The Original's Return (Book 2): The Original's Retribution

by David Watkins

  “There was an attack last night. In London.”

  “How do you know it was our wolves?”

  “The body was dismembered, with bits of it eaten.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah. It gets worse. Remember the reporter I told you about? It was him. One of the wolves just killed Simon Foster.”

  Chapter 5

  1

  Jack walked past a sign saying “Huntleigh” and felt his stomach knot. He had a baseball cap pressed over his head, peak pushed down to hide as much of his face as possible. The sun still hung low in the sky, which meant it was early. Rush hour didn’t really exist in the village, but people would still go to work, or be out and about. It had always been a quiet village and now he was thankful for that. He couldn’t risk being seen. He was, after all, supposed to be dead.

  At the top of his street, the knot intensified. The houses lined the road on the left-hand side, a thick, well-established hedge bordered the opposite side. Jack’s house was the fourth one. Three doors further down sat a house covered with scaffolding. He had a dim memory of the place and the horrific events that took place in it. Tied to a chair, surrounded by soldiers, before being shot. A lifetime ago. He had been taken by the army when his son was less than a week old. It had been the end of winter when they had shot him and taken him to Kent. He could remember the cold wet morning when this had all started, but barely remember what his son looked like.

  He watched his house. The window to his old bedroom was covered with a large plastic sheet. He felt a pang of guilt at that. A shadow moved in the downstairs window, and Jack pressed himself back into the hedge.

  Katie stood perfectly framed by the window. She was holding Josh and was smiling down at him. He’s got big. Jack felt a lump in his throat and swallowed hard. He knew that a lot of time had passed in Kent, but this was the first time that he actually appreciated just how long. Josh looked huge. Jack started to cry, silent tears running down his cheeks. I have missed so much of your life, but I will fix that.

  Wiping away the tears, Jack walked back up the street, determined to find the other Original. He didn’t really want to think how he even knew about the other one. Someone who can help me. Someone who can return my life to normal. Next time I come back here, it will be to live with my family.

  2

  Katie Stadler climbed out of bed with a sigh. He was crying again. Hungry, always hungry. She picked Josh out of his cot and walked downstairs, shushing him with every step. The plastic flapped in the breeze, but at least it would be fixed soon. The insurance company had eventually agreed to pay out, but only after much arguing. They said a window doesn’t just ‘fall out’. She stuck to the story, especially as she couldn’t tell them the truth.

  A giant wolf jumped through the window after killing another wolf. No, definitely couldn’t tell anyone that. Especially as the wolf might, just might, be my dead husband.

  A quick trip to the microwave and then Josh was feeding, greedily sucking down the formula. He was starting to eat solids now, changing almost every day. Her friend, Karen, had warned her that teething would be starting soon and that was a whole new ball game in terms of sleeplessness. How am I going to cope with that?

  Bottle finished, Josh giggled and burped as he looked up at her. She smiled back and carried him through to the sitting room. Flicking the TV on, she watched the news with Josh perched on her knee. He stared with large eyes, sucking on his fist. She bounced him on her knee and sang to him, whilst glancing at the television. There was nothing cheerful on the news at all. The murder of a blogger in London was the third story. She tutted. Why would anyone murder a blogger? Nobody takes them seriously after all. But then…

  Behind the reporter, going into the building where the murder had happened, a familiar face.

  Knowles.

  Katie cried out, making Josh jump. He started crying, so she stood and began rocking him, forcing a smile onto her lips.

  Knowles is in London. At a murder scene.

  She thought back to the night he came crashing into her bedroom, chasing the massive wolf that had just saved her life. He had called the wolf ‘Jack’. Later, he had denied it. As the soldiers cleaned her house and the helicopters circled the village, he had continued to lie, claiming she had misheard him. Said that her memory was suspect as the wolf was nowhere near as big as she had claimed. Just a wolf that had been imported illegally and then let go when it had grown too big. Yeah, right.

  In the morning, on the news no reference was made of the incident. She didn’t even mention it to Karen, didn’t want to be thought mad, again. There were questions about the window from Karen and her neighbours. They’d also asked about the helicopters, but she said she hadn’t seen them. Josh had had a good night, she said, so she slept really heavily for once. Karen, in particular, clearly hadn’t believed her, but she understood Katie enough not to push it. Katie would tell her the truth – eventually.

  But there he was once more. The mysterious soldier, the one in charge. At a murder scene.

  What have you done Jack?

  3

  Bag in its mouth again, the Wolf ran and ran. It stuck to the tree-line wherever possible and put as much distance between it and Huntleigh as possible. The Wolf ran across fields, through streams and woodland. Every few miles it would stop, sniff and then head off again, having checked that it was still going the right way.

  Eventually it came to a freshly ploughed field with a tree at the edge of it and thick hedges running around the perimeter. A large green sign towered over the other side of the hedge, and it could hear the engines of the cars and lorries rushing past.

  The Wolf checked its surroundings again. It could hear, but not see, the road - so it was a fairly safe assumption that no-one on the road could see into the field. Given also that the bottom of the sign was in line with the top of the hedge, then provided it stayed in the shadow of the hedge it would not be seen.

  Moments later, Jack opened the bag and dressed in the stolen clothes. He pulled the flip flops on then tugged the cap over his unruly hair. Then he walked along the hedge until he found a big enough gap to squeeze through and he was standing next to a dual carriageway.

  Traffic whizzed by, not yet at the height of summer standstill. The green sign said that Exeter was ahead with Okehampton to his left. The A30: the main road through Devon for holidaymakers. The road that led east. In a few hours, he would be in London and then on to Kent. Easy.

  Jack started walking along the road with his thumb out.

  Chapter 6

  1

  Knowles surveyed Simon Foster’s flat with increasing despondency. Foster had clearly been a clean man. His flat was the most organised he had ever seen for a civvy. The bookshelves in the living room were neatly stacked, with books firstly sorted by size, then by author surname. Mostly highbrow literature, but a few copies of Stephen King, Stephanie Meyers and JK Rowling in there also. The Harry Potter books were in adult jackets, which made Knowles cringe.

  Bryant stood next to him, frowning. He was holding an unopened sandwich pack in one hand.

  “You going to eat that?” Knowles asked.

  Bryant shook his head. “Not hungry. You want it?”

  Knowles nodded and took the packet. His stomach was rumbling. “The police got anything?” he asked between mouthfuls.

  Bryant shook his head. “No CCTV in here. They’re checking the street, but they’re not hopeful.”

  “No?”

  “Cameras at the end of the street are broken and have been for some time.”

  “Ok, we need this secure. No press in, at all. I don’t really want the local coppers in here either.”

  “Working on it, the Major is pulling some strings.”

  Knowles finished the sandwich and checked his watch. Only 0900. Going to be a long day. “Well, whoever did this is long gone.”

  “Do you think it’s Stadler?”

  “No,” Knowles said. “Last time I saw Jack he
could control it. This-” he gestured around the room. The blood covered walls, the lumps of torn flesh splattered on the carpet and the remains of the body. “This was an animal. This was out of control.”

  2

  An hour later they were driving back to the base. Bryant was silent, watching the world go by. Knowles drove, lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t dwell on the bollocking he had received last week – that had come with the territory. He had defended himself against the accusations. It had been Smith who had put the base to a skeleton crew and luckily the orders had been agreed up the chain. He could not explain why he was the sole survivor. Luck. Pure, shitty luck. Knowles swallowed hard, blinking tears away. Not again. I am done crying. He had been surprised – clearly as surprised as Raymond – they had kept him on. He’d known people canned for less. And now, here he was, covering up another murder. When is this going to end?

  The road blocks around Devon had been his idea, the cover story of an escaped convict enough to keep the public quiet. It was only a matter of time before they caught Jack, or better, more of the wolves. The brass had decided to keep him on, mostly because he was the only survivor and, therefore, the only person who had any idea what they were up against.

  Knowles was a pragmatic man. Staying on this op meant he could find the wolves and kill as many of them as possible. Revenge for Carruthers, Meyers, Knowles, Scarlet and of course, Claire. Who knew what could have happened there? Probably would eventually have gone the way of all of his relationships, but damn it would have been a fun few years first. The wolves had taken that away from him. He hadn’t even kissed the woman.

  He tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel. Bryant looked at him with cold eyes. “Sorry,” Knowles muttered. The other man resumed staring out through the window. This is going to be a long op unless he learns to lighten up.

  Knowles didn’t mind really. Bryant had seen recent action, everything about the way he carried himself screamed that. Six months ago, Knowles had been much the same himself, but he had his mates to pull him through. The same mates that were now dead. Who knew that Devon was so dangerous? A wry smile creased his lips, but Knowles was a long way from finding anything about this situation funny.

  Six months ago the scorching heat of Afghanistan. The constant threat from IEDs and insurgents. Now, what? The dreariness of the British weather with the constant threat that anyone you meet could actually be one of the wolf things. Throat ripped out in seconds by a creature that shouldn’t exist.

  Of course, underneath all that was Jack. Just a normal guy, a dull civvy with a pretty house and prettier wife. Punching above his weight in that regard. Jack was alright, really, just wanted to be with his family: to return his life to normal.

  Kill them. Kill them all.

  Maybe then, he could return Jack to his family.

  3

  “Roadblock,” Tom said. There was a hiss as the airbrakes kicked in and his thick forearms held the wheel tight. Jack watched him closely. The truck driver had stopped soon after he started hitching, for which Jack had been grateful as the rain had started. No sign that he recognised him. Of course not: you don’t get pictures of dead people in the papers. Have you seen this man? Whereabouts unknown, but last seen in a morgue.

  “What?”

  “Where you been living, mate?” Tom grinned. “Someone escaped from Dartmoor prison. Someone dangerous apparently.”

  “Rubbish,” Jack said. “They don’t do dangerous prisoners in Dartmoor anymore. I thought they were closing it down.”

  “Not rubbish,” Tom said. “It were on the news last night.”

  “What’s he look like, this guy?”

  “Bit like you really. Same sort of height. Darker, longer hair and a beard, though.” Tom glanced over at Jack, eyes widening slightly. “Ah, shit.”

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” Goddammit, they do put pictures of dead people on the news.

  “You a little on the small side to be thinking along them lines, mate.” Tom’s smile had returned.

  If only…

  “I am not an escaped prisoner.”

  “I’m not interested. You need to get out of my cab.”

  “I need to get to London.”

  “Whatever, not in my cab.” Tom looked directly at Jack. “Out.”

  “Whatever they say I did, I didn’t do it.”

  “Let me count the number of fucks I give. Get out of my cab.”

  Jack looked out the front of the cab, counting the number of cars to the roadblock. Five. If he jumped out now, he would clearly be seen.

  “Please-”

  “Save your breath. Out.”

  “But-”

  Tom opened his door and jumped onto the tarmac. “Hey!” he shouted as loud as he could. At the roadblock, Jack could see the soldiers turn and look.

  “He’s here! He’s in my truck!”

  Jack opened the passenger door as the soldiers started running towards the lorry.

  “It’s him!” one of them shouted. Jack sprinted to the side of the road and jumped the barrier between the dual carriageways. Traffic screeched to a halt as he ran. He could hear the soldiers shouting, hear them sprinting, smell their fear. How much do they know? He doubted they knew everything. Perhaps they’d been told the escaped prisoner story too – perhaps even believed it.

  A shot whizzed past his ear. Jack upped his pace. He knew that if he changed he could outpace them all, but this was far too public for that. All the holiday makers and their kids, he couldn’t give them nightmares. If you don’t change they’ll catch you. Jack ignored the voice. Another shot rang out and he stumbled. Searing pain roared up his leg and he stumbled. CRACK! Another shot. This one caught his shoulder and he hit the tarmac. He tried to push himself up, but his legs felt heavy.

  Jack rolled over in time to see two of the soldiers approach with rifles raised. He raised his hand, watching his fingers turn into claws. Got to get away.

  Two guns fired simultaneously.

  4

  Knowles sat alone in the canteen, mopping up the remains of his egg with a cardboard piece of toast. He had finished his paperwork from the morning and sent all the required emails regarding the death of Foster. A team would now liaise with the local police and essentially cover it up. The exact nature of the death would be played down to the media, and it would be pinned on an internet loon who was now safely behind bars. All lies, of course, but necessary ones.

  It had been one of the grimmest scenes he had ever witnessed. What he couldn’t work out was why. It was clearly the work of the wolves, but why? Foster’s posts had been about the attack on the base, and the cover-up surrounding that. He hadn’t mentioned wolves, probably for very sensible reasons. His murder didn’t make much sense.

  Unless it’s us doing the killing and making it look like something else.

  The thought came from nowhere, but he immediately kicked himself. Had Raymond ordered Foster’s death? He ‘hated loose ends’ after all. Bryant carried himself like a Special Forces operative, all hard stares and long silences. A walking cliché. He could easily have driven to London and killed Foster and got back in time for Knowles’ early morning call. Rip the body apart to make it look like a wolf had done it.

  Knowles swallowed hard. If Bryant was capable of that, then what else what he capable of? Was any man really capable of that level of bloodshed? Knowles had spent enough time in war zones to know the answer to that was an emphatic yes.

  It still didn’t answer the ‘why’ though. If Bryant was Special Forces, he had to know a hundred ways to kill a man without raising this level of suspicion. If Bryant had done it like that, then Raymond was now either extremely pissed off or talking to the brass about escalating the nature of the threat posed by wolves.

  Was that it? Was Raymond planning to have more troops on the wolves? If so, then he was playing with fire. Their existence had to be kept secret – the consequence of panic amongst the public was too great to contemplate.

  Knowl
es pushed his plate away. It was time to pay the boss a visit.

  5

  Jack woke in an army tent. A blanket had been pulled over his head and he was momentarily disorientated. He sat up, fighting with the fabric for a moment before he pulled it away from his head. A soldier stood in the entrance to the tent, looking out at a road. Beyond him, Jack could see more soldiers packing up the roadblock. Traffic was moving, slowly but steadily, out on the road.

  Jack stood as quietly as he could. He looked around, trying to see a way out. The only exit was blocked by the soldier.

  Canvas.

  He looked at the lining of the tent. Quickly he knelt by the back of the tent. His (stolen) t-shirt had two burn holes in the front of it, causing it to hang loosely on his frame. Bullet holes, not burn holes. Jack concentrated on his hand and watched as his index finger turned into a massive and razor sharp claw. Using the claw, he pierced the canvas and dragged it down cutting the canvas with a loud ripping noise.

  Oops.

  The soldier turned and shouted. Jack pushed the ripped canvas open and stepped through without looking. The soldier raised his gun and shouted again.

  Jack nearly made it out before he fired.

  6

  Knowles stood to attention in front of Raymond’s desk. The major waved for him to sit down.

  “What can I do for you, Knowles?”

  “Sir, did you order Bryant to kill Foster?”

  “What?”

  “Did you ask him to make it look like the wolves had done it?”

  “Have you lost your mind, Knowles?” Raymond put his pen down and stared at Knowles. “Explain yourself.”

  “Sir, I think Bryant killed Foster. I just need to know why. Foster was not our enemy.”

  “Foster was trying to inform the general public of the truth behind the events that you are the sole survivor of.”

  Not sole. “But we had discredited him.”

  “Yes.”

  “So why kill him?”