Blood Moon (33 page)

6th January 2009. Trecorras Cottage, Llangarron, Herefordshire. 11:15

Daniel sighed and threw the novel he’d been reading onto the bed. He couldn’t concentrate and really wanted nothing more than to sleep. The only problem was that for the last few days, sleep had eluded him. The pain from his broken arm aside, every time he closed his eyes he saw the faces of those he’d killed and those who, by his actions, had been allowed to die. He’d killed before, of course. Over a decade working on field teams had made him as efficient and ruthless a butcher as it was possible to be. The attack on High Moor though – that had been something different entirely. The people in that town had stood no chance. Well… almost no chance. The patrons of one of the public houses had somehow managed to subdue and kill Matt Cash with nothing more than broken bottles – sawing the young werewolf’s head off as he howled and thrashed beneath them. But for the most part, it had been a massacre. Hundreds of people dead. Hundreds more maimed and cursed to become ravening moonstruck monsters in a couple of short weeks. That he’d been following orders did nothing to assuage his crippling guilt. As a German, he appreciated the bitter irony more than most. Hitler’s thugs had, after all, just been following orders as they committed genocide. As far as he was concerned, he was now no better than the worst of them. He hated Krysztof for putting him in that position, but even that was a pale shadow compared to the depths of loathing he had for himself. He’d considered ending his life, but it would not be an easy thing to accomplish. His silver immunity meant traditional methods of despatching his kind would be ineffective. And there was also the question of what the pack of young lycanthropes in his care would do if he was not there to lead them. Already they grew restless – Melissa and others had been continually harassing him about what their next target was. They had a taste for blood and vengeance now. In all honesty, they were little better than moonstruck. Worse, actually. A moonstruck was nothing but instinct, pain and rage – an elemental force of nature that destroyed everything in its path. There was no rational thought behind it. No malice or intent. It simply was. The creatures he now commanded were calculating, brutal murderers with a taste for slaughter unsurpassed by anything he’d ever encountered. They were monsters, pure and simple, and they terrified him. As much as he dreaded whatever their next ‘assignment’ would be, he feared not getting one more. Sooner or later, he knew, they would tire of being told what to do and seek their own entertainment. They would become a roving plague of teeth, claws and death.

He wanted a drink. Wanted nothing more than to escape into oblivion, but this also was impossible. His heightened metabolism aside, there were already rumblings of discontent. To show weakness now would be to invite one of the others to challenge his position and, in his current state of mind, he feared he would not be able to muster enough enthusiasm to mount a proper defence. He almost wanted it. An end to the guilt of what he had done and what he had created. An end to the responsibility. Let the rabid dogs turn on their leader and do as they would. It would not be his concern after they’d finished tearing him apart.

Melissa Grove knocked twice on his door and, without waiting for a response, let herself in. Another display of his weakening authority and dwindling respect. She appeared excited. Agitated almost. She held out the satellite phone to him. Daniel felt a sudden wave of nausea and regarded the object as if it were a venomous snake.
Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.

He sat up on the bed. “What is it, Melissa?”

She beamed at him. “A message came through just now. Said you should call straight back.”

Daniel sighed, got to his feet and took the device from her. When she didn’t leave he raised an eyebrow. “Was there anything else I can help you with?”

The woman’s smile slipped a little. “No… It’s just… well, we can’t wait for our next mission. Everyone’s anxious to know what our target is going to be. I thought I’d…”

“I am the sub alpha of this unit, Melissa. This call is for my ears and mine alone. If we have another assignment, I’ll relay the information to the rest of you in due course. Now… if you don’t mind?”

He could sense the disappointment and anger radiating from her. Melissa was going to be a problem. The young wolves had, sickeningly, kept a tally of their kills in High Moor and Melissa was top of their league table by a significant margin. The loss of her family to the human assault on Christmas Day made her single-minded viciousness understandable to a point, but they all treated this like it was some sort of sick game. She reminded him in many ways of Connie. That thought alone was enough to trace an ice finger of fear down his spine. He wasn’t sure what he could do about it, but it was becoming very clear that he would have to do something soon. He waited until the blonde woman turned and stormed from his room before putting on his shoes and jacket. He walked out of his room and down the stairs, past rows of expectant faces, then picked up a set of car keys, left the house and drove along the farm track to the snow-covered village a mile away. He did not want any of his young charges listening in to what was said. Not on this call. He refused to be responsible for another massacre. Krysztof and Lukas could go fuck themselves.

He drove for another ten minutes before pulling the Ford Focus into a lay-by on the A40 and took a few moments to slow his breathing until the adrenaline had subsided. Then he picked up the satellite phone and called the number he’d been given.

The phone rang five times before it was answered. He didn’t give the alpha time to respond. “Krysztof, listen to me…”

The voice that cracked through the speaker, however, did not belong to Krysztof. The person he was speaking to was the last person he would have expected. “Daniel, it’s Marie.”

“What? Marie? But how…”

“Listen to me. It all went to hell over here. Krysztof executed Michael, then the Russians attacked. It’s… it’s not good, Daniel. There are only about a hundred of us left, and hardly any with field experience. Steffan is making preparations to keep them all safe until I get back from England.”

“England? You can’t be serious? They’ve increased security at all the ports and the military are on full alert. It’s suicide to come here, Marie. Take the others and save yourselves.”

“I can’t do that, Daniel. Not when almost a third of us are locked up in that internment camp. I’m going to get them out. And you’re going to help me.”

Daniel managed a small smile, in spite of himself, and felt the cold fist around his heart relax its grip a little. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need intel. I need you to run reconnaissance on Lindholme until we get there. Defences. Troop movements. The whole lot. We can’t risk going in there blind.”

“Understood. When will you get here?”

“Soon. I have a few things over here that I need to take care of, then I’ll be coming over with whoever I can find that’s combat ready.” Her voice softened. “Daniel, I know what you had to do, and I know
you.
You can’t hold yourself responsible for that. It was all on Krysztof. You were just…”

He gave a bitter laugh. “I know. I was just following orders. My grandfather would be so proud.”

“Daniel, I need you on this. I can’t do this without you. Get the intelligence and don’t take any stupid risks. We can’t risk alerting them. If they know we’re coming it will get very ugly. Take care of yourself, Daniel. I’ll see you soon.”

The line went dead. Daniel looked at the satellite phone in his hands, then smiled. Perhaps God did answer the prayers of the damned. This solved all of his problems. He could never undo the terrible things he had done, but perhaps he might be able to earn a little redemption.

6th January 2009. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 13:35

John leaned back, taking satisfaction at the popping in his spine. Their captors had seemingly relaxed their restrictions on the High Moor survivors and the pack wolves mixing, although the two groups still regarded one another with fear and suspicion. It was hardly surprising, given the circumstances. The pack wolves looked on the two hundred infected as a potential army of moonstruck that would tear them apart in a little over a week, while the survivors drew little differentiation between those they were incarcerated with and the pack of monsters that had swept through their town on New Year’s Eve. If not for Sharon Fletcher’s assistance, he doubted if he’d have been able to get them to listen to him at all. As it was, almost three quarters of the survivors had done their best to put their differences aside and work with the pack wolves – Dmitri, Kasha and Sonja – to at least try to learn how to understand and control the changes they were about to go through. Those who refused had been moved into a single structure, the one closest to the main gates, and were left alone. Still, that meant that when the moon rose, there would still be around fifty moonstruck werewolves loose in the compound. That really was not good. John knew better than most what just one moonstruck was capable of. Fifty of them… well, dangerous didn’t even come close.

The lack of military interference bothered him as well. There were no more tests. No more visits to the medical centre and, apart from the thrice daily deliveries of drugged food, no soldier set foot inside the compound. John wasn’t sure what that meant, but he had a nagging suspicion it was not a positive thing. If the military had no more use for them, chances were their life expectancy was days – perhaps less.

He brought his thoughts back to the present, to the group of people sitting before him. Thirty men, women and children. All infected. All werewolves with no idea of what to expect when the moon rose and the change tore through them. All relying on him to somehow explain the unexplainable. Tell them how to come to terms with the fledgling monster growing inside them. Teach them somehow to control their fear of the thing all of them feared the most. He’d been at this for a little over a week and really didn’t feel as if his efforts were getting through to them. It was not like he was an expert. For most of his life he was a prime example of exactly what you should not do. All he had to go on was what Marie had taught him in that cabin. The thought terrified him. All it would take was one person to push too far and initiate the transformation unbidden, and one of the circling Reaper drones would drop a Hellfire missile on the building. Every one of these sessions was akin to playing Russian roulette with high explosives. The thought did little to calm him.

“Okay, I’m going to go over what we did last time. Close your eyes and slow your breathing. Concentrate on it, and on my voice. Breathe in… and out… in… out. Feel the rhythm. Imagine that everything around you is fading away. The only things that exist are my voice and your breathing, and with every breath you take the more relaxed you are getting.”

Some of the people in the group were fidgeting. Not really managing to come to terms with the relaxation exercises. John took a mental note of who they were. If things didn’t improve, it may end up being necessary to move them to what some of the pack were calling
Moonstruck Mansion
. He wouldn’t give up on them, though. Not until the very last minute. Until then, he’d pray that somehow these people would learn to accept their ‘other self’ and keep pushing in the hope that he’d get through to them.

“Now, I want you to sink deep into yourself. There is another within you. It’s young. Little more than a puppy right now. You’ll find it by following the heat it emits. Imagine turning your face towards a heater. Feel the warmth on your face, then will yourself to get closer. Not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that you can feel it, and it can feel you. There is nothing to be afraid of. This is part of you. No different to your arm or leg. It can’t hurt you and you can’t hurt it. Accept it. Feel it. Let any fear you might feel fade away and just be there beside it in the warm and dark. As if you were sitting by a fire with a dog by your feet. Relax, concentrate on your breathing… and just be.”

His attention was caught by Sonja waving at him through a window. He quietly got to his feet and let himself out of the building. “What’s up, Sonja? I’m in the middle of a session. Can’t it wait?”

She shook her head and pointed to the flurry of activity beyond the chain fence. Troops were packing equipment into trucks, and as one was filled, another took its place. “What do you think is going on?”

John felt sick to his stomach. The military were clearing out. Removing themselves from the facility. It was possible they were setting up somewhere else, another internment camp more suited to the population, but somehow he doubted it. What he’d learned of the military during his confinement was that they rarely did things quickly. “I don’t know, Sonja. But something tells me whatever’s happening isn’t good.”

7th January 2009. Lindholme Detention Centre, Doncaster. 13:35

Rose strode along the corridors of the prison, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead. The clipboard she carried was just for show. The soldiers had gotten used to her presence, and none of them gave her a second glance as they went about their business. The removal of the majority of the research equipment and files had all but ended. The Colonel had tried to reassure her that they were moving the sensitive material to a more secure site, but had refused to elaborate further. Rose may have had her share of flaws, but she prided herself on being able to spot bullshit a mile away, and every word that came out of Colonel Richards’ mouth had reeked of it. Something was up, but whatever it was, no one was letting on. She’d already made her mind up to do some digging of her own and get to the bottom of this surprise redeployment, but first there was another pressing matter she needed to attend to. She needed to find out what had happened to Steven Wilkinson.

Her enquiries about the old man had been savagely rebuffed by the Colonel, and Doctor Channing was equally evasive about him. She liked Steven. His brusque, flirtatious manner had been charming after a fashion. More to the point, he had been nothing but helpful during his time on the base. Most of the knowledge and countermeasures they’d not got through direct contact had come from the old werewolf hunter. Doctor Channing had a certain reputation among his peers, and she was not about to see Steven mistreated by the vicious son-of-a-bitch. She had been his Doctor, and that still counted for something. She needed to know that he was all right. Besides, it was not like she had much else to keep herself occupied. Her own research had effectively been put on hold after she’d assessed the refugees from High Moor. She desperately wanted to find out what her colleague was up to.