“Planned?”
“Yes, planned,” she lies.
“And Katarina?”
The growl of anger erupts from her throat before she has a chance to bury it down.
“I’m guessing, that wasn’t planned.”
“Who told you?”
“All security breaches are logged, Marta.”
“Kendrick! The bloody toad!”
“What? Did you think that we wouldn’t find out? Max escapes, kills one of your staff, and disappears into the forest? It’s Kielder again, Marta, and you know how that ended.”
“It’s not Kielder. We learnt the lessons from that catastrophe.”
“Nevertheless, Marta, you’ve been relieved of your post.”
They haven’t shut it down! “But ... this is my project!”
“And one you obviously cannot handle.”
“Of course I can handle it. Max is being returned as we speak.”
“And the others?”
“It has to be Kendrick! He’s your spy, isn’t he!”
“That is irrelevant, Marta. All that is relevant is that you have lost control and the project is going to be closed down, at least in Alaska.”
“What? So where will they be doing the research? Is it Peter? If it is that snivelling wretch ...”
“No, Marta. It’s not Peter.”
“But I bet you’ll take him with you, won’t you! Where are you taking him?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“What about us, Blake?”
“Us, Marta?”
“Yes, us, you and me, we’ve spent ... time together.”
Silence and then, “Marta ... the age difference ...” A huff is followed by an excruciating silence, then his voice takes on a colder tone. “It was you who called us ‘colleagues with benefits’, Marta.”
Five years! She is only five years older! The pain of rejection is physical, and her anger reaches a peak. She pulls at her blonde hair, unable to form a cohesive sentence. She grinds her teeth, then blurts, “This was our project, Blake! You’re the one who said that we should see Max’s accident for what it was—an opportunity.”
“Yes, and we did, but this thing is out of control. Corbeur is right, we need facilities that can hold the ... subjects.”
“Say it, Blake! Say it! They’re wolfmen. Fucking mutant werewolves!”
“Calm down, Marta! I hate it when you’re like this ... There’s no point in us having this discussion; a team has already been dispatched to retrieve the specimens that you currently have at Volkolak.”
“Where the hell are you taking them?”
“Corbeur has arranged to have them shipped to a secure holding station.”
“Where?”
“It’s completely underground.”
“Where?”
“More secure than any category A prison.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Dalton! Where is he taking them?”
“Africa. He’s signed the project over to Brussels. They’re very keen on developing biological weapons ... of this type. The EU need to increase their military capabilities. They want an edge over Russia-”
“What about the Americans ...”
“He’s going with the Europeans, they outbid the Saudis, and the Russians, and the Americans. No wonder they didn’t want Brexit, eh?”
His attempt at humour fails badly, and she sucks air through her teeth with rising ire. “Well ... you’re not taking Max!”
“Of course we’re taking Max. We can’t leave any specimens behind; the project is to be eradicated from the island, and you said it yourself, he is the perfect alpha male.”
“Well, you’re not having him. I’m going to keep him.”
“Now you’re just being stupid. You can’t keep him. You can’t even stay on the island.”
“You can’t have him, Blake. Corbeur can’t have him. He’s mine!”
“Marta? For crying out loud woman, what are you going to do? Take him for walks? Teach him to do tricks?”
Marta snorts with anger. “Just watch!” Pressing the mobile’s red ‘end call’ button she throws the phone across the room. “Just you watch, Blake. Just you watch.” Heart pounding, nausea swirls in her belly, and she sways, grasps hold of the desk, and waits for the moment to pass; she will show them. If she can’t have Max, then no one will.
Turning back to her computer she accesses the files for the project. Copies them over to a secure, and highly-classified, cloud storage facility and then deletes all the original files.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The truck had rolled to a stop within the compound, and parked among a collection of other vehicles. Max had waited, clinging to the metal undercarriage until the voices of the men had quietened, and their stench had thinned, and they were no longer near. He crawls from beneath the truck, darts to the shadows and scours the area. The forest sits beyond the fence, slits of light shine from the buildings. He creeps beside the walls, reaching up to see inside. Some of the rooms are empty, in others they walk, and sit, and laugh. He snaps his jaws in silent rage. The urge to bite down through flesh and bone, and tear their limbs drives him onwards, but the need for Laura is stronger, and he crouches to pass the sitting, laughing, sour-stinking, blood-full men.
A door opens. A screamer shouts then laughs. Max squats in the shadows, watching as two figures emerge, then walk away. The door is open. Max sprints along the wall, keeping to the shadows, and enters the building.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The lab door opens as Peter retrieves the thermometer. Wiping residue from the glass stick, he checks the temperature, then disposes of the tissue in the bin. Kendrick strides forward. His face is stern.
“Is there a problem?” Peter asks as he types Laura’s temperature into his notes.
“I need to identify the alpha male among the animals we just brought in.”
Peter stops typing. “Max?”
“That’s correct.”
“That should be easy, his DNA markers have been logged.” He gestures to an open laptop on the far worktop. “They’re on the files-”
“I need a visual identification.”
“Well, he’s the alpha-”
“Sure, but they all look pretty much the same, especially when they’re out cold.”
“How many do you have?”
“Nine, including three females.”
“Well, you can tell by their-”
“Yes, I know that! It’s the males we’re struggling to identify. Marta says Max has a tattoo on his ass. I’ve got to check it out.”
“Ah!”
“Exactly, so I need your help. I’m not prepared to get that close if there’s any chance they could wake.”
“So you need me to ensure that they are under sedation?”
“They’re already sedated. I need you to make sure they don’t overdose, but yeah, I need them comatose Doctor Marston. Pretty much dead, if possible.”
“Of course. I’ll prepare the injections now.”
As Peter begins to collect the vials of anaesthesia, Kendrick’s phone rings. With a quick glance at the screen, he mutters, “Marta! Which of my balls does she want to break this time?” then takes the call, turning to the wall to speak.
Kendrick’s words ‘pretty much dead, if possible’, repeat in Peter’s mind and a thought begins to form as the man continues his increasingly heated conversation; if she wasn’t prepared to put an end to the project, even though the horrors of Kielder seemed to be recurring, then he would. As Kendrick continues to talk, he begins his search through the cupboards for the vials he is sure will have been shipped, along with the contents of the labs at Kielder; Marta would be a fool not to make sure there was a good supply of the drug. He checks through the cupboards that line the wall. The tall cupboard in the corner, and then the lower cupboards. Increasingly frustrated, he slams a cupboard door shut. Finishing his call, Kendrick asks, “Need any help!”
“No!” He grabs a sealed b
ox from a cupboard. “I’ve got what you need right here.” With a smile, he tears at the box.
Placing handfuls of vials into a separate container, he hands them to Kendrick. “Use the Z-track method. Instructions are in this file.” He hands a black plastic file across to the man. “One vial each should do it.” As Kendrick leaves, he turns his attention back to Laura. She shifts in the box. He checks his watch. Time for another shot. Once administered, her breathing slows again to a state of subconsciousness only just above that of coma. He strokes her cheek, seeing through the grotesque deformities that have transmogrified her face, to the woman she had once been. “It’s the kindest thing, Laura.” He strokes long hair back from her brow. The golden honeypot and diamond at her ear glint in the overhead light. “You’ll see.” Reaching to the cupboard he pulls out the box from which he had taken the vials for Kendrick. The box is marked with ‘Beuthanasia D-Special.’ He reads aloud, “Contains pentobarbital and phenytoin. Warning: for canine euthanasia only ... That’s the one,” and places the vial on the table beside Laura.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
“Marston said to use the Z-track method. From what I can tell, that means just stabbing them in the ass and pushing the plunger down.” He demonstrates by stabbing the filled syringe into the first animal’s muscular buttock. The creature makes no movement, gives no sign it is aware, and Kendrick pushes the plunger down. He throws the syringe in the sharps bin and tears open another before filling it with fluid from another vial. “See! Easy.” Holding the second syringe, he turns to the gathered men, “Now, it’s your turn. Get these critters sedated pronto.”
Four men each take a syringe, fill it with fluid from the vials, and inject a sleeping wolfman. Only the two females remain to be injected when Kendrick notices that the first wolfman he had injected has stopped breathing. He moves in closer, watching for the rise and fall of its chest. It is completely still. “Shit!” he whispers, his expletive drowned out by the chatter of the men and clink of syringes and vials as they dispose of the poisoned receptacles. The two females receive their injections.
“All done!” Kipper calls as Kendrick holds a hand above the wolfman’s mouth. The air is cold beneath his palm. “Shit!” Louder this time.
“What is it?”
“This one’s dead!”
All men turn to look. Kendrick checks on the second male he had injected. It too is still. He reaches across, pulls its eyelids apart. The pupils do not contract. “Shit! This one’s dead too.” Checking around at the other creatures they had brought in from the forest only hours ago, he realises that each one is dead.
“They OD’ed?”
Kendrick moves from creature to creature, feeling for a pulse, sliding eyelids open. “Damn! Damn! Damn!”
Kipper picks up one of the remaining vials. “I guess that’s ‘cos we just killed them. This is dog euthanasia.”
“What!” He snatches the vial and reads the tiny print on its side. “Beuthanasia D. Special ... for dog euthanasia only. What the hell!” He stares from the vial to the dead wolfmen. “Marston!”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The last hour of walking had been an agony as the creature had continued to track them beside the river, but when they had finally reached the inlet where the lodge sat, they had emerged to a hail of bullets as Carmel had opened fire on the beast.
Chris pulls at the outboard engine again, his face flushed pink with effort. The motor whirrs, but doesn’t start.
Joshua squats at the edge of the forest, protected from Carmel’s bullets beside the deeply furrowed and wide trunk of an ancient poplar. Pushing Chris aside, Sam takes the pullcord. The engine makes no effort to start.
“God damn it! Damn thing has seized.”
Mobile now in hand, Chris begins to video the beach. “It’s been neglected, probably out of petrol.”
Joshua stands.
“We filled him full of bullets. How come he’s still alive?”
“He’s a werewolf. Only a silver bullet can kill him.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Well, what else? Sure as hell looks like a werewolf—half man and half wolf, that’s just what he looks like. Bit of a cross between Benicio Del Toro’s version in the Wolfman, that was made in 2010, and Kate Beckinsale’s brother in Van Helsing.”
“Much as your knowledge of the movies fascinates me, Chris, can we please stay focussed! We’ve got to get off this beach before he gets any closer.”
“But he’s scared of the water. You can tell that.”
“Or before any of the others find us.”
The waves push the boat against the shingle. “Damn!” With a leap, Sam returns to the water, and pushes the boat into deeper water. “We’re going to have to paddle.”
Joshua takes two steps onto the beach.
“He’s getting lairy! Look at him!”
Broad-shouldered and muscular, Joshua is magnificent even with his bastardised face.
“He wants me!” Rachel whispers.
What the hell is she talking about? “What did you say, Rachel?”
“He wants me!”
“Yeah, to eat!” Chris quips.
“No, he really wants me.”
She stands in the boat. It rocks. Sam pushes it into deeper water, the cold sea bone-achingly painful.
“Sit down, Rachel!”
“No one wants me, Sam. Not my boss, not my mother, not Alistair Lawton, not Michel ... All I’ve ever wanted is to be wanted.”
“You’re talking like a crazy woman, now sit down, or you’ll fall over the side.”
She steps to the side of the boat. The edge dips to the waves.
“Rachel!”
Joshua takes another step forward, an arm outstretched. Carmel fires a shot.
“Stop shooting!” Rachel calls.
Joshua stands with arms open.
“See!”
“Rachel!” Sam shouts. “Sit the hell down.”
Jumping into the water, Rachel flinches at the cold, then strides against the waves and up the beach.
“Oh, my Lord!”
“Rachel!” Chris shouts, peering from behind his mobile. “No! ... Oh ... my ... God!”
“He’ll kill her!”
“Silly cow!” Chris stands as though to leave the boat, mobile still focused on the beach.
Sam grabs his jacket. “No! You can’t follow her!”
“Get the hell back here, Rachel Bonds!” he calls.
“Rachel! Don’t-.” Sam’s words catch in her throat as Rachel stands only feet away from the creature that had been Joshua. It towers above her, clawed hands ready to tear.
“Oh, my God. I can’t look! It’s going to eat her!”
In the beast’s shadow, Rachel offers a gesture of embrace. It pounces, wrapping huge arms around her middle, scooping her into its arms. Fangs bared, it lifts her to its jaws, and bites. She screams, writhes, then becomes limp. Throwing back its head, it lifts Rachel to the sky like a trophy, and carries her into the woods.
“This is sensational!”
“Did you get it on video?”
Chris thumbs his mobile screen. “I sure did.”
Sam places an arm across Chris’ shoulder staring after the disappearing figure of the beast and his bride, as water laps at the boat. “Get paddling, honey, and let’s get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Peter stands over Laura, a Beuthanasia D-Special-filled syringe in hand. Watching the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, a tear sits at the corner of his eye. He lifts her arm, searching for a well-defined vein. The clack of heels sounds in the corridor, and then the lab door swings open. Marta strides into the room, obviously flustered. “Peter!”
Startled, he drops Laura’s arm.
“Peter!”
“Yes?”
“Where is the live virus?”
“Live virus?”
“Yes! I’ve been searching for it for the last hour.”
; He nods to the glass-fronted chiller on the counter. “In there.” He places the loaded syringe beside Laura as Marta takes the tray of vials, then searches for an insulated, protective carry-case. His curiosity roused, Peter asks, “Where are you taking those, Marta? You do realise how toxic they are?”
“Yes, of course I do!” she snaps back.
“And that they need to remain at a controlled temperature.”
“Yes! What’s your point, Peter?”
“Well ... I’m wondering where you’re taking them? What’s going on, Marta?”
She huffs like a petulant child. “Titan Blane have shut us down!”
Peter stares at her, incredulous.
“I know! How very dare they!”
“But what about Laura, and Max?”
“Max has been recovered. Dalton is sending a team to retrieve him and ship him to Africa.”
“Africa?”
“An EU military facility. I know! All those lies!
“And what about Laura?”
“And Laura too, I presume.”
“No!”
“That is exactly what I said, Peter.”
“No, the whole project has to stop!”
“You can’t stop it! They’re on their way ... Listen, Peter, Titan Blane and Corbeur have handed the project over to the Europeans. The breeding programme is a failure. But we don’t need the breeding programme now we have the virus isolated. I’ve arranged transport off the island. I’ll be leaving within the hour.”
“But what about Laura?”
“We don’t need Laura. Or ... Max. We can use fully grown men. Willing soldiers, or convicts on death row, maybe political dissenters! I don’t care where the subjects come from, as long as they are healthy and strong.”
Peter’s face is set to stony, Marta plummeting in his estimation.
“Come with me, Peter,” she continues. “I’ve already arranged to co-operate with the Americans. They have secure, state-of-the-art facilities, military facilities, not like this Mickey Mouse operation.”
The Kielder Experiment (Book 2): The Alaska Strain Page 21