by Amy Cross
This wasn't the plan. I was going to kill the adults, to slaughter them, but... Panicking, I reach down and pick up the baby in my jaws, then I turn and leap out of the crib and then straight out the window.
"FUCK!" I hear a man's voice shout behind me, but I don't look back. With the crying baby in my jaws, I run across the dark yard and over the fence, and then I run along the alley and keep going for a couple of miles until I'm in a small wooded area. Finally I feel safe, as if the danger of humans suddenly attacking me is diminished. For now, at least.
I put the baby down.
It's still crying.
I stare at it, trying to understand it. Was I like this, once? Before I was a werewolf, when I was fully human, was I a crying little ball of flesh like this creature? How, then, did I get from that to become what I am now? It seems like such a long journey, and my innocence was lost along the way. Sometimes I feel so tired. If only this child would stop crying.
I should kill the infant. Right now. I should rip it apart. If it were an adult, I'd have killed it by now. But there's a part of me that thinks it would be wrong to kill a child. After all, this little creature hasn't yet grown to become a hateful, murderous human. There's no hope for it, of course, and it will inevitably become such a vile creature. But to kill it now, to slaughter it so young, would be wrong. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, to hold my head up high. It would make me as bad as the humans who came to kill werewolf children all those years ago.
I close my eyes for a moment, and I see it all happening again: the fires and smoke; the blood everywhere; the lights on the ground and in the sky. There were soldiers shouting, and there were tanks and flares and guns. And screams. The two noises that I remember most clearly are the screams and the sound of machinery grinding forwards. Separated from my parents, I ran through the dark chaos. Even though I was young, I knew that any second I could be cut down and killed. Somehow, though, I made it through, and I ran. I knew that if I stopped for ever a moment, if I dared to look back, I would be caught. So I just ran, and I didn't stop until my body collapsed under me. In many ways, I haven't stopped running since.
Strange.
That was so long ago.
I'm suddenly brought back to reality by the sound of the baby gurgling.
It looks up at me.
I lean closer and snarl, baring my teeth, but this doesn't help at all. The baby just cries harder and louder. It wants its parents. It wants to go home. I turn and look back at the lights of the city. Somewhere, those parents are panicking, running around in shock to try to find their baby. They're probably screaming at police that a wolf stole their child. People will start looking for the baby. I turn back to the child. It just won't stop crying. But it will have to, one day. It will have to dry its eyes, wipe the tears from its face and find a way to survive. We all have to do that eventually. It's one of the few things that humans and werewolves have in common. This child will have to learn that, and it will have to stop crying sooner rather than later. I lean in closer and bare my teeth.
5
Having walked and run for five days in a row, Duncan and I finally pass the Scottish border early one morning and head down past Glasgow. We're just a day away from the estate now, from the place where all the werewolves are to be found. It's the only place where Duncan feels safe, even if at the same time he knows that dark shadows are closing in from all directions. During the entire journey, he's spoken very little, and we've just stayed in our wolf forms, making our progress as fast as possible. There'll be time to talk later.
Needing food, we skirt the edge of Glasgow and feed from a few bins left out on industrial estates. Humans waste so much food, either because they're full or because they believe it's too old to eat. We could feast off what we find in these bins for a week, but there's no time, so we simply fill ourselves as best we can and then move on. It's strange to be here, among human buildings again, having spent so much time out in the wild recently. I almost miss it, as if -
No. I have to stop thinking like that. I'm not human anymore. I'm a wolf, and I have to think more like a wolf. The human world is the world that I'm running away from, the world that has tried to kill me several times, the world of people like Vigrous Grinde and Franklin Blaum and Frank Marshall, people who became monsters. Duncan's right. We need to keep away from humans from now on.
"Oi!" shouts a voice. Duncan and I turn to see a man running towards us, loading a shotgun. "Fuck off!" he shouts, then he slots the shotgun together, raises it and fires at us.
Ducking out of the way, we both run. Another shot rings out and I hear the pellets ricochet off a nearby wall. But soon Duncan and I are well clear of the shooter, and we take a moment to rest behind a wall.
"Fucking wolves," a male voices says nearby.
"Where were they?" a woman replies.
"Down by the bins," the man says. "Fucking nasty creatures".
Duncan looks at me. I can see the anger in his eyes, but also the sadness.
"Do you think it's the one that took that baby?" the woman asks.
"No," says the man. "They don't travel that far, do they?"
Duncan and I hurry away. We can take on any human in normal circumstances, but guns are a different matter. Guns allow us to be picked off from a distance, giving us no warning and no chance to defend ourselves or to fight back. Guns are one of the ways that humans get an unnatural advantage.
Eventually Duncan and I get far enough away from the edges of the city, and we can finally relax. Duncan shifts into his human form, and I do the same.
"What baby?" he says immediately.
I don't know what to say, so I just keep quiet. He seems troubled and worn down.
We walk a little further and come to a main road, and eventually we reach a petrol station. Duncan pulls some coins from his pocket and goes inside.
Spotting a payphone nearby, I wander over. I have a few coins of my own, so I step inside, put the money into the slot, and dial an old, familiar number. I wait for someone to answer.
"Hello?" a man says, picking up.
I want to say "Hi Dad", or "It's me", or "I'm alive"... or maybe "I'm sorry". But I don't say anything. I just keep the line open, thinking about how the other end of this connection is in that hallway at my family's house.
"Is anyone there?" my father says.
I open my mouth to say something, but there's nothing to say. There's nothing I can say or do to put things right.
"Listen," my father says, suddenly sounding deadly serious. "I've had enough of these prank calls. If you don't stop, I'll call the police. I'm not going to be terrorised in my own house. Now fuck off!" He slams the phone down.
I hang up and turn see Duncan leaning against a wall, reading the newspaper that he just bought. Looking at him, I can't help but realise: this is my family now. Duncan, and his family, they're all I've got and all I'll ever have. I've crossed a line, I've gone beyond the point of no return. My old family is out of the picture, and all I can do is hope that my new family will be able to help me.
Leaving the payphone, I head over to Duncan. He's so engrossed in the newspaper, he doesn't even look up as I approach. He reads it for a moment longer, then in desperation he throws it to the ground and walks away. I pick the paper up and follow, looking down at the story. It's about a series of wolf attacks across the country, an 'epidemic' according to the reporter. People attacked and killed in London and other cities, a baby stolen by a wolf in Edinburgh. The general impression is that there's a real panic about an 'invasion' of dangerous wolves across the country, and there are numerous quotes from government figure saying that 'something' must be done about it.
I flick to the front page and read the story about a recent terrorist attack in London. A bomb exploded in Trafalgar Square, killing more than forty people. Men, woman and children slaughtered. Jesus, I never heard about this, but Duncan and I were so disconnected while we were living in the woods, so it's no surprised that things like this could h
appen in the 'real' world yet I didn't hear about it. Sometimes it feels as if the whole world is collapsing, as if so many bad things are happening that things are slipping out of control. With all the horror in the human world, it would be kind of refreshing to go and hide away in the wolf world, away from the terrorists and the bombs and the carnage, away from all the worries.
"It's a trap," Duncan says, not turning around as he walks ahead of me.
"What is?" I ask, hurrying to catch up with him. We're walking along the side of a motorway, with cars whizzing past.
He doesn't answer immediately. He's clearly worried. "The terrorist attack," he says eventually. "It's fake. The human government did it on purpose so that they can declare marshal law for a few days. That'll give them cover to launch a full strike against the werewolf community. When the dust settles, the government will say that they defeated the terrorists and the werewolves will all be dead".
"Are you -" I start to say.
"You saw Garvey," Duncan says. "You saw him die right in front of us. The virus is another part of their plan. They want to make us all sick. They want to make us all die slowly and painfully. There's nothing they won't try. They're determined to kill us all".
"Sounds like a conspiracy theory," I say.
He snorts with contempt. "Of course you think that," he says. "You've been brainwashed. You've been conditioned to dismiss that kind of thing".
"One of us has been brainwashed," I say quietly.
He turns, anger in his eyes, and he grabs me by the shoulders. For a moment, it's like he's someone else, like there's a rage in him that comes from somewhere I can't possibly understand. And for just the briefest of moments, I worry that he might be about to attack me. "They've done it before!" he shouts. "They'll do it again! They are doing it again!" He stares at me for a moment. "This is all part of their plan, don't you see?"
I'm not sure what to say. He sounds like a raving lunatic, like a conspiracy theorist you'd find lurking on some dodgy website. But he believes it, I can tell from the look in his eyes. I'm not sure whether that makes it more or less scary.
"They did it before," he says, calming down a little but still holding me by the shoulders. "They killed children. Werewolf children. When the original truce was signed, some werewolf communities refused to move to the Scottish estate. So they were slaughtered. Males, females, children". He falls silent for a moment. "Only a handful escaped, running from the butchers".
I pause, trying to understand. "How old were you?" I ask eventually.
"Too young," he says. "Too young to see so much blood". He grabs the newspaper from my hands, looks at it for a moment, and then he throws it to the ground. "There's no way a werewolf would do such a thing to a human child. It's propaganda. That's what this is, just dirty propaganda. No werewolf would ever steal a human child, or kill without reason".
"But maybe -" I start to say.
"You don't know anything about it!" he snaps back at me.
"Fuck you," I say under my breath.
"What did you say?" he asks.
I pause. "I said, fuck you," I say, louder. "Fuck you for thinking I don't know anything about..." I search for the right words. "About bad things".
There's silence between us for a moment. I guess neither of us knows what to say, or how to go on from here. But this is the first time Duncan's ever seemed... cold to me, as if he thinks we're living in different worlds.
"We're going to Edinburgh," he says suddenly.
I stare at him for a moment. "What?" I say eventually.
"We're going to Edinburgh," he repeats. There's a pause. "Which of those words don't you understand? 'We're' means you and me. 'Going' means moving from here to there. 'To' means -"
"Okay, okay!" I say, interrupting him. "You don't have to be such an ass about it. But serious, Edinburgh... That's miles away!"
"About sixty miles," he says. "We can do it in a day if we run".
He wants to run sixty miles? Damn it, I'm not sure if I can keep up with him any more. It's crazy, this life we're leading, just walking from one place to another, with no place to call home, no place to rest. I try to understand his logic, but it doesn't make any sense. "You said we have to get to the estate," I say. "You said we've got no time to waste".
"We're not going to waste any time," he says. "We're going to find out what's really going on in Edinburgh. We're going to stop this stupid propaganda machine, and we're going to prove that it's not a werewolf that's killing people. Then we're going to the estate, to find the other werewolves. And then we'll work out what to do next". He pauses, staring at me. "At least, that's what I'm doing. I can't make you come with me".
I open my mouth to reply, but... What choice do I have? Of course I'm going to go with him. I'm relying on him, and he knows that. I hate this. I've never been totally dependant upon someone else like this before. "I'm coming," I say. I look along the motorway. "Which way is it?"
He laughs. "Call yourself a werewolf?" he says. "Can't you tell which way it is? Can't you feel it?"
All I feel is the regular wind that's whipped up by passing cars.
"You'll learn," he says, almost sneering. "You'll have to, if you ever want to really call yourself a werewolf". He turns and shifts into his wolf form, and before I can react he's running off, away from the road.
For a moment, I consider not following him. I could go my own way. I could make my own life. But... Damn it, I really don't have a choice. I shift into my wolf form and set off after him, but he's running faster than usual and it's all I can do to just keep up. I don't know if I like this new Duncan, this angry Duncan. I just hope it's not a permanent change. But he's angry, and he's scared. He thinks the humans are waging a war against werewolves, and he thinks his whole species is on the brink of extinction. I guess I can understand why he's worried, why he's scared. I would be too. And -
Suddenly I remember.
It's not just his species. It's my species too. I'm a werewolf. But there's a part of me that keeps forgetting that, a part of me that still feels human. And I guess that's why I feel slightly separated from Duncan. He's a werewolf, with no humanity in him at all. But me? I still feel like a human, and I'm not sure that'll ever change. In which case, why am I following Duncan to the Scottish estate?
6
This little old church is perfect.
On the edge of town, it looks almost abandoned. But it's not abandoned. Not at all. The priest here is an old man, and he has few parishioners. Every day he leaves the big wooden door unlocked, in case anyone wants to come in to pray, and every day the place remains empty. Perhaps everyone goes to other churches in the area, or perhaps no-one around here feels the need to speak to God any more. Whatever. It doesn't matter. The important thing is that this little old church is quiet and peaceful.
Pushing the door open with my nose, I slip inside. It's cold and draughty, not exactly welcoming. The old stone walls are bare, and this clearly isn't a rich parish. I walk down the aisle, sniffing the wooden pews. I can tell from the scents that very few people come here, even on Sundays. If this church were a business, it would have closed down long ago through lack of custom. Faith, or a refusal to accept the truth, keeps it open for now. The old priest won't let it die. But when he dies, this place will surely be quietly shut up and forgotten.
Reaching the altar, I lift my head and sniff the air. Dust. This place is so wretched, they can't even afford a cleaner. It's funny, I've always associated the church with money, with power, but here everything seems so barren and dead. What must it be like for a human to come here to pray, to seek solace and comfort, and yet to walk into such a miserable, forsaken place. I can't believe that this church could ever inspire faith in anyone.
Footsteps!
I turn and see a shadow on a distant wall. Rushing behind the altar, I wait. The footsteps are slow, but they're coming closer. It must be the old priest. After a moment's hesitation, I step out from behind the altar, letting him see me. He stops and sta
res. With an almost bald head, and large bags under his eyes, he looks tired. Tired of the priesthood. Tired of God. Tired of life. I'd be doing him a favour if I killed him.
"Hello," he says, his voice sounding weak. "Well you're a fine-looking creature". He seems a little nervous, and it's very conspicuous that he doesn't come any closer to me. "Are you the wolf everyone's been talking about?"
I take a few steps along the aisle, walking towards him, but he takes a pace back. He's clearly scared, clearly getting ready to run. This man of the cloth, this man of God, believes that he could be attacked and killed in his own church. Doesn't he trust God? Doesn't he have faith that God will save him, that God will use his powers to ensure that there is justice in the world? Does this priest believe that the world is unfair?
"You wait here," he says. "You just wait right here".
I can't allow him to leave. I have to show him the error of his ways, the mistakes in his judgement. So I do something I swore I'd never do again.
I shift into my human form. I become vermin again.
Right there.
Right in front of him.
His eyes open wide and his jaws drops.
"Hello, father," I say. The sound of my own voice is weird. I haven't heard it for so long, it's almost as if it's someone else speaking. Standing on two legs is so... unfamiliar. I can't believe I used to spend so much of my time like this.
"My child..." the priest says. "I... I... I..."
"It's okay," I say. I step towards him, and this time he doesn't move away. "It's okay, I just came to..." I glance around the empty room. "I don't know why I came. I think I wanted..."
"Are you the one?" the priest says. "The one who has been terrorising people? The one who stole that baby? Where is the child? You must return him immediately". He seems angry, as if he thinks he can tell me off, as if I'm a child.
"I'm the one," I say. "I've killed many people recently. Even some that no-one has found yet. Bums, drunks who nobody missed. And the child, yes. That was me".