High Moor 2: Moonstruck (11 page)

Connie’s change had already begun. Marie turned her head so that she wouldn’t have to witness it. Connie could transform from human to beast faster than anyone she’d ever met, but it didn’t make the sight any less disturbing. In some ways, the ease with which Connie turned made it worse. As if she were closer to the bestial side of her nature. Within moments, the transformation had completed and a huge russet monster stood in the clearing beside her. Marie suppressed a shudder as Connie sniffed the air and then slipped through the trees, into the darkness.

The moon came into view, bathing Marie in a cool white light. She closed her eyes and waited for her beast to break through.

Nothing happened.

Marie’s heart fluttered, the first instinctive realization that something was wrong. She searched her feelings for that other presence, her constant companion since she was eight years old but found no trace. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, then willed the change to happen, but it had no effect. Her wolf was gone. For the first time since she was a little girl, she was alone. She choked back a sob and tried to contain the grief that welled within her.

Then, a few hundred yards to the north, she heard Connie howl and her blood ran cold. Somehow, she was human. And the pack had very specific rules about how to deal with humans who knew of their existence. Connie’s senses, now that she’d turned, would register this in a matter of seconds, if she hadn’t already. Marie’s heart lurched as adrenaline surged through her system, then she turned and sprinted back towards the parked hire car.

***

12th December 2008
.
University Hospital of Durham. 17.30.

Gregorz sipped his coffee and suppressed a grimace. Vending machine coffee was vile at the best of times, but with the full moon approaching, his enhanced senses were able to pick out the individual flavours and chemical tangs from the foul black liquid. He picked up his phone and checked it for a message from Oskar, even though he’d done so only seconds before.

Daniel shifted on the hard plastic chair. “Gregorz, we need to move. Now.”

He nodded. That they were leaving things so late was absurd, but the orders had been explicit. The consequences of ignoring them, especially if it put Oskar’s mission at risk, would be severe. “We’ll give Oskar another minute.”

“You said that five minutes ago. The moon will be up in another five, and we’ll have a much more serious problem to deal with. There are cameras here, Gregorz. Lots of cameras. If a moonstruck tears through a hospital and they film it, then it will be over for all of us. Forget Simpson. He’s contained. Even if Oskar fails to complete his mission, the casualties will be limited and there is still a chance to fix it. This is where the most damage could be done, and we have to deal with it. Right now.”

Gregorz picked up the phone again and exhaled. If this went wrong, then he would have to live with the consequences, but if they sat here and did nothing, then disaster was assured. “You’re right. We’ve already waited too long. Make your way to Wilkinson’s room and I’ll arrange the distraction.”

They both got up from their seats. Daniel hefted the canvas hold−all, nodded to him, and made his way out of the restaurant while Gregorz headed for the staircase to the floor below. The urge to race down the stairs rose within him, but he forced himself to stay calm. He walked quickly through the outpatients area to the toilets, then opened the door and stepped inside.

The toilets were empty, apart from a man urinating in the far cubicle. He was whistling to himself, and did not seem to be finishing any time soon. Gregorz checked his watch and sighed. He had only minutes before moonrise. Not nearly enough time. He walked over to the cubicle, grabbed the back of the man’s head, and smashed it into the porcelain tiles. The tile cracked under the impact, and the man slid to the floor, unconscious. Gregorz grabbed a toilet roll and several handfuls of paper towels, stuffed them into a waste bin, then, with the aid of some lighter fluid, set the bin alight. Smoke and flames billowed from the waste receptacle. Moments later the smoke detectors triggered the fire alarm. Gregorz slipped from the toilets and made his way up the central staircase to rendezvous with Daniel.

The hospital was in pandemonium. So soon after the last fatal fire, everyone was taking the alarm very seriously indeed. Nurses directed patients and visitors to the nearest fire exit, and began the arduous process of moving those who were unable to move themselves. He pushed his way through the tide of people to reach Daniel. The German’s eyes said it all, and Gregorz knew it too. He’d felt it the same moment as Daniel. The moon had risen. Instead of a quiet assassination of a comatose man, they had to cope with a newborn moonstruck werewolf in a crowded hospital. Daniel handed him a pistol, then they opened the door to the darkened room and stepped inside.

Wilkinson’s transformation had just completed. The creature crouched on the tiled floor, snarling at the intruders. Saliva dripped from razor sharp fangs, and its muscles tensed. As Gregorz and Daniel raised their pistols, the creature lashed out with a huge, taloned claw and hurled the ventilator at them. It smashed into Daniel, knocking him back into Gregorz. His pistol discharged as the ventilator hit, and the window behind the bed shattered, spilling shards of glass onto the pavement below. The beast regarded them for a moment, as if it understood what it faced. Just as Gregorz brought his weapon to bear, it snarled once more, then leaped through the broken window. For a fraction of a second it was silhouetted against the rising moon. Gregorz took his shot, then the beast disappeared from sight.

Daniel picked himself up. “Did you get it?”

“I don’t know. It was fast. Faster than a newborn should have been, and it knew. Somehow the damn thing understood what those guns meant. Have you ever seen a moonstruck run before?”

Daniel shook his head and walked to the window, looking out onto the gravel path surrounding the hospital, and the trees beyond. “There’s no sign of it. Come on, we should get out of here. I’ll try and pick up its scent once we are outside.”

“Just like the good old days, eh, Daniel?”

Daniel tried to smile, then shook his head. “If you ask me, my friend, the good old days were vastly overrated.”

***

12th December 2008
.
Finchale Road, Brasside. 17.35.

John squeezed his eyes closed and tried to control his breathing. He’d been bundled into the prisoner transport van, and two guards had shackled his ankles and wrists with handcuffs. A chain had been passed through both sets of cuffs, and fastened to a steel ring on the floor of the van. The two guards had climbed in beside him, and the vehicle had left the prison on the five−mile journey to the secure unit. That had been an hour ago. The Friday evening traffic around Durham City had been even slower than usual, with the freezing conditions causing a number of accidents, clogging the roads of the city with frustrated commuters. It had only been when it turned off the main road on the way to Frankland Prison and its psychiatric assessment unit that the van managed to pick up any speed at all. Of course, it was all too late now. The moon would be up in a matter of seconds, and despite the restraints, the interior of the van was too small for the two men locked in with him to escape the ferocity of his wolf.

He felt it trying to push through, and he erected well−practiced, familiar walls in his mind to try and slow the beast’s progress. Not that they had ever made any difference. He’d not even been able to hold the transformation back for long enough to save his parents. The beast was not happy about John’s attempts to restrain it. He felt some of its emotions leaking through into his own consciousness. Surprise, confusion, and grief, like a mistreated dog that had been lavished with love for once in its life, before being discarded and abused once more. The hurt the beast felt quickly changed into anger at the betrayal, and it hurled itself against John’s feeble barriers with renewed strength, fuelled by the rising moon. John’s teeth itched and sweat poured from his body, soaking through the prison clothing.

One of the guards reached across and put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Here, mate, are you alright?”

***

Oskar crouched in the bushes and smiled as the headlights of the prison van approached. He let out a low whistle to signal Troy and Gabriela. They would place the traffic lights on the road to prevent any other vehicles from interrupting them, and then taking up their positions. Troy would make his way down the road to help him take care of the Moonstruck, while Gabriela would transform and chase the creature down if it got past them.

It was time for him to complete his part of the plan. He crept from the undergrowth and deployed a strip of spikes across the road, just as it passed under a stone railway bridge, after which he retreated to cover once more and drew his weapon.

It was at times like these when he felt the most alive. He could visualize the disparate parts of his plan coming together before him, like the components of a complex machine. He’d left nothing to chance. Not this time. While Frankland Prison was only a mile away, the radio jammer that he’d activated in the rear of their rented van would ensure that no call for help would reach the authorities. The red traffic lights were positioned a quarter of a mile away on either side of the bridge, and there were no pedestrians. Not any more, at least. An old man had been walking a decrepit Labrador along the roadside a little while ago, but Gabriela had taken care of them, dragging the corpses into the woods, out of sight.

The headlights of the approaching van flared as it crested a slight rise in the road, then started down towards the tunnel. Oskar tightened his grip on his weapon in anticipation, running his tongue across his dry lips. The van would hit the spikes in three seconds. Two. One.

***

All four tyres on the vehicle exploded simultaneously, and John’s world turned upside down. He hardly felt his arm break, nor the shattered bone slice through his flesh and clothing. His head struck the floor and then he flew forwards, to crash against the rear wall. He opened his eyes, but could not focus on the face of the security guard standing over him, or make out the words coming from his mouth. The world was distorted, as if he were seeing and hearing it from underwater. He concentrated, trying to bring it all back into focus. The sound came back gradually, as if someone was turning up the volume on a muted television set.

“It’s alright, mate. We’ve crashed, and it looks like your arm’s broken. I’m going to undo your restraints and try and get you more comfortable until the ambulance arrives.” The guard banged on the rear wall adjoining the driver’s compartment. “Mike. We need an ambulance in here. The prisoner’s got a broken arm and god knows what else.”

The driver’s muffled voice replied after a moment. “The radio’s out. Crash must have knackered it. I can’t get a mobile signal either, so I’m going to go and get some help. OK?”

John fought to clear his head and remember where he was. As the guard unlocked the ankle and wrist restraints his memory returned and he looked up at the man with horror in his eyes. “Oh God. What have you done?”

Then the full moon crested the treetops outside, and John’s transformation began.

The broken bone in John’s arm slid back into place and the flesh around the wound closed up. The guard took a step backwards to join his companion, who was trying to open the buckled door. Blind terror was etched across the man’s face, and the stale air inside the vehicle stank of fear.

John’s bones began to snap and reform, while the colour drained from his vision, leaving the van’s interior cast in a stark monochrome. The beast was like a tsunami of blood and rage, roaring up from the deepest parts of his subconscious. He tried to remember what Marie had told him. To work alongside the monster. Accept it, and so retain a measure of control. He opened himself to the wolf, realising too late that the beast was not interested. This was its time, not his, and it was in no mood to compromise. John attempted to fill his mind with mental images of them working together, two parts of a single entity. For the smallest fraction of a second, John sensed a change in it. Some of the fury abated, and he sensed that he’d caught the monster’s interest.

Then one of the guards squirted pepper spray into the werewolf’s eyes.

***

The tires of the van exploded as they crossed the spikes. The vehicle swerved to the left, the driver over−compensating for his loss of control. The metal wheel−rims screamed against the road, spraying the air with a shower of sparks, before the vehicle flipped onto its side and slammed into the solid stone walls of the tunnel.

Oskar opened his mind and brought his beast to the surface just as the moon crested the horizon, barely holding his transformation in check. He heard Troy running along the side of the road towards his position. The large American’s scent was distinct, a heavy animal musk combined with sweat and gun oil. Gabriela’s scent was, in part, masked by the stink of leaking motor oil and blood that emanated from the prison van. She was circling around from the east, through a small patch of woodlands.

The driver clambered out from the wreckage and limped along the road towards the prison, presumably to bring help. He wouldn’t get far. His route took him straight past where Gabriela lurked. She’d be glad of a brief distraction before the main event.

Muffled screams came from within the prison van, along with a furious, bestial roar. The screams soon stopped, to be replaced by a wet, tearing noise. The stench of blood threatened to overpower Oskar’s senses and drove his own beast into a frenzy. It was so distracting that he didn’t notice that Troy had arrived until the big American put his hand on his shoulder.

“Looks like the sheep took too damn long to wander into the trap. Why are these things never easy? I’d rather have just put a bullet through Simpson’s head and be done with it.”

Oskar smiled. “It’s unfortunate that he turned before we could get to him, but it doesn’t change the plan. Besides, it’s better this way. Purer.”