Blood Moon (29 page)

A small voice spoke from the bed beside her. “He went out to play. I wanted to go as well, but Mummy wouldn’t let me.”

“He went out to play? On his own? When?”

The little girl, still held fast in her mother’s arms, smiled. “Right after the men came for you. He opened the door and went outside.” She glared at her mother. “When I asked if I could go with him, Mummy just hugged me so hard I couldn’t breathe.”

Sharon turned, opened the door and stepped outside. Immediately she saw three red points of light appear on her chest, but she didn’t care. “Matthew? Matthew, where are you?”

Mandy appeared beside her. “There – in the snow,” she said, pointing to a trail of small footprints leading across the empty yard towards one of the low, wooden buildings.

They set off across the yard, Sharon setting a steady, determined pace, trying to push the knowledge that they were both a finger-twitch away from death out of her mind. The distance to the wooden building seemed vast, the white glare of the snow distorting her sense of perspective. As they arrived at the hut, the door burst open and a woman ushered them inside. “Get inside, quickly, both of you, before they open fire.”

The relief as the door closed behind them was palpable, and Sharon realised that her heart was racing. She felt quite nauseous, but also enormously relieved. She looked up to the woman. “I’m looking for my nephew. A little boy called Matthew.”

The woman smiled. “It’s fine. He’s here and he’s safe.”

“Oh, thank God. If anything had happened to…”

The words dried up in Sharon’s throat and she recoiled in absolute horror. The crowd parted and she saw Matthew, but standing beside him, with his hand on her nephew’s shoulder, was her worst nightmare. John Simpson. Murderer. Serial killer. Werewolf. Monster.

He raised his hands. “Look, Sharon, the things you’ve read about me in the papers might not be completely accurate. I’m not going to hurt you, or your nephew. But we need to talk. Everyone’s life depends on it.”

Chapter 18

3rd January 2009. Romashkovsky Forest, Moscow. 22:17

The she-wolf sniffed the air and moved cautiously through the snow, taking care to remain downwind of her prey. The elk, a huge black-haired bull, remained unaware of the predator stalking it, content to forage for green shoots beneath the snow. The wolf knew instinctively that the elk was a threat. Despite shedding its antlers, the beast outweighed her by a significant factor, and the sharpened hooves would inflict terrible damage if they connected. The darker furred creatures tended to be the more aggressive, and the she-wolf had never seen an animal with fur so close to black. It stood out against the white backdrop as if it were a shadow brought to life. She would have selected easier prey if there were any to be found, but the smaller game – the rabbits, foxes and squirrels – had all either hibernated or retreated in fear to their burrows when they sensed the hunter moving through the forest. Even now she could smell their fear as they cowered in the darkness, and hear the frantic flutter of their hearts. The elk was the only potential meal she had encountered for days, and a terrible hunger gnawed at her stomach. The cold had sapped her strength, and she could feel herself becoming weaker by the day. Soon she would not be able to take on such a formidable opponent. If she was not already too weak to do so. There was no choice in the matter. She needed to eat. That was the only thing of any consequence.

She dropped to her belly and began wriggling closer to the feeding animal. She’d learned through painful experience that there was no safe side to assault these creatures from. Their vicious hooves were capable of striking out in any direction. Her only chance was stealth. To slay the animal before it realised the danger it was in, and before it had a chance to retaliate.

She covered more than half of the distance, then froze, flattening herself into the snow as the elk raised its head, its ears twitching as it tried to locate any potential threats. If it ran, there was a slim chance she could catch it before it was able to reach full speed. The elk were fast, agile prey, but were slow to start and took several strides before they reached their top speed. If the animal turned and charged, however, then it was fully capable of inflicting terrible damage to her. It might not kill her, but the chance of the meal would be lost, and the next hunt would be so much more difficult.

The elk looked around the forest, uncertainty and fear in its eyes. It sniffed the air and let out a snort, then returned to its foraging. The she-wolf waited until she was certain the beast had relaxed, then resumed her approach. Slowly. Cautiously. Freezing at the slightest hint of detection. She was almost close enough now. Just a little further and the elk would be in range. She tensed her muscles, feeling what strength she had left flow through her. Judging the distance to the target. Preparing for her assault. Trying to ignore the growling of her stomach.

The elk raised its head and snorted, then turned around and let out a monstrous roar that sent a shiver of fear along the she-wolf’s spine. The massive animal lowered its head and pawed at the snow-covered ground, ploughing deep trenches in the frozen earth. The wolf snarled in response, its muscles coiled. It knew that the situation had become extremely dangerous. She might have been able to subdue the animal with the element of surprise, but now, faced with a full frontal attack, her options had become limited. One mistake would send her beneath those sharp hooves with almost a ton of pressure bearing down on each. Their eyes locked – predator and prey – assessing one another. Staring each other down. Waiting for the slightest hint of weakness before they attacked. Fear fluttered in the wolf’s stomach again. The elk was massive. A bull in its prime. Difficult to take down with a pack. Almost impossible for a single wolf to defeat. Yet she was keenly aware of the hunger and the cold sapping her strength. Retreat was not an option. She readied herself to attack. Then the elk charged.

The wolf feigned to the left, then changed direction and bounded to the right, trying to confuse the elk. This, however, was no young calf. The scars along its hide bore testament to the many battles this animal had endured. It recognised the ploy for what it was, and a hoof crashed into the wolf’s flank with sufficient force to send her careening into one of the towering, spindly pine trees. She scrambled to her feet, tasting blood in her mouth. One of her ribs had been broken and she whined as the bone slid back through her flesh and reset itself. The elk was not prepared to give its enemy any respite, however, and changed direction with alarming speed before charging headlong at the predator once more, hoping to catch the wolf before it had recovered sufficiently to mount a proper defence. The she-wolf lunged to the left, desperate to avoid being caught under the trampling hooves of the enraged animal. Despite this, a hoof scraped across her leg, tearing a strip of fur and flesh free. The elk however, was unable to halt its momentum in time and collided with the pine tree that, only seconds before, had arrested the she-wolf’s flight. The trunk of the tree gave a loud crack, and a flurry of snow from its skeletal branches rained down on the stunned animal.

The wolf seized the opportunity, knowing that she could not hesitate for even a second. She ignored the burning pain and hurled herself at the elk. The massive animal saw the danger, and managed to lash out with its hoof once more, but too slowly to prevent the wolf’s fangs sinking into its throat. The impact of the hoof shattered bones and again, hurled the wolf away into a bramble thicket. The damage, however, was done. Hot blood streamed from the wound, staining the snow crimson. The elk staggered back and tried to roar at its attacker, but all that came out was a bubbling wheeze. The she-wolf took a moment to recover, whining in agony as the shattered bones began to reform. The elk tried to attack again, but its movements were slowing and its legs were unsteady. The she-wolf evaded the renewed assault with ease, despite her injuries, snapping at the elk’s exposed flanks, making the animal expend the last of its energy. The dance continued for a few minutes more before the elk finally collapsed in a rapidly cooling pool of its own blood, eyes rolling in panic. When the wolf’s jaws clamped around its throat this time, the beast was no longer able to resist and the end came quickly in a final bright red arterial spray.

The wolf stepped back from the corpse and howled in triumph, the sound echoing through the empty woods. After a few seconds, a response rang out, and before much longer, her companion limped into the clearing. She couldn’t remember how he had lost his leg. There was a vague recollection of sound and noise that she couldn’t articulate or reference. It seemed that he’d always walked on only three legs as they were drawn towards the rising sun. The urge to press east had been insistent, and she couldn’t fathom the reason why she allowed her injured companion to slow her down and share the food when it would have been much easier to simply tear his throat out and feed on his corpse to keep herself going. Every time she considered it, an unfamiliar pang of disgust surged up from within, and the thought was discounted almost as soon as it formed. They were connected, the crippled male and she. She just had no idea as to how or why.

The male approached the fresh kill cautiously, head lowered and tail between his legs. A sign of deference. He sniffed the rapidly cooling carcass of the elk, but would not dare start feeding. The she-wolf acknowledged his submission and sank her fangs into the back of the elk, chewing through bone and muscle until she found her prize. She ripped her head back, tearing the creature’s heart from its torso, relishing the taste of the blood on her tongue as the organ burst between her teeth.

Now the male joined her, hungrily stripping muscle from the creature’s flanks. The two monstrous wolves tore into the carcass, rending the flesh, savouring the sweet meat of the organs. They feasted for over an hour, until both of them had eaten their fill. Ordinarily a kill of this size would feed the wolves for days, perhaps even longer. However the female felt the insistent tug eastwards once more as she lay beside the male. She was aware of other predators nearby. A bear circling them cautiously at the edge of her senses. A pack of smaller wolves lurking in the tree line. Carrion eaters, scavenging the fruits of her labour. An urge to protect her kill rose up, but it was overshadowed by the need to keep moving. She understood that the end of her journey was close, and felt a sense of urgency, as if time were somehow a factor. She got to her feet and nudged the male with her snout, then loped off into the forest at a casual pace, leaving the elk’s carcass to the scavengers.

The two wolves ran through the night, past ancient stone ruins and rusted iron railings. On occasion, the she-wolf picked up the scent of fresh death in the air, and when the two of them happened across an old stone mausoleum, the air crackled with an atmosphere of malevolence that raised both wolves’ hackles and forced them to back track to find another path around the place.

The horizon was invisible through the impenetrable rows of pine trees, but a change in the depth of the shadows told her the sky was beginning to lighten, and she knew they would need to rest before much longer. Already her nose detected the acrid stench of the human city, and the low bass rumble of the metal things that moved along the black rivers at terrifying speeds – faster than even she could run. She knew to avoid the humans at all costs, although she didn’t fully understand why. They were weak, slow. Prey. Yet they had taken great care to avoid them, only moving through villages and towns when necessary, and then, only in the darkest parts of the night when the humans nestled in their homes, unaware of the creatures stalking the night beyond. The answers to these questions seemed to dance on the edge of her consciousness, along with the reason for their journey, but the concepts and sounds were alien to her, feeling more like the noises the humans made than her own thought patterns. These thoughts frightened her, although she would not allow this to show. She didn’t understand what they meant, but she was left with a series of feelings and urges. Travel east as quickly as possible. Protect the male. Find the others.

She paused, and the hackles rose on her neck. The bitter arctic wind had, for a moment, changed direction as it whistled through the forest. And with that change of direction, she caught a scent. Just the tiniest fragment, but enough to confirm the nagging suspicion she’d had since she’d killed the elk. They were being followed. Stalked. By wolves just like them. The beasts were using the same tactics that she used when hunting. Staying downwind, keeping their distance and waiting for their moment to strike. The alarm calls of birds from behind them had been the most obvious giveaway, and now the hint of scent confirmed it. The change in the wind had been too brief for her to properly assess those hunting her. There was a tang of familiarity to it, but she couldn’t tell how many of them there were, or how close they’d managed to get. The male hadn’t noticed, fortunately. She’d managed to crush the stab of fear before it could affect her own scent and alert those stalking her. The male was unlikely to be able to perform that feat, especially given his injury. He was no good in a hunt, would be a liability in a confrontation, and he was all too aware of the fact. The stench of fear would billow from him like a cloud.