Blood Moon (14 page)

25th December 2008. Underhill Military Base, Sub-Level Two. 11:37

Phil flattened himself against the wall as a squad of soldiers hurried past him with a trolley piled high with cardboard boxes. He clutched the bottle in his hands tighter, bringing it close into his chest to protect it. He doubted anyone would oblige him with a visit to the nearest off-licence given the frantic activity taking place around him, even if any of the local shops were open on Christmas day. Crickhowell, the closest town, was hardly a bustling metropolis, and even Abergavenny was still small by most standards. That he’d persuaded one of the soldiers to pick up a bottle for him the day before was surprising. Now, after everything that had happened, there was no chance at all of replacing it if it was knocked from his grasp onto the hard, concrete floor.

He made his way as quickly as he could through the maze of corridors towards Paul’s room, passing offices that were being hastily packed into plastic crates by solemn-looking troops. This place was being emptied in a hurry, although after last night’s werewolf incursion, he couldn’t really say he was surprised. There had been remarkably few casualties in the base. Three men dead, one of those shot by his own squad mates – a miniscule body count when you considered that four werewolves had been loose in the place. But each of the dead men had been known and liked by the other soldiers stationed here, and even a single death would have weighed heavily on those that survived. Of course, he’d heard rumours that those three weren’t the only casualties of last night. No one seemed willing to talk about it, but he got the impression that the operation against the werewolves had not quite gone to plan. He just hoped that Paul had come out of last night’s events with more than just his body intact.

He knocked twice on Paul’s door, then opened it, not quite knowing what to expect. Finding Paul Patterson reclined on his bed, watching cartoons on the small portable TV had not been one of the options that immediately sprang to mind.

Paul raised a hand in greeting. “Alright, Phil. Merry Christmas!”

Phil closed the door behind him and pulled out a metal framed chair. “Erm… Merry Christmas, mate. You seem… better.”

“The Doc’s got me on a shitload of happy pills. Apparently, I’m fucking depressed. Not that it takes a bloody medical degree to work that out. Still, the little beauties seem to be doing the trick. And they’re making these cartoons a load better. Sam used to watch this crap all the time and it bored the piss out of me. Now, it’s fucking hilarious. I wish I’d been on these things years ago.”

“Well, go easy on them. I managed to scrounge up a bottle of wine for us, but I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea if you’re on medication.”

“Bollocks. I’d love to, but I’d better not. I’m off my tits as it is. Nice thought, though, Phil. I appreciate it.”

Phil pulled the chair a little closer. “How are you doing, mate? Seriously? I heard that things didn’t go so well last night.”

The other man laughed. “Oh, it went fucking brilliantly. The dumb bloody squaddies charged in there like it was some embassy siege and got their arses handed to them. The cleanup crew are probably still scraping bits of the daft bastards out of the carpet. I told them. I fucking warned them, but they thought they knew better.”

“Jesus… how many…?”

“Three from our squad. Me and that Sergeant were the only ones that got out, and she was lucky. Her Kevlar was the only thing that stopped her guts from decorating the kitchen wall. Still, we got the bastards. Three werewolves bagged and motherfucking tagged. I tell you, Phil, when I blew one of those cocksucker’s brains out, I can’t remember feeling happier. Shit, I probably didn’t even need the pills today. Natural fucking high. But I thought, bollocks to it. It’s Christmas.”

Phil shook his head. “Three? Jesus Christ!”

“Pff. That’s nothing, mate. Some of those other squads… the poor bastards without the benefit of my experience… total wipes. Every last one of them turned into chew toys. Maybe next time the dip-shits will actually listen.”

Phil took a long, hard look at his friend. “Paul, you don’t seem all that bothered. Come on, man, it might be just the drugs talking, but people died. People that you knew. Didn’t Private Raines have a wife and a kid? The lieutenant too? Try and show some respect, for Christ’s sake.”

Paul’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Respect? They were a bunch of gung-ho fuckwits, Phil. They charged in and they got killed. Boo-fucking-hoo. Maybe the ones that survived will learn their lesson and next time we’ll get to do those bastard monsters over properly. Now, if you’re done giving me shit, would you mind fucking off? You’re making me miss my cartoons and you’re spoiling my good mood.”

Phil got to his feet, picked up the unopened bottle of wine and walked to the door. He pulled it open and turned back to Paul, but the other man was already engrossed in the television once more. He was about to say something when Paul looked up. “Phil?”

He forced a smile. There was still enough of his friend left to know when he’d crossed a line. “Yes, mate.”

“Close that fucking door behind you. You’re letting all the heat out of the room.”

Disappointment washed over him, but he tried not to let it show. Not that Paul would have noticed in his current state. He wasn’t sure whether it was a side-effect of the drugs they’d given him, the psychological hangover from combat or something more fundamental, but he hardly recognised his friend anymore. In every respect that mattered, the Paul Patterson he’d known had died with his family. He shook his head, stepped out of the room and let the door click closed behind him.

With Paul effectively shutting him out, he realised that he didn’t have many friends left in the base. He wanted to talk to Sharon desperately. Just a quick telephone conversation so that he could hear her voice. Unfortunately the Colonel had ordered a complete communications blackout in the wake of last night’s attack. She’d be around her sister’s house, watching the kids open their presents and helping prepare the Christmas dinner. The thought brought a small smile to his face, even though his heart ached with loneliness. At least she was safe and surrounded by her family, and with any luck, the Colonel would turn him loose before much longer. If last night’s debacle had proven anything, it was that his limited knowledge of werewolves was next to useless. The surviving members of the assault teams now had as much exposure to the things as he had. He just had to count the days until they let him go back to his wife and try to put this nightmare behind him.

Still cradling the bottle, he made his way back through the maze of corridors until he reached the elevator and hit the call button. After a few seconds, the door pinged open and four soldiers hurried past him, pushing a trolley. They didn’t give him a second look. Everyone was much too busy to pay any attention to a middle aged copper wandering about, apparently. Good. If that was the case, then no one was likely to object to him paying a visit to Steven. At this point, all he wanted was to spend some time in the presence of another human being, even if that wasn’t strictly true in Steven’s case. The old man was still the only friend he had left in this place.

He stepped into the elevator, hit the button for Sub-level Four, and made his way through the bustling corridors to Steven’s room. He could tell something was wrong as soon as he turned the corner. The door to Steven’s room hung open, and everything had been removed. The monitoring equipment, the commode, the bed, and Steven himself were missing. The floor was wet and the room stank of disinfectant. He felt a pang of concern for his friend. He’d seemed fine earlier, but he was an old man who’d sustained some grievous injuries. He grabbed the arm of a passing medic. “Excuse me, but what happened to Steven Wilkinson? Is he alright?”

The medic frowned in irritation. “All lycanthrope subjects have been moved to secure accommodation in Lindholme, now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must get on.”

“Wait a minute… all lycanthropes?”

“Yes, we shipped them both out first thing this morning, on the Colonel’s orders.”

Phil sighed as the man pulled his arm free and hurried off towards the medical centre. He looked down at the bottle of wine, then unscrewed the cap and raised the bottle to the security camera that swung towards him. “Merry fucking Christmas,” he said, took a long swig straight from the bottle and began the journey back to his room. It looked like he was getting pissed by himself for Christmas this year.

25th December 2008. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 14:11

The pain was like the worst hangover he’d ever experienced, multiplied a hundred-fold. A red, pulsating coal of agony in the darkness that threatened to split his head open and turn his stomach inside out. He would have cried out, but for the distinct feeling that the slightest movement would make things worse. He was vaguely aware of other people in the room with him. They’d been talking for a few minutes now, but he’d been unable to focus on what they were saying. Every time he tried to gather his thoughts, another wave of pain crashed over him. Cool hands grasped his arm. The brief prick of pain against his elbow, followed by a cold acid-burn that spread through his veins. Miraculously, the throbbing in his head began to subside and, after a couple of minutes, dissipated altogether.

“John? Can you hear me?”

He vaguely recognised the voice. Female, with a soft Welsh lilt to the words, offset by a harshness to the tone.

“It’s not working. Give him another shot.” A man’s voice this time. English. Well spoken.

The woman tightened her grip on his arm again and tapped against the vein. He decided that he’d rather not experience the peculiar sensation of that injection again if he could help it, so cracked open his sleep-encrusted eyes, wincing at the harsh phosphorescent glare from the overhead strip-light, and said, “Okay, I’m awake.” It was at this point he realised that he was strapped down and unable to move.

His vision began to clear. The woman and the man standing over him seemed familiar, but his mind was still sluggish and it took him a couple of seconds before he made the connection. Then he remembered where he’d seen them before. “Oh bollocks.”

The man gave a grim smile. “I see your memory is returning. Good. That means there’s probably no lasting brain damage. Still, as we’ve not been formally introduced yet, I’m Colonel Richards, and this is Doctor Rose Fisher, who of course, you’ve already met. I’m very glad to make your acquaintance at last, Mr Simpson.”

John tried to move his head, to get a better look at his surroundings, but the nylon straps across his forehead made movement impossible. “Where am I? What happened? Why aren’t I dead?”

“Ah, yes. I imagine that it must be a little confusing. You see, we’ve had varying levels of success containing your kind with silver. Some of you don’t seem to be affected at all by it, while it’s quite lethal to others. And, as you can imagine, global silver prices have sky-rocketed over the last few weeks. We needed a more practical and cost effective solution to containing individuals like yourself, so we’ve simply hollowed out our standard munitions and embedded each round with a small, but rather potent dose of an experimental neurotoxin. You regrettably received a rather large amount of it last night, and I was worried that we may have overdone things a tad.”

“So where am I? Still at that base?”

“Oh no, Mr Simpson. That location had clearly been compromised, so we’ve had to make other arrangements for you and your fellow lycanthropes. Don’t worry, though, I can assure you that this facility is quite secure.”

Rose Fisher leaned over him with what his father would have called ‘a face like a smacked arse’ and shone a pen light into his eyes. “Pupil response seems normal. Heart rate and respiration are a little below what I’d expect, but still within acceptable levels. I’ve taken all the samples I need, Sir. If you don’t need anything else, I’d rather not be around this
thing
any more than I have to be.”

“Of course, Doctor Fisher. Consider yourself excused. Please let me know what your findings are.”

Rose turned and walked away without another word, pulling open what sounded like a heavy steel door and slamming it behind her. John attempted a half-hearted smile. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“Well, considering that you terrorised her in her own home, Mr Simpson, I’m hardly surprised. But seeing as you brought the matter up, I don’t suppose you feel like telling me where your friends scurried off to after they abandoned you?”

“You suppose right. Anyway, anything I know will be well out of date by now. They’ll have changed their plans the second you caught me. My friends aren’t stupid. They’re probably already out of the country.”

Colonel Richards stroked his chin. “Hmm, I see. Perhaps… perhaps not. It hardly matters. They won’t get far. All the airports have been closed, as have the ports. I must confess, though, I still don’t understand why you all went to so much trouble for one man.”

John couldn’t help but laugh. “You really have no clue who you had, do you?”

The Colonel’s face darkened at John’s taunt, “No, I’m afraid that we don’t. Would you care to enlighten me?”

John summoned his most cheerful smile. “Go fuck yourself.”

“I see. Still, I didn’t expect much co-operation from you. Not yet, at least.” The Colonel reached over and undid the nylon band that secured John’s head, allowing him to see the room for the first time. It was small – perhaps twenty feet square, with brick walls painted a garish green colour and a white-tiled floor. A single steel door was the only exit from the room, and a glass cabinet filled with medical equipment covered one wall. Other than that, the table he was strapped to and a CCTV camera in the far corner, the room was empty.

“Welcome to Lindholme detention facility, Mr Simpson. After your time in Durham prison, I expect you’ll feel right at home in no time. There are, however, a few subtle differences between these establishments that I think you should be aware of before I undo the rest of these straps and process you into the general population.”