High Moor (35 page)

14th November 2008. King’s Close School, High Moor. 18.06
.

Steven climbed the spiked railings and then walked down the dark driveway, towards the main school building. He had to suppress a cough, a result of the fumes that emanated from his clothing. He’d emptied an entire bottle of aftershave over himself when he’d gotten out of the van.

He walked with what appeared to be casual arrogance. Only the nervous twitch of his eyes betrayed the mortal fear he felt. He tightened his grip on the silenced Ingram Mac-10 and disengaged the safety catch with his thumb. The weapon felt reassuring in his hands. The gun contained special ammunition: lead rounds drilled out into hollow points filled with mercury and silver filings, then sealed with wax. The rounds would explode on impact, devastating whatever they hit, and delivering a double dose of silver and mercury poisoning on top. The weapon could empty a thirty-round magazine in less than two seconds. In truth, Steven disliked the Ingram. The suppressor gave it balance, but it was still very much a “spray and pray” side arm. Steven had spent his life believing in the philosophy of “one shot, one kill.” The Mac-10 seemed crude, almost vulgar in comparison to a decent rifle. Nevertheless, there was no denying the thing’s lethal efficiency. Steven had only to point, pull the trigger, and whatever stood before him would be obliterated.

The orange haze of the streetlights on the main road seemed very far away now, and rows of conifers that encircled the perimeter of the school field muted the hum of passing traffic. He steadied his breathing and listened for any sounds that might indicate he was not alone.

Nothing.

He passed the main entrance to the school and crossed through a square courtyard surrounded on three sides by two floors of glass windows. The sound of his footsteps echoed off the glass, making it seem like there were three people walking across the concrete paving slabs instead of one, terrified old man.

Steven stood in the centre of the yard and shouldered the machine pistol.
Here goes nothing.
“Come on, you mangy, flea-bitten piece of shit,” he shouted. “I know you’re here, you fucking chav. You think you’re the big man? Prove it. Or hide in your kennel like a whining puppy. Your choice.”

His voice echoed around the yard, changing in pitch as the sound waves reflected off the glass sheets. The noise faded, and the only sounds Steven could hear was the distant hum of traffic and the rustling of the wind in bare tree branches.

A howl shredded the silence. Long. Furious. Close.

Steven tightened his grip on the Ingram.
Here we bloody well go.

***

John waited until he heard the howl and then crept around to the basement door. It looked like Malcolm had taken the bait. Now, he just had to find Marie and hope that Steven could hold the werewolf off. He put his hand out and felt a wall of fear rise up inside.

What if Marie’s dead? What if Malcolm comes back?

Adrenaline surged through him, numbing his limbs. Inside the cage in his mind, the beast stirred. John bit back the terror, grasped the door handle, and stepped inside. Marie was tied up in the far corner of the room. She was naked, and her limbs were bound with blood-crusted white cables. Marie’s extremities had turned purple. She looked up and opened her mouth, but John put a finger to his lips to silence her and rushed down the stairs to where she lay.

John untied the cables around her wrists and ankles and was relieved when the colour in her hands started to fade. Keeping his voice low, he asked, “Are you alright? Can you move?”

Marie’s brow flushed with sweat, and she looked like she might throw up. “Give me a minute. Got the world’s worst case of pins and needles, and it’s going to take a little while for my body to handle the poison.”

John looked shocked. “Poison? What did he do to you?”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. Just the build-up of crap in my blood from the cables. Give me a second and don’t hold it against me if I puke on your shoes, OK?”

Marie’s complexion turned ashen, and she curled up into a foetal position. Sweat ran from her pores, forming a pool on the concrete floor. John put his arm around her and waited for the sickness to pass.

The sound of exploding glass came from above. Marie looked at John. “What the fuck was that?”

“That was Steven keeping Malcolm off our backs. Come on, we need to get moving.”

Marie got to her feet and shook her arms. John checked his pistol to make sure that a round was chambered and the safety catch was off, then started to move toward the staircase. Marie put her hand on his shoulder, and he turned around, “What, Marie? We need to go. Now.”

Marie punched him in the face. He stumbled and fell to the floor. Marie followed up with a kick to his chin that lifted him off the ground and made the vertebrae in his neck crack. She picked up his pistol, removed the clip, and ejected the round in the chamber. Then she tossed the empty weapon into the corner of the room and walked to the staircase. Light brown hair was already flowing from her skin.

John tried to get to his feet, but his body was still healing the damage to his neck and wouldn’t obey him. He tried to speak, but could only manage a hoarse whisper. “Marie? What the fuck? What are you doing?”

Marie stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back. Her eyes were shining green disks. Tears dampened the fur around her cheeks. “I’m sorry, John. I really am, but I have to do this.”

John winced as the vertebrae in his neck realigned with a sickening crunch. “Do what?”

“Kill two bastards with one stone.”

***

Steven stood with his back against the pebble-dashed concrete wall of the school building and checked the two possible entrances to the courtyard for any sign of the werewolf. Almost a minute had passed, and Steven was certain that an attack was imminent, yet nothing happened. Had their plan had failed?

If the creature realised that he was nothing but a distraction, then John could be in very serious trouble. The temptation to run to John’s side was strong, but he fought against it.
Stick to the plan. John can handle himself.

Then the window beside him exploded as the werewolf leaped through it.

Steven raised the Ingram and opened fire. The werewolf ran parallel to the wall, moving at impossible speed. Steven poured death after it. The machine pistol spat fire that destroyed the remaining windows on the ground floor and blew chunks from the concrete render, but failed to hit his target. The creature was too fast.

The Ingram clicked as the magazine emptied. Steven hit the release and brought up a fresh magazine with his left hand. He’d practiced the move over and over until he could be ready to fire again in less than two seconds. Two seconds turned out to be a second too long.

The werewolf changed direction as soon as the firing stopped and leaped. It collided with Steven just as the second clip clicked into place. Steven was thrown into the concrete wall, and his head hit the render with a wet crack. The Ingram flew from his grip and skittered across the paving stones. Flashbulbs burst behind his eyes, and he was aware of a warm, wetness trickling down the back of his neck. That was the least of his problems. The werewolf was right beside him.

He fell onto his front and tried to crawl toward the discarded machine pistol. He almost made it when a shadow fell over him. He could smell the foul, animal reek of the thing. He slumped to the floor, resigned to his fate.

The werewolf’s fangs punched through his lower back, tearing his kidneys into bloody fragments. The jaws closed around his spine and he felt a white-hot bolt of agony tear up his back, filling his entire being with unbearable blinding pain. He screamed as the bones crumbled under the force of the bite.

Then, the weight above him disappeared. The beast backed up and turned to face one of the courtyard entrances. In the shadows, Steven saw two green eyes, glowing with barely contained fury. Then Marie attacked.

The light brown werewolf was a blur, covering the distance before Steven had registered the movement. She slammed into the side of the huge grey beast and snapped at its throat. The fight would have been over there and then, but it ducked away from the attack, and her fangs tore away a chunk of its shoulder instead. The grey werewolf yelped in pain and slashed at Marie with its razor sharp talons, which sliced through the flesh against her ribs and carved grooves into the bones.

The two combatants circled each other, protecting their injuries from direct attack. Malcolm snapped at the air, and Marie responded by peeling back her lips and snarling at the other werewolf. Then she leaped and crashed into the other creature. They both rolled across the ground, biting and clawing one another.

Steven felt darkness closing in. Blood seeped from his ruined kidneys, and his lower back was a blaze of searing pain. He couldn’t feel his legs. He pulled himself along the ground, digging his fingertips into the edges of the cold concrete slabs, not caring when his hand slipped and he peeled back two fingernails.

He brushed against the discarded Ingram with his fingertips. His hand closed around the grip. He rolled over, screaming as the shattered bones of his spine ground together. With the last fragments of his strength, he pointed the weapon at the two battling werewolves, and pulled the trigger.

The grey werewolf seemed to sense the danger at the last second. It threw its weight against Marie, and swung her into the line of fire. The Ingram’s barrel spat flame. A round slammed into Marie’s chest and another into her stomach, almost simultaneously. The back of the light brown werewolf exploded in a cloud of hair, bone, and blood. Hair retreated into pores. Talons retracted into fingers. Fangs slid into gums. The Ingram clicked empty. Marie’s ruined, naked body lay on the ground in a spreading pool of blood. The last thing Steven saw before the black closed in and oblivion claimed him was the grey werewolf, unharmed and advancing across the courtyard.

***

John burst from the basement door into the cold night air. His neck was still sore from the kick that Marie had administered, and he held his empty pistol in his right hand. He scanned the area outside of the door, hoping that Marie had left the ammunition close by, but there was no sign of it.

His fight-or-flight impulse screamed at him to flee. Unarmed, he wouldn’t stand a chance against Malcolm. Then he heard the sounds of breaking glass, a scream of agony, the subdued staccato whisper of Steven’s Ingram, and a brief yelp of pain. He couldn’t leave them. Even if it meant his death. He swallowed his fear and sprinted towards the courtyard.

He emerged from between two buildings and almost dropped the empty pistol in shock. Marie lay naked and unmoving in a dark pool, with two fist-sized holes in her back. Steven was face down on the floor. His lower back was shredded, and blood oozed from the terrible wound. Malcolm stood over Steven, teeth bared, ready to tear the unconscious man’s head off.

John pointed the pistol at the werewolf. “Don’t you fucking move, Malcolm. You so much as twitch, and I’ll blow your bloody head off.”

John and Malcolm glared at each other. John’s heart pounded in his chest.
Nice move, John. Now what the fuck do you do?

The massive grey werewolf bunched its muscles. John got ready to die. Then Malcolm bolted for the gap between the buildings and disappeared from sight.

John stood still, too shocked to process what had just happened. He regained his senses and ran to Steven. He picked up the Ingram and checked the magazine. When he realised that it was empty, he dropped the weapon and checked the old man for any sign of life. Steven was still breathing, but only just. He was bleeding badly from the ragged wound on his back. He'd be dead before very much longer, and there was nothing that John could do about it.

He went over to Marie. He bit back the tears and forced himself to look at the wounds. The damage caused had been catastrophic, and the silver filings prevented the wounds from healing. Marie had been dead before she hit the floor.

A voice echoed around the courtyard. “Why won’t you change, John? I don’t want to fight you with your little popgun. I want to tear your throat out when you’re at your strongest. When you’re like me.”

John dropped to his knees and let the pistol slide from his grasp. He picked up Marie’s head and placed it on his lap.

“Don’t ignore me, John. Change. Face me. It's no fun if you’re not going to fight back.”

“It doesn’t work like that. Not for me. If you’re going to kill me, then get it over with.”

Malcolm stepped out from the shadows at the end of the courtyard. He was naked and bled from a dozen bites and scratches. “You’ll change. I know you will, because I’m going to count to three, then I’m going to change myself. If you’re still human when I finish, then I’m going to come over there, I’m going to tear a fuck-hole in your stomach, and screw you like I screwed your little dead bitch.”

John felt his grief transform in a second into a cold ball of anger. He got to his feet and turned to face the other man.

“One. Two.”

John smiled at Malcolm, tore down the barriers in his mind, and let the wolf out.

The change began in an instant. The familiar agony tore through him, but instead of trying to hold back the flood, John let it take him. He welcomed the wave of pain and power that pulsated through every cell, knowing that it was his only chance of survival. The muscles in his arms thickened and expanded. His jaw dislocated and stretched to accommodate the fangs that burst through his gums. His vision shifted from full colour to shades of grey, tinged with blue and green. He heard rodents scurrying within the walls of the school building, and a flood of scents assailed his nostrils. The information combined into a three-dimensional awareness of every living thing within half a mile. The sensation was like trying to surf a tsunami, and he struggled to process the myriad smells and sounds.

Then Malcolm attacked.

The grey werewolf bounded across the courtyard on all fours and launched itself into the air. John tried to react, but by the time his mind registered the threat, Malcolm was already on him.