hostile, fearful, and resentful.
Everywhere they went, from Brixton to Clapham and on to Battersea, the story was the same. These once familiar streets of South London were now hostile territory. Ordinary life had come to a standstill, and antipathy toward the police had reached an all-time high. Since the army had been mobilized and the midnight curfew had begun, many people now regarded the authorities as part of the problem. Maybe entirely the problem. Someone had sprayed Police and Troops Out Now in white paint on a wall.
‘They hate us,’ Liz said sadly to Dean. ‘These people we’re here to serve, they just resent us now.’
She could understand it to some extent. The Trafalgar Square massacre was inexcusable, and the curfew and army checkpoints had massively disrupted people’s lives. Shops were selling out of goods, and people’s freedoms were curtailed. People were angry, and the fact that no wolves had been spotted since the full moon had shifted the focus away from them and onto the actions of the army and the police. She’d tried to explain it to Dean in those terms, but he didn’t want to listen. Instead he seemed to relish the opportunity to crack down hard on troublemakers.
‘Someone has to deal with the looting, the rioting, and the arson attacks,’ he protested. ‘Not to mention hunting down the werewolves, wherever they’re hiding.’
‘I know that,’ said Liz patiently. ‘But when people are frightened, they look for easy answers, for someone to blame. Some people even think that the Beast attacks, the Ripper murders and the New Year’s Eve rioting were all some kind of government-orchestrated conspiracy. I heard an opposition politician on the news saying that the violence on the streets is the start of a popular uprising in response to an authoritarian crackdown.’
‘Idiots,’ said Dean angrily. ‘What’s wrong with people? The police are responding to a surge in opportunistic crime and organized violence. We’re here to protect law-abiding citizens.’
‘You don’t need to lecture me,’ said Liz. ‘We’re on the same team, remember?’
‘Yeah, sorry,’ said Dean. ‘It’s just that this job is hard enough without people criticizing.’ He turned the car onto the wide thoroughfare of St John’s Road, Battersea. ‘Let’s keep a sharp eye out around here,’ he said. ‘This is my local patch. I want to make sure Samantha and Lily stay safe. And that means keeping the thugs off the streets. With any luck we’ll catch a few tonight.’
Liz kept her counsel. She hoped for the sake of Dean’s wife Samantha and their two-year-old daughter Lily that they stayed well away from any violence. The last thing Samantha needed was Dean back in the hospital, or worse.
But Dean was right. Returning to St John’s Road, the site of the New Year riots, was a grim reminder of exactly why they had a job to do. And Liz’s role now seemed to be less like a modern-day police officer and more like a wild west sheriff, patrolling a frontier town and waiting for the outlaws to appear. The fact that she and Dean now carried a Glock and an assault rifle did nothing to assure her that a peaceful shift lay ahead of them tonight.
‘Road block coming up,’ said Dean.
A military checkpoint closed the road up ahead, and Dean slowed the patrol car to a halt at the barrier, winding his window down to speak to the two soldiers who approached the car. ‘All right, boys?’ he said cheerfully. He flashed them his badge and Liz showed hers too.
One of the soldiers nodded. ‘Everything seems pretty quiet so far. Probably too good to last.’
‘I expect so,’ said Dean. ‘We’re hoping for some action soon.’
‘Good luck with that,’ laughed the soldier. ‘We’re just hoping for a mug of hot tea and no one spitting at us.’
The barrier rose and Dean drove through. The patrol car seemed to be just about the only car on the street this evening. When the checkpoints had first appeared, huge traffic jams had formed as people tried to get to work. Soldiers had searched cars and even buses, and the streets of the capital had been jammed into gridlock. But after a few days, people seemed to have given up on driving. Now they stayed home, or went about on foot. It was surprising how quickly people adjusted.
‘How are Samantha and Lily doing?’ Liz asked. ‘Is Lily sleeping better now?’
‘Lily’s sleeping just fine,’ said Dean. ‘It’s Sam who lies awake all night worrying. I wish I could be there more for her, but I’m glad I can be out keeping criminals off the streets. That’s the best way to make sure they’re safe.’
‘I’m sure they’re safe enough at home,’ said Liz. She hoped that Mihai and Kevin were home safe and sound tonight too. She knew that Kevin dragged Mihai everywhere with him. That would have been good, if she could have trusted her father to keep well away from trouble. But Kevin and trouble were old friends and they never stayed apart for long. She wished she could be at home more to spend time with the ten-year-old Romanian boy. She hadn’t rescued him from the fire in the community centre just to dump him on her father. But work was demanding all her time right now and she has glad that Kevin had turned up just when he did, even if it was because he was running from the law.
/> The sound of Dean’s phone ringing brought Liz back to the here and now quickly enough.
‘Get that for me, would you?’ said Dean. ‘It might be Sam.’
‘Sure,’ said Liz. She picked up the phone and checked the screen. ‘Yeah, it’s Samantha calling. Shall I answer it?’
‘She’s probably just checking up on me, making sure I’m not in any trouble,’ joked Dean.
Liz answered the phone.
The voice at the other end was frightened and panicky. ‘Liz? Liz, is that you? Oh, thank God. Thank God. Is Dean there?’
‘Samantha, what’s wrong?’ asked Liz. ‘Dean’s with me, but he’s driving. Can you tell me what’s the matter?’ She saw the look of alarm on Dean’s face and signalled for him to stay quiet.
Samantha’s voice was almost inaudible. ‘There’s someone downstairs,’ she whispered. ‘Two men, I think. They smashed a window at the back of the house and climbed in. I grabbed Lily and ran upstairs. I’m locked in the bathroom. You have to come quickly.’
‘We’ll be there in five minutes,’ said Liz. ‘We’re already in Battersea. Did you dial 999?’
‘I tried, but the line was busy. A recorded message said that all the emergency services were fully occupied.’ A gasp came over the line followed by a thump.
‘Samantha? Samantha? What’s happening?’
Sam’s voice came back, louder this time. ‘Oh my God. They’re banging on the bathroom door. They’re trying to get in. You have to come now!’
‘We’re on our way,’ said Liz. ‘Keep talking to me. Don’t hang up.’ But the line went dead. ‘Shit,’ said Liz.
She didn’t need to tell Dean what to do. The car’s siren and blue lights were already on and the car was speeding up the road toward his house. ‘What’s going on?’ said Dean. ‘Tell me what’s happening.’
‘Two men entered the house. Sam and Lily are safe in the bathroom upstairs.’
‘What else?’ demanded Dean. ‘Tell me.’
Lycanthropic (Book 2): Wolf Moon (The Rise of the Werewolves) Page 22
