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

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Bloody hell!” Andy’s face breaks with a smile.

  Javeen takes a breath, letting relief flood over her. They were inside. Safe. Away from the monsters in the forest. Now they just had to face the humans inside. Her heartbeat steadies. “I want those vials, Andy. They’ll be in the laboratories on the first floor.”

  “Then we talk to Steward?”

  “I’m not sure that would be a good idea. Since when does a researcher need an armed guard? She’s hiding something and if she thinks we’ve found out what it is then it may be us they feed to the wolves.” Javeen swallows as she realises the implications of her own words. Whatever is going on at the Institute is funded either by the government, one of its secretive agencies, or a corporation with deep pockets. Whichever it is, they have been ruthless enough to quarantine an entire village and let the population die, not just die, but be hunted to extinction.

  Last year Javeen had discovered exactly how corrupting even a little power was, her ‘disappearance’ to Kielder at the command of Nigel ‘bloody’ Parker, was proof of that, but this was on an altogether different scale. Maybe not quite as deep-state as the European Union’s subversive destruction of the country’s defence industry, but potentially fatal to minions such as herself and Andy, given the military grade rifles the Institute’s guards were carrying.

  She remembers her father’s tight voice as he’d told her, during their last phone call, that he’d be out of work soon, that Rolls Royce was going into administration, its constituent parts to be sold off to Europe, China and the US. ‘It’s gone,’ he’d said, and she could hear the grief in his voice. ‘They’ve sold us out. Germany’s won after all.’ She’d felt powerless in that moment. He’d ranted then. How the hell had it been allowed to happen? Two world wars and here Britain was, being subsumed by a war-mongering Federal Europe, finger-pointing at Russia and America as its enemy. He’d spat about military union, EU military command centres built by the British army lads to NATO specs, their lads with the EU insignia sewn onto their uniforms returning from Kosovo, a single point of command under EU control, and the end of the British armed forces—the end of Britain. He’d sniffed. She could tell that he was crying, and it had taken a hard bite to her lip to stop her own tears—men don’t cry, especially not her own dad.

  “Andy, what if it’s them that created the wolfmen?”

  He scoffs. “Don’t be daft. That’s just for films.”

  She quiets then. It all was bizarre and surreal, but it was happening. “These creatures exist. They shouldn’t, but they do. Something created them. They’re not exactly a new species that some explorer has discovered.”

  Silence falls between them, the only sound the inhale and exhale of their breath.

  “You’re right,” he says finally. “The whole thing is rotten to the core.”

  “I want to find out exactly what’s going on.”

  He nods. “We get the vials first.”

  “Agreed.”

  As they step out into the silence of the orangery, Javeen checks the sky. Still bright. Still safe.

  It takes them fifteen minutes to make their way through the Institute to the first laboratory. From the noises inside various rooms, there appears to be a small number of people still working. On two occasions they have to make themselves invisible. The staff that walk the hallways aren’t ones she is familiar with and their uniforms are of an unfamiliar military style.

  The first laboratory is Max Anderson’s. There’s no evidence of the attack that took place, all traces of blood and gore have been cleaned away, and even the tables wiped down and tidied. On the table, however, is an open folder and next to it a pen. Someone was working in here, and from the mug of coffee sat next to the folder, they could be back at any moment. Dr. Steward had explained that the Institute was working on a vaccine for the deadly rabies outbreak down in Whitby, perhaps they were still here working on that?

  Javeen heads straight for the chiller. Inside are various glass bottles all neatly stacked. Each one is labelled with a neat hand; ‘WLV1’ or other variants. Not the euthanising drug she’s looking for. She checks the cupboards as Andy does the same. The second cupboard is stacked with narrow cardboard boxes. She reads the sides. “Bingo!”

  “Keep it down!” Andy reprimands.

  “Damn! Sorry, but I’ve found it.” She pulls at a box to check the label. ‘Beuthanasia D-Special. Contains pentobarbital and phenytoin. Warning: for canine euthanasia only.’ She reaches back in and takes out the stack of boxes then continues her search for syringes. The poison would be useless without them. After two minutes she finds a box of syringes then looks for something to put them in. Finding nothing, she empties the wastepaper bin with its single screw of paper and drops the vials and syringes inside.

  A growl.

  The noise scratches at her memory and the fear is instant. Javeen snaps her gaze to Andy. His fingers are curled around a cupboard door handle, his body held stiff. He catches her gaze as something scuffles behind them.

  Jesus, help me!

  Another growl. Javeen twists to the bank of cages that fills one wall of the laboratory. Something moves inside a larger one at floor level. A pair of blood-red eyes glare at her through the wire mesh. Bone-white teeth, with incisors at least an inch long, fill its snapping jaws.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ in heaven. They’ve caught one.”

  Its fingers dig through the mesh and it gnashes its jaws. A red light pulses next to the cage, and then an alarm sounds. As Javeen stares at the creature, she realises it is a young girl, naked apart from a thick ring of black plastic around its neck. Outside the laboratory, doors bang and running footsteps approach.

  “Hide!”

  The thing rattles the cage door. If it gets out! Javeen searches the room for somewhere to hide. At the far end is a door. “There!”

  The thing howls as she grabs Andy’s arm and lurches across the room. As the laboratory door swings open, they step into a walk-in cupboard and close the door with a soft click. The laboratory fills with noise as men shout, and the thing in the cage squawks and yaps. The lab door slams open and the distinctive tack, tack of a woman’s high heels cuts above the noise. The wolf-girl screams, then quiets for a second, before erupting with a howl that pierces Javeen’s eardrums and drowns out all other sounds. As it finishes Marta Steward’s voice can be heard shouting above the men’s.

  “For God sake, electrocute it! That’s what the collar is for.”

  Another yap is cut short and then another before the noise stops.

  “Doctor Petrov, this thing needs tranquilising again.” Marta Steward’s heels tack across the floor.

  A woman’s voice. “There’s no way to safely do that.”

  “You were supposed to be keeping it sedated. How in the very hell is it awake?”

  “I don’t know. I gave it the dose calculated by Doctor Marston. It had enough to induce coma.”

  “You obviously didn’t give it enough.”

  “It was the recommended dose for a … girl of her age.”

  Marta’s derision is palpable even through the wooden door. “Imbecile! She … it … is not an ordinary girl.”

  It howls.

  “Shock it again. I cannot abide that noise.”

  A second yowl cuts short, obviously halted by the electric shocks being administered by the collar.

  “Get Chapman up here. He can shoot it.”

  Javeen sighs with relief. They are going to kill it.

  “I thought you wanted it alive.”

  “Are you a total idiot, Doctor Petrov? Of course I want to keep it alive.”

  “I take offence at that Doctor Steward. I am far from being a tot-”

  “I care not one whit if you are offended, Petrov. Chapman can shoot it with a tranquiliser gun and then you can make sure it stays sedated—completely sedated.” She tacks across the room, perhaps next to the window. Her voice softens and Javeen presses her ear to the door. “These … things … are absolu
tely deadly. If you make another mistake, we could all end up gutted like Walton. You saw the video.”

  Doctor Petrov groans. Javeen is sure it is involuntary. “Yes, Steward, I did.”

  A man’s voice adds to the conversation. “When can we begin trials?”

  “When Doctors Marston and Petrov have figured out how to keep them sedated for long enough, and you have supplied us with a suitable receptacle to keep them in. These cages are meant for dogs, not monsters.”

  “Them!” The words are hoarse in Javeen’s throat, their noise instantly regretted. Quiet, Jav! She pulls her lips together. “Did you hear that? They’ve got more than one.”

  “Or getting more.”

  Marta tack, tacks across the floor and the lab door opens then bangs to a close.

  Crouched, the ache in Javeen’s thighs begins to burn. She eases her backside to the floor, closes her eyes, and continues to listen to the voices. What she hears makes her heart beat faster, what she hears makes her realise no one will come to their rescue.

  16

  Marta scans the treeline. Nothing moves although she knows, without doubt, that there are monsters waiting deeper inside the forest. The black outline of the tree’s tops are a sharp contrast to the fading blue horizon. She shudders. Despite the security Titan Blane Industries had provided, her heart hammers several beats faster every time she catches a glimpse of the trees and the darkness that lays between them. The Institute is surrounded by the forest, a forest where the creatures - she can’t bring herself to say ‘werewolves’ although that is how Blake Dalton had at first laughingly referred to Max and Lois - now reign supreme.

  Over the past few days she has watched the activities in the woods with horror, and a growing fascination, listened with greedy interest to Dalton’s plans for the creatures, and put her not inconsiderable scientific talents into designing further trials. Dalton had called her proposed modifications ‘genius’ and was sure that they would be of interest to Titan Blane’s demanding, ruthless, and grotesquely well-funded customers. That their use of the monsters she would create would be unethical made not one scratch on her conscience.

  Blake eases himself down into the leather sofa and peers out of the window before picking up the binoculars and scanning the treeline. He doesn’t appear to share the same apprehension – let’s be honest – the same shit-your-pants, yet thrilling, fear that Marta is experiencing. He lays the binoculars on the table beside the sofa and huffs a dissatisfied sigh and walks across to the monitor. The screen is black. He clicks a key and it brightens with lines of green, and multiple red dots.

  Outside, the heavy chop, chop of the helicopter begins to whir and the windows vibrate. Marta joins Blake at the desk, pushing her hip against his shoulder. “Have they got him yet?”

  “Max? No. Not yet. He’s been sighted twice, at least Staines thinks the werewolf he saw is Max.”

  “Don’t call him that!”

  “Pah! What do you want me to call the freak? Huh? He’s covered in hairs, has fangs, eats people, and seems to be immortal. Add that he was infected by a mutated rabies virus and-”

  “Calling him a werewolf is just stupid. It makes it all ridiculous. What next? Vampires?”

  “Well, he does appear to be immortal.”

  Marta scoffs. “Of course he’s not immortal. The dog he was bitten by was part of a trial exploring the regenerative capabilities of stem cells. His body has somehow, miraculously, adapted after being infected.”

  A beep sounds and a red dot flashes on the screen. She leans against Blake and peers at the monitor. “What is it doing?”

  Blake taps a key and the screen changes to a live-action feed. Martha grimaces as one of the creatures walks across the screen, scurries across to a tree, and shimmies into its branches. It disappears.

  “Follow it!”

  “I will.”

  Blake’s tone has an edge to it and Marta pushes down her desire to snap back. She is tired and edgy, but the last thing she wants is a surly, and uncooperative, Blake Dalton. He manoeuvres the camera to follow the creature. It sits in a higher branch, pulling at something. Blake zooms in. Marta gags. In its hand it holds a lower leg, a lower leg still attached to a body. It lifts the leg to its mouth and clamps its jaws around the calf. Marta looks away. “Why do they have to be so disgusting?”

  “They’re fascinating.”

  She agrees; they are fascinating, but utterly horrifying too. Pulling away from the screen, she wipes damp palms against her skirt, reaches for the bottle of wine, and pours the last of it into her glass. Damn! Another bottle empty already. Blake will have to get another one from the store room, or at least come with her; going anywhere near the back of the Institute with its ridiculously fragile orangery makes her knees weak. Blake may think the Institute is safe with its armed guards, but as soon as they collect enough specimens and tag the rest she is out of here. She takes a gulp. At least the alcohol soothes the edges, her nerves are like pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.

  “Look at how it just jumps down!”

  If I must! Marta turns back to the screen and catches a glimpse of the figure as it darts off screen.

  “They’re incredible. Do you see how honed their muscles are?” The camera catches up with the figure once more before it disappears.

  Hairy, muscle-bound monsters! “How many have your men tagged so far?”

  “Two?”

  “And how many are there now?”

  “At last count, twenty-three confirmed individuals.”

  Marta takes the final mouthful of wine and paces the floor, her guts twisting. There had been two creatures—Max and Lois, and now there are twenty-three, possibly more! Pain spikes at her innards. Blake continues to scrutinise the screen, a smile stuck to his lips. How the hell could he sit there and smile, as though it were some sort of game?

  “That’s not a great success rate, Blake. In the past two days you’ve only managed to capture one and chip two.”

  He twists the chair to face her. “These creatures are the ultimate apex predator, Marta. What they’re capable of is quite incredible. You saw what Max did to Walton. I’m prepared to take some risks, but I’m not sending lambs to the slaughter. We’ll get more. We just have to be patient. Tracking them in the forest is too dangerous. We’re waiting for them to go to the village.”

  She huffs. Her guts twist. The last thing she wants is to stay here any longer.

  “Why don’t you go back to the lab and get on with what you’re good at? Huh? Leave me to organise my men.”

  She pulls her lips back against her teeth. If she could walk away from this right now, she would, but she was in way too deep, she knew way too much for them to let her just walk away, and besides, if she could hold her nerve, she would never have to worry about money again—ever.

  Blake eyes her, locks onto her gaze and stands. “Marta.” He places hands on her shoulders. “I know this is terrifying. You don’t think I worry about that too? But we’ve got to trust in the guys down there,” he motions out of the window towards the lawn where the patrol keeps guard, “and get on with our part of the plan. The potential here is enormous. Corbeur has said that he’s had expression of interest from the Saudis, the Russians, and the North Koreans, as well as the US. Only one will get what we have to offer. They’re going to be chewing their hands off to get the … product. These creatures are incredible predators, they can hunt and rip a man to shreds before he even has a chance to realise anything is there. They’re the next step in biological warfare. Can you imagine what carnage a pack of these could do?”

  She grimaces. “I’ve seen what they can do.”

  “They can be a force for good.”

  “How the hell do you figure that?”

  “Right, so, ISIS. We’re both agreed that they’re monsters—one of the most brutal and disgusting terror groups that has ever existed, right?”

  “Right.”

  “They hide among civilians. When soldiers go in to ferret
them out, there’s always the possibility that they’ll be the next victim. These,” Blake motions to the screen, “are apex predators that could sniff them out and kill them before they’ve even had a chance to realize they’re in the same room. If we can control them, then they’ll be a new biological weapon to be used against terrorists. Plus, the wolfmen are expendable. No one would care if they’re killed in action. They’re just another weapon that has been utilised. No harm done.” Blake’s eyes gleam. “And … and this is the amazing part, if they pro-create, we can train them from being … pups.”

  “Jesus!”

  He laughs. “We are all God’s creation.”

  “These aren’t.”

  He laughs again. “True. These are yours and Max Anderson’s babies.”

  She shakes her head. The idea was … disgusting. The idea was brilliant. Any country that had a pack of these monsters would be feared—the regimes Titan Blane Industries peddled their wares to would snap their hands off to gain them, the bidding war would be beyond her wildest dreams. She snorts. “You may get your wish, Blake. They’re constantly shagging, perhaps they’ll even have litters.”

  His eyes widen with a greedy glimmer. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Marta.”

  She leans into him. “Only one, Blake?”

  17

  The pain down Freddie’s side is excruciating, a stitch he hasn’t experienced since high school. Sweat beads at his temples and trickles down to his sideburns. He knows with certainty that if the things catch up with them, there is no way on God’s earth that they can outrun them. He’s pushed himself as hard as he can, pushed Hayley and Jude too, encouraging them to move faster, always faster. Judy is the slowest, but none of them are in pique fitness. He wishes now he’d listened to Hayley, and joined her runs in the morning, used the gym on the rig. Instead, he’d sat with the blokes, drinking a beer after his shift, playing cards, or just chewing the fat. Now, it’s Hayley who is keeping a good pace and, despite her heavy breaths, they’re not gasping ones like his, and her face isn’t puce. “Stop, just for a minute, stop.” He bends over, hands on knees, catching his breath, then stands, fingers digging at the stitch in his side. Judy catches up.