High Moor (20 page)

The tranquilisers worked for around half an hour, and then the werewolf had woken up. By this time, however, it was encased in ten meters of heavy chain. To be on the safe side, George then wrapped the chains with four rolls of duct tape, and Steven taped the monster’s jaws tight shut with another entire roll. It worked. The werewolf thrashed in fury, but was unable to escape. After four hours of struggle, it curled up in the corner of the room and went to sleep. Steven and George stood watch in silence for the entire night. Caroline cried herself to sleep in the front room.

“The sun’s coming up. How is he, George?”

George said nothing. His face had turned chalk white, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

“George?”

“He…he turned back. Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Steven didn’t turn to face the other man. His attention was on a car parked across the road. “Don’t you think you should unwrap him then? I’m pretty sure there are laws against chaining up ten-year-old boys in their bedroom.”

“Oh, of course. Aren’t you going to give me a hand?”

The interior of the car glowed for a brief moment, then was dark once more. “No, George, there’s something I need to do,” he said and stormed out of the room.

Steven left the house and marched across the street to the parked car, then opened the driver’s door and got inside.

Carl Schneider didn’t bother to look up. He took a last drag from his cigarette and stubbed the butt out in the ashtray. “Morning, Steve, good to see you’re still in one piece.”

“Why are you here, Carl? To take another pot-shot at the boy?”

Carl looked up at the younger man. “He’s still alive? What happened?”

“I shot the thing full of tranquilisers and chained it up in one of the bedrooms. Stop avoiding the question. Why are you…wait…what happened at the hospital?”

Carl reached for another cigarette. “Nothing happened. The kid was too messed up from the attack. Body couldn’t cope with the change. He died mid-transformation.”

Steven knocked the pack of cigarettes from Carl’s hand. “You mean you had nothing to do with it? You just happened to be there?”

“Of course I was there. I was there with a loaded 9mm in the supply closet. Luckily, I didn’t need to use it. Might have been tricky to explain a kid with a hole blown through him. As it was, he just died.”

“Well pardon me if that sounds just a little bit too fucking convenient, Carl. I might have been inclined to believe you if you hadn’t been shooting a high-powered rifle at a child playing in his back garden yesterday.”

“Jesus, Steve. What do you want me to say? Would I have shot the kid if I had to? Of course I would. Can you imagine what a werewolf would do if it was loose in a hospital? The other kid, too. You can’t keep him drugged up forever.”

“I don’t need to. His parents and I just need a way to contain him, every full moon.”

The old hunter shook his head. “Steve, don’t get involved anymore than you have. As a friend, I am suggesting that you might want to put some distance between you and that family.”

“It’s a bit late for me not to get involved. Anyway, I don’t see the problem. The parents can’t deny what’s happening now. That will make containment that much easier.”

“The boy’s not the only problem. Like I told you before you had your breakdown, I found Joseph and the rest of them. They were hiding out in some forest, about twenty miles away. They caught me spying on them, and they told me that there might be more coming.”

“More what? Werewolves? Why?”

“To clean up the mess. Hide the evidence.” He looked up into Steven’s face. “And to get rid of any witnesses.”

Steven picked up Carl’s packet of cigarettes without asking, took one, and lit it. “Jesus. Just when I think I’ve gotten things under control, something else happens. What did Joseph say exactly?”

“Not much. He’s not one for straightforward explanations. I could tell he was scared, despite the bullshit.”

“Then why don’t you make yourself useful? Go back there and find out what’s coming, and if there’s anything we can do about it.”

“I don’t think he’s going to be too happy to see me, Steve. He’s pissed about what we did to his mother.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck. I’ve got enough to deal with here, so it’s down to you. Stick a shotgun in the bastard’s mouth if he doesn’t feel like chatting. I want to be prepared for once, rather than just reacting.”

Carl sat in silence for a moment, his brow furrowed. “OK, I’ll go and ask. There’s a good chance I’ll end up as a chew toy, but don’t let that worry you.”

Steven stubbed out his cigarette and got out of the car. “I’m sure you can handle it. And Carl? If I find out you had anything to do with the death of the Williams boy, then you and I are going to have words. Am I making myself clear?”

Carl grinned at Steven, but the smile never reached his eyes. “As crystal.”

Steven got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He walked back to the Simpson’s house, opened the front door, and went inside without so much as a backward glance.

Caroline Simpson was in the kitchen, washing the dishes. She turned to Steven and smiled. She looked like she'd aged ten years overnight. Fatigue and worry had pronounced the lines on her face, and her eyes were sunken, red-rimmed orbs that were moist with recent tears. When she spoke, her voice wavered, as if the simple act of speech was an effort.

“Is everything alright, Sergeant Wilkinson?”

“Yes, I just had to take care of something. And please, call me Steven. I’m technically not a Police Officer at the moment.”

Caroline had the decency to look ashamed. “Alright. Would you like a cup of tea, Sergeant…I mean, Steven?”

“No, but thank you. How’s John?”

She turned her back and started washing up again. Steven was about to say something to her, when George and John walked into the kitchen.

George’s expression was a confused mix of fear and relief. John’s hair clung to his forehead in damp tendrils. The boy’s eyes stayed focused on the linoleum of the kitchen floor.

“John? How are you?”

A plate slid from Caroline’s grip and shattered into the sink. She swore under her breath and fished the porcelain fragments from the water. She didn’t turn to face her husband and her son.

“I’m alright. I just need a bath. How’s Michael? Did he…?”

Steven looked up at George. The other man nodded in response to the silent question and put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

Steven took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, John. Michael didn’t survive the change. He was too badly hurt.”

John closed his eyes and nodded. When he spoke, his voice cracked with emotions that he struggled to contain. “What about Marie and Mrs Williams? Are they alright? Did Michael hurt them?”

“As far as I know, they’re fine. An associate of mine was watching Michael, and apparently he died before he finished changing.”

John wiped his eyes with his arm as he fought back sobs of grief for Michael. He pulled free of his father and threw his arms around his mother. She flinched at his touch.

“Mam? Don’t you love me anymore?”

Caroline’s shoulders stiffened, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then her shoulders dropped and she turned to face her son with tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, you daft little sod. Of course I love you. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise. Come here and give your old mam a cuddle.”

Steven smiled as mother and son embraced. It felt like it had been a long time since he'd smiled. He looked across to George and the smile faded. The other man’s brow was furrowed with worry.

“So, Steven. What exactly do we do now?”

***

23rd June 1986. Hamsterly Forest. 05.50.

Carl turned off the tarmac road, onto the gravel track that led past the empty visitor centre, to the heart of the forest. The woods should have been filled with birdsong. Instead, a brooding silence hung over the trees. Carl barely noticed.

“Ungrateful limey son of a bitch,” he said for the fourth time. “If I hadn’t come running when he called, he’d be knee deep in corpses by now. Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that?”

He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “I should turn this piece of shit car around, drive straight to the airport, and get the fuck out of this fleapit country. Let ’em sort their own mess out.”

He’d toyed with the idea since the previous evening. Chances were that the hospital would only do a superficial post-mortem. They had no reason to expect foul play. If they did find anything, the silver solution was freely available at any chemist’s. Steven would know, but would he do anything about it? Could he do anything? Was it worth risking arrest for murder?

“This is the last little errand I’m doing for that asshole. Once it’s done, then so am I.”

He felt better now that the decision had been made. Pangs of guilt blossomed at the back of his mind, but he crushed them before they could grow into anything that might make him reconsider.

He parked the car around the bend from the camp, retrieved a pistol from the glove compartment, lit a cigarette, and stepped out into the woodland.

The silence hung over the trees like a shroud. No animals rustled in the undergrowth. No birds sang in the trees. Carl chambered a round and moved along the track to the camp. He turned the corner to find the clearing empty.

“Hairy bastards hightailed it,” he said to the forest. He wasn't surprised. Joseph had said as much. He just hadn’t expected them to clear out so quickly.

He entered the remains of the campsite and gagged as he tasted the metallic tang of blood in the air. The grass was stained dark brown, except where dew had settled. The dewdrops were bright red, as if the ground were weeping blood. Carl’s hand tightened on the pistol.

The tire tracks of the caravans did not lead onto the road. Instead, they vanished into the trees, where they were swallowed up by the foliage. A faint smell of smoke could just be detected over the heavy stench of blood.

Every instinct in Carl’s body screamed at him to get away from this place. Small fragments of meat lay on the ground, buzzing with flies. Near the cold embers of the campfire lay a man’s hand. A thick gold wedding band was on the third finger. Carl remembered seeing that ring on Joseph’s hand the night before.

A howl carried through the trees and echoed around the clearing, making it impossible to determine the location or distance. Another howl answered. Then another. Then another.

Adrenaline flooded the old man’s system, and he fought to control the urge to run to the relative safety of his car. He knew that if he acted like prey now, he was as good as dead. He turned around and retraced his steps.

Branches snapped in the woodland to his left. Carl swung the pistol up as a pheasant burst from cover and flapped off into the high branches of a sycamore tree.

He rounded the corner, and his car came into view. The urge to sprint the last hundred yards was overwhelming, but he fought to retain his composure.

The undergrowth rustled behind him, and he brought the pistol to bear as a branch snapped to his right. Somewhere near, a deep growl came from the woodlands.

“Oh fuck this,” he said and ran for the vehicle, as his last shred of self-control evaporated. He was aware of large, black shapes tracking him to either side, never showing enough of themselves to give him a target. He fired blind to his left. The car was close now. He would reach it in a matter of seconds. Without breaking stride he fished the keys from his pocket.

A short, middle-aged man stepped from behind a tree and blocked Carl’s path.

Carl raised the pistol and pointed it at the man’s face. “Get out of my fucking way, asshole.”

The man smiled. “I hope you’re not leaving just yet, Mr Schneider? I was hoping we would have a chance to have a little chat. Father to son.”

23rd June 1986. Hamsterly Forest. 06.10.

Carl narrowed his eyes and looked at the man before him. There was little in the way of family resemblance to Joseph. Where Joseph had been tall and broad shouldered, the newcomer was of medium height and build with short-cropped grey hair and bright blue eyes. Carl could have been looking at a younger version of himself.

“So, Mirela had another bastard. What did she do? Squeeze out a litter? Any more of you fuckers for me to worry about?”

The man’s face twitched, and his eyes blazed with fury for a fraction of a second before the calm mask snapped back into place. “I am called Sebastian, and I am the last of Mirela’s bloodline. There are no more…bastards for you to concern yourself over.”

“Good. Not sure if my pension will cover all the child maintenance payments. Now, why don’t you tell me what you want, before I blow your fucking head off.”

Sebastian raised his hands and a thin smile played across his lips. “All in good time. There is no reason for us not to remain civil. Please, put down the gun, and we can discuss things like adults.”

Carl nodded to the forest. “I’ll put the gun down when you call off the dogs. Deal?”

Sebastian raised his hands. “Of course.” He turned to the forest and called out, “All of you, return to the vehicle. I will be along in a moment.”