“Come inside. Moira can you take Mrs Anderson inside, please. We’ve allocated her a room in the east wing; it’s on the plan.”
As Andy’s arm slides across Javeen’s shoulder, and Laura pulls her bags from the backseat, a clawed hand rips at the bags inside the car’s boot.
The sun sets across the village, long shadows grow until the only light is the orange haze from the streetlights. Jim Kendrick’s cat dashes across the road, chasing a scurrying rat. At Seven Main Street, Kathy Oldfield’s Jack Russell scrats at the back door and barks at the noise of galloping feet in the garden. Further along the road, at number Twenty-Three Mary Barker’s Bassett hound howls a lament, its stomach aching with hunger as it pads round and round the kitchen, stepping in its own urine and faeces. A face pushes up to the window. It wags its tail, jumps up at the door leaving a stinking smear of shit on the white paintwork, then barks as the glass smashes, snarls as the thing breaks through the door, and yelps as teeth sink into its neck. As it dies the air fills with chattering, snickering, incomprehensible voices, and the patter of dozens of feet on the tarmac.
24
Javeen ticks off the names on her list as she takes a head count of the villagers that have made it to the castle. Only nineteen people remain. Nineteen out of more than one hundred! The paper in her hand is covered in red lines, and almost every house on the map Andy had drawn of the village has a red cross through it.
“PC Latimer.”
She stares at the paper, unaware of Moira’s voice.
“PC Latimer. I’ve made you a sandwich. Why don’t you come and sit down. I’ll get you a cup of tea.”
She startles as the paper disappears beneath a ham and tomato sandwich in sliced white bread, discoloured at the edges.
“Thanks.” She takes the plate, lets herself be guided by Moira to the table and sits. The bread is stale. All of them dead or infected. All of them. The phrase repeats in her mind.
Andy sits down beside her, leans a large axe against the wall and takes a cup of steaming tea from Moira’s hands. Javeen scans the group. There are no children. None! What happened to Amy and her children? Her stomach gripes. Apart from herself, Andy, Freddie and Hayley, the other … survivors – her belly rolls again – are older and two are at least eighty. Conrad would be useful, of course, given his background, and his wife Moira was a force to be reckoned with, but although Laura was in her early thirties, half the time she seemed to be lost in her thoughts, and the other sleeping. Even now, with mug of tea in hand, she is curled up on the large sofa that Andy had pulled up to the open fire and seemed to be nodding off. For Javeen, sleep is impossible, her senses on overload. Andy slips an arm across her shoulder. She shudders at his touch. He pulls his arm away with a quick movement.
“Gone off me already?”
“What? No. I’m on edge that’s all.”
The low, subdued chatter of the room, descends to silence once more. She lowers her voice, pushes out the paper with its red lines, each one a painful reminder of a face, a wave, a smile, now gone. “Look, Andy.” Her voice is almost a whisper. “They’ve all gone. We’re all that’s left of the village.”
“Whispers, Latimer?” Conrad steps up to their table. “If you’ve got something to say, we should all hear it.”
Javeen swallows, blinks back the tears that threaten to spill over her lashes, and pushes the paper towards him. “This is the map of the village. I’ve crossed off each house where I suspect the owners have either been killed or infected.”
He stares down at the paper. “Damn!”
“We’re all that’s left, Conrad. Just nineteen of us. And no children. In a few days they’ve decimated the population of this village.”
“They’re ravenous, that’s for sure.”
“The ultimate apex predator.”
Conrad grunts. “Well, I-”
“They’re monsters. Within a few days they’ve destroyed an entire village; either hunted us down, or infected us to become like them.”
“I think they’re deliberately strengthening their packs.”
“And we’re trapped in here with them.”
“Sitting ducks.”
“They’ve left us here to die.”
“Marta Steward has left us here to die. The programme that created these monsters is under her direction.”
“Are you saying this is deliberate?”
“Are we part of an experiment?”
“We are now. Steward and Dalton want to capture the ‘wolfmen’ and use them as weapons.”
“That’s ridiculous, Latimer. What are you saying? That they’re going to capture them and train them as soldiers?”
“Something like that.”
“Science fiction nonsense.” Conrad scoffs. “Never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life.”
“It is ridiculous, but so is the existence of wolfmen, yet they’re out there, hunting us down.”
“They’re not werewolves. That’s just fantasy. Certainly, they’ve been infected with some dreadful virus-”
A howl splits the air. Silence falls on the room.
“That was close.”
Moira is right. The howl could have come from outside on the lawn. Javeen instinctively looks to the boarded window.
“We’re safe in here.” Andy slips his arm back across her shoulder. This time she doesn’t flinch although her shoulders remains rigid. She picks up the papers again.
“The fence-”
“Whoever put that up should be imprisoned. They’ve signed our death warrant.”
“Why would they do that? If they knew what these creatures were capable of, why didn’t they evacuate us before it was too late?”
Javeen doesn’t have an answer. “If they ever get beyond the fence, they’ll hunt humans to extinction.”
Freddie catches her gaze.
“We have to stop them.”
“How? They’ve killed everything they’ve found so far, killed it or bitten it and made it one of them.
“They’re deliberately strengthening their packs.”
“Conniving bastards.”
“It’s time to turn the tables. Let the hunted become the hunter.”
“How do you suggest we do that? It would be suicide to go into the woods.”
“We set traps—here in the village.”
Max springs with ease to the wall and vaults over, landing with a soft thud on the grass. The grass crunches beneath his feet, its iciness in this first frost of winter, sharp against his bare toes. The house sits in darkness, the curtains drawn. Something is different. He walks to the back of the house and pushes down the door handle. It opens to the silence of an empty house. He strides through the kitchen to the living room and then takes the stairs two at a time, inhaling the scent of orange zest, oatmeal soap, Chanel No. 5, and the intense particles of Laura’s sweat and sweet scent of her dark places. The air in their bedroom is cold, her scent stale. She is gone. Rage swirls. He tips his head back and howls, “Lauurraaaa!”
Within ten seconds he is out of the house and sprinting past the church. The streets are silent, the houses dark. To his left snickers and tapping feet. The monsters … his monsters … run parallel. In the distance a howl—a call for the hunt. A thrill shudders along his spine and he pumps his arms harder, easily outpacing the strongest among the others. He follows the howl as it rises again, running along the empty roads. Light shines from the dark, a tiny slither that becomes two then three as he rounds the corner. He cackles, his mouth watering; the Screamers are hiding in their light. Ahead, the castle sits as a wide block on its hill. Slithers of light patterned as stripes on its walls. Come out, come out, little piggies.
25
The chair makes tracks in the carpet as Javeen drags it closer to the fire. The glow and flicker of its orange flames dances on the hearth’s tiles. Laura catches her glance, smiles, then moves to stand.
“I’ve left one of my bags in the boot of your car. Is it open?”
Ja
veen considers for a moment. “Yep. I didn’t lock it.”
Laura smiles again. The door opens and Conrad blocks Laura’s way as she reaches it. His face flushed from the cold night air.
“The front seems clear. I’ve checked all windows and doors. We’ve pushed as many cupboards and chairs up against the outside doors as we can find.”
Laura waits patiently as Conrad relays his message.
“Excuse me, Conrad. Could you let me through, please?”
His usual smiling ease is replaced with a frown. “Where are you going?”
“Well, I … I just need to get my bag from the car.”
“We’ve locked everything down now, Mrs Anderson. Can’t it wait until morning?”
“Oh, but it has my toiletries in it …”
The flush on Conrad’s face deepens as he stares at her. “Well …”
“There are things in there I need.”
“… Ah. Well, alright ... but, I’ll come with you. You won’t be able to move the furniture on your own.”
As they disappear through the door and out into the hallway, Javeen rises from the warmth of the fireside and follows them. The cold air of the corridor is a shock to her warmed skin and she shivers, pulling her jacket tight to her body. If the night gets much colder, getting any sleep will be unlikely, it will be tough enough getting to sleep in the large, unheated rooms of the castle with only a makeshift bed. Perhaps they should all make their beds in the room with the fire instead, and forget about their privacy? The thought brings its own relief—there is safety in numbers.
She catches up with Conrad as he steps out into the cold evening. The sharp drizzle that had spat at them before has become driving sleet. She shivers as she steps next to him. Laura takes a tentative step towards the car as Conrad shines his torch to light the way.
“Just a thought, Conrad, but instead of us all having separate sleeping areas in the castle, would it be better for us all to be in one room?”
He keeps pace behind Laura. “I’m not sure Moira would like that. However, it does make sense. If we’re all in one room then we don’t have to worry about each other as much. I won’t be sleeping tonight though. I’ve drawn up the rota for a patrol—my watch is first.”
The tension across Javeen’s shoulders eases a little; having Conrad in charge is a Godsend.
“There are to be two of us awake at all times. We’ll share the duties throughout the night.”
Sleet spikes Javeen’s cheeks and she picks up her pace to match Laura’s, checking the courtyard and the rooftops for signs of movement. The car is parked to the left, in a bay outside what was once the stables. There’s enough space within the castle courtyard for eight cars but only half the spaces are filled. Heavy wooden gates are closed and barred beneath the stone archway of the castle entrance. Beyond that is a large expanse of grass dotted with picnic tables and a low wall that marks off the property from the village. The castle and its walls made up of the outbuildings is their only protection from the monsters that prowl through the village.
Sleet spatters against her back as they reach the car. Javeen pulls her collar close to her neck, the cold bites at her fingers. Conrad shines the torch on the boot and Laura fumbles beneath its frame and presses the button to open.
“It’s locked PC Latimer.”
Javeen slides her fingers beneath the lock, feeling for the buttons, sure that she’d left the car unlocked.
“It’s locked,” she confirms. “Sorry!” Her fingers sting with cold as she digs them into the pockets of her jeans and pulls out the keys. She points the fob at the car. Indicators flash and the boot unlocks with a soft click.
Movement catches in Javeen’s peripheral vision and as Laura lifts the lid she snaps her head to look. On top of the slate roof, balancing on the roof of the gatehouse, is Max Anderson. He draws back his teeth to a snarl as the boot’s lid rises. A flurry of movement inside. Laura screams and staggers, knocking Javeen backwards as a figure springs from the recess and jumps to the ground in one swift and powerful movement.
Startled, Conrad jerks away, drops the torch, and staggers back. Laura twists to escape from the hands clawing for purchase against her body, trips and topples into Javeen. Both fall to the tarmac, Javeen’s foot trapped beneath her weight. She lands with a thud, her shoulder and hip taking the full impact, Laura’s weight pinning her down. She screams as pain tears through her leg.
In the next second, the creature is on top of them, grasping for Laura. Sleet falls sharp against her face, wetting her hair, stinging her eyes, as sharp claws dig deep beneath Laura’s clavicle. Her face contorts, their eyes locking for one dreadful second. Her fear absolute, the creature’s violence brutal. With a terrifying and primal strength, Laura is twisted and thrown to the floor and the creature straddles her. Within the next, a roar fills the space and Max Anderson jumps to the beast, digging clawed hands into its arms and throwing it from Laura. She lays inert as Max springs to the other male. They circle one another, lips drawn back from razor-sharp fangs, growling from the depths of their bellies. Javeen drags herself towards Laura. She gasps at the pain in her ankle as it catches on the cobbled stones.
Max bares his teeth and snaps at the other male. Both circle, fists clenching, deep growls filling the air, eyes locked. Max pounces, knocking the male to the floor, sinking his fangs into its jaws, and pinning it to the cobbles. The male thrashes, but Max holds him down, digging claws into its shoulders. The male submits, quietens. Max retracts. Blood seeps from deep wounds in the male’s face. As it jumps to its feet and lunges across the courtyard, Max turns his attention to Laura and Javeen.
Javeen scrabbles back, grits teeth as spikes of pain run through her ankle and up her shin. As Max reaches for her with clawed hands, the other male pounces on Conrad and he’s lost sight as he’s dragged into the shadows. A flash of blue, and Laura, blood staining her back, lunges between Max and Javeen.
“Max! No!”
Max grunts and steps closer.
“No Don’t hurt her.”
From the shadows Conrad’s strangled cry is silenced.
Javeen shuffles towards the car and away from Max as Laura continues to beg, the biting pain dulled by the adrenaline coursing through her veins. As she pulls herself behind the car, Conrad’s torch illuminates the corner of the courtyard and she closes her eyes to the clawed hands swiping at his throat. Reaching the wheel arch, the thing that was Max Anderson wraps its arms around Laura and sinks its teeth into her neck. Javeen grasps for the door handle and pulls. As she pulls herself inside, Max carries Laura in his arms to the gate. Blood stains blossom over her jacket as her head lolls, eyes rolled back to white. Max lifts the steel bar laid across the gates, throws it across the cobbles, and opens them to the night. Figures crowd the gateway.
Javeen pulls the door closed and locks the car as creatures flood the courtyard. Chattering, cackles, and excited howls mingle with the tack, tack of clawed feet across the cobbles, and Javeen slips from the backseat onto the floor.
Thud!
The car rocks. Javeen’s breath catches in her chest.
Thud!
The car rocks again as one of the creatures knocks against the car door. It’s back to Javeen, she can’t tell whether it is male or female, though from the breadth of its shoulders it is – was – probably a man. It turns and steps away. For one brief moment its face is in silhouette. Despite its contorted face, deformed with a snarl and bone white fangs, Javeen recognises Thomas Burdon, the farmer who had chewed her ear off about the lynx conservation project.
As she lies on the cramped floor, muscles tensed, breath shallow and quiet, the scratching chatter and cackles subdues. Hyenas! They’re like a pack of fucking demented, stinking, and murderous hyenas! Her foot throbs.
Pulling herself up to the window, she peers into the dark courtyard. The driving sleet has subdued to drizzle, and through the rain-spattered windows, the cobbles gleam in the moonlight. Conrad lies curled in grotesque, foetal p
arody against the wall. The monster that has slashed his throat gone and there is no sign of Laura or Max Anderson.
She sags against the door, forehead pushing up against the glass with an overwhelming dread, realising that the horde of monsters that filled the courtyard has disappeared inside the castle. The survivors don’t stand a chance.
“Andy!” Her whisper is pained. “Andy.”
Think, Jav. Think! Her mind is numb. Instinctively, she knows that leaving the car, going inside to fight the beasts, is impossible, would be suicide. Survival now means staying put, being small, invisible. But what if they can smell her? She swallows, her heart taps a hard beat at her ribs. She sinks back to the footwell, cramped against the back of the front seat, a sense of failure and crushing inadequacy biting into her. Her ankle throbs and hands tremble as shock takes hold. Nothing is real. Closing her eyes, she rests her head against the door and listens to the beat of her heart as its pulse throbs in her head. White noise fills her ears, blocking out the sound of sleet scratching against the windows.
Time passes. Her body cools. A shiver runs over her skin, the sweat beneath her arms is dank. Her breath billows white. The freezing windows misted with her warm breath making the car a safe place—a cell. But what if they notice? What if one of them is still conscious enough – still human enough – to realise that something warm, something living, something with a beating heart, and pumping blood, warm and sticky, ready to be swallowed, is inside? What if - she swallows - what if they can smell her? Breath comes rapid as her thoughts bring a new torture. Calm down, Latimer! Get a grip. She takes a deeper breath to calm herself. It does little to ease the tension. The fogged-up car offers a hiding place away from prying eyes, but it traps her too. She can’t sit here, trapped, waiting to be discovered. Her bowels clench, suddenly watery. Andy! Andy, Andy, Andy. Please be safe. Please be alive.
Caged: An Apocalyptic Horror Series (The Wolfmen of Kielder Book 2) Page 14