Blood Moon (26 page)

“Yeah. We broke into the base where they were keeping him. Marie, Daniel and I. They got me, but I think the others got away. I hope so, anyway.”

Dmitri smiled and clapped John on the back. “That is good. Very good. We can only pray that they managed to prevent Krysztof doing something stupid.”

The loudspeakers crackled into life. “All prisoners must remain in their quarters until further notice. Any deviation from this order will be met with lethal force. I repeat. All prisoners must stay in their quarters until instructed otherwise.”

Kasha, Sonja and Dmitri exchanged worried glances. John moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside. It was still dark outside, but the floodlights illuminated the compound, casting a glare from the unblemished snow. The main gates were open and rows of armed soldiers took up position inside with their weapons raised. Behind them, John could make out a line of heavy lorries, each fitted with a crane and carrying a Portacabin. The trucks made their way to the exercise area and began unloading the temporary buildings while more soldiers made their way into the compound and took up position.

Sonja stood beside him. “What is happening?”

John turned back to the pack werewolves and shook his head. “Nothing good. I think we’re going to have some new arrivals.”

1st January 2009. Underhill Military Base, Sub-Level Two. 15:40

Phil wriggled on the hard mattress, struggling to get comfortable. Ever since his failed escape attempt he’d been confined to his room on Colonel Richards’ orders. He was escorted to and from the mess by armed guards, and he’d been reduced to using a bucket in the corner of what he now considered to be his cell as a toilet. That meant, given the reaction the mess food was having on his stomach, that the atmosphere in the small, claustrophobic room was rarely pleasant. He thumbed through the paperback he’d been given without much enthusiasm. A bloody horror novel – and about fucking werewolves at that. As if he wanted to have anything to do with werewolves again. Clearly his military captors had a warped sense of humour. He glanced at his watch and sighed. Another two hours before he was taken for whatever slop was served up as his evening meal, then back into solitary confinement until morning. He dreaded to think what Sharon must be thinking. He’d not spoken to her since Christmas Eve. She must be going out of her mind.

The sound of a key turning in the lock made him sit up, and he put the book down on the bed. A break from the tedium of his daily routine was welcome, but he also knew that if someone was bothering to visit him, it probably wasn’t good news. Of course, the Colonel might have decided to let him go, but he wasn’t holding out much hope.

The door opened and Paul Patterson, dressed in full combat gear, stepped into the room and locked the door behind him. His face was pale and his expression pained. Phil’s hands gripped the side of the bed. “What’s this? Come to put me out of my misery? Colonel Richards sent you to tie up loose ends?”

Paul leaned the weapon against the door. He didn’t say anything at first, as if he couldn’t find the words. “Phil… I…”

“What? What’s happened?”

Paul pulled out the red plastic chair and sat down. Phil couldn’t help but notice his former colleague’s hands had a distinct tremble to them, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. Paul paused, taking a deep breath as if to steel himself, then began speaking.

“Phil. There’s been an attack. Christ, more than an attack – a fucking slaughter. God knows how they did it, but…”

Phil felt his heart drop through his stomach. He didn’t want to hear the rest of what Paul had to say. He already knew.

“It was High Moor, Phil. I was on the QRF team that went in, but by the time we got there it was all over. They cut the town off, took out the power and mobile phone masts, and then went door to door. Fuck… I’ve never seen anything like it. It was… monstrous.”

Phil got to his feet and grabbed the younger man by his webbing. “What about Sharon? Are you telling me my fucking wife’s dead, Paul? Are you telling me that the military and the government just let a pack of werewolves wipe out an entire bloody town and kill my wife?”

Paul shook his head. “No, Sharon’s alive. I found her myself. She was in the basement of a church hall with a bunch of kids. Saved them by all accounts.”

The strength drained out of Phil and he collapsed back on the bed, tears of relief streaming down his cheeks. “Oh thank God. Thank fucking Christ. When you said… Jesus.”

Paul sat down beside his former boss and put his hand on his shoulder. “Phil, it’s not all good news. She got scratched in the attack. Most of the survivors were scratched or bitten. She’s infected, Phil. Sharon’s a werewolf.”

He turned his head to Paul, lips curling into a snarl. “Where is she, Paul. Where have they taken my wife?”

Paul sagged. “Lindholme. They’ve taken all the survivors to the internment camp at Lindholme.”

Phil got to his feet. “Then get off your arse. You’re taking me to that camp so I can have a chat with Colonel bloody Richards.”

1st January 2009. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 17:35

Sharon stared out of the bus window at the snow-covered landscape, trying to make sense of what had happened, and what was going to happen. Matthew had finally fallen asleep, fatigue and grief getting the better of the boy. He sat between her and Mandy, his head resting against her arm. Mandy hadn’t said a word for hours and just stared ahead. Any attempt at conversation had resulted in grunted responses. She couldn’t imagine what the girl had gone through. From what little Mandy had said, it had been appalling. Worse even than what she and Matthew had survived in the church hall.

Sharon had broken down in tears when the army had found them that morning. The relief had almost been too much to bear. That one of the people through the door had been Phil’s colleague, Paul Patterson, had reduced her to a weeping mess. Paul had escorted her and the children from the basement towards an army truck. She’d done her best to ignore the carnage in the church hall. Most of the corpses were unrecognisable, but the glance she’d taken had burned itself into her consciousness. So much blood – made worse when she recognised pieces. A sweater worn by one of the children. What remained of Tonia and Angela, their mouths open in silent screams. The wide eyed look of anguish and terror on what remained of little Bella. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel at the time, making herself strong for the sake of the children. Telling them not to look and to keep their eyes on the floor instead. A few wretched sobs and sniffles from her charges had told her that some of those children had ignored her, and had seen things that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

The town itself had been just as bad. Every door hanging open with claw marks carved into the wood and the frames splintered. Windows shattered, some with ruined corpses impaled on the glass. The snow had long since stopped falling, but it seemed that almost everywhere she looked there were red stains on the pristine white blanket covering the town.

The soldiers had taken everyone to the town hall, where medics had dressed injuries and handed out blankets along with hot cups of sweet tea. The air was filled with the sounds of orders being shouted and the almost constant hum of helicopters landing and departing from the market square. There were so few people there. The town of High Moor had thousands of residents. Thousands. Yet, by her reckoning, there were fewer than two hundred people gathered in the building, and most of them bore terrible injuries. A man beside her had a blood-soaked field dressing over what was left of his face. Others were even worse. At least three people had died from their wounds before an officer informed them they were going to be moved to a temporary refugee facility near Doncaster, and those who were able to walk had been shepherded onto four buses. Four buses holding all that was left of the town of High Moor. It seemed impossible. The sort of tragedy you saw on the news but never imagined it could happen here, in such an ordinary little town. A place that should have been a safe environment for families to raise their children but instead became a slaughterhouse.

She glanced around at the others on the bus. No one was speaking, although a few women wept softly. Most of the other passengers were silent, with haunted expressions that she was sure mirrored her own. The only hope she held out was that Phil would be waiting for her at the other end of the journey. All she wanted right now was to feel her husband’s arms around her, holding her close and telling her everything was going to be all right. That they would be able to prevent the wounds she’d received from turning her into a savage monster like the things that had killed so many last night. She couldn’t bear the thought of becoming
that
. After everything that had happened in the last few months – from what happened to Olivia, Paul’s family and now Helen, Chelfyn and Ian – it seemed that almost everyone she knew and loved had fallen prey to the teeth and claws of something that, up until November, had only existed in horror movies. She’d kill herself first.

Sharon shook her head, trying to banish the dark thoughts. She couldn’t think like that. She needed to be strong for Mandy and Matthew. She was the only family they had left and couldn’t afford to lose hope. Hope was the only thing that any of them could cling to anymore.

The convoy of buses and military vehicles turned off the motorway onto a long straight road surrounded by flat, featureless fields that stretched off as far as Sharon could see. It felt strange for there not to be any hills on the horizon. She’d spent most of her life in County Durham, and the openness of the countryside here made her feel somehow lost and exposed. As if the flat expanse of farmland went on forever. There was almost no other traffic on the roads, and the small villages they passed through seemed deserted. Cars were parked in driveways with a covering of snow across their roof and bonnets. Only the warm glow from behind closed curtains gave any indication of life. She imagined the families warm and safe behind those windows and wished that she was one of them. There with the people she loved instead of being driven to a refugee camp in the middle of nowhere.

The buses slowed and Sharon spotted a sign on the carriageway. HM Prison Lindholme. A small coal of fear ignited in her stomach and she felt her shoulders tighten, although she tried not to let it show. Mandy didn’t seem to notice and continued staring into the middle distance, although Sharon couldn’t fail to see the tears dampening her niece’s cheeks. She reached across and put her hand on the girl’s arm, making her flinch. “Mandy, love. It’s going to be alright. I’m here for you both and I’m not going anywhere.”

Mandy turned her head and gazed at her with hollow, empty eyes, then turned her head back to the front of the bus without uttering a word. Sharon felt her heart break a little more, wishing she could do or say something to help her niece, but knowing that there was nothing she could do but be there for her when the walls inside her finally crumbled and the pain and grief came flooding out.

Their bus arrived at a huge set of steel gates topped with razor wire. The gates swung open and Sharon’s heart sank further. The compound was filled with armed soldiers, with sniper towers every two hundred meters along the perimeter. A series of low brick buildings sat near the entrance, with rows of Portacabins and concrete barrack blocks behind them. A soldier with a pair of glowsticks directed the buses to the right, away from the entrance, where they parked side by side. Armed troops flanked the vehicles, weapons raised. Then the doors hissed open and they were instructed by the driver to step out.

The cold bit into Sharon’s face as she filed out with the rest of the passengers. Matthew had grumbled and called for his mother as he’d woken, but now stood next to Sharon, gripping onto her injured leg so tightly that it was all she could do not to cry out in pain. Her twisted ankle no longer seemed to be bothering her, but she didn’t want to think too hard about what that meant. The blanket she’d been given at the town hall did little to keep the chill wind from bringing her arms out in goosebumps. More soldiers arrived, flanking the survivors of High Moor, while others arranged themselves in outward facing ranks, crouching down and pointing their weapons at the concrete barrack blocks. A man dressed in an immaculately pressed army uniform, accompanied by a young, dark haired woman, marched to the front of the crowd.

“Good evening. My name is Colonel Richards, and this is Doctor Rose Fisher. I apologise for the surroundings, but given the short notice, I’m afraid we will have to improvise as best we can. You will each be shown to your accommodation shortly, and then Doctor Fisher and her staff will assess each person’s injuries. In the meantime, I would ask that you remain in your assigned accommodations. There are other residents in this facility who I would not recommend mixing with. I should also regretfully point out that, as of now, you are all in quarantine, and any attempts to escape from this facility will result in swift and decisive action. Any questions you may have will be answered in due course. In the meantime, I suggest you all make yourselves as comfortable as possible.”

As the Colonel turned and walked away, and the soldiers began ushering them towards the Portacabins, Sharon felt that small ember of hope she’d frantically clung on to fade and die.

Chapter 17