Mr Singh caught Liz’s eye. ‘Thanks for all your help,’ he said. ‘My mother-in-law doesn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just that we’ve all had such a terrible shock.’
Liz couldn’t argue with that. Everyone here had endured unimaginable trauma in the past twenty-four hours. They’d seen their homes turned into dust by a nuclear explosion, narrowly escaped from a raging firestorm, and in some cases lost loved ones in a battle against a pack of werewolves. And now they had been thrown among strangers in overcrowded conditions. They would have to make the best of it.
‘This place is ace,’ said Drake Cooper cheerfully. ‘I’ve never stayed in a hotel before. I was expecting a tent or something.’
Liz gave him a smile. That was the right attitude. If they were going to come through this ordeal, they would have to remain positive. A good mental outlook was as important to surviving a disaster situation as the physical needs of shelter, food, water and security. Without it, you might simply give up and die. And Drake looked like a tough kid, with his ripped jeans and closely cropped hair. Growing up on the wrong side of town had obviously taught him to appreciate what little he had.
Her greatest worry, apart from Samantha, was Vijay. The boy had spent several days locked in a garage without food or water, and looked in a dreadful state. He had always been thin and small for his age. Now he seemed to have shrunk even further. His eyes were glassy, and he stood alone, saying nothing. In fact, all he had said since being rescued was, ‘Rose.’
Rose Hallibury, a girl from Vijay’s school, had vanished a month earlier, after her parents and younger brother were killed by werewolves. No one had seen her since.
He was muttering her name now. ‘Rose. Must find Rose.’
Liz took him by the arm and led him to sit on one of the smaller beds. ‘Try to rest,’ she told him, pulling the sheets back so that he could lie down. ‘Don’t worry about Rose. I’m sure she’s safe.’
He let her lower him into the bed and draw the sheets back over him. His eyes closed as soon as his head hit the pillow, and he grew silent, breathing softly.
Liz watched him for a moment. She would need to keep a close eye on him in the days ahead. She would need to keep an eye on everyone in this room. She had always dreamed of having a large family one day. Now she had ten people to take care of, and a baby on the way.
Be careful what you wish for, Liz. A family of eleven was a lot to manage, especially for a part-time police officer, part-time vampire.
Chapter Seven
World’s End, Buckinghamshire, waning moon
Rose Hallibury lay quietly on the hard ground, wrapped in the soft, warm folds of her sleeping bag. The dark green fabric of the tent curved over her head, but faint sunlight peeped in around the zipped-up tent door, and she knew that it was daytime. Her dog, Nutmeg, slept at her side, her small head tucked tightly against her mistress’ body, her long wet nose nestled in the crook of Rose’s arm. The others – Chris, Seth and Ryan – slept soundly too, filling the cramped space of the tent with soft snoring noises and heavy breathing. She lay still, listening to the familiar, comforting sounds, noticing the birdsong from outside, and the gentle roar of the wind across the hilltop where they had set up camp.
The air inside the tent was thick with the pungent odours of man sweat. She was just a lone girl, sharing a small tent with three adult men that she hardly knew. She wondered if she ought to be afraid of them. Yet she didn’t feel at all threatened. Chris was a skinny beanpole, more boy than man, bookish and nerdy, peering anxiously and earnestly at everything he saw. Seth, with his long, floppy hair, lopsided smile and thick glasses was one of the most placid people she had ever met. And even the latest addition to the group, Ryan, despite his cropped hair, the muscles that rippled beneath his tight T-shirt, and the tattoo on his bulging bicep, had shown her nothing but the deepest kindness and concern. She knew that she could trust these men just as much as she trusted Nutmeg. And now that her family were all dead, and civilization had fallen, she needed to trust them with her life.
She and the others had walked right through the night, beneath a velvet sky and twinkling stars, not stopping to sleep until gone midnight. They had hardly said a word to each other, and yet they had seemed united in purpose, wanting to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the ruined city that had once been London. Whenever she had turned to look behind her, the towering forms of the mushroom clouds had cast a shadow in the darkness, blotting out the constellations in the sky, almost as if they were devouring the stars. She had seen the others turn their heads in the same direction, and shudder. They had not spoken of the destruction she had foreseen in her visions, and that they had witnessed unfolding together.
This was the first morning in a long time that she had woken from sleep without screaming. For so long now she had been plagued by dreadful nightmares. They had shown her the fires engulfing London, soldiers in gas masks firing their rifles into crowds of civilians, tanks and military vehicles laying waste to the city. Worse, they had foretold the death of her parents, and of her own little brother Oscar slumped in his wheelchair. They had shown her that everyone she loved would die. The evil headmaster, Mr Canning, had been her guide to the nightmares, leading her unwillingly through the visions with his blood-soaked hands, eager to show her more horrors. But the dreams had also shown her how to save Vijay, the boy she cared for most in the world. They had guided her away from him, out of the city to safety. And her final vision, so powerful that it had come to her in broad daylight, had shown Vijay safe and well, escaping from the fire that had nearly claimed his life.
Now the dreams had gone and she was free.
She sat up and unzipped the tent. Nutmeg woke and licked her face tenderly. Sunlight streamed through the open tent door and a gentle breeze entered, bringing with it the strange new smells of the countryside. They promised change, and a new beginning. She had been living in a daze for so long, ever since the nightmares had begun, since children and teachers had first started disappearing from her school, and the men calling themselves the Wolf Brothers had attacked her at the kennels where she worked at weekends. Now she felt suddenly wide awake, more aware than she had been for ages. The world outside was fresh and inviting and she was eager to see more of it.
The others struggled awake as the sunlight fell on them, yawning and groaning and rolling over in their sleeping bags.
‘Come on,’ she said to them. ‘It’s time to get up.’
She crawled out of the tent, followed closely by Nutmeg, and drank in her new surroundings. On leaving London behind, they had joined the ancient path known as the Ridgeway and were following its winding route across hilltops, through dense woodland and across open fields. All around was greenery – more countryside than Rose had ever known growing up in the capital city. And the sky was huge, filled with scudding white clouds. The dark mushroom clouds from the explosions had dispersed, and there was nothing to indicate the disaster that had unfolded just twelve hours ago. It was almost as if it had never happened.
Rose ran from the tent, across the open field, stretching her arms out like a plane. She felt reborn. She felt joy. Tears sprang from her eyes in the early morning cold, and the wind blew her hair across her face in a bright coppery curtain. Nutmeg ran at her feet, barking happily.
When she returned to the tent, the other three were staring at her open-mouthed.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Ryan.
‘It’s probably shock,’ said Chris.
‘Perhaps you need to sit down,’ suggested Seth.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m just happy to be alive.’
‘But what about your nightmares?’ asked Chris. ‘Normally you wake up screaming.’
‘I didn’t have one. They’ve stopped.’
The three men nodded slowly, taking in the news.
‘Let’s eat,’ she said.
Ryan broke out some rations and they sat near the tent to have breakfast. The food was simple, just
slightly stale bread and some soft cheese, but it tasted better than anything she’d eaten for months. She sipped apple juice from a carton, feeling the sharp acidic flavour hit the back of her mouth. Everything felt good, even the cold wind blowing at her face. She grinned at the other guys as they watched her cautiously, exchanging glances, saying nothing.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ asked Seth again.
She beamed at him and nodded.
Ryan pulled out his phone and sat looking at it, frowning. He held it up, then frowned again. ‘There’s no signal,’ he said at last. ‘I had one last night.’
‘It’s the EMP,’ said Chris, his mouth full of food.
‘What?’
‘The EMP. The electromagnetic pulse from the bombs.’
‘What’s an EMP?’ asked Rose.
‘I just told you,’ said Chris irritably. ‘Weren’t you listening?’
‘My battery was nearly dead anyway,’ said Ryan. ‘Yeah, that’s it. It’s gone.’
A hush fell over the guys as they digested the loss of the phone.
‘You may as well throw it away,’ said Chris. ‘That phone’s useless now. Worse than useless. It’s dead weight.’
‘Should we bury it?’ said Seth, his voice hushed.
‘Don’t be daft.’ Ryan put it back in his rucksack. ‘So what next?’ he asked.
‘We carry on with the plan,’ said Chris. ‘We keep walking west along the Ridgeway to Hereford. When we get there, we’ll be safe.’
‘Why?’ asked Rose. She realized that she’d been following Chris’ plan to walk to Hereford for weeks, and had never questioned it. She hadn’t questioned anything. Her head had been so full of terror and foreboding that she hadn’t been able to think clearly at all. Now she had woken from her trance, her mind was clear and sharp.
Chris frowned at her question. ‘I’ve explained all this dozens of times. Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to what I say? We’re going to Hereford because it’s the wilderness. We need to get far away from towns and cities, to escape from the werewolves.’
‘We haven’t actually seen a single werewolf since we left London,’ said Ryan. ‘Maybe we’re safe already?’
‘No,’ said Chris, shaking his head vigorously. ‘The werewolves will spread out across the country. They have weapons now, too. They’re more dangerous than ever. We have to get as far away from population centres as possible.’
‘And that’s Hereford?’
‘The county of Herefordshire is right on the western edge of England, and is one of the most sparsely populated in Britain,’ lectured Chris. ‘The only city in the county is Hereford itself, and even that’s tiny. It’s really just a small market town. Now that the apocalypse is here, it’ll be one of the safest places in Britain.’
Rose considered the plan. She couldn’t think of any reason not to go along with it. After all, she had no home, no family. Hereford was as good a place as any. It sounded nice, actually. Growing up in the inner city, she had often dreamed of living in the countryside one day. ‘How long will it take to get there?’ she asked.
Chris’ forehead creased as he did the calculation. ‘The distance from here to Hereford must be about a hundred miles. If we can walk eight miles a day, it will take us two weeks.’
‘Eight miles a day?’ scoffed Ryan. ‘That’s nothing. We can easily do a lot more than that.’
‘Maybe a week then,’ said Chris hopefully. ‘Then we’ll be safe.’
‘In that case,’ said Rose, standing up, ‘what are we waiting for? Let’s get going.’
Chapter Eight
Stoke Park, Buckinghamshire, waning moon
The journey out of London had been almost unbearable for Sarah Margolis. She couldn’t possibly have managed it without the comfort of her sister Melanie’s hand to hold hers. Her memories of the walk were hazy, almost non-existent. She had stared intently at her feet the whole time, guided by Melanie, not once daring to look up, in case she caught another person’s gaze. Even so, she knew that others were watching her. That thought had come close to paralyzing her.
Anthropophobia. Fear of other people. Some might doubt that the condition even existed, but for Sarah it was a frighteningly real part of every day. On leaving London, that fear had very nearly swallowed her whole.
She hadn’t even been aware of the bombs falling until much later when Melanie had explained it to her. Even now she could scarcely believe it. Her phobia had so totally overwhelmed her that she had somehow failed to notice the annihilation of her own city.
Not only that, but James was gone. The boy who had slowly won her trust over a period of several months, who she had finally found the courage to accept into her life, had transformed into a raging monster beneath the full moon, and run away into the forest. By all accounts he had almost killed Melanie before going.
Sarah recalled nothing of it.
They had arrived late at night at an emergency camp of some kind and been processed by soldiers on arrival. She had seen bright lights, heard men’s voices shouting, shuddered as the crowds had jostled her. That much, she remembered. Everything else, she tried to block out. The bombs. James. The endless sea of people. Now, beneath the dark, safe canopy of the tent, she curled into a ball, and wished it all away.
Melanie was in the tent with her, and had not left her for a moment. Melanie had tried several times to talk, but Sarah had said nothing back. She wasn’t ready to talk, not by a long way, not even to her twin sister. She wondered if she would ever talk to anyone again.
At times like this it was impossible to believe that they really were sisters, let alone twins. Melanie, so beautiful and slim, dressed now in skin-tight black jeans that matched her long black hair, and a red leather jacket, flamboyant and bright against her perfect pale skin. Confident too, with a sharp tongue that flashed quickly, often drawing blood with sarcastic and cruel remarks. Sarah, by contrast, had never been thin, or pretty, or confident. She’d been a shy, introverted and bookish girl, and had matured into an awkward, self-effacing and repressed woman. She was a competent nurse and an attentive carer, and had spent her adult life nursing Grandpa during his final years. But she was not always kind and selfless. The darkness within her had grown quietly over the years, nurtured by solitude, and sometimes bursting forth through shocking actions. She knew that Melanie was secretly frightened of her. Sarah was sometimes frightened of herself.
Melanie’s boyfriend, Ben Harvey, hadn’t tried to talk to Sarah since arriving at the camp, and for that she was thankful. Ben was sensitive to other people’s needs, in the way that Melanie was not. He knew that she would talk when she was ready. For now, he gave her the space she needed to heal.
He was fiddling with a wind-up radio, working his way through the frequencies, trying to find a signal. So far the only station he had managed to pick up was the BBC. It wasn’t one of the usual stations though, and Sarah hadn’t recognized the voice of the newsreader. She presumed it was the BBC, but how could you know for certain?
Trust no one. That was the only safe course of action now. People are dangerous. It is rational to fear them.
Ben turned the dial and a voice cut suddenly through the waves of static. ‘This is the British Broadcasting Corporation. A nuclear attack has taken place against London and other British cities, including Manchester, Birmingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Sheffield, Glasgow, Southampton and Bristol. Millions are feared dead. Eyewitness reports state that a starburst of eight or nine warheads exploded above London at around 9 pm last night, and that the city has been almost completely destroyed.’
When Sarah had been a little girl, Grandpa had often spoken to her of his wartime memories. The image that had most captured her imagination was of him with his family, huddled next to a radio in the evening to catch the latest news from around the world. His youthful days had been overshadowed by rations, gas masks, air raid sirens and bomb shelters, yet he had talked about them as happy times. He had even shown her the old radio, still in working condi
tion, and stored in the dusty attic in their house in Richmond upon Thames. It had been a huge valve radio, with a polished wooden cabinet. Ben’s radio was nothing like that, a bright yellow plastic device with a built-in LED flashlight, but Sarah felt a kinship with her dead Grandpa as she listened to the voice that broke through the background crackles of the airwaves.
‘There has been no official confirmation of who was responsible for launching the attack, but it is believed that the missiles came from the UK’s own Trident II nuclear missile system and were launched from a Vanguard-class submarine belonging to the Royal Navy. Only the serving prime minister has the authority to initiate the launch of a Trident missile, except in the circumstance of the prime minister’s death, in which case responsibility is delegated to the chief of the defence staff, acting with the authority of the monarch.’
Grandpa’s war had lasted for six long years, and yet it seemed that Sarah’s war had already finished, for surely nothing could follow an all-out nuclear attack. It had been easy, really. Nothing to it. Over in a flash. Yet who had won? Could any side truly win a war like this? She didn’t even understand who the sides were.
‘There are reports that the prime minister is dead, but this remains unconfirmed, and no government statement has yet been issued. In the absence of any central government, power has temporarily been devolved to regional and local administrations.’
The voice of the newsreader fell silent for a few seconds, then began again on a loop. ‘This is the British Broadcasting Corporation. A nuclear attack has taken place …’
Ben switched the radio off. ‘Jesus Christ, how could anyone have done such a thing?’
Melanie shrugged. ‘Who knows? We don’t even know who really did it. The government? The werewolves? Hell, it might have been the Russians for all we know.’
Ben grunted in acknowledgement. ‘Anything’s possible, I suppose.’
‘Well,’ said Melanie. ‘One thing’s for sure. We’re on our own now, and God help us.’
Lycanthropic (Book 4): Moon Rise [The Age of the Werewolf] Page 4