Lycanthropic (Book 2): Wolf Moon (The Rise of the Werewolves)

by Morris, Steve

  ‘That makes it even worse,’ said Adam. ‘Even if we manage to get inside, how are we going to fight our way to the upper floors of the building to break the patients out?’

  Snakebite grinned. ‘It’s obvious really. There’s no need to get anyone out. We’ll let them come to us instead. If the plan works we won’t even need to step foot inside.’

  ‘Snakebite’s plan is so simple it’s genius,’ said Leanna. ‘We simply have to do the one thing they’re least expecting.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ asked Adam.

  ‘It involves you, actually Adam,’ said Snakebite, a smile forming on his lips. ‘You see, to make the plan work, we need two critical skills. First we need someone with exceptional athletic ability.’

  Adam nodded. ‘That’s me, certainly.’ It was good that his talent had been recognized at last. ‘What’s the other skill you think I have?’

  ‘Bomb-making,’ rumbled Warg Daddy. ‘Leanna says that if we bring you all the stuff you need, you can build us a bomb.’

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  King’s College Hospital, Lambeth, South London, crescent moon

  ‘Thank you my dear,’ said the patient to Chanita.

  Mr Canning. He’d been one of the first patients to be brought into the hospital, some weeks before the quarantine had begun. As well as the syndrome, he also had a severe head injury from being stabbed in the eye. His condition had stabilized now and he had been discharged from Intensive Care some days ago. The threat to his life had passed, but it had been impossible to save his eye.

  ‘You are most attentive, my dear,’ he said to her, as she changed the dressing on his empty eye socket. ‘Most attentive. Indeed, my stay here has been most pleasant, apart from one small detail.’

  Chanita continued to dress the wound. She wished that all her patients could be as polite and well-mannered as Mr Canning. He was always so cooperative, and charming too. He’d been the headmaster of a local school apparently. ‘And what is that, Mr Canning?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you ever plan to feed us?’

  Chanita stopped what she was doing in surprise. Most of the patients with the syndrome never ate hospital food. It was one of the most obvious symptoms of the syndrome, in addition to the yellow eyes. In the early days she had tried to make some of them eat a little fruit and it had literally made them throw up. Doctor Kapoor had believed it was something to do with enzymes in the stomach or microbes in the gut. Some of the patients had agreed to eat cooked meat, but very quickly even that became too unpalatable for them to stomach. How they managed to survive with no food intake was just another of the mysteries that shrouded the syndrome. The only two patients who seemed to eat anything were the new arrivals, Chris Crohn and Seth Salaway. She was beginning to suspect that they may have been telling the truth about not being infected. Perhaps the headmaster was the same.

  ‘Would you like me to bring you some food?’ she asked brightly. ‘Today I think we have spaghetti carbonara and cheese and mushroom quiche.’

  Mr Canning wrinkled his nose at the mention of it. ‘That’s not really what I was hoping for.’

  ‘It’s the only food we have.’ It was a miracle that they still had cooked meals in the hospital at all. When Colonel Griffin had announced the quarantine, she had fully expected most of the staff to leave. But well over half had volunteered to stay on, and more had transferred from nearby hospitals. She and the other nurses had made up camp beds in the cafeteria, and the hospital’s admin staff were working around the clock providing hot food and drinks. Even senior managers could be found serving up bowls of soup and loading dirty plates and bowls into the dishwashers. Everyone was pulling together and the usual grumblings about under-funding and bureaucratic red-tape had been pushed aside. It was funny in a grim way. All you needed to make the system work was a national disaster.

  ‘I think you know what I’m talking about, my dear,’ said the headmaster.

  Chanita did. She remembered the first time a patient had asked her for raw meat. James Beaumont. Another very polite patient. She wondered what had happened to him. Since then the demand had been made over and over again. It was usually raw beef they asked for, but sometimes raw pork or even chicken. As if a hospital would ever feed uncooked chicken to its patients.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘If you mean raw meat, we don’t have any.’ Mr Canning would have to go without. She finished changing the dressing and turned to leave.

  The headmaster’s arm shot out to grab her. His fingers held her in a vice-like grip. ‘Sooner or later, you’ll have to give us something more palatable than cheese and mushroom quiche,’ he growled. All traces of his earlier charm had left his voice. ‘Every day we get a little hungrier, a little more desperate. Who knows what we might do? A ward full of desperately hungry patients is the last thing you’d want, believe me. Especially patients like us.’

  Chanita spoke to him coldly. ‘Let go of my arm immediately or I’ll call one of the soldiers over.’

  Mr Canning looked at the two soldiers on guard in the ward. Both were fully armed with deadly-looking assault rifles. He released his grip on her. ‘I’m very sorry about that, my dear,’ he said, recovering his composure. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m only trying to help.’ The violence that had animated him briefly seemed to have left him entirely and he was his usual polite self again.

  He was no doubt desperately hungry. Like many of the bite victims he had gone without food for many days. Chanita wondered if the hospital might find a way to accommodate the patients’ needs. Raw chicken was out of the question, but perhaps a rare steak might satisfy them? ‘What exactly would you like?’ she asked.

  ‘You know what I really fancy?’ said Mr Canning. ‘A dog. Or even a cat. I’d accept a rabbit or a guinea pig if you offered me one. You wouldn’t even need to kill them.’ He leered at her, showing her his teeth.

  Nausea hit Chanita in a wave of disgust. She saw the yellow glint in his remaining eye and realized that this had been his intention all along. He had never expected to be offered any food. He simply wanted to torment her. ‘I wouldn’t even give you a rat,’ she told him.

  Mr Canning seemed to brighten at the thought. ‘A rat,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a rat. Funny you should mention them. Did you know that starving rats will eat each other if they have nothing else to eat? Let’s hope that doesn’t happen here. That really would be horrible, don’t you agree?’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Upper Terrace, Richmond upon Thames, West London, crescent moon

  James had planned to set off early in the morning before anyone got up, but when he came downstairs he was surprised to find Melanie already eating breakfast in the kitchen. It was the first time he’d seen her up and dressed since arriving at the house. She looked much stronger than in previous days.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ she enquired, her mouth full of toast and jam.

  ‘Out,’ said James. He had intended to sneak away unnoticed and had no desire to tell Melanie what he planned to do. He wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. But going back to his parents’ house felt too personal. He hadn’t even mentioned his parents to Melanie or Sarah. He guessed he wanted to keep his old life separate from the life he lived now.

  The reason was shame, he realized with a start. Shame of what he had become. He felt his face flush red.

  Melanie didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, or else chose to ignore it. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘You can take me with you.’ She tossed her long dark hair away from her face. ‘I’ve been cooped up indoors for weeks now. It’s starting to drive me mad. I need to see the world again.’

  James hesitated. ‘I wanted to go by myself, actually,’ he said. ‘Alone. There’s something I need to do.’

  But Melanie wasn’t an easy person to say no to. ‘Well, that does sound intriguing,’ she said. ‘Now I’m definitely going to have to come with you. Who knows what you might get up to if I don’t. Besides, if I have to s
pend one more day in this house with just Sarah and Grandpa for company, I’m going to murder one of them. Maybe even both.’ When he said nothing in reply, she gave him a wink. ‘I wasn’t even joking about that,’ she said.

  She shovelled the rest of the toast into her mouth greedily, wiping away a smear of butter with the back of her hand. ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘Shopping,’ said James grudgingly.

  ‘My favourite,’ said Melanie. ‘You can tell me what we’re shopping for on the way. But have you got any money?’

  ‘Sarah gave me some,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ said Melanie. ‘Sarah looks after all our money. Give it to me and I spend it quicker than you can say Dolce & Gabbana. Mind you, give it to Sarah and she saves it for a rainy day. But I guess it’s raining today, isn’t it?’ she said, glancing out of the window. ‘I’ll just grab a coat and hat.’

  James waited while she pulled on a cashmere coat and adjusted her hat in the hall mirror.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said, slipping her arm through his. ‘Let’s shop till we drop, baby.’

  James led her along the route he’d followed the previous day. This time they were fortunate to avoid any street gangs. The four teenagers he’d encountered wouldn’t be hassling anyone else in a hurry, James reflected mournfully.

  ‘Where are we going then?’ asked Melanie.

  ‘Clapham Common,’ said James. ‘That’s where I used to live. But first we’re going back to the food shop I found yesterday.’

  ‘But we already have loads of food,’ said Melanie. ‘I didn’t eat that much for breakfast, honest.’ She paused. ‘Ah, I see. Clapham Common. We’re going to visit your family, aren’t we?’

  ‘It’s not much of a family,’ said James. ‘I don’t have any brothers or sisters or grandparents like you. Just my parents. And I don’t want them to see me. I just want to make sure that they’re all right.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Melanie. ‘I understand. Why didn’t you say sooner?’

  James shrugged. ‘I kind of tried to forget about them, I suppose. I was ashamed of running away from home, of becoming a werewolf, of killing a priest.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘I was ashamed of Samuel, or rather, I was afraid of what my parents would say about him. They’re devout Catholics, you see. They had no idea I was gay.’

  Melanie squeezed his hand. ‘Who knows what they thought? Maybe they knew you better than you realized. Why not give them a chance? Tell them, and see what they say. I bet they’d give anything just to know you’re still alive.’

  James shook his head. ‘No. I just want to make sure they’re safe, and to take them some food. Then we’ll go back home.’

  ‘Isn’t your real home with your family?’ asked Melanie. ‘You’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you like, of course, but perhaps you should think about going back to live with your parents.’

  ‘No,’ said James resolutely. ‘I can’t go back there. My old life is over. My home is in Richmond now, with you and Sarah and Grandpa. You’re my family now. I just want to do this one last thing. And then I’ll never go back.’

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, Whitehall, Central London, quarter moon

  The Prime Minister peered at the General over her half-moon glasses. ‘General, please could you outline for us your preparations for the night of the full moon.’

  The Chief of the Defence Staff rose to his feet, straight-backed as always, his uniform immaculately pressed, his medals gleaming, his iron grey hair cut along a ruler’s edge. The General always made Helen Eastgate feel like a slob. What did he secretly think every time he looked upon her appalling dress sense, her slapdash approach to grooming, her annoying habit of stumbling when wearing heels? Under the table she had already kicked off her heeled shoes in favour of the comfort of bare feet, and she had a feeling that the General somehow knew it. She tried to sit up straighter in her chair as he began to speak in his precise military way.

  ‘Prime Minister, we are fully prepared for the coming full moon – the so-called wolf moon. Obviously this will be a critical test of our ability to contain the lycanthropes and those who seek to take advantage of the situation.’

  The word lycanthrope had been Helen’s suggestion, based on Professor Wiseman’s name for the condition. The General in particular seemed to prefer this word to the term werewolf. Perhaps it made him feel more in control of the situation; that he was dealing with a disease outbreak, not a supernatural phenomenon. Nobody outside government seemed to want to use the word however. News networks could gain a larger audience by spreading panic than calming people down. One of the more downmarket newspapers had recently run a front-page headline that read, simply, WEREWOLVES!

  The General continued his briefing. ‘The army will be deployed in strength on the streets of London and in other major cities. These will include Birmingham, Manchester, Leeds and Edinburgh. In London, the Parachute Regiment will lead this task, and I have every confidence that the midnight curfew will be rigorously enforced. The weather forecast for the night is for thick cloud cover, with possible snowfall throughout the day. We do not believe that this will hamper our operations. In fact, the cloud may mean that the moon remains hidden, and it is possible that this will prevent the lycanthropes from changing into wolf form.’

  Helen couldn’t help herself from interjecting. ‘We can’t make that assumption,’ she said, and immediately felt her neck turn pink as she realized what she’d done. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt the meeting,’ she added apologetically.

  The General didn’t seem at all put out by her comment. ‘No such assumption has been made, Doctor Eastgate,’ he assured her. ‘I mention the possibility of inclement weather merely for completeness. We are fully prepared for the worst case scenario.’

  ‘And what might that be?’ queried the PM.

  ‘That the lycanthropes mount a fully coordinated attack, that lawless elements come out in force to take advantage of the situation, and that significant numbers of vigilantes and protesters decide to take the law into their own hands in response.’

  That sounded like a nightmare scenario to Helen, not merely a worst case.

  ‘And you are confident that you have the resources in place to deal with that?’ enquired the Home Secretary.

  The General nodded. ‘With the combined strength of the army and the police, yes, I believe that we do.’

  ‘What about the quarantine hospital?’ asked Helen. ‘What happens if the patients try to escape?’

  The General waved his hand dismissively. ‘Colonel Griffin has briefed me fully on the hospital situation. The patients are weak and under armed guard. He has not expressed any concerns to me.’

  Helen persisted. ‘But don’t you think there’s a risk in keeping all the patients in a single location?’ she asked. ‘What if the other lycanthropes try to free them?’

  ‘Doctor Eastgate,’ said the General, ‘may I remind you that this is a military operation. Colonel Griffin has extensive operational experience under combat conditions. He is more than equal to the task of securing a civilian hospital. The lycanthropes may have caused the police some trouble on New Year’s Eve, but I can assure you that they are no match for the British Army. In any case, it is far more likely that their attacks will not be coordinated in any significant way. If you remember, at the last full moon, they appeared singly, or in small groups, at locations across the city. They appeared to have no organized objective, and simply ran amok, killing civilians at random. This time the public has been given advance warning, and few potential victims are likely to be out on the streets. In all likelihood, the night will pass largely without event.’

  The Prime Minister seemed satisfied with his report. ‘Very good, General,’ she said. ‘Let us hope that you are right. Keep me briefed if anything changes.’

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Electric Avenue, Brixton, South London, quarter moon

  Vijay found Mr Harvey organ
izing a team of men unloading boxes outside a food shop on Electric Avenue. It seemed weird to see his old biology teacher doing a job like that and it brought home to him just how much life had changed since the school had closed. Vijay needed to change too. It was time for him to step up and show his true mettle. Summoning up all his courage, he went up to his teacher and offered his services to the neighbourhood patrol.

  Mr Harvey shook his head. ‘It’s very good of you to volunteer, Vijay’ he said, ‘But I need men, not boys.’

  Vijay lifted his chin and drew himself up to his full height, but he still only reached the teacher’s shoulder. ‘I’m fifteen years old,’ he protested. That was very nearly true; it would be his birthday in just over a month.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mr Harvey kindly. ‘I can’t allow you to join the night watch. It’s far too dangerous. But if you want to help, I can assign you to one of the groups going door to door, checking on the older residents, helping them collect their groceries, making sure they’re keeping warm, and so on. Often all they need is a friend, someone willing to share a cup of tea and spend a little time chatting. The normal community services have completely broken down, and it’s hard for the old people to get out. If you could spare an hour or two a day it would really make a huge difference.’

  ‘Collecting groceries?’ said Vijay. It was hardly the heroic role he had hoped for, but if that was what Mr Harvey wanted, he would give it a go. At least it would get him out of the house. His mum had been furious when he’d sneaked out to go and see Rose, but she’d relented when he’d explained about her brother and how desperately he needed medicine. She would certainly approve of him helping out with those less fortunate than himself.