High Moor (23 page)

“Ha! Now that one was a handful."

Ivan grinned. “I thought I was going to shit myself when it came over the wall. You saved my life that day.”

“Well, your distracting it by letting it eat you helped an enormous amount. I was most grateful.”

Ivan laughed and made to slap Sebastian on the back but hit empty air. Sebastian was a blur of movement, almost too fast for the eye to follow. He grabbed Ivan’s arm and forced it around his back, into a painful lock, and slammed him against the car door. Sebastian leaned in close, and when he spoke his voice was soft, almost a whisper. “I need you to remember who is the designated Alpha of our little group, Ivan. Your patronising comments and your false concern over the past weeks have been nothing but a clumsy attempt to make me look weak in the eyes of the others. Do you think of me as weak, Ivan?”

Ivan grunted in pain as his arm was forced further up his back. “No, Sebastian. Of course not.”

“If you wish to challenge me for leadership of the team, then once this is finished, I will look forward to it. But be warned. If you say or do anything to belittle me again, I’ll tear your throat out where you stand.”

Sebastian released the other man and stepped away from him. Ivan stood on the pavement, red-faced, and balled his fists as if preparing to attack, then he relaxed his posture and got into the driver’s seat. Satisfied, Sebastian climbed into the passenger's side and closed the door.

“Night will be upon us soon. Let's meet up with the others and put an end to this, once and for all.”

***

21st July 1986. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 20.34.

Steven watched the sky. The final golden sliver of light from the sun had vanished beneath the western horizon ten minutes earlier, and the clouds had gone from white to orange and finally took on a deep crimson glow, as if filled with blood instead of water. Heavy, black storm clouds raced in from the southeast like a rolling blanket of malevolence. The scent of ozone hung in the air, and a faint rumble of thunder rolled across the countryside. He nailed the final plank of wood in place and turned to the group.

George and Caroline sat on the old sofa with their arms around John, who wept on his mother's shoulder. Carl was in the kitchen, doing something that he declined to share with the others.

“George, Caroline. It’s almost time. You need to take John downstairs now."

George nodded his assent, and Caroline hugged her son tight. After a moment she released her hold and took the boy by the hand.

George took John's other hand. “Come on, son. We have to go and get you somewhere safe.”

John sniffled and looked up at his mother with tear-filled eyes. “I don’t want to, Mam. I don’t want to change again.”

“I know, pet, and maybe you won’t if you try really hard. Better to be safe than sorry though.”

Caroline led her son out of the room, and they descended the stone steps to the basement, with George following behind.

Steven put his hand on George’s shoulder as he passed and held out a pistol. “George, take this. Just in case.”

George shook his head. ”No. No guns. You honestly can’t expect me to shoot my son, no matter what happens.”

“It’s a fucking tranquiliser gun, you muppet. Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. Now get downstairs and don’t open that door no matter what happens. Got it?”

George took the weapon. “Thank you, Steven. For everything.”

Steven nodded. “Go, see to your son. He needs you down there more than I need you up here. Carl and I will take care of everything else.”

George nodded and followed his wife and son, then closed and bolted the heavy steel door behind him.

***

The basement had been a fruit cellar. At one point, George’s father had subdivided it into several storerooms. It was in one of these that John would spend the night. They'd replaced the old wooden door with a reinforced steel one. The room was bare inside, and the faint smell of bleach and new paint permeated the air.

Sweat beaded on John’s forehead. He shivered. He'd felt unwell for the last hour and, as the moon rose, his condition worsened.

“OK, son, it’s time. Get undressed and we’ll lock you in for the night.”

John wiped a lock of hair from his eyes and looked embarrassed. “Do you have to watch?”

Caroline let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s nothing I’ve not seen before a hundred times, John Simpson. Now stop messing about and get out of those good clothes before they get damaged.”

“Dad? Please tell her.”

George put his hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “Come on, luv. He’s a big lad now. Give him a second’s privacy, eh?”

Caroline let out an annoyed tut and turned around so that her back was to her son. George did the same. Caroline angled her head a little to the left.

“Mam, stop looking! It’s not funny.”

“Alright, alright. Just get a move on.”

After a few moments of shuffling, John announced that he was ready. George and Caroline turned to find their son wrapped in a blanket, with his clothes in a heap on the floor.

“Oh, John. You could have at least folded them up.”

John fell into a crouch and screwed his eyes tight closed. “My stomach. It hurts.”

George ushered his son into the storeroom and closed the door behind him. He slid the steel bolt into place and looked through the small viewing window at his son. “John, you’ve got to fight it, son. Don’t let it beat you. Its mind over matter. Stay with us.”

***

As soon as George closed the basement door, Steven went to the kitchen to find Carl. The old man sat at the kitchen table. He wore a heavy overcoat, and sweat ran across his face.

Steven sat down opposite him and leaned forward across the table. “OK, Carl. Time for you to fill me in on the plan.”

Carl looked up at him through bloodshot eyes. “Plan? Who said anything about a plan?”

“For fuck’s sake, Carl. Look at yourself. You’re going to change any bloody minute. Are you just planning to sit here and wait for it to happen?”

“No, of course not. I’m waiting for the right time to come, before I act.”

“Well, I hope for my sake that it comes before the moon rises. Where did you put the rest of the ammo? I’ve only got one clip for this pistol.”

Carl shook his head. “There is no more ammo. I needed it. With any luck you won’t need to use that pop gun at all.”

“What the hell are you going on about? Will you just tell me what you’re up to?”

Carl laughed and showed him.

Steven stepped back from the old man, a look of horror on his face. “Oh fucking hell, Carl. You can’t be serious?”

***

21st July 1986. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 20.52.

Sebastian crouched in the undergrowth and suppressed a grin. The moon was rising, and he felt it in every cell of his body, a rush of power and ecstasy that made his limbs tingle. He knew that the others felt it too. Ivan, Yuri, and Boris stood beside him, stripped naked and eager for the hunt. Sebastian remained clothed. There would be time later to enjoy the slaughter.

With regret, he pushed his other self down into the recesses of his mind, where it growled and whined like an over-eager puppy. “Ivan, I want you to take Boris and Yuri. Circle the property, evaluate their defences, but remain silent and unseen.”

Ivan’s eyes shined as he struggled to retain his human form. “Why wait? We could be on them before they know what hit them.”

“Have patience. At the moment there are two pups in that house that are feeling the moon, as we are. Before the moon rises, they will have to be restrained or they will kill everyone in that building. Once that happens, we will only have the three humans to worry about. Once we finish them, we can deal with Schneider and the boy at our leisure.”

Ivan nodded and crouched down, with Boris and Yuri following suit. Hair flowed from their pores like a black tide. Bones snapped and reformed. Fangs burst from gums. After less than a minute, the transformation was complete. The three huge beasts turned and vanished into the thick foliage, leaving Sebastian alone.

“What are you thinking, Father? Will you hide and wait for your fate to claim you, or will you go down fighting?” He chuckled. “As if I didn’t already know.”

The first drops of rain fell from the sky, bursting onto the parched ground in a sporadic patter. The air smelled of wet earth, and Sebastian felt the hairs on his arm rise. The pull of the moon intensified until, combined with the anticipation, it was almost more than Sebastian could bear. Then the front door of the house opened, and Carl Schneider stepped outside.

Sebastian could see the old man sweating, even from this distance. He watched as Carl walked away from the house into the yard, then stumbled and fell to the floor. Carl's grunts of agony filtered through the steady patter of the rain and sporadic claps of thunder. The American got up onto one knee, and after a moment got to his feet.

“Come on, you fuckers. I know you’re out there,” he screamed into the oncoming storm. “Come out here and face me, Man to Mutt.”

Carl opened his mouth to yell another challenge, but all that came out was an agonised wail. The moon had risen. His change was upon him.

Sebastian stepped from the undergrowth and walked over to Carl. “Do you feel it, Schneider? The power? The fury? Are you beginning to understand?”

Carl looked up at Sebastian with gleaming yellow eyes. The fangs burst forth, slicing open his gums in a spray of blood and foam.

Sebastian laughed. “You should know that I’m going to tear your head off before you complete your transformation, then I’ll let Ivan eat your heart. Tell me, Father, while you still have the capacity to speak, do you have any last words?”

Carl smiled at Sebastian with a mouth full of razors and pulled open his coat. Three bricks of plastic explosives were strapped to his body. Those bricks were wrapped in layers of duct tape. Beneath the tape, dozens of bullet-sized lumps covered the surface of the explosives. Carl held a detonator in his clawed left hand. When he spoke, his voice was more animal than human. “Last words? Sure. How about, 'Who’s the fucking daddy now, bitch?'”

21st July 1986. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 21.00.

Steven watched the scene outside unfold through a gap in the boards that covered the living room window. He'd tried to reason with Carl, but couldn’t find a convincing argument. If Carl stayed in the house, he'd change and kill them all. If they locked him in with John, then the two of them would tear each other apart. Carl knew this, and he knew that Steven had no choice but to go along with his plan. With barely suppressed tears in his eyes, Steven watched him connect the dead man's switch to the detonator. They shook hands and the old man went outside to his death.

The moon shone through the clouds, an indistinct silver glow that had an unmistakable effect on Carl. He stumbled and fell to his knees as the change swept through him. He screamed out in defiance, and then a short, grey-haired man walked from the tree line and stood just out of arms' reach, a mocking smile on his lips. The man’s expression changed in an instant, from scorn, to disbelief, and finally horror. He backed away from Carl. The detonator fell from Carl’s clawed hand. Steven threw himself to the ground and clamped his hands over his ears.

The explosion shook the walls of the house and blew the windows in. The expanding fireball illuminated the room with a bright orange light. Silver shrapnel punched holes in the door and window boards. Ornaments shattered into thousands of pieces. The television exploded.

Steven grabbed his pistol and got to his feet, with the blast wave ringing in his ears. He peered through one of the holes at the carnage outside.

Small fires burned around the yard, despite the rain. Holes riddled Steven and George’s cars. The windscreens were blown out by the explosion, and shrapnel shredded the tires.

The ruined corpse of the werewolf lay in pieces back toward the tree line. Entrails stretched out behind the mangled torso, and the man’s head had blown apart. Remnants of the dead werewolf’s face draped over the shattered fragments of skull like a discarded rubber mask. There was not enough left of Carl to identify. Burning pieces of meat and bone covered the yard. The stench of burned flesh mingled with the sharp metallic tang of blood, the sulphurous reek of the explosion, and the heavy earthen scent of the falling rain. Steven said a silent prayer for his friend and looked around for any sign of life.

Maybe Carl got them all. Maybe it’s all over.

A long, mournful howl resounded around the house, echoing around the yard and between the outbuildings. Two further howls, from different locations, answered the first; one from the rear of the house and another to the left hand side, by the sitting room. After a moment, a fourth howl replied. From the basement.

Steven checked his pistol. He had six rounds remaining and at least three hostile werewolves to deal with. He suppressed a rising wave of nausea, and as he chambered a round, his hands trembled. Fear threatened to crush him. His fight or flight instinct pulled him in two different directions, paralysing him. He rubbed his eyes and strained his ears, alert for the slightest sound, trying to filter out the snarls of rage from the basement and the howl of the wind as it tore through the broken living room window.