The Original's Return (Book 1)

by David Watkins

Steve nodded. “Bit her head off.” His voice croaked at the memory. Anton’s face still held no trace of emotion, bar the single tear that rolled down his cheek. He made no effort to wipe it away. “Then he got shot by the soldiers.”

  “Thirty times?”

  “We were running away, so I’m not sure.” Steve looked down at the table. Admitting cowardice was not a good idea in this company. “But it was about that.”

  “You ran?” Callum laughed.

  Steve looked him in the eye. “You weren’t there. He bit her head off. Not ripped, not chewed through. He bit it off. He is huge. Bigger than anyone in this room. Do you understand?”

  Callum hit him hard enough to knock him off his chair. Steve stayed on his knees for a moment, ears ringing. Alex stood, kicking the table over with a roar. He landed two punches on Callum before the big man reacted.

  Callum grabbed Alex by the throat and lifted him off the floor with one hand. His pack started shouting and everyone else dropped any pretence of doing anything other than watching the group. Fights between alphas were usually short and brutal. Alex brought both his hands down in a chop on Callum’s neck. He didn’t even flinch or loosen his hold for a second.

  “You forget so quickly Alex.” Callum reached up with his other hand, turning it into a paw topped with long nails and sliced open Alex’s neck. Blood geysered out of the wound, spraying Callum and the table with blood. Alex’s eyes opened wide and he kicked his legs against Callum. The bigger man still didn’t move until Alex’s head rolled back and the blood stopped gushing out so quickly. It didn’t take long. The pub was filled with the sound of shouting and jeering.

  “And you shouldn’t turn your back in a fight,” Steve said, standing up and pressing his gun to Callum’s temple. One of his pack stepped forward, but Anton smashed him in the face hard enough to knock him out cold. Anton then pulled his own gun out and waved it at Callum’s pack. They stopped moving. The other packs waited, trying to see which pack would win and be the new dominant one.

  “Put him down,” Steve said with a calm he didn’t feel. “Now.”

  Callum didn’t look concerned at the gun to his neck. He dropped Alex into the spreading pool of his own blood. His eyes remained fixed on a point somewhere far away. Steve tried not to look at the body. First part not gone to plan. Not a bad turn of events though.

  “What now?” Callum asked. He looked at Steve out of the corner of his eyes. His hand was raised slightly, telling his pack to just wait. Blood covered his face and he licked his lips, clearing a thin white path around his mouth.

  “We need to work together to get the Original back,” Steve said. “We need your help.”

  “You want us to work together?”

  “Yes.”

  “Despite what I just did?”

  Steve shrugged. “His time was past. He got our bitches killed.”

  “Put the gun down and I won’t kill you.”

  “I’ll put the gun down, so I don’t kill you.” Steve did not feel the confidence he forced into his voice. “We need your help. The Original is real. It could be like the stories we were told.” It was a gamble, reminding Callum of their shared past; the one that had ended with so much violence.

  “Legends, nothing more,” Callum said. He righted the table and sat down. The tension in the room eased a little. The smaller packs started talking amongst themselves again. At some point during the exchange, the barman had fainted, so two of the pack had jumped the bar and were helping themselves to drinks. It would be messy on the streets of Greenwich that night.

  “We are legends,” Steve said.

  Callum nodded. “If he is an Original, what does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Steve said, “but I have a theory.” He sat down and put the gun back in his pocket.

  “Go on.”

  “He doesn’t know what he is – maybe he needs someone to help him.”

  They all contemplated that for a moment. Callum nodded his big head again.

  “We will help you, but on one condition.” He looked at Steve. “Next time you point a gun at me, you’d better pull the trigger. You understand?”

  Steve nodded. And I will.

  3

  “We will help you find the Original,” Callum said, after a brief conference with the other alphas and his pack. “But we will not take orders from you. You are not in charge.”

  Steve nodded. “Thank you.”

  “When we find the Original, if he will not accept what he is, then we will kill him.”

  “Agreed.”

  Steve glanced up at Anton, who was leaning on the bar watching the group with keen eyes. The other packs were all watching too: some had climbed onto tables to get a better view of the alpha group. Callum was after an angle here, but what was it? He would only help Steve if there was something in it for him. Did he think he could control the Original? Use it to unite the packs?

  “How do we execute it?” One of the other alphas asked, “Aren’t they immortal?”

  “We cut its body to pieces and keep the limbs and head separate from the body.” Callum smiled as he said the words. He raised his glass and everyone in the pub raised a glass towards him. “To the Originals!”

  The shout threatened to raise the roof. Steve crossed to Anton and clinked his glass.

  “Why?” Anton whispered to Steve. “Why cut it to pieces?”

  “What do you know about Originals?”

  “Not much. I never really believed all that.” This was the most Anton had spoken since Lucy had died.

  “Let’s go outside.”

  They pushed their way through the packs and stepped into daylight. The rain had finally stopped and the sun was shining. Steve squinted and held up his hand to shield his eyes. The street was deserted, as if the pub was now giving off a bad vibe and people were staying clear.

  “What do you know?” Steve asked.

  “The Originals made us. They ate some humans and we were the result. It all happened years ago and they died out suddenly.”

  Steve nodded. “That’s a very brief version.” He looked up and down the street. The gates to Greenwich Park lay on his right. In a few weeks it will be summer and these streets will be packed with tourists. With an Original at our head, we could come back and feast. “Basically, it was back when humans were first walking around. A loooong time ago. They were getting more populous than the Wolves.”

  “Populous?”

  Jesus. Steve groaned to himself. “There were a lot more of them. The Originals were being pushed off their land, some of them were hunted by the humans. Obviously, the Originals were pretty scary to the humans and so they tried to wipe them all out.”

  “Ok,” Anton said, “so the Originals started to fight back.”

  “Yep, and they started to win. They can’t be killed, see?”

  Anton nodded. “Like the guy that we saw?”

  “You got it. So, the humans were fighting an enemy they couldn’t ever beat. Must’ve upset them a little. They tried everything: fire, drowning, chopping things off.”

  “How come drowning didn’t work?”

  “It did. Until you got the body out of the water, then it healed itself. They noticed that limbs stayed gone, so they started to cut heads off and keep them separate from the body. Usually, they decapitated the wolf, then burnt the head. It worked.”

  “When did we come along?”

  “Who knows? Maybe a hunting party didn’t quite all get killed by the Originals and we were made. Maybe it was deliberate: an attempt by either side to make peace by creating a hybrid.” Steve paused. “Half and half.”

  “That what you think?”

  Steve paused. “No. I think we’re an accident.”

  “I like the thought of peace,” Anton said after a long pause. “We wouldn’t have to hide then.”

  He’s turned into Tolstoy. “Yeah.”

  “What happened to the Originals?”

  “No-one knows for sure. There was never that ma
ny of them. Immortal, see? No need to have thousands of them. They just died out. Maybe two, three thousand years ago, humans finally won. Look, how come you don’t know this?”

  “Nobody ever told me before.”

  Or you didn’t ask. Big and dumb. What a combination. “But now it looks like an Original has been found.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he hid himself amongst men and did such a good job he forgot what he was.”

  “We will find him.”

  “Yes,” Steve said. “We will. All those packs working together, we could find anyone. It’ll take time, but we will find him.”

  “Good.”

  Something about the way Anton said that gave Steve pause.

  “Anton?”

  “When we find him, I will kill him.”

  Interlude: Devon

  1

  Katie pushed Josh in his pram as Ginny padded along by their sides. It was good to be out, sun on her face, cool breeze in her hair. Josh was fast asleep, head at a much more comfortable looking angle than in those first few weeks. He was so big now and getting heavier. His hair was thickening, hiding the god-awful cradle cap.

  She was exhausted. He woke every three hours, regular as clockwork. Most nights she would just be drifting off to sleep when he woke again. His cries were louder now and seemed to echo around the empty house. It wouldn’t be long before he would sleep for longer, or at least that’s what the midwife told her on her visits. Karen always agreed. I just need to sleep. Please let me sleep.

  However, when she did sleep, it was not much of a comfort for her. Her dreams were dark things full of snarling mouths, dripping saliva and sharp teeth. Last night she had dreamt that a wolf was inside her and eating itself out of her womb. The creature that finally emerged from her ruined midriff was Jack. He had been smiling, blood all around his mouth – her blood – and he had said, “Nice starter.” Then he’d picked Josh out of the crib and eaten him whole.

  She had not been able to get back to sleep after that.

  2

  She had no real idea where she going until she stopped outside John and Karen’s house. Their house was nearly four hundred years old and was one of the few left in the village to still have thatch on the roof. Once she had been jealous of their house, but now worrying about things like houses seemed so insignificant. It was a lifetime ago.

  She was about to knock when the door opened. Karen was smiling at her, but it was a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. They were full of sadness.

  “Don’t even think about not coming in,” she said, opening the door wide.

  Katie wrestled the pram over the step into the house. Despite banging it on the frame several times, Josh remained asleep. She tucked a blanket over him and then went into Karen’s living room.

  John was lying on the sofa watching News 24, but switched the TV off with the remote when she came in. He crushed her with a hug then sat back down. Karen went to the kitchen and made tea without asking.

  “No work today?” Katie asked.

  “No,” John shook his head. “Best thing about being your own boss – the lads are taking care of everything today. I get a long weekend.” John had started a building supplies business two years ago and it was doing a roaring trade – mostly because John was the cheapest for miles, literally.

  “How’s Josh doing?”

  “Great.”

  “Is he sleeping?”

  “Pretty much all the time now,” Katie smiled. “He had a wobble a couple of weeks ago where he kept waking, but he pretty much goes from about ten to about six.” Why are you lying to your friends?

  “That’s fantastic.” John grinned. “Ours were buggers for sleeping.”

  Karen came in with a tray holding three steaming mugs of tea and a biscuit barrel.

  “I heard the bit about sleeping,” Karen said. “You’re really lucky.”

  She put her hand to her mouth, eyes wide with panic. “Oh God, I didn’t thin-”

  “It’s ok,” Katie said, a tired smile coming to her face. “I am lucky he’s such a good sleeper.”

  “How are you doing?” John asked.

  “Mostly fine,” she said after a pause. “Then, you know, I see something that reminds me of him. Something random. The other day an Audi TT went past us and I cried for hours.”

  “Christ, he loved those cars.” John grinned again. “The convertible.”

  “It’s been nearly three months, can you believe that?” Katie said. “They’ve nearly finished rebuilding that house that caught fire. What happens when someone moves in? That’s where my husband died. Will I take Josh there in a couple of years and say this is where Daddy died? It’s in my fucking street.”

  “Maybe it will help you move on,” Karen said.

  “I don’t want to move on,” Katie replied. “I don’t want to forget him. I want Josh to grow up with a Dad. Teach him about women, how to drink. Play rugby.”

  “Yeah, not footie,” John said. “Jack would’ve hated that.”

  “Wouldn’t he just?” she smiled. “I got a letter this morning.”

  John and Karen both put their mugs down and watched her carefully.

  “It’s from the Teachers’ Pension Agency. I get a lump sum from them.”

  “How much?” John asked. He could tell it wasn’t good news.

  “£107, 940.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah. It’s a lot of money, but I don’t want it. I want him.”

  3

  She stayed for another hour, as Josh woke and needed a feed. They drank more tea and made small talk, all of which left her cold. She really wasn’t interested in how people were doing or what party was happening when. She knew that she had cared once, but that Katie was missing at the moment. Maybe she would return in time, but right now the only person important in her life was Josh. Nothing bad was going to happen to him; she would move mountains to guarantee it.

  She had been thinking about her dreams (memories?) about the wolf and had made the decision before opening the letter from the TPA. She hadn’t said anything to John and Karen: she’d had enough of their pity without causing even more concern, even if it was well meant.

  She knocked on the door and waited. Josh gurgled so she lifted him out of the pram and clutched him close. He nuzzled into her neck and went back to sleep.

  Frank opened the door and nodded sadly when he recognised her. “Katie. Come in.”

  “Thanks, Frank.”

  They sat in a living room that was totally characterless despite being at least as old as John and Karen’s. Furniture that had seen better days cluttered the room and Katie sat in a chair that looked like a good clean would make it fall to pieces.

  “Cup o’tea?” Frank offered. “Beer?” He looked awkward for a second. “I don’t ‘ave no wine.”

  Katie smiled and shook her head. “Tea would be great, thanks Frank.”

  He busied himself getting the drinks ready and Katie looked around the room. Old photographs lined the walls, many depicting Frank and his wife in fields and country shows. Katie peered closer at one of them and saw Frank holding a baby and grinning broadly from ear to ear. It was an expression she had not seen on his face since they’d moved to the village.

  “My son,” Frank said, making her jump. She lowered Josh into his pram and he remained asleep.

  “He’s a very handsome boy,” Katie said, taking the proffered cup of tea by holding on to the saucer. “How old is he now?”

  “’e died,” Frank said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Katie said, hand covering her mouth. Shit.

  “Not your fault.” Frank sat on the sofa and waved Katie into a chair. “Now you sure about this, girl?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve got the money.”

  Frank gave her a look as if he could see right into the depths of her soul. She stared back, refusing to blink. Satisfied, he nodded once, a short sharp bob of the head. For a moment he looked like a chicken.
/>   “Well, drink your tea up then and let’s go ‘ave a look at it.”

  He waited until she finished and put the cup on the sideboard. Pale rings on the wood matched the size of the saucer perfectly. She looked at Josh, sleeping in his pram.

  “Am I ok to leave him here?”

  “Ain’t no-one gonna come get ’im,” Frank said. “Will ’e stay asleep?”

  “Probably.”

  “Well, let’s get on then.”

  He led her through a surprisingly neat kitchen and out into the field beyond the house. Stones crunched underfoot as they crossed to his barn. He took a huge ring of keys out of his pocket and flipped them round, looking for the right one.

  “Bloody keys,” he muttered.

  “I suppose you can remember when you didn’t need keys round here.”

  “Yep. Before all them bloody incomers.” Frank found the key and opened the padlock with a practised flick of the wrist. He caught the expression on Katie’s face. “You’re all so bloody serious.”

  Despite herself, Katie started to giggle. Before long, they were both laughing. When the laughter died to be replaced by uncomfortable silence, Frank opened the door and they entered the barn.

  He flicked the lights on, and they hummed into life. The inside of the barn had been turned into a shooting gallery. Bales of hay lined the sides and marked the start of the line. Targets plastered the walls at the other end. He opened a cupboard with another key and took out a long wooden box.

  He put it on the floor and prised the clasps open, then he lifted the long dark object out.

  “This is a Bettinsoli o’er an’ under shotgun. 12 gauge. A damn fine gun. You shoot anything within fifty yards, provided you ’it it, t’ain’t gettin’ up again.”

  He could have been speaking Chinese for all that Katie understood.

  “Couple o’things about shotguns now. To load, you break it open, like this.” He clicked the gun open, exposing the two barrels. “An’ the shot goes in.” He slid two cartridges into the gun, then clicked the barrels shut. “Firm, don’t force it.”

  She nodded.

  “Never leave it loaded,” Frank said. “Law says shot should be kept in a separate, locked container.”