Blood Moon (17 page)

Once they passed the threshold to the tunnel, the temptation to slow the pace loomed large in her mind. The initial threat of detection seemed to have been overcome, and a deceptive feeling of safety threatened to settle over her. She knew this was a dangerous mindset to fall into, however, and pushed on. To her knowledge, only four attempts had ever been made to traverse the Channel Tunnel in wolf form. Three of those had ended up with the unfortunate werewolves being decapitated by an oncoming train. While the actual tunnel was wider than she’d expected – perhaps four or five meters in width – there were very few places to escape an oncoming express train. Doors to the service tunnel were positioned every four hundred meters or so, but those would be alarmed and the service tunnel would be wired with CCTV cameras. Using them would alert their enemies as to what they were doing, and were an absolute last resort. Other than those access points, there was nowhere to go. The walls were solid concrete panels, featureless apart from thick bundles of electrical cables that adorned the higher reaches where the tunnel arced into a dark, vaulted ceiling. There was a narrow ledge on her right, but while it would be adequate for passengers to evacuate a broken down train, it would offer no protection against an oncoming locomotive travelling at high speed. Anything on that ledge would simply be sucked under the wheels by the air displacement of the passing train. It would take them around forty minutes to get through to the other side of the tunnel, and if something came the other way during that time – a freight train or maintenance vehicle – both she and Michael would most likely be killed. It was that simple. Keeping the grim thought at the forefront of her mind, she pushed on, increasing her pace and trying very hard not to think about what might be coming the other way.

It became impossible to keep track of time in the pitch black. All she was aware of was the feel of the tracks beneath her paws, the burning ache in her muscles and Michael’s increasingly laboured breathing behind her. She’d tried to count seconds, to retain some idea of how long they’d been running for, and how long was left on their journey, but had lost count after what she assumed to be about fifteen minutes. Were they past the halfway point? She thought so. Perhaps. Hell, for all she knew they could be about to emerge from the tunnel onto French soil, but all she saw before her was darkness, impenetrable even to her wolf senses.

Then, something changed.

It started off as a vibration beneath her feet. Barely perceptible. If she’d not been engulfed in what felt like an eternal, unchanging darkness, she might not have noticed it at all. Then she began to make out the noise. A rumbling like distant thunder. A tiny pinprick of light in the distance. A single faint star shining in the endless night.

A train, heading towards them. Getting closer with every passing second.

She tilted her head towards Michael, and saw that he’d seen the approaching threat as well. He let out a soft whine and glanced back the way they’d come. They were almost exactly mid way between the service tunnel access points. They’d have to make it two hundred meters before they came to the next one. Unfortunately the train was travelling at speed, and before they could open the door (setting off the alarms) they would have to change back to human form so that they could operate the handle. Fear spurred them on, and they pushed harder, racing the oncoming locomotive.

The light was brighter now, and the approaching thunder of the train was deafening as they reached the access door. Michael began his transformation immediately. He had always been faster than Marie in the change. She held off instigating her own metamorphosis back to human. The last thing she wanted to do was risk being caught midway between woman and beast when the train arrived.

The floor beneath her feet shook, the vibrations making the stone feel almost liquid, and the roar of metal against metal was agony to her enhanced hearing. Michael had finally become human once more and threw himself at the heavy door, frantically twisting the handle, then tugging at it. He turned to her and the look in his eyes said it all. The door was locked. They were out of time and had nowhere to go. The train would be on them in seconds.

Marie snarled, backed herself up against the far wall, and hurled herself at the heavy metal door, just as the blazing headlight of the oncoming train turned her world into a blinding white sea of noise and pain.

Chapter 11

30th December 2008. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 07:50

It hadn’t taken long for the prisoners to get into the routine of the prison camp. They woke at 6:30 every morning to the high-pitched shriek of a siren, operating at a frequency just high enough to be uncomfortable but not debilitating. John remembered the ultrasonic alarms at Steven’s house in High Moor and was grateful that the loudspeakers their captors used didn’t seem to be capable of producing that particular noise, or, at least, hadn’t decided to use it yet. Once they were up, they had an hour and a half to wash and dress before breakfast, after which they would be left to their own devices until the next meal. Armed guards delivered their food, and it was up to the prisoners to distribute it among themselves. Despite the precautions the military had in place – the ultrasonic sirens, the circling Reaper drones and the blanket CCTV coverage of the compound – it seemed the troops were less than enthusiastic about spending any time inside the fences if they could help it. Apart from the thrice daily food deliveries, the only time they set foot inside the camp was to escort selected individuals to the medical block for experimentation.

In many respects, the camp regime was less severe than what he’d had to suffer in Durham Prison. There was no work detail and he didn’t have to worry about infecting any of his fellow prisoners. Hell, he felt safer than he’d done in weeks. Colonel Richards had been clear about what would happen to the perpetrators of any violent incidents, either against the military personnel or the other inmates. That wasn’t to say he was comfortable with the situation. The other prisoners were pack werewolves, and they made sure to keep their distance from him. He had one of the low, single storey accommodation blocks to himself. He ate by himself and he showered by himself. He’d attempted to make conversation with one or two of the other prisoners on the first day, to persuade them that he was not the moonstruck beast they thought he was, but his efforts had led nowhere. After several failed attempts, he made the decision not to bother, and was, for the most part, left alone.

This morning was no different to the last few days. He watched through the grimy window as the soldiers placed several large cauldrons of porridge on a table set in the centre of the courtyard, then retreated to the safety of the gates, weapons raised. A line soon formed, and one of the women, Kasha, began ladling meagre portions into outstretched bowls. The food was rank, made with water instead of milk, and unsweetened. Still, it was warming and kept the hunger at bay until lunchtime, when something equally vile and unappetising would be presented. John usually waited until everyone else had been served before going for his own food, by which time it had gone cold and had a rubbery skin across the surface. It seemed like the best way to avoid a confrontation. This morning, however, his stomach growled in anticipation and he decided that he didn’t care. He just wanted something to eat.

He opened the door and stepped out into the courtyard, only too aware of the numerous heads that turned in his direction. He walked toward the line, head down, and wished that he were invisible. He made it almost half way before two men detached themselves from the queue and blocked his approach.

One of them, a dark haired man with three days growth of facial hair, sneered at him. “Where do you think you’re going, moonstruck?” The man spat the last word, spraying John’s face with foul-smelling saliva.

John forced a smile. “I thought I’d have some breakfast. Unless there was something you wanted?”

He stepped around the two men, only to find his path blocked once more. The other man put his hand on John’s chest and shoved him back. “Scum like you don’t eat with the rest of us. You get the scraps, like the mongrel dog that you are. So go on, dog, get back in your kennel. Maybe we’ll leave you something.” He smirked and turned his head to the other man. “Maybe not.”

John squared up to him and stepped forward so that they were almost face to face. The stench of his breath was almost enough to put him off his breakfast. Apparently these two hadn’t bothered to brush their teeth since their incarceration. He fought past the nausea and grinned. “And how, exactly, are you going to stop me?” He angled his head to the sniper in the nearest tower. “Get physical, and that bloke over there will blow a hole in your empty fucking head. Try to change, and those drones will make sure there’s nothing left of you but a smoking crater. Unless you’re feeling lucky?”

The two men exchanged nervous glances. John smiled at them. “That’s what I thought,” he said, and pushed his way between them. The two men followed him to the line, but kept their distance and said nothing else. Still, John felt their eyes on him, along with the eyes of everyone else. He found that he didn’t care. There was nothing these pack werewolves could do to him. They might talk and act tough, but as far as he knew, none of them were from field teams or had any sort of combat training. Without their wolves, they were just people, and he’d already faced down so much worse. They were no threat to him, and they knew it. He held his head high, meeting the gazes of the pack werewolves until one by one, they looked away. Satisfied that he’d made his point, he joined the end of the food queue and waited to be served.

After a few minutes, he became aware of someone standing beside him. He looked down to find a young girl with blond hair and a serious expression on her face gazing up at him.

“Are you going to kill us?” she said.

The question took him by surprise and, for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. “No, I’m not. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

The girl didn’t look convinced. “My mum, and my Auntie Kasha and my Uncle Dmitri say that you’re a moonstruck, and you’ll change and kill everyone on the next full moon.”

John shook his head. “I’m not moonstruck. I was, but I learned how to control it. I can change when I want to, just like the rest of you. You don’t have to worry about me. What’s your name?”

The girl took a half step away from him, tilting her head sideways as if weighing up the truth of his words. Her posture relaxed, and a small, sad smile replaced her frown. “It’s Sophie. Do you promise that you won’t hurt us? Any of us?”

He nodded. “Cross my heart. I last changed a few days ago, so I won’t have to turn on the full moon. I promise.”

Sophie’s frown returned. “Good. That means we only have to worry about the others.”

It was John’s turn to feel confused. “Others? You mean the soldiers?”

She shook her head. “No, silly. I mean all the ones who haven’t changed in a while. They want to change, but the bad men won’t let them. That means…”

Now he understood. “That means they’ll all go moonstruck on the next full moon. They’ll change whether they want to or not.”

A fair haired woman hurried across the yard and grabbed Sophie by the shoulders, ushering her back to one of the accommodation blocks while hissing what John assumed to be Russian at her. He couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but her tone and the nervous glances back to John told him everything he needed to know. Sophie voice carried back to him: “but Mum, he says he’s not a moonstruck. He
promised
!” But her pleas fell on deaf ears, and she was bundled back inside.

John looked up. He’d made it to the front of the queue. The woman, Kasha, glared at him with a murderous look in her eyes. He raised his bowl and she slopped a portion of grey gloop into it, then spat onto his food for good measure. “Moonstruck scum. You stay away from my niece.”

John didn’t say a word. He turned and headed back to his own barrack block, his mind attempting to process the new information. The next full moon was just under two weeks away. That meant they were all in very serious trouble.

***

The soldiers arrived at his dormitory a little after lunchtime. He still felt queasy from the vile concoction they’d served – some sort of stew with overcooked vegetables and fragments of a mystery meat floating in a watery gruel. The food had a distinctive, pharmaceutical tang to it, and afterwards he felt more than a little lethargic. The drugging of the meals was nothing new, but they seemed to be trying out a new narcotic blend, and the effects were much more pronounced than usual. Still, when the door burst open and he was ordered out at gunpoint, he complied. Arguing wouldn’t achieve anything beyond getting him shot, and he wasn’t ready to go out in a blaze of glory just yet. Besides, he really needed to speak to someone in charge about the impending full moon. The Colonel hadn’t given a shit last time he’d mentioned the matter, but he hoped he might have better luck with one of the medical staff.