Lycanthropic (Book 4): Moon Rise [The Age of the Werewolf]

by Morris, Steve

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Beneath London

  There was a rumble up ahead in the tunnel. ‘What’s that?’ Leanna asked, fearing the worst. She had come to loathe these cold, dark sewers almost as much as she loathed her companion.

  ‘Water,’ muttered Canning, his brow crinkled in concentration.

  It was already deeper here, the dark water rising above her waist, and flowing faster too. Despite Leanna’s strength, the water pushed against her like a physical barrier, doing its best to stop her moving forward. If she lost her footing on the slippery floor, she might easily be swept away by the current. ‘Are you sure this way is safe?’ she asked Canning.

  ‘Just keep close to me,’ he answered. ‘Don’t wander off.’

  He motioned at the side passages, leading off to left and right. They were lower than the main passageway, almost entirely submerged beneath oily liquid, and Leanna had no intention of wandering down any of them. This place was a maze. Already she had lost all sense of how they had come to be here, or in what direction they were headed. If she lost Canning now, she might never find him again.

  He continued to push on, wading through the shallower water at the side of the tunnel, and Leanna followed, fearing to get left behind.

  ‘They are beautiful, though, aren’t they?’ he said, stopping briefly to shine his light at the ceiling.

  He meant the sewers, she guessed. She was willing to concede that they had a certain atmospheric quality. The black and gold bricks glistened brightly under the beam of the flashlights. The tunnel curved and soared overhead, almost like the roof of a cathedral, and the gurgling green waters bubbled around them like a subterranean lake.

  ‘Beautiful, yet treacherous,’ said Canning, casting a glance back at her.

  ‘It’s getting deeper,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  Was he trying to drown her? She wondered if he had led her here deliberately, hoping to lose her amid this vast network of twisting and branching passageways, each one very much like the others. If so, she would tear him to pieces.

  Up ahead, he stopped and held up a hand, listening intently. ‘This way. Quickly!’

  The waters were rising, inch by inch, and flowing ever faster. She pushed after him, her sense of dread increasing with every step. The air space above her head was growing smaller as the waters rose. Soon it would be gone.

  Up ahead, the light from his flashlight suddenly vanished. She shone her own light at the place he had been and saw an iron ladder screwed to the wall. Its top disappeared up a dark chimney.

  He had betrayed her! She should have known. What had she learned? Never to trust! And yet she had allowed this one-eyed charlatan to lure her into this death trap. ‘Canning!’ she shrieked.

  The water was almost at the ceiling now, and she splashed forward, her feet barely meeting the floor. She swallowed a mouthful of foul liquid, and then another. She struck out with her hands and dropped her flashlight into the water. It went out.

  Now there was nothing but darkness and the flooding tide, and the sound of her own voice screaming and coughing.

  A hand closed around her wrist.

  She tried to fight it off, but she could not fight both hand and water. She dipped beneath the surface and swallowed another mouthful. Her lungs began to burn. And then the hand was pulling her up, drawing her out of the flood and onto the rungs of the ladder. She gripped the cold iron hard, panting as her breath slowly returned to normal.

  The flashlight clicked back on. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’ said Canning. ‘I thought I had lost you there for a moment.’

  ‘You bastard, you tried to drown me.’

  His lips curled down in disappointment. ‘My dear, I just saved your life. And for the second time too. First I saved you from the explosions, now from drowning. I was hoping for some praise. If we are to work together as a team, you really are going to have to learn to trust me.’ He pocketed the light and began to climb the narrow chimney.

  Leanna followed. Below her, the waters surged and boiled.

  At the top, he grabbed her arm and hauled her into a higher-level passageway. The ceiling was lower here, and she had to crouch, but it was dry.

  He switched his light back on. ‘The lower levels have completely flooded,’ he said. ‘We need to get to the surface.’

  Leanna cast a glance back at the tunnel she had so narrowly escaped from, and saw the vile water continuing to rise. She needed no further persuading.

  Soon a flight of steps appeared, and the path led steeply upward. A glimmer of light was visible at the far end. A short distance further, and another iron ladder led up to an open manhole. The bright light of day shone down, like the light of heaven itself. Canning switched off his flashlight and climbed the ladder. Leanna followed.

  She emerged from the sewers to a scene of almost complete destruction. This must once have been a street of houses, but they were nothing more than charred bricks now, all colours turned to grey. A firestorm had swept through, burning everything in its path, leaving only swirling dust and debris in its wake. On the horizon, black clouds of smoke billowed where the inferno still raged, and hot wind blew her hair as the fire drew in oxygen to feed its flames.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

  ‘Somewhere in West London, maybe close to Ealing. It’s hard to tell. All the landmarks have gone. There’s nothing left at all.’

  She climbed atop a mound of rubble and stared into the distance, turning slowly to look in every direction. Wherever she looked, the streets and buildings had been reduced to mounds of grey waste. Nothing moved out there but swirling smoke and glowing fires. A pale sun tried to break through, but it was weak and colourless in the low, leaden sky. The city was dead, just as she had suspected.

  She was glad to be out of the stinking sewers at last, out in the open air, with the sky above her and the wind in her face. It was a harsh wind, that smelled of soot and death, but its taste was to her liking. She would ride that hot wind as far as it would take her, bringing death to her enemies.

  Canning seemed disconcerted by the extent of the destruction. ‘What if it is all like this? Everywhere? What if the whole world has been destroyed?’

  ‘Then we will rebuild it. The past is gone, and this is the age of the werewolf. We have nothing to fear from destruction.’ She reached down and scooped up a handful of dust, throwing it into the air and letting the wind take it. ‘I am the burning wind now,’ she declared exultantly. ‘I am the fire that sweeps all aside. Soon my enemies will be dust, just like this.’

  She jumped down and landed gracefully at Canning’s side. ‘Come on! What are you waiting for?’

  They set off together, following the line of a railway track. The parallel lines of steel were still intact, leading them into the distance and into the future. This track was her path to freedom, and she would have run along it, if it were not for Canning, and his huffing and puffing. ‘Where will this take us?’ she asked him.

  Canning looked around. ‘I think this line will take us to Uxbridge, or the place where Uxbridge once stood. From there, we ought to leave London not far from Windsor.’

  ‘Excellent. Then I’ll make Windsor my base.’

  It could not have been better. If she were to rule as queen, she would need a throne. And what better place to find a throne than in a royal castle?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Stoke Park, Buckinghamshire

  James walked at a steady pace, keeping away from the main roads and towns as far as was possible. Once, he had to cross the six lanes of a strangely empty motorway, and sometimes he had no choice but to sneak through quiet villages and even small towns. But he planned his route carefully, snaking along the bank of the River Thames for part of the journey, and taking diversions away from larger towns, through woodland and across pasture where sheep, cows and horses grazed. He waited until night before approaching built-up areas. It took longer that way, but he had no wish to meet anyone as he travel
led.

  He stopped once to kill and eat a sheep, and to take shelter in a barn, then again to spend the night hidden in a dense thicket. He took wolf form when darkness fell, so that his thick coat of fur would keep him warm until morning.

  He met no one on his travels and soon grew used to being alone. He thought of his friend, Samuel as he walked. He had known Samuel for only a brief time before he had been cruelly snatched away, but it had been the happiest time of his life. When Samuel died he had raged at God, and at the cold-hearted moon, furious at the senseless injustice. But perhaps he had been too quick to judge, for even in his darkest hour, when Samuel had just been killed, God had sent him Melanie, and given him the chance to save her life. In turn he had been rewarded with her friendship, and that of her sister, Sarah, and Ben too. He had even enjoyed the company of Grandpa, even though the old man had not recognized him from one day to the next. And now Joan had helped him, when she might just as easily have turned him away. So even though God remained silent, He was always there, watching James and helping him. All James had to do was keep his faith and trust in God, and one day he would be reconciled. One day too, he knew he would be reunited with Samuel.

  God offered him no guidance now, and he no longer had even the cold light of the moon to lead him, but with the help of Joan’s map, it didn’t take very long to reach the camp. He arrived there just as the afternoon light was fading and the air began to grow cool. He wondered what to do. Should he spend another night outside, curled up warm beneath the trees? Or should he try to enter the camp in human form, and start to search for the others?

  According to Joan, Stoke Park had been a country house hotel, and was now being used by the army to house people who had left London and had nowhere else to go. There would probably be hundreds of refugees there, maybe even thousands. It could take a long time to find three people amongst so many. And there would be soldiers there too. It would be dangerous. He remembered the dogs at the army checkpoint on the way out of London. The dogs had been sniffing for werewolves. It would be terrible to be shot by soldiers just as he arrived at the camp where his friends were staying. In any case it was growing too dark to see well and he decided to spend the night alone, and to carry out some reconnaissance first thing in the morning.

  He found a small patch of trees near a gurgling brook, carefully removed and folded the clothes that Joan had given him, and turned himself into a wolf, ready to sleep. The stars twinkled above him, bright jewels in a black sky. He noticed how dark the night sky had become these past few days, and how bright the stars burned. So many more were visible since the electric lights had all gone out. It was an amazing sight. He wondered if God was sending humanity a message of hope. Like the rainbow after the Great Flood, it was a promise that God would never again send bombs to destroy the world.

  He awoke, hours later, startled by noise and by lights. It was still pitch dark where he lay, and this was not daylight that shone through the trees, nor even the light of the moon or the stars. The white beams of light sliced through the blackness like knives. They were flashlights. The noises that broke the silence were of men shouting orders, and of dogs barking.

  Still in wolf form, he sprang to his paws and spun around, seeking a way to escape.

  The lights were closing in on him, and he heard men crashing through the undergrowth. The dogs were loose, and were coming straight for him. They had already picked up his scent.

  There was no time to think. He abandoned his belongings and dashed away through the ferns and nettles, deeper into the ghostly trees, picked out in white by the lights of the soldiers. He knew he could easily outrun the men, but the dogs might catch him, and if he slowed to fight them, he could end up getting shot.

  Frantic barking filled the night as the dogs closed on his trail. The boots of the men crashed through the woods, and they shouted to each other and to the dogs. A bullet whickered over his head and embedded itself in the trunk of a tree.

  He veered left suddenly, trying to throw his pursuers off his track, plunging into a shallow stream and running along it for some distance, hoping to hide his scent. The dogs followed, but slower, and the sound of their barking grew less. He bounded up the opposite bank of the stream and made a dash for open country, but suddenly a bright light shone directly in his face. He skidded to a halt and saw a military vehicle right ahead, its searchlight trained on him.

  ‘Take aim!’ shouted a voice, and more lights turned his way – flashlights fixed to men’s rifles.

  James threw his paws protectively over his face and curled into a ball. He could try to fight these men, maybe even kill some of them before they could shoot, but he was just as likely to end up dead. Besides, they were just soldiers, doing their job of guarding the camp. He wished them no harm.

  ‘Shoot to kill!’ came the order.

  ‘Stop!’ he growled. ‘Please don’t shoot!’

  No reply came, but the soldiers hesitated. Their guns did not fire.

  ‘I surrender!’ he bellowed, and willed himself to assume human shape. The change began slowly, the thick sandy fur slowly drawing back into his skin, his muscular arms and legs gradually weakening. As the change took hold he could see the doubts growing in the soldiers’ eyes. He willed it to proceed faster, and soon his long snout was remaking itself into the nose, mouth and jaw of a human face.

  ‘Hold your fire!’ he heard, as more men emerged from the trees and surrounded him. ‘Restrain the dogs.’

  By the time he was fully human again, the dogs were back on their leashes, barking furiously in frustration. A soldier approached, an officer by the look of him, and shone a bright light directly into James’ eyes. ‘This one will do,’ he said. He lifted his rifle butt and brought it crashing into James’ face. ‘Tie him tightly and put him in the back of the truck.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Stoke Park, Buckinghamshire, quarter moon

  Melanie Margolis was growing quietly mad. Okay, not so quietly. She had shouted at Sarah and yelled at Ben, despite promising herself that she would never row with either of them again. That promise hadn’t lasted long, just a handful of days. She hated herself for that, and had taken herself out for a long walk, leaving Ben to watch over Sarah in the tent.

  It wasn’t surprising she had lost her temper. Patience had never been Melanie’s strong point, and what little she had was running extremely thin. The city of tents that made up the emergency camp was cramped, smelly and noisy. The food here was dreary and unimaginative, and the bathroom facilities were absolutely disgusting. There were a few electricity generators running, belching out noxious diesel fumes, but they were only for essential services. There was basically no electricity, no lighting, no heating, and precious little clean water. When night fell it was pitch black. People were going to bed at sunset and rising with the sun, just like they must have done in the middle ages. Melanie was used to doing the exact opposite – rising in the evening and stumbling back into bed at dawn. She had always been the last to leave any party.

  The soldiers and humanitarian workers all appeared very diligent and hard at work, but were far too busy, or just plain ignorant, to answer any of her questions. How long are we going to be here? Who’s in charge? How do I report a missing person? No one knew, or cared.

  Only a few facts were certain. London was gone. The government had fallen. James was missing. And it was up to Melanie to make the best of it.

  She wasn’t too worried about herself, or Ben. They could both take care of themselves, and of each other. She had prepared well for the situation, packing enough toiletries and skincare products to make up for the woeful lack of anything decent in the camp. She had brought only one change of clothing, but her choice of leather jacket and boots had been a good one, warm and waterproof. At least she didn’t look ridiculous like Ben dressed in Grandpa’s old clothes. And to be fair, life at the camp wasn’t as bad as she had feared. They were safe, and the tents, though uncomfortable, were weatherproof. The food, thou
gh interminably dull, was nutritious enough, and she could hardly expect Michelin-starred menus in what was little more than a soup kitchen.

  She was more worried about Sarah. Before leaving London, her sister had not been out of the house in such a long time, that she simply couldn’t cope. Living in the camp was an impossibility for her. She had been like a zombie for the first couple of days, not eating, not speaking, barely even conscious of her surroundings. She still wouldn’t leave the tent, but at least she was accepting food now, and saying a few words. But one thing was obvious to Melanie, even if Ben refused to admit it. Sarah could not stay here in the camp. However dangerous it might be beyond the fence, if Sarah was going to have any chance of recovering from her trauma, they were going to have to leave and find somewhere far away from human civilization, or what passed for it these days.

  Besides, there was another pressing reason to leave the camp. James. That was why she was so mad now, out pacing the camp alone. She had tried to raise the matter with Ben, but it had been hopeless.

  ‘We have to go and look for him,’ she’d argued. ‘James is all alone, out there somewhere in the wilds. Anything could have happened to him.’

  ‘But we can’t go and look for him,’ said Ben in that maddeningly reasonable way he had of speaking to her.

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  ‘We can’t leave the camp. It’s far too dangerous.’

  ‘That’s precisely why we have to find him. He might be hurt or injured.’

  ‘Melanie, he almost killed you last time we saw him.’

  ‘That’s because he was a wolf. You know he’s perfectly safe when he’s human.’

  ‘Okay, yes, but my point is that James is quite capable of looking after himself. He will just have to come and find us. Anyway, the soldiers probably won’t even allow you to leave.’