High Moor 2: Moonstruck (17 page)

Instead, what he saw was Marie. Somehow still alive, and firing an assault rifle into the twitching bodies of the two werewolves. The magazine on the weapon emptied, and she replaced it in a single, fluid move before resuming fire. When that mag emptied, she rushed over to John’s side, her eyes filled with concern. She said something. Her mouth moved, but all John could hear was the ringing in his ears. Marie shook her head in frustration, grabbed his arm and hauled him after her, down the slope. She set a fast pace, almost going at a sprint through the trees. John felt something tear on his side, and warm blood oozed from the reopened wound. Even on his best day, he would have struggled to keep up with Marie, but with his injuries he was already falling behind. Marie glanced back over her shoulder, and seeing the difficulty he was in, waited for him to catch up, weapon trained on the woods behind them.

When he reached her, she put her hand on his arm, and spoke in a muffled voice. “Come on, we need to keep going. That won’t stop them for long and we’ve still got a long way to go before we get to the car.”

“Marie, I can’t believe you’re okay. The last time I saw you…”

“Save your breath for running. We can talk later. Now move your fucking arse.”

They sprinted down the hill, leaping over fallen trees without breaking stride. John’s lungs burned with the exertion, but he knew that if he fell behind then he was as good as dead.

As his hearing returned, the sound of running water became clearer, and the overpowering stink of the stream, polluted with the waste from hundreds of houses, filled his nostrils. They were running straight toward it. Then John heard something else. A howl echoed through the trees, followed by another moments later.

Marie’s voice was strained, almost on the edge of panic. “Come on. There’s not far to go. Run faster.”

John did his best to obey and pushed his aching body harder. More of his wounds tore open, releasing new waves of agony. His entire torso felt slick with blood. The stink of it threatened to overpower the stench of the polluted stream, and somewhere deep in the lowest reaches of his mind, something shifted and stirred.

They broke clear of the trees. The gradient of the slope steepened as it made its way down to the stream. A small metal bridge spanned the water, and beyond that John could see the outlines of houses through the trees. He recognised this place. The housing estate beyond the tree line was where he’d parked his car, when he and Marie had gone to rescue Steven from Malcolm Harrison. He was back in High Moor.

Marie reached the bottom of the slope and sprinted across the bridge, with John right behind her. When she reached the other side she stopped and risked a glance backwards.

Two pairs of green eyes shone from the undergrowth at the top of the embankment. One of the pairs winked out, and a couple of seconds later, Gregorz stepped forward. His body was covered in fresh blood, and there were still some bullet holes that hadn’t yet healed properly. From the expression on his face, he was obviously in a considerable amount of pain, yet when he spoke, his voice was steady.

“Marie, don’t be a fool. No one has to know about this. Give up the moonstruck and come back with us, and I promise you, it will all be okay.”

Marie positioned herself in front of John and raised her assault rifle. “I can’t fucking go back, Gregorz. Did Connie tell you what happened to me?” Her lips curled into a sneer. “Yeah, of course she did. I’d be put to death, no matter what you or Michael say, and you know it.”

The old man shook his head. “You don’t know that. Your condition could be temporary. If it is, then you are throwing away your life and your family for no reason.”

Marie’s shoulders tightened and she pulled the AK−47 into her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter, Gregorz. I’m not letting you take me back there, and I’m not letting you take John.”

“For the love of God, think about what you’re doing. Simpson is the most wanted man in the country. His face is all over the news, and the police will be setting up checkpoints by now. You won’t get five miles before they catch you, and then we’ll be back where we started. Think about that. Think about the deaths you will cause by doing this.”

“You know me, Gregorz. You helped train me, and you know what I’m capable of. They won’t find us, and you know that there’s no way you can reach us before we’re out of the trees. I love you like a father, so please, don’t make me shoot you again.”

“Please, I’m begging you. If you do this, then you know what it will mean. You know what Michael will be forced to do. Daniel and I won’t mention what just happened. You have my word on that. Come home with us, Marie, before you make things worse than they already are.”

A tear rolled down Marie’s cheek and, for a second, the barrel of the assault rifle dropped toward the floor. Then she clenched her jaw and her eyes turned cold. “No, it’s already too late. Let us go, Gregorz. We’ll disappear and no−one will ever hear from us again.”

The old man dipped his head, unable to look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Marie, but you know that I can’t do that.”

“I know. Goodbye, Gregorz. Tell Michael I’m sorry.”

Marie and John walked backwards to the edge of the woods, never taking their eyes from Gregorz. As they reached the periphery of the trees, where the woods gave way to the neatly mowed lawns of the housing estate, Gregorz stepped back into the woods and out of sight.

Marie took off her jacket and draped it over John’s shoulders, then hurried him to a gold Ford Focus. She cast a nervous glance around, to make sure that they hadn’t been seen, then opened the boot. “Get in and don’t fucking argue.”

John opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly very aware of his naked, bloodstained body, climbed into the boot without any objection. Marie closed the rear hatch behind him, and a few moments later, started the engine and drove away.

John lay in the cramped compartment, wriggling around a heavy steel box in an attempt to get comfortable. It was pitch dark inside, but after searching around he discovered a mobile phone that had fallen down behind the wheel arch, that provided at least a little light.

Marie’s voice called out. “You alright in there, John?”

“Yeah, I’m just great. Is it really you? I saw you dead. The fucking police said you were dead.”

“I know. I was, or at least, pretty damn close to it.”

“Well, what the hell happened?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I got better. I’m a pretty difficult lass to kill, in case you hadn’t noticed. Now, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us. I’ll stop in about twenty minutes so that we can sort your wounds out and get some clothes on you. Until then, I’m going to need you to stay quiet, especially if we get stopped. OK?”

“Okay. Thank you, Marie. I can’t believe you came back for me.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it. Just get as comfortable as you can and keep quiet until we get where we’re going.”

“Marie?”

“Yes, John.”

“Did that Russian say something about Michael?”

Marie let out a long, exasperated sigh. “Yes, John, he did. I can see that we are going to have to have a very long talk. I’ll tell you everything, but for now, please, keep your bloody mouth shut and try not to bleed all over the boot.”

***

13th December 2008
.
Olivia’s House, Bear Park. 10.02.

Olivia wiped her eyes and tried to concentrate on the road. Phil had spent most of the evening trying to simultaneously organise the search for John Simpson and avoid Chief Inspector Franks, with varying degrees of success. She’d been glad for an excuse to get away from the tense atmosphere, so took Rick and his team with her to the hotel where she’d spoken to Connie Hamilton earlier that day. The manager was more than happy to oblige and opened the room for them, but the place was empty. The beds were made and only a wet towel, streaked with black hair dye gave any indication that the room had been occupied. Deflated, she’d called in a forensics team to do a thorough sweep, and then began the laborious task of interviewing the staff. It was there that she got lucky. Despite the twin room only being registered under a single name, one of the maids said that there were actually four people living in the room. The mysterious Connie Hamilton, along with another woman and two men. The men matched the descriptions of the bogus officers last seen with Marie Williams, and apart from the hair colour, the age and appearance of the female occupant was a fair match to Marie herself. She also had a name. Gregorz Pawlac, who’s credit card had been used to pay for the room. All of which was great, except for the fact that no one knew where any of them were.

She’d returned to the office and typed up her report, leaving it on Phil’s desk before heading home. She needed a shower, then about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep. She couldn’t help but smile to herself as she left the countryside behind and entered the outskirts of the small town where she and Matt lived. Rows of identical, red brick terraced houses lined the main road through Bear Park. Old colliery worker’s cottages with two bedrooms, one reception room and, in some instances, an outside toilet. Her home was a little further up, on the left hand side. The first house on the end of the terrace, opposite a used car showroom. She loved the little house. They’d bought it a year ago, straight after they were married. At the end of a small block of four, and backing onto open fields, it was her sanctuary where she could hide away from the stresses of her job, watch crappy movies with Matt and lock the world outside. Plus it was only fifteen minutes from the police headquarters, which made her morning commute a doddle.

She parked her car on the pavement and grabbed her bag from the back seat, frowning as she realised that the blinds in the living room were still closed. That meant that Matt was either still in bed, or was playing on his Xbox, probably in nothing but his pants and t−shirt. She didn’t have the energy for an argument. If he wanted to do that all day, then he was welcome to, as long as he didn’t wake her up. She retrieved her keys from her handbag, and let herself into the house.

“Matt, are you up?”

The house was silent. She listened out for any sign of life − Matt’s distinctive snores, or the sound of the shower being used, but the only noises she heard were the cars passing on the road outside. Maybe he’d just gone to the shops or something. She took off her coat, kicked her shoes into the corner behind the front door, and hung her bag from the back of one of the kitchen stools. A cafetière, half−full of coffee, stood on the work surface. She put her hand against the side of the glass container and discovered that it was lukewarm. It was not like Matt to leave his coffee. It was usually the first thing he did when he got up, even before feeding the cat.

She glanced down at the cat bowl, and discovered that it was full. Again, probably nothing, but certainly unusual. Most mornings it was an effort to make it down the stairs without the large animal tripping you up as it wove between your legs. You couldn’t move for him until he’d been fed. Olivia felt the first real stab of concern. Maybe something had happened to the cat, and Matt had taken it to the vets. No, his car was still parked outside, at the same awkward angle that he’d left it the night before. She took out her mobile and called Matt’s number. Within seconds, Matt’s phone started ringing, from somewhere upstairs. Olivia disconnected the call, and put the phone down on the kitchen worktop, before walking to the bottom of the stairs.

“Matt? Are you up there? Is everything alright?”

There was no reply. The upper floor of the house remained silent. Olivia put her foot on the first step, wincing as the old wood creaked beneath her weight. Her heart thumped in her chest and beads of sweat broke out on her brow. This was ridiculous. This was her home, and there was no reason for her to feel anything but safe here, yet her every instinct screamed at her to run. Adrenaline surged through her system and an ice chill ran down her spine.

“For fuck’s sake, this case has got me jumping at shadows,” she said out loud, in an attempt to reassure herself. Pushing through the fear, she started up the stairs, listening for any sound that might be out of place. “Matt? Have you gone back to bed, you lazy tosser?”

She marched to the bedroom, and flung open the door. At first, she could not understand what she was seeing. The entire room dripped red. It covered the walls − sprayed crimson patterns in sharp contrast against the flat white paint. Tattered red streamers hung from the lamp shade and curtain rails. The bed was soaked through, their new white duvet set now a deep burgundy. A red mass of mangled meat lay in a heap at its centre, and at the top of the bed, carefully laid on a pillow, was Matt’s severed head. Olivia put her hand to her mouth and backed away from the terrible sight, until her back touched the wall. “No. No. Matt…oh God, Matt!”

The wave of grief that welled up inside threatened to drown her. Matt was dead. Not just dead, but butchered in their home. Her safe place. He was gone. He’d never see their baby’s first smile, or take it for walks in the park. He hadn’t even known what sex it was, and now he would never know.

The bathroom door creaked open and a naked woman, covered from head to foot in blood stepped out, blocking the corridor. “Ah’m sorry, Olivia. ah made a wee mess in yer bedroom while ah was waiting. Ah didn’t want to wait until Monday to have a chat with ye. Ah thought it best that we do it now.”

Olivia didn’t hesitate. She threw herself at Connie Hamilton, putting all of her grief and rage into the punch. The sudden attack seemed to take the other woman by surprise, connecting squarely with Connie’s jaw. Blood sprayed from her mouth and she stumbled backwards. Olivia pressed her advantage and kicked out at Connie’s stomach, only to feel utter dismay as the blood−soaked woman moved with unbelievable speed and caught her leg.

“Now, Olivia, that wasn’t very nice, or smart of ye.”

Olivia bent the knee of the trapped leg, closing the distance between them, then sent a savage uppercut up beneath her assailant’s chin. Connie’s head snapped back with a sickening crack and she released Olivia’s captive leg, which came straight back in a lightning fast kick, and this time, connected with Connie’s stomach. The naked woman stumbled backwards, until she was against the banister at the top of the stairs, while Olivia surged forward, launching a fusillade of blows. Rage welled within her. All she wanted to do was kill this woman who had defiled her home. Murdered her husband. The law be damned. Her blows became more furious and she readied another kick, this time intending to send the bitch over the banister to her death.