High Moor 2: Moonstruck (2 page)

Megan sensed Marie and her tail thumped on the ground, despite her agony. Marie let out a low warning growl and tried to locate the hunter. Her senses were still clouded, but a change in the direction of the wind brought another scent to her. Human sweat against metal and wood. Beyond the brambles in a makeshift hide. She thought of Isaac, lying dead in the cabin, and James, who’d looked out for her when she first joined the pack and had become her lover, now a corpse somewhere in the forest. She felt a cold rage build inside her. If Connie and little Megan were to have any chance of survival, she needed to eliminate the threat. She moved away from the clearing, back into the woods. Circling the hidden hunter. Imagining the taste of his blood in her mouth.

The scent became stronger, tinged with fear and anticipation. The bastard knew that there were other werewolves in the area and he was waiting for them to stumble into his trap, oblivious to the fact that the game had changed and he was now the prey.

A thick, sharpened branch slashed out from the darkness and plunged into her side, pinning her against a fallen tree. She yelped in agony and tried to pull herself free as the wound healed around the makeshift trap, but it was no use. She wasn’t going anywhere.

The hunter broke cover and moved through the undergrowth, keeping his rifle aimed at her. He moved past Megan, whimpering in the bear trap, towards the tree where Connie lay. He stepped around the tree in a wide arc, with the weapon covering his approach. As he rounded the tree, his shoulders sagged. “Son of a bitch.” He scanned the undergrowth for signs of movement, then turned back to Megan and removed an ornate pistol from his jacket.

Megan had reverted to her human form and looked up at the approaching hunter with tear filled eyes. “Please, Mister. Please don’t hurt me. I just want to go home. I just want to…”

The hunter paused and appeared uncertain, then he shook his head, aimed the pistol at the young girl and shot her between the eyes. Blood and brains sprayed across the mouldering leaves of the forest floor, and Megan slumped to the ground.

Marie screamed and thrashed against the wooden stake embedded in her stomach. The pain was dreadful, but it paled beside her need to tear the hunter into ribbons. The flesh of her abdomen split open and blood poured from the wound, but Marie did not stop. She welcomed the blinding agony and used it to fuel her rage. The branch tore loose with a wet ripping sound and Marie lurched free of the trap, to stand face to face with the hunter. Steven Wilkinson. The man who had stalked and slaughtered dozens of her kind over the last decade. The monster that had just killed Megan in cold blood.

She hurled herself towards him, giving herself to the animal ferocity of her beast. Feeling it rush through her system like a drug. Letting it take control. She covered the distance in less than a second and leaped into the air in a flurry of teeth, claws and muscle.

Marie didn’t hear the gunshot. She felt herself propelled backwards in mid−leap, to crash to the forest floor. She struggled to rise, but had no strength in her limbs. Her bones cracked back into place, and her thick brown fur retreated into the pores of her skin. She raised her head and saw the face of the hunter, triumphant, then watched as his face contorted into a mask of terror when distant howling echoed through the forest. He turned and looked at her with disgust in his eyes, then he spat on the ground. “Fucking werewolves.” Then he shouldered his rifle and walked away into the woods.

Megan lay a few feet away, and Marie dragged herself over to the body of the young girl. She took one of Megan’s hands in hers, and gently closed the dead girl’s eyes. “I swear to you, Megan. I’ll get him. I’ll find that fucker and I’ll tear his heart out.”

Then, with the last of her strength, she laid her head against Megan’s chest and let the world go dark.

Chapter 1

15th November 2008. Newcastle International Airport. 10.30

Gregorz leaned back on the hard wooden chair. He watched in amusement as the red−haired woman wove her way through the milling crowds, three large coffees balanced on a brown plastic tray. A small boy darted between the tables, the woman having to lurch to one side to avoid him. She deposited the tray on the table, then sat in the empty seat.

“Ye can get your own bloody coffee next time, Gregorz. If ah have to dodge out the way of another screaming brat, ah’m gonna rip the little shit’s head off.”

The table’s other occupant; a tall, grey−haired man in a business suit, picked up his steaming cup and chuckled. “But I think you’d make an exceptional waitress, Connie. Perhaps you’ve missed your calling in life?”

Connie glowered at him. “Ye can fuck right off, Daniel. Make another comment like that, and ye’ll be wearing that damn coffee. It might even improve your cheap suit.”

Gregorz leaned forward. “Come now, children, playtime is over. We’re here to work. Daniel, have you heard from Oskar’s team?”

Daniel nodded. “They landed at around nine this morning, on the Munich flight. Oskar is assessing the situation, but it’s not looking good. The moonstruck is in police custody, so it’ll be hard for them to get near.
Especially
before the next full moon.”

Gregorz scratched his chin. “It’s a serious problem, but we have one of our own to deal with. We need to retrieve Marie’s body from the hospital, and make sure that no blood samples or DNA tests survive. If things go well, then we’ll join up with Oskar’s team later on and help them deal with the moonstruck.”

Connie blew the foam from her coffee and took a sip. “Ah don’t see why we’re on corpse cleanup duty. This team’s taken down a lot more moonstruck than Oskar’s, with fewer casualties. We should be taking care of things, while they take what’s left of that stupid bitch Marie back to her brother.”

“We’ve been over this, Connie. Oskar has Gabriela and Troy with him. Michael felt that a more subtle approach was called for. It’s a delicate situation, and we need to be careful not to make things worse than they already are.”

Connie snorted. “Subtle? Is Gabriela going to screw her way to the moonstruck?”

Daniel laughed. “And how would you handle the situation, Connie? With your trademark tact and diplomacy? I suppose you would have us attack the police station head on and simply kill everyone inside?”

Connie shrugged. “What’s wrong with that? Simple, effective and no witnesses.”

Daniel nodded to Gregorz. “See, Connie can be subtle when she feels like it. If you ignore the pile of half−eaten corpses, no one would ever know that we’d been there.”

Gregorz shook his head and let out a sigh, very much aware of the nervous glances they were getting from the other people in the coffee shop. He lowered his voice so that it was barely above a whisper. “That’s enough. Both of you. We need to focus on the task before us. Marie died over twelve hours ago. While I doubt that an autopsy would have been performed yet, they may have taken blood samples for analysis. Connie and I will retrieve Marie’s body from the morgue. Arrangements are in place to ship it back to Russia. Daniel, you will make sure that any evidence is destroyed.”

Connie folded her arms. “Does it not make more sense for Daniel to help shift the dead bitch’s body? Ah’ll take care of the evidence. It’s not like ah haven’t done it before.”

Gregorz sighed. “Okay, Connie. If you are adverse to a little heavy lifting, then Daniel and I will deal with Marie, while you take care of the evidence. But please, no killing. We need to be in and out of this hospital without arousing any kind of suspicion. Can you do that for me?”

Connie took a sip from her coffee and gave Gregorz her sweetest smile. “Why of course. Didn’t you know? Subtle is ma middle name.”

***

15th November 2008. High Moor Police Station. 13.00.

John wished that he were dead. White hot lances of agony burned into his nerve endings, despite the painkillers. Worse than this though, was the realisation of what he’d lost, and what was going to happen next.

He closed his eyes and held his head in his hands, seeing the same image play across his mind, over and over again. Marie, lying dead on the cold concrete paving slabs, riddled with silver bullets from Steven’s Mac−10. A wave of grief surged up from his stomach, and he fought to hold back the tears.

Oh God, Marie, you stupid cow. If you’d just told me, then we could have avoided all this. You’d still be alive. Malcolm and the others, too.
Deep down, John knew that wasn’t true. He realised it as soon as the thought flashed through his mind. Marie might have tried to draw him out, but he was the one that took the bait, infected Malcolm and killed Billy, Simon and Lawrence. He deserved everything that was coming.

John opened his eyes again, unable to bear the memories, and looked around the room. Its floor, ceiling and walls were solid concrete, walls painted a dull olive green and the floor covered with threadbare green carpet tiles. A table was bolted to the floor, as were the chairs, and the only way in or out of the room was through a heavy steel door. The thick floral stench of cheap disinfectant hung in the air like a cloud.

The door opened, and two people, a slightly overweight man in his mid forties, and a younger blonde woman with a severe expression on her face, stepped inside. The man placed an ancient tape recorder on the end of the desk and pressed the record button.

“Interview with John Simpson, tape 1. 15th November 2008. 13.10hrs. DI Fletcher and DC Garner are present in the room, along with the suspect.”

They both sat down, and the man leaned back in the chair. “Good afternoon, John. I’m Detective Inspector Phil Fletcher, and this is my colleague, Detective Constable Olivia Garner. Can I get you anything before we start? Tea? Coffee?”

John shook his head.

“No? Alright, then I suppose we should get down to it. My colleague and I were wondering if you’d like to tell us about what happened last night?”

John raised his head and looked into the other man’s eyes. “Phil, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. How’s Steven? Is he alright?”

DC Garner scribbled something down on a notepad and showed it to her colleague. He nodded and turned back to John.

“Mr Wilkinson is alive, but as I understand it, is critically injured.”

John leaned forward in the chair. He had to ask, even though he knew the answer. “And Marie? Is she…”

DI Fletcher shook his head. “If you’re referring to the young woman that was found at the scene, then I’m sorry but she was pronounced dead on arrival. You say her name was Marie? Marie what?”

John sucked in a breath. Hearing her name was like sandpaper on his soul. His voice cracked when he spoke”…Williams. Her name was Marie Williams.”

DI Fletcher sat back in his chair and interlocked his fingers behind his head. “I have to say, John, it’s not looking too good for you. There were several unregistered firearms found at the scene, including the one that killed Miss Williams, and they have your fingerprints all over them. Not only that, but you were found with half of Mr Harrison’s throat in your mouth, lying naked over his corpse.

“Even possession of a weapon like that Ingram will get you five years, and that’s before we take the deaths into account. So come on, John, why don’t you tell me what happened, so we can sort this mess out?”

John sat back and exhaled a deep breath. “You want to know what happened? Really?”

“No, John. We’re just sitting in here because we like the decor. Why don’t you start from the beginning.”

John managed a lopsided grin, despite the stitches in his face. “Be careful what you wish for, Phil. You might just get it. You want the truth? OK, I’ll give you the truth.”

***

15th November 2008. University Hospital of Durham. 13.00

Doctor Henry Pearce pushed the pieces of grey meat around his plate without any enthusiasm. The food in the hospital cafeteria was barely edible at the best of times, and judging from the thin gruel on his plate, masquerading as Lancashire Hotpot, today was not one of the good days. Of course, given what he’d witnessed during the autopsy of Malcolm Harrison that morning, he doubted that even a meal in a five star restaurant would have done much for his appetite right now.

The injuries to the corpse had been horrific. In twenty years as a pathologist, he’d never seen anything like it. The police report that accompanied the body stated that the injuries were caused by another man, but everything about the corpse indicated that the terrible wounds were the work of a large animal. Henry honestly could not imagine how another human being would be able to inflict that amount of damage.

The mental image of the eviscerated cadaver caused his stomach to churn, and his mouth filled with the aftertaste of the hotpot. It wasn’t any more appetising coming up than it had going down. He pushed his plate away in disgust, cleared the table and poured the remains of the meal into the waste bin. From the notes he’d been given that morning, this afternoon was not going to be any better either. Gunshot wounds never were. He left the cafeteria, and moved along the cheerfully painted corridors to the elevator that would take him to the basement pathology lab.