The Kielder Experiment (Book 2): The Alaska Strain

by Fernfield, Rebecca

  “No.”

  “No? Then what’s howling out there and why are you so afraid? Men like you don’t get edgy because of a wolf in the forest.”

  Kendrick’s jaw tightens and he locks eyes with Peter. As another maudlin howl erupts from the box, he makes no reaction, but when it is quickly followed by a responding howl from the forest that sounds even closer than the last time, he can’t disguise the flicker of fear.

  “Tell me!” Peter demands, anger making him bold.

  “Fine!” Kendrick returns. “We’ve had two security breaches.”

  Peter groans, fear rising in his gullet as he listens to the man’s explanation of how the adult female had managed to escape, but how they had quickly retrieved it and ‘locked it down’. The woman on the beach!

  “And last night ... the alpha, an adult male-.”

  “Yes, yes, I know what an alpha is!”

  “Last night the alpha escaped.”

  “Trashed the lab and took Doctor Petrov with him.”

  “What!”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  Dane frowns. “We do. It was on the security film. And we’re not sure where Doctor Petrov is.”

  The skin on Peter’s scalp creeps. “Katarina!” he whispers. “Doctor Petrov sent me a text yesterday. All seemed well at that point.”

  “He must have bitten her after-”

  “Zip it, Gillespie,” Kendrick snaps. “We have no evidence he bit her.”

  “There was the blood. It was everywhere: on the walls, the floors, sprayed across the desks ...”

  “Yes, but he could have taken her ... to eat later.” He turns to Peter. “I’ve read the notes from Kielder, and watched the video footage, so I think it most likely that he killed Doctor Petrov and took her with him as a food supply.”

  “She looked dead in the film, and the footage showed a massive wound in her throat—no one could survive that.”

  Except that they can! His mouth suddenly dry, Peter swallows. “The ... subjects have extraordinary abilities to rejuvenate, so it is possible that, despite Doctor Petrov’s injuries, she is still alive.”

  “Alive, but that means she will be one of them.”

  “Yes. Did you watch the footage from the initial ... accident ... in the laboratory at Kielder?”

  “No, only from the woods.”

  “Well, it clearly showed the first female recovering from a massive wound to the throat; her flesh healed as she ... as the infection spread. So, there could be two subjects, one female, and one male, in the forest.” Dread settles over him as his memory is flooded with images of Max staring at him from the edge of the forest, the male and female villagers that had once been human jumping around him like demented beasts. No! Not like—they were demented beasts, monsters thirsty for his blood and hungry for his flesh. He shivers again and nausea begins to curdle in his belly. The thing in the box thuds against its walls, and a low growl turns into a long and wailing howl. A howl returns from the forest.

  “We have got to get off this beach!” Peter insists. “It’s best if we get back on the water.”

  Mobile phone in hand, Kendrick thumbs the screen then taps to call. As he listens, he watches the woodlands, his free hand fingering the automatic rifle slung across his chest. A bird catapults from a tree half way up the hillside, less than a mile away from their position.

  “Do you have tranquilisers with you?”

  Kendrick walks back to the dinghy. “Yep,” he says as he swings a long, black case down onto the beach.

  “Then can I suggest you load the gun, or guns if you have more than one.”

  “We’ve got one each. But any problems, and the automatics will obliterate the fuckers!” A gleam of excitement sits alongside the edge of fear. “This is a Heckler and Koch HK16. It can fire up to nine-hundred rounds a minute. We used it to kill Osama. The weres won’t stand a chance against it.”

  The pain of tension increases across Peter’s chest, his breath harder to catch. The throb of his pulse is painful at the base of his throat. “But you said you’d watched the footage from Kielder!”

  “We have.”

  “Then you’ll know that guns and bullets are next to useless against them!”

  “The mistake they made at Kielder was using hunting rifles. This,” he pats his rifle once more, “will obliterate them. Their flesh will be so torn up, their own mothers wouldn’t recognise them.”

  They wouldn’t anyway! “I appreciate your point,” Peter says at the edge of panic, “but tranquilisers have been the only effective way ...” Peter’s words are ignored as a large flatbed truck rolls through the gap in the trees and swings to a stop at the head of the beach. Five more black clad men jump out and run in unison onto the beach. The truck does a quick three-point turn, ready to leave. The next minute is a blur of instructions and orders as first the box is lifted from the beach with Peter being marched at its side, and then both are pushed onto the flatbed. Before the last man has jumped on board, and the box strapped down, the truck, with a roar of its engine, moves at speed away from the beach and through the gap in the trees. The light suddenly dims as they pass between massive spruce at least one hundred feet high. The men stand, or kneel, their rifles loaded, their focus on the trees, their orders to ‘shoot at anything that moves’. Wind whips Peter’s thinning hair and the trees pass in a blur. The thing in the box is silent, and the only sound is the thud of Peter’s pulse and the truck’s engine. The forest is ominous in its stillness. Nothing moves as they speed past, and even the wind doesn’t seem to reach the forest floor. Peter scours the space between the trees for any sign of movement, but sees nothing. The box remains quiet. There are no howls. The men are silent as they watch. Beside him, a guard swings his rifle as though following something, then changes direction.

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  The box begins to rock, sliding against the thick straps that hold it to the truck’s floor.

  Thud! Thud! Thud!

  One of the man twists to the box and kicks it. A howl erupts.

  “Jesus, Kurt! What did you do that for?”

  “I hate those goddamned things!”

  A howl responds.

  “Idiot! Now look what you did!”

  “What I did?” He kicks the box again.

  “Quit it Kurt!”

  An angry howl responds from inside the box. A stronger howl, more insistent, returns from the forest.

  “Shit!”

  Without warning, gunshot fires, and then a volley of bullets sprays into the forest. Peter ducks, peering over the edge of the flatbed. Bark splinters, ferns shred, and something flits from trunk to trunk, disappearing then reappearing as a flash of dark flesh. The figure is barely seen, glimpses are caught of a heel or shoulder, a partial back, moving closer with each second. Wood splinters as the creature passes behind another tree. It stumbles, disappears behind a cluster of fronds, then bounds up, and runs with a limp.

  “Got it!”

  The creature disappears behind a tree, unhindered by its wound. Several seconds behind the first, unseen by the men, a second figure runs; a larger, more muscular figure.

  “The alpha is behind!” Peter’s voice is lost among the men’s frantic shouts and the firing rifles. “The first one ...” His breath is caught. A third were, also an enormous male, this one tinged auburn, keeps stride with the alpha. “... is a decoy!”

  Unheard, he watches as the large male moves with an easy, powerful grace, from tree to tree, but just as Peter gains Kendrick’s attention, the truck careens off the road, down a short track, and flies over the grilled entrance to the Institute. Massive gates swing shut behind them and lock with a clank. A low buzz emanates from the fence as the truck slows to a stop.

  “I got a hit!”

  “Holy shit!”

  “Whoop!”

  The shouts of relief, and exclamations of exaggerated horror, replace the silence of the forest and the pounding of Peters’ pulse. He remains squatting, p
eering back through the electrified gates to the forest beyond. Nothing moves, but as he turns to face the men, a huge alpha, its power obvious from the size of its thighs, torso, and shoulders, stands between two massive spruce, and stares at him with red and angry eyes. “Max!” he whispers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Katarina at his side, the Red One squatting only feet away, Max digs sharp claws into the tree’s thick bark and climbs. She whimpers. He throws her a short growl, then continues to haul himself up the trunk. From his vantage point he can see into the compound, and watches as the men jump from their truck. A wailing howl carries on the wind, and he scratches claws along the bark, leaving deep gouges in the wood’s creamy flesh. He savours the sound, listening to each mournful note, and returns it with his own call. “Lauuuraaaaaa!” The truck, along with the box, disappears through the trees and into a large building. Doors close behind it, locking her, the One ... the Laura ... She ... away from Max. “Lauuuraaaaa!”

  A low growl curdles in his belly, rising to his chest as pain. She. The One. She is here. In there. A low moan escapes dark lips overhung with sharp incisors. He grunts. She. “Laura!” he whispers, forcing a thick tongue around the syllables. “Laura!” He squats on the branch, inhaling the last of her scent, watching the black figures scurry then disappear, and waits. The dark is the time to find Laura, break her from the box, crush her to his chest, smell the sweetness of her dark place. He snaps his jaws, frustrated, grunting at the shining sun, and sits to wait for the moon to rise. The female at the base of the tree mewls, then makes a tentative bark. He grunts back, and she cowers, lowering red eyes to study the forest floor.

  ***

  “Did you hear that!”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Sure, I know you did, but hell, that is close!”

  “Are you sure it’s a wolf?”

  “What else howls like that?”

  “I don’t know, but it had an odd tone to it, like ... hell, like it was a man’s voice being a wolf.”

  Jerry laughs. “A man being a wolf?”

  “Do you mean like the Shaman? There’s a strong shamanic tradition among the tribal people in this area, and the Sammi from Norway still believe they can transform into animals, including wolves.”

  “It’s a wolf. It’s got to be.”

  “Sure, but perhaps we should consider other options. I mean, there aren’t supposed to be any wolves on this island. George was adamant that he culled the last ones that were here decades ago.”

  “Perhaps some found their way here, from other islands?”

  “Like swam here?”

  “Yeah, could be.”

  “More likely they’ve been reintroduced without George knowing.”

  “They couldn’t do that, surely?”

  “You know what the government departments are like. If they want to do something, they just go ahead and do it, people be damned!”

  “Sure, but wolves? That would just be dangerous. They’d be too worried about being sued.”

  “Sure, I’ll sue them if one bites me.”

  Jerry snorts with laughter.

  ***

  Climbing down the tree, Max lands with a light foot, the urge to sink his teeth into steaming innards suffusing every cell in his body. As he had squatted in the branch, yearning for the Laura ... the One, locked away from him behind steel doors, the scent of sweat, and breath, and sticky orifices, had reached him, caught on the wind. The scent had caught the membranes in his nostrils, trickling down his throat with sweet and irresistible temptation. He had listened then, turning his ears to the west. The sound of voices, male and female, could be heard in the distance.

  With a growl at the red male, and a yap at the female, he had grasped her hair and tugged, an order to follow, and all three had set off at a sprint, following the voices and the scent, picking it back up when lost.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Close to the top of the hill, and with stiffening muscles, Sam lowers herself to a smooth boulder half-buried in the earth and surrounded by ferns. After two hours of walking, much of it uphill, her legs ache, and the overly heavy rucksack, packed with ammunition, their lunch and a flask of coffee, two bottles of water, a spare pair of socks, a first aid kit, and her secret stash of chocolate, is weighing her down. She only has herself to blame though; she had packed it with extra ammunition, and then added some more. Jerry had advised against such a heavy load, without offering to share the burden, and she had replied, with not a little resentment, that they needed the supplies or they’d go hungry, and that the extra ammunition was to ensure the day was a success; running out of ammo would be embarrassing as she’d already promised to ‘bag the entire pack’ in front of Suzy and Caleb. Jerry’s ungentlemanly response had been to tell her that if she packed it, she could carry it. Her repost had been that she’d ‘bag’ Jerry too if he didn’t stop being such a ‘dick’. An offer of sharing the burden unforthcoming, Sam had silently ruminated on all the times Jerry had let her down. They were, she had concluded, legion.

  So far, the hunting expedition had been a disappointment as they had not seen, nor heard, nor picked up any of the wolves’ tracks. This area though, with its recently trampled ‘runs’, looks promising. And there is a definite odour to the place; a den couldn’t be far away. She pulls out the map to pinpoint their location. From lower down the hill, she can hear the voices of Jerry, and Suzy. Surprised at the distance now between herself, and the others, she wants to shout at them to be quiet, and tell them that they’ll alert the wolves to their presence, but that would defeat the object, so she sits in silence, several feet from the pathway, hidden among the overarching fronds of several very large, and lusciously green, ferns, and smears a little more earth across her cheeks. The pathway, as far as she can tell, leads to the top of the hill and a promontory of dark and jagged rock.

  A rustle of leaves, and twigs cracking in the undergrowth, alerts her to something nearby. With slow movements, she picks up her gun, then remains as a statue whilst scanning the area from the left to the right of her peripheral vision. Alert to the rapid thap, thap of feet running through the forest, and growing closer, she focuses on the sound, raising her rifle, ready to shoot. The noise is coming towards her, from up the hill, and to her left. She swings the gun in that direction. She releases the safety catch; it makes a small click that she hopes doesn’t alert whatever is running – hopefully a wolf – close by. From behind her position, comes the louder crack of undergrowth splintering. She freezes, listening only to the noises, aware of her own breathing, trying to remain unnoticed. The flash of a figure, of ... some thing among the trees ... a figure that has the shape of a man, but can’t be a man, runs lower down the hill, its arms and legs pumping hard, its pace too fast for her to follow, as it appears, then disappears, among the trunks. Fifty feet away branches high in the trees shake and bounce, the movement far too heavy to be the wind, or a squirrel. Behind her something moves, so close she can hear its breathing, then crashes past her, the sound of its feet as it sprints down the hill fading to silent only feet from her spot.

  She sits unmoving as another of the creatures passes her in a flash of rich auburn. Closer this time, she watches with jaw dropped open as the man ... beast ... wolfman ... runs past. Clothed in a tattered long-sleeve top with one half entirely missing, the red-haired creature disappears as quickly as he had appeared. His jeans are still belted to his waist, but great rents have been torn in the fabric as though, too tight, his massive thighs have burst from the legs, the hems at the ankles still intact. His arms pump fast, and in the seconds that the image of him running becomes imprinted on her mind, she notes the broad and muscular shoulders, defined biceps, massive pectorals, and long arms with huge hands ending in curved talons. Incisors have grown long in an elongated jaw, covered in long auburn hair with flashes of bright copper that spreads over his forehead, temples, cheeks, and chin. On his shoulder, beneath the hairs, the skin is tattooed with a spray of oriental
flowers inked in reds, oranges, and blues. Watching his back in her peripheral vision as he disappears among the foliage, huge and muscular buttocks sit atop delineated thigh muscles that a speed skater would be proud of.

  She closes her mouth, opens it to speak, remains silent, and attempts to process what she has seen. There are no wolves on the mountain, at least not the traditional kind, but there are ... creatures. Her thinking-self refuses to speak the word her instinct wants to blurt, and she begins to doubt what she has witnessed. What she has just seen can’t be real, can’t actually have happened. She shuffles slowly forward and scours the ground where the huge ... wolfman – there, she said it! – where the wolfman, had run. A fern lies broken, its stem snapped, on it a copper hair is caught. She sniffs at the air as she begins to reach for it, changes her mind as the sour odour of the wolfman reaches her nostrils, and sits back on her rock. In the distance a scream is cut short, and for the first time in her life, Sam experiences the paralysing force of absolute fear.

  In the near distance she can hear Jerry’s voice. For a second, relief courses through her, then a need to warn him, and then his voice is accompanied by Suzy’s laugh, a laugh Sam recognises from their single days before the ‘boys’ came along, a laugh that puts Sam on alert, and sees her raise her gun to eyelevel. Less than a minute later, as Sam remains stock-still on the rock, in her safe place within the ferns, gun pointed, Suzy appears, and is quickly followed by Jerry. In the near distance, a tree bows with the weight of something climbing among its branches.

  As the tree’s leaves shiver, and the thudding of feet stops, Jerry’s arm is circled around Suzy’s slim waist. He allows her to step forward, gripping her waist from behind as he helps her over a boulder in their path. His hands are massive around her hips, the fingers covering her belly. As she steps up onto the boulder, he cups a buttock. Sam’s lips thin, her jaw clenching, her finger a gentle pressure on the gun’s trigger. Suzy responds to Jerry’s groping with that flirtatious giggle Sam is so familiar with. An adjacent tree bows, but not with the wind. Sam gives it a side glance, and fingers the trigger. Warn them, Sam! Jerry glances around the space – a furtive glance! - then steps up close to Suzy’s back, slipping his hands across her front, sliding one below her belly, the other up to fondle her breast. Suzy giggles, then rests her head on Jerry’s chest, her eyes closed, obviously enjoying his touch. Something thuds to the forest floor. A tree, only feet away, shudders. Warn them, Sam!