High Moor (21 page)

Carl heard movement in the undergrowth and watched three indistinct forms move away through the trees. Once he was certain they were far enough away, he lowered the pistol. “OK, you want to talk, so talk.”

Sebastian leaned against the bonnet of Carl’s car. “I want to talk to you about two boys. I’m sure you know whom I refer to.”

Carl shrugged. “They’re dead. I killed one in the hospital last night. My associate took care of the other.”

“I know all about the child in the hospital. Colloidal Silver solution, wasn’t it? Very creative, I must say. How did your associate, the police officer, handle the other?”

“How do you think? The kid changed, and my friend shot him before he could hurt anyone. End of story. So, what happened here? Where are Joseph and the others?”

“They have been dealt with according to Pack law. They harboured a moonstruck and put our entire race at risk. The law is quite clear about the penalty.”

“I keep hearing this word: moonstruck. I’m still not clear on what exactly that is. Care to enlighten me?”

Sebastian laughed. “My father, the great monster hunter. I would have thought that in the decades you have spend slaughtering my kind, you would have accumulated a little more knowledge about your prey. I’m not sure whether to be amused or offended by your ignorance. With most of us, the animal and human sides live in harmony. We change at will, and when we transform, we retain our intellect and reasoning. When one of us becomes moonstruck, the two halves are at war. The full moon forces the transformation, but the human side fights the change and the result is a creature caught halfway between man and beast.

“It knows only instinct, pain, and rage. It kills indiscriminately and draws unnecessary attention to our kind. That is why we put the afflicted out of their misery. For protection. Ours and yours.”

“So you killed your brother for protecting your mother? That’s pretty fucking cold. If Mirela had still been alive, would you have killed her too?”

The mask of calm on Sebastian’s face slipped and his eyes took on a feral gleam. “If you had not murdered her, then yes. I would have put her out of her misery.”

“Well, it’s a goddamn shame you didn’t get around to it sooner, or I wouldn’t have had to come over here to clean up your mess. Are we done here?”

Sebastian smiled. “Yes, Mr Schneider, I’d say we are.”

Carl raised his pistol and fired. Sebastian flew back against the car and rolled over the bonnet, lying prone on the other side of the vehicle. Carl groped for his car keys with trembling hands and unlocked the driver’s side door.

As he reached for the handle, his peripheral vision caught movement to his left. He turned to face the threat too late. A huge black werewolf crashed into him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Carl rolled to his right and brought up his pistol. The werewolf lunged forward, jaws gaping. He felt his arm slide past the open jaws, into the creature’s throat.

Oh God.

The jaws clamped down, through flesh and muscle, into bone. Carl squeezed the trigger. The sound of the firearm was muffled by his scream. The werewolf’s brains blew out of the back of its skull as its fangs sliced through the skin and bone of the old hunter’s wrist, severing his hand.

Carl wrenched his tattered stump free. The arm was ruined. Ribbons of flesh draped over shattered bone and shredded muscle.

He gritted his teeth and pulled his belt free of his pants. He wrapped the leather around his arm and tightened his makeshift tourniquet, then stumbled to the car door.

Howls erupted from the forest on all sides as he wrenched the door open and threw himself into the vehicle. Pain lanced through his arm, and he struggled to stay conscious. With his left hand, he tried to get the key into the ignition while he hit the central locking with his right elbow.

Shapes moved in the undergrowth, and three werewolves emerged from cover, onto the track, two ahead of the car and one behind.

He turned the key in the ignition, grateful that he'd chosen a hire car with automatic transmission. When the engine spluttered into life, he put the vehicle into reverse and slammed his foot onto the accelerator.

The car flew backwards, slamming into the werewolf that had been ready to leap at the rear window. Despite the agony in his arm, Carl couldn't help but take some satisfaction from the crunch of metal impacting bone as the creature was knocked aside. He locked the steering wheel, and as the vehicle span around, he put the car into drive and accelerated away along the gravel path to the main road.

***

Sebastian got to his feet and dusted himself down. Three naked men stood beside him, while a fourth lay dead on the ground with a gaping hole in the back of his skull and the barrel of a 9mm protruding from the torn flesh of his throat.

One of the men stepped forward and looked at his leader with concern. “Are you alright, Sebastian? Are you hit? "

“Yes, but it is not serious. It seems that Gregor was not as lucky. Do you have his scent?”

The man nodded. “Gregor managed to take a bite out of the bastard before he died. The blood will make it easier to track him. What do you want me to do?”

“Wait until nightfall, and then follow the trail. He will lead us to the other child. When you find them, keep your distance. Don’t engage them, just report back to me.”

“And then what?”

Sebastian grinned. “When the moon is full, and the silver has purged itself from my system, we’ll kill every last one of them.”

***

23rd June 1986. John's House, High Moor. 07.00.

Steven felt exhausted. The events of the previous evening were catching up with him. Fatigue clouded his mind, and not even the strong black coffee had the desired effect anymore. He felt jittery and nauseous, wanting nothing more than to go home, have a shower, and sleep for the next fourteen hours. He looked up from his mug at George and Caroline Simpson.

“I don’t know what else to tell you. We need to get you and John out of here and find a place that we can safely contain him on the next full moon.”

George ran his hand through greying hair and sighed. “It’s not that easy, Steven. It takes months to move house. Even if this one sold straight away, it takes the bloody solicitors at least two months to sort the paperwork out. Can’t we just do the same thing we did last night?”

“We could, George, but what if John builds up a resistance to the tranquilisers? What if the chains aren’t secured properly when it comes round? We need to find a more permanent solution.”

Caroline frowned and put her hand on her husband’s wrist. “We don’t want to leave our home. Is that so hard to understand?”

Steven rubbed his eyes and bit back the sarcastic comment that had formed on his tongue. “Look, there’s something else. I didn’t want to tell you earlier, in case it was too much to take in, but I think you should know. There might be more of them.”

George glanced at his wife. “More what?”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, George. More kittens. What the fuck do you think I mean? More bloody werewolves.”

George’s face fell. “Werewolves? Here? What do they want?”

“From what I’ve heard, they came to clean up the mess. Get rid of any evidence. That includes both of you, John, and me. All of us need to get out of here and lie low somewhere.”

Caroline’s hand tightened on her husband’s. “If they’re werewolves, then surely we have another month before we have to worry?”

“I don’t think it’s like that, Caroline. If they are anything like the others, then they can change any time they like. Even if that wasn’t the case, they'd still be able to do plenty as men. It’s too dangerous to stay here.”

George and Caroline were silent for a moment. When George spoke, his voice had resolve that had not been there before. “My parent’s house. It’s been empty since Mam and Dad died. It’s out of the way, and there’s a basement. We could go there.”

Caroline folded her arms and glared at her husband. “George, I don’t want to live in your parent’s old house. I want to live here, in the home that we made for ourselves.”

“It’s not forever, love. Just until we work out what to do next.”

“I don’t care, George. I’m not…”

Caroline’s objections were cut short when the back door flew open and Carl Schneider staggered into the kitchen. The old American’s face was ashen and he was covered in blood. His right arm was an oozing stump, wrapped in the remains of his shirt and his leather belt to stem the blood flow.

He looked at Steven, eyes glazed with pain and terror. “You have to go. You have to leave now. They’re coming. They’re…” he managed before he succumbed to the blood loss and fell to the floor unconscious.

23rd June 1986. John's House, High Moor. 08.45.

John stood in the shattered doorway of his bedroom with his hands on his hips. “Mam, I don’t want to go to Gran and Grandad’s house. It feels weird without them there.”

Caroline’s stance matched her son’s. She fought back the angry response on the tip of her tongue and took a moment to compose herself before she responded. “John, I know. I don’t want to go either, but you saw what happened to Mr Schneider. We have to go away for a while, just until this blows over.”

“What about Marie? David and Michael are both…both gone. She’s got no one left.”

Caroline’s demeanour softened. She put her arm around her son’s shoulders as he fought back tears. “Marie will be alright. She’s got her mam and…well, she’s got her mam to take care of her. It’s going to be hard, but she’ll get through it.”

John wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “At least I’ll see her at school. Maybe she can come over for tea one night as well?”

Caroline took a deep breath. She’d been dreading this conversation. “About that, John. About school and…things. Your dad and I were talking, and we don’t think you should go back. To school, I mean. I’ll teach you from home from now on.”

John eyed his mother with suspicion. “What? I mean, seriously? You don’t want me to go to school anymore?"

Caroline frowned and fought the butterflies in her stomach. The next part was not going to go down well. “Not just school, John. You can’t go to scouts anymore. You can’t have your friends over. It’s not safe.”

“Well, I know it’s not safe now, but when Dad and the Sergeant shoot all the bad werewolves, it’ll be OK.”

Caroline shook her head. “John, it’s not safe for them. Your friends. You’ve got something wrong with you, and we don’t know how else it can spread. Can you imagine Marie having to live with what you have? After everything else she’s been through? Or one of your friends at scouts?”

John looked at his mother for a moment, mouth open in shock. “You’re saying that I can’t even see my friends again. Any of them? Ever?”

Caroline reached out for her son, only to find her outstretched hand slapped aside.

John backed away from his mother, into the ruins of his bedroom, tears flowing down his cheeks. “Don’t touch me. You might catch something.”

“John, please. We don’t have any choice.”

“You should have let him kill me. Better that than spending the rest of my life stuck inside with you.”

John slammed what remained of his door, which was more than the last surviving hinge could stand. The shards of broken wood crashed to the floor.

Caroline fought for control of her emotions and pushed the tears deep inside until she’d done what she had to. When she spoke, her voice was firm and authoritative. “I know it’s not fair, John, but we don’t have any choice. Now pack your bags and get your arse downstairs and in that car. Don’t make me get your father.”

Caroline turned and walked away without waiting for a response. She made it downstairs and into the kitchen, before the wall inside her crumbled and the tears came.

John trudged downstairs ten minutes later. His face was red and swollen, and he struggled with two large rucksacks stuffed with the entire contents of his bedroom.

The back door opened and George entered the kitchen. He picked up two suitcases and was about to take them outside to the car when he noticed John. “I thought I told you to only get the essentials, John?”

“If you’re really making me move away, and never see anyone ever again, then my computer, books, and comics are essential.”

George looked at his son and sighed. “OK, fair enough. Now come on and help me get these things in the car.”

“Can I at least say goodbye to Marie?”

George and Caroline exchanged glances. “No, John. I’m sorry, but Marie lost her brother last night. Her parents don’t want you going round there and upsetting her more. They have enough to deal with.”

John trudged after his father and helped load the car. Once the cases were in the boot and his mother checked that the gas was turned off for the fourth time, he was ushered into the back seat and locked in.

As the car pulled away, John looked back at Marie’s house. She stood in her bedroom window, palm against the glass. She mouthed something to him that he didn’t understand. John raised his hand in a mirror image of her pose. Then the car turned the corner and drove away.

***