Caged: An Apocalyptic Horror Series (The Wolfmen of Kielder Book 2)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “You could have been killed. What if those monsters were still in the house?”

  “I wasn’t, was I,” she bites. “I came straight back here. We’ve got to protect ourselves, Freddie. Something broke into their house and now they’ve gone.”

  “Even the kids?”

  “I didn’t dare go upstairs. I called for them, but there was no answer. I was too scared.”

  Freddie releases her shoulder.

  “Should we tell the Police?”

  What Police? “I want to see it for myself first.”

  “I’m not lying, Freddie.”

  “No, of course you’re not lying, but we should check for the kids. And anyway, what Police? We’ve only got PC Latimer and what use is that? We can’t leave everything up to her to sort out.”

  “No, but-”

  “The kids may be hiding somewhere, terrified. We’ll go in and see.”

  A fine drizzle spatters Freddie’s leathers as he walks up the driveway of his friend’s house. Guy worked on the rigs alongside Freddie, they’d been in the same year at school, and joined the firm straight after leaving. Everything looks as it should as Freddie walks up the drive, Hayley by his side.

  “It’s the back door that’s broken.”

  At the back of the house, a pushbike is leant against the wall beneath the kitchen window and a small kennel sits pushed up against the fence. Freddie remembers Guy’s dog, Eric, a snappy little Jack Russel Shitzu cross with a penchant for ripping up trouser legs. ‘He’s just playing,’ Guy would say as the dog snarled and anchored itself to Freddie’s jeans. It was guaranteed that Freddie couldn’t get through the door without the wretched dog snapping at him. This morning there is no snapping of tiny jaws; the house sits in silence.

  Freddie looks about for the miniature menace. “Where’s Eric?”

  “Maybe he’s run off?”

  Stepping through the kitchen doorway, Freddie scans the room. Tanya was fastidious about keeping the kitchen tidy and despite two teenage children the aluminium sink gleamed, and the black mock-granite worktops shone. The kitchen is immaculate bar the spatter of drying blood across the white floor tiles near the door to the living rom.

  “See!” Hayley prods Freddie’s shoulder. He grunts in return, checking around the room. Other than the splash of blood and splintered wood of the outer doorframe, nothing seems amiss, but stepping through to the living room, Freddie is met by a scene of chaos. The flat-screen television lies in the middle of the floor, knocked from its stand. A large armchair is tipped and angular, its legs stabbing to the window. Long scratches have ripped through wallpaper to the plaster below. An empty glass lies on the carpet, a red stain blossoming from beneath its curves across the cream carpet. The remains of another glass lie broken next to the hearth, its bowl crushed, its stem snapped. An arc of blood patterns the drawn curtains.

  “Whoever broke in caught them unawares.”

  “What the hell were they doing drinking wine?” That Guy and Louise were sitting drinking wine as though nothing was wrong angers Freddie. He’d warned Guy to make sure his house was secure—to lock the doors and windows. Freddie had kept a patrol throughout the night, making sure he had weapons at hand, that he was alert for any attacks, whilst Guy and Louise had sat back drinking wine.

  “Relaxing, I guess.”

  “Relaxing! How the very hell could they ‘relax’ when those monsters were out there?”

  “Maybe drinking was the only way they could stay calm? Maybe it helped make it all easier to cope with?”

  “Idiots!”

  “Freddie! It’s not their fault.”

  He slams a hand against the wall, his skin crawling at the scene, his belly clenching, the urge to run from the house swirling with the rage growing inside. If only Guy had listened to him, he would still be alive.

  “Whatever came in here, they didn’t stand a chance. They’re picking us off, Freddie.” Her voice quivers. “This could have been us!”

  He knows she’s right. “I stayed up. I watched.”

  “They’re not here, Freddie. Let’s go.” She tugs at his sleeve. “We need to make sure our house is secure.”

  “We’re leaving the village, Hayley.”

  “But, how? The roads are blocked. You heard what Javeen …” Her voice dies out as a noise from upstairs catches their attention.

  Hayley breaks the silence with a whisper. “Do you think someone’s up there?”

  The low thud repeats.

  “Could be one of the kids?”

  Freddie swallows and nods and takes a tentative step towards the stairs. Hayley grabs his sleeve.

  “Stay here. I’ll check.”

  He takes the first riser, his light step silent against the carpet, and moves slowly up to the landing. Leading from the platform are three doors. The first is open and leads to the bathroom. A quick glance confirms that it is empty. Of the other two, one is ajar and the other closed. Freddie’s heart trips. Scuffling, and the sound of something moving, had come from behind the partly open door. Hayley’s quick grip on his arm confirms that she’s heard it too. He holds a finger to his lips and takes a quiet step towards the open door.

  Inside, the room is dingey with only a narrow band of light showing through the gap in the unopened curtains. Two beds, both unmade, sit side-by-side. Movement on the bed furthest from the window catches Freddie’s eyes. A small, curled mound of tan and white fur. Eric! The dog looks up, stares at Freddie with blood-red eyes and snarls. Freddie quickly shuts the door as the dog bounds from the bed with snapping jaws.

  “Jesus! The dog’s infected.”

  The dog’s body thudding against the door is followed by scuffling and a snort from the next room. Eric’s frenzied scratching makes the door rattle.

  “A fucking weredog! You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  The deep snore breaks through the dog’s snarling.

  “That’s got to be Guy. He snores like a drain. Do you remember when we all went camping-”

  Freddie holds a finger to his lips. Hayley stops talking and they both listen to the snorts coming from behind the closed door. Freddie grasps the handle, gives the door a polite, but barely audible tap, and opens it without waiting for a response. The view into the bedroom slowly widens. Hayley pushes up against Freddie to get a clear view, and gasps. Freddie’s hands tremble.

  The bedroom is darker than the previous one, being unlit by the morning sun, and the stench of human sweat and breath is muggy in its warmth. The bed is empty, but on the floor, curled in a tangle of legs and arms are four bodies. Freddie watches in deathly stillness as he takes in the scene. All are fully clothed, the twin boys in their nightwear, Guy and Louise still dressed in their usual jeans and tops. Though Guy is curled up next to his wife, what look like bitemarks are visible on his shoulder through his torn shirt. Huge rents have been torn in Louise’s top and there are bite marks on her neck. He’s unable to see any damage to the boys curled close to their parents. The scene is bizarre and reminds him of the packs of wolves he’d seen down at Beenham when a camera had been set up in the wolves’ den and the animals would enter then curl together to sleep. The smell in the room clings to his nostrils.

  “They’re sleeping.”

  Unable to take his eyes off the sleeping forms, he checks each one in turn, watching the rise and fall of their ribcage as they inhale, exhale. One of the boys shifts. Hayley tugs at his arm. “Come on, before they wake up.”

  “Didn’t you see the bite marks on Guy and Louise?”

  “Yes, but let’s come back later-when they’re awake. We can help then.”

  “They’ve been bitten …” He searches Hayley’s eyes for understanding.

  “They can get a rabies shot.”

  She doesn’t understand. “If they’ve been bitten, Hayley. They could become one of them.”

  “Them?”

  “The infected.”

  “Yes, but the doctor can help them.”

  A twin moves. The
other begins to murmur.

  “Come on, before they wake up.”

  As Freddie watches the boys’ movements, and notices that Louise has woken, the twins unfurl, and push themselves up to stare. Three pairs of eyes stare back at Freddie, three pairs of blood-filled eyes. Louise snarls. Guy’s eyes flick open. Hayley screams and Freddie slams the door shut as Guy jumps to his feet and launches himself across the room. The door clicks shut as Guy slams against it.

  “Run!”

  11

  Javeen had expected the night to be full of horror, but instead she’d drifted off to sleep at two am and not woken until daylight was streaming in through the slatted boards Andy had nailed to the window’s frame. She turns in the empty bed and listens to the clink of mugs in the kitchen and the unmistakable rush of the kettle boiling. The clock reads nine-thirty am. She’s late. Doesn’t matter! Stangton’s not there to pass comment today. She ignores the nagging voice and has a quick shower, dresses then joins Andy in the kitchen.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Sorry, I thought you could do with the rest.”

  “I did. What time did you get up?”

  “I haven’t been to sleep.”

  A wave of guilt. She was the Police—she should be the one staying up all night on guard. He notices her frown.

  “Jav, it’s alright. You can take the watch later and let me get some sleep.”

  Has it come to this? Already! “You make it sound like a war.”

  He doesn’t laugh. “I’ve been out already this morning. This far away from the village it’s hard to know what’s going on, but I heard a few noises in the night and wanted to check them out.”

  “And?”

  “It’s quiet.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure. The shop was still locked up half an hour ago.”

  Cedric was never late to open the shop. “It’s usually open by seven-thirty.”

  “I know.”

  Javeen spoons coffee into a mug, adds another quarter, and covers it with milk. “Anything else unusual?”

  “Some unopened curtains.”

  “I told everyone to barricade themselves in.”

  “Yes, it could be that.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I think we should check. Take a headcount of villagers. See who’s still alive.”

  A stone drops in her belly as she stirs the coffee. “Agreed.”

  They sit for the next twenty minutes listing the names of all the villagers they can remember. Andy draws up a rough map of the village, its shop, roads and lanes, the Castle, the bicycle hire place, the Hound and Stars, the library, along with each house as best as he can remember. A cross has been placed on houses Javeen knows will be empty—those villagers who had left in the convoy and not returned.

  “I’m amazed that you know all of the villagers.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life. It hasn’t changed much and most of them come to me with their cars. It’s like I said, we’re more like family.”

  Javeen mourns for a second, remembering her own fractured family, the uncomfortable Christmases spent with relatives she didn’t like, nodding in agreement as yet another distant cousin berated the poor job the police force were doing, the perennial ‘they should try catching real thieves’ and ‘they make most of their money from the speed cameras’. “Hope they’re not like my family then.”

  “I just meant that we’re a tight-knit community, Jav. There are plenty that don’t like each other, it’s not a case of being one big happy family.”

  She takes solace from that. “So how many villagers are there?”

  Andy turns his attention back to the map and the list. The list has three columns: DEAD, MISSING, and ALIVE. “Counting those we know, or think, are alive then seventy-three.”

  Javeen finishes the final dreg of cold coffee and reaches for her jacket as Andy pulls on his own. Outside the day is drab and darker clouds hover on the horizon. Jacket on, she reaches for her waterproof and pulls on her gloves.

  An hour later, rain spattering against her raincoat, Javeen knocks at another house. Her hand trembles, making the knock a limp thud. She takes a breath, and raps harder, taking furtive glances up and down the street, wary of movement. Andy had said that the howling had become silent as the sun had risen, his theory being that the creatures were becoming nocturnal, but what they’d discovered this morning had made knocking on the doors a struggle. So far, they had found ten houses on the ‘ALIVE’ column of their list, empty. The owners had not answered their knocks despite the curtains being drawn shut and cars still being in the driveway. At the first house, the large kitchen window had been shattered and bloody footprints, not boot or shoe-prints, covered the tiled floor. At number fifteen Main Street, the head of Mr Bateman could be seen through the open doorway. Like poor Anita, his throat had been ripped out and his torso gutted. Andy had baulked at the scene, despite the distance, and vomited on the slabs. Javeen had put a red cross through the house on the map and they’d moved onto the next one. This time, the attacker had broken in through the backdoor. There was the sign of a struggle with upturned furniture and blood spattered across the chimney breast. Eight other ‘inhabited’ houses so far, had also been broken into. In a further three, there were bodies; the remainder were empty.

  Javeen knocks on the door and waits. Inside, slow footsteps make their way to the door. She breathes a sigh of relief. The door opens slowly, inch by inch, and a haggard face, peers out.

  “Ben!” Andy pushes in front of Javeen and the door widens. As Andy steps up into the hallway, beckoned by the man’s frail hand, Javeen notices the tremor and realises that the man, despite his haggard looks, can’t be more than fifty. “Come in. Close the door,” he says through rasping breaths. “She’s in the kitchen.”

  “Who?”

  “Kathy.”

  Andy grunts. “Kathy Oldfield. She’s Ben’s carer.”

  “Cancer,” Ben adds. “I’m riddled with it.” He sags against the wall. Javeen grabs his arm to steady him, instantly wishes that she hadn’t. His arm is bone thin. His entire body is trembling. Javeen cups his elbow in her hand and helps him to stand. Andy walks ahead down the hallway and opens the closed door then turns with a frown, catching Javeen’s eye. He gives an almost imperceptible nod.

  “She’s dead, isn’t she.”

  “She’s not there, Ben.”

  “What? How? They came last night, two of them. Kathy heard them first, prowling around outside. She was scared, we both were, after what Billy had told her about the wolfmen. I told her not to be daft, but she said she didn’t want to take any chances and went downstairs to lock the doors.”

  “And what happened?”

  “They got in before she had a chance. I heard her scream, but couldn’t get out of bed quick enough to help her - yesterday was a bad day.” He stops, his face screwing up in pain and leans heavily on Javeen’s arm.

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  “Yes, in a minute.” He draws air through clenched teeth. Javeen waits. “Perhaps—before you go, you can help me with my medicine?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  As the pain recedes, Ben continues. “I heard her scream and then it went quiet. I thought maybe they’d gone, but … they hadn’t. First one came upstairs and then the other and they both came into my bedroom. I couldn’t move. I was that terrified that I couldn’t move at all.” He stalls.

  Javeen prods. She needs to hear what happened. “Ben, could you explain what happened, please?”

  “They came into my room. Hideous—just hideous.” He quiets again, screws his eyes tight shut and shudders. “It was two females—I won’t call them women although they had … titties and … well they just weren’t women. They were naked and covered in hairs—most of their body, even on their faces, but it was their eyes … they were filled with blood. One got up close, leant down to me. I thought she … it, was going to tear my face. It
s teeth were that sharp and she opened her jaws, spit dripped onto my face. Breath stank—like she’d been eating, excuse my French officer, but like she’d been eating shit.”

  Javeen remembers the similar tale the Reverend had told. “And she didn’t bite you?”

  “No, they both took a good sniff then left. I stayed in bed listening and when they’d gone, I came down here to find Kathy.”

  “And?”

  “They’d attacked her. She was bleeding and unconscious. I tried to stop the bleeding, brought her a blanket, but she didn’t wake up. She’s still on the floor in the kitchen. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Let me help you back upstairs Ben.”

  “Will you help Kathy?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Ben scoops the man into his arms and, with a grunt, takes him back upstairs. Javeen continues to the kitchen and opens the door. A blood-soaked blanket is strewn across the floor, but there is no sign of Kathy Oldfield.

  12

  Javeen returns to her car, and rubs at her shoulder as the tightness across the back of her head intensifies. Pain thrums at her temples. Hands trembling, she pushes the key into the ignition and takes a final look at Ben’s bedroom window. He’d asked her to give him his injection. It was the first thing Kathy did when she got there in the morning he’d said. He’d refused to have a cannula in his hand to help with the administration of ‘Ben’s buddy’ as he called his medication, preferring the daily injections via syringe. Javeen had baulked at first, but agreed when she’d realised the look in Ben’s eyes had been fear, more fear than he’d shown when recounting the visit of the monsters in his bedroom last night. Fear is relative, and the pain Ben experienced from the cancer that riddled his body was more of a torment than the concern that wolfmen would rip him apart. It sounded absurd, but his tone, when he’d recounted that they hadn’t bitten him, had been one of disappointment. He’d told her to fill the syringe to the top with the drug, and it wasn’t until after she’d injected him with the full dose that she’d checked his paperwork. Each entry was carefully entered until last night at nine-thirty in Kathy’s neat and very legible hand. Javeen had just administered more than triple that dose. When she’d pulled back the needle from Ben’s flesh his smile of gratitude had made tears prick at her nose. She’d said nothing. It would be their secret.