Werewolves of the Other London

by Amy Cross

Chaucer shrugged. "That's fine," he said. "Let them. It doesn't matter where they're standing when we kill them, does it?"

  "No, Sir," said Withers. He paused. "But..." He paused again, his voice hesitant. "Sir, there's something else. The baby, Sir. The child that was stolen by a wolf in Edinburgh."

  "The Wallace child," Chaucer said. "Have they found his body yet?"

  "They've found him, Sir," Withers said. "Alive. And well. With his family."

  Chaucer turned to Withers. Now this was surprising news. Chaucer had assumed that the child's body would be found somewhere, helping to fuel further fear and hatred of the wolves. Never in all his planning had it occurred to him that the child might be returned alive. This... He paused. What could be done now? How could the child be exploited so that it would be able to help in the battle against the creatures?

  "Is he okay?" Chaucer asked, trying to think of a way to use the situation to his own advantage.

  "He's absolutely fine, Sir," Withers said. "Not a scratch on him."

  Chaucer thought about this for a moment. "Have there been any more wolf attacks?"

  "They've completely stopped, Sir," said Withers.

  Chaucer took another moment to think. This wasn't part of the plan at all. He'd always assumed that the wolf in Edinburgh would keep killing. Then again, did it really matter? The people in the city were already stricken with panic, and that would probably last a few more days, especially if it was given a nudge. The fear in Edinburgh was too important to let it simply die away. Keeping the entire population terrified was useful and meant that the government could use ever more draconian measures to keep the werewolf population at bay. No-one questioned anything these days, so long as they thought the government was working to protect people.

  "Any random attacks," Chaucer said slowly, "anywhere in or near Edinburgh, whatever the circumstances, if there's a dead body and there's a possibility of pinning it on the wolf, do it."

  "Yes, Sir," said Withers.

  "Now get out," Chaucer said. "I'm tired. I have things to do before morning."

  After Withers had left the room, Chaucer went over to a small box on the table by his bed. He opened the box and took out a syringe, which he inserted into the end of a small bottle. He drew a dose of the clear liquid into the cylinder and held it up to the light. Although it was impossible to see anything in there, he knew exactly what this liquid contained. DNA, taken from a sample grown from werewolf-infected cancer. Recovered from the Franklin Blaum building, it had been examined, modified and grown. It was a potent weapon by now, even if its true effects had not yet been identified. It was experimental, but that didn't worry Chaucer too much. The effects would likely still be good. In fact, he was already feeling stronger than ever.

  Rolling up his sleeve, Chaucer plunged the needle into his arm and pushed down the plunger. The liquid was forced into his bloodstream and Chaucer closed his eyes. He felt like he could feel the DNA coursing through his veins, even if he knew this was probably just his imagination. What was clear, though, was that his body was slowly changing, slowly becoming stronger. The DNA would ordinarily not have much of an effect, but it was bound to the cancer from the Blaum building, so it was expert at mutating within Chaucer's own body. It was doing its job.

  Walking over to the mirror in the corner of the room, Chaucer looked at his own reflection. He looked particularly at his eyes. As he stared, he realized that the eyes staring back at him were no longer his own. It was a slow process, but it was working. He was changing day by day. Soon he would be ready to strike out the old werewolves. He'd tried before, but failed. This time he would succeed, though, because this time he would have the ultimate weapon: this time, he would be able to think just like them, because he would be one of them.

  Part Five

  Wolf's End

  Prologue

  "It's over," said General Chaucer, surveying the burnt, ravaged land before him. Smoke rose slowly from where huge fires had recently raged. Tired, wounded soldiers traipsed across the barren horizon. The whole place was still and calm, but it was still smoldering from the horrific battle that had ended barely an hour earlier.

  Chaucer took a deep breath; the air smelled of petrol, blood, sweat, dirt and metal. And victory, of course. Always victory. After three days and nights of fierce fighting, the werewolf resistance had finally been put down. The last of the beasts had been cornered and slain. Checks and double-checks had confirmed that the entire Scottish estate was now empty. There was nowhere to hide. Deep-penetration sonar scans had confirmed that there were no hidden chambers, no hiding places that could have been overlooked. All the werewolves were dead. "All gone," Chaucer said, unable to hide the pleasure in his voice.

  "We lost a lot of our own men," said Captain Lucas, standing next to him. "I know you're pleased with the overall result, but don't forget that a lot of human soldiers died today."

  "Yes, but it was a worthy battle," Chaucer said, refusing to let Lucas ruin the mood. "Sacrifice is inevitable in such situations. Those men laid down their lives so that the rest of us could live, and so that the werewolf vermin could be destroyed once and for all. They gave their lives so that humanity could triumph."

  "Still," Lucas said. "We should not be too triumphant. Whatever you thought of the werewolves, the human soldiers had families, friends... Their lives, at least, had value."

  "Yes yes yes," said Chaucer impatiently. Was this Lucas fellow intentionally trying to bring down the mood? "There will always be casualties in war. Always. Those men knew that when they signed up."

  "True," Lucas said. "And what about the more... troublesome wolves?"

  "Dead," Chaucer said, turning to him. "Confirmed. The final group was led by Duncan, with his little girlfriends, but they were cornered this morning and put to death."

  "Are you sure they're dead?" Lucas asked.

  Chaucer smiled. "I myself saw them die. I saw their bodies ground up and vaporized. Believe me, I made doubly certain that there were no tricks this time."

  "But -" Lucas started to say.

  "I saw it," Chaucer said, becoming a little irritated. "With my own two eyes. Right in front of me. Duncan and his friends died, and there is no way back for them."

  "My impression of Duncan," said Lucas carefully, "is that he should never be under-estimated. I heard he -"

  "I saw him die!" Chaucer interrupted, raising his voice a little. He recovered his composure. "I saw him die," he said again. "I saw his eyes as he was ripped apart. I heard him scream. And I watched as his body was ground up and vaporized. There aren't many ways to permanently kill a werewolf, but it can be done and we did it today, Captain Lucas. Don't you worry about that."

  Lucas nodded. "I'll bow to your greater experience, General Chaucer. You know these werewolves better than anyone."

  "That I do!" Chaucer roared. "Believe me. I've been tricked by those vermin enough times to know that I have to be extra careful. I made sure to see their deaths with my own eyes." He smiled. He had waited so long for this moment of total victory, he wouldn't allow anyone to deny him the chance to enjoy his glory. This Captain Lucas fellow had a fearsome reputation in the British Army, but if he thought he could just roll up when the battle was over and share in the credit, he was mistaken. "I understand your caution, Lucas," Chaucer went on. "These werewolves were tricky buggers. But they're dead now. All of them."

  Lucas nodded. "You'll be in line for a serious promotion after this," he said. "Her Majesty has wanted the werewolves dead for many years, and you're the man who finally got the job done."

  "It wasn't easy," said Chaucer.

  "No-one under-estimates the challenge you faced," Lucas said. "This Duncan individual, in particular, sounds like he was extremely difficult to pin down."

  "He certainly was," said Chaucer. "In some ways, I'll miss the challenge. He was a formidable enemy. But I got him in the end. I got to watch him die. I won the day. He lost."

  Lucas smiled. "It's a great day," he says. He si
ghed. "And now you must address the troops, General. As is your duty, your honor and your privilege."

  "Very true," Chaucer said, putting his hat on. "They fought hard today, and they lost some of their colleagues. They must be reminded of the great victory that they enabled. They must be reminded of the role they played in history, every last one of them."

  Chaucer and Lucas made their way out to the front of the tent, where the surviving soldiers had gathered. They all looked so tired, their combat uniforms damaged.

  "We have won," said General Chaucer, grinning as Captain Lucas stood a little way behind him. "The stain of the werewolf menace has been wiped from this land forever. We have achieved what previous generations were unable to do." He looked at the soldiers. It was obvious, from their exhausted expressions and their cuts and bruises, that they had been through one hell of a war. But that war was over now, and Chaucer was determined to rouse his troops one final time. "You are all heroes. Each and every one of you. I know that Captain Lucas here agrees with me -"

  "Very much so," said Lucas.

  "And I will see to it," Chaucer said, "that each and every one of you gets the reward that you deserve." He took a deep breath. He had been waiting for this moment for so long, it was almost impossible to believe that it had finally arrived. "Victory," he said. "That is what we have achieved today. Total victory. The werewolves have lost. The humans have won. God bless us." He felt his spirit soaring. He had led his men to battle, and they had been victorious against the enemy beasts. "To victory!" he shouted, raising a fist to the sky. "To a world without werewolves!"

  Jess

  Twenty-four hours earlier

  "We're here," says Duncan, stopping suddenly.

  I look around. We've been walking for so long, I kind of forgot that we'd ever actually get to where we're going. We're in a small forest clearing, and there's nothing to indicate that we've passed over any kind of threshold. No gate, no sign, nothing to say that we've finally reached the Scottish estate. Just another part of the forest, exactly like the previous part of the forest, and the part before that, and the part before that. But I can see from Duncan's face that something around us has changed.

  "Do you hear them?" he asks, smiling at me. He seems happy, almost relaxed. He's back among his own people, on the land that he knows. In London he had an edge of tenseness about his voice, but now he seems more sure of himself.

  I shake my head. I don't hear a thing, but then my hearing isn't as good as Duncan's. I'm still not fully able to use my werewolf abilities yet; my human thoughts and emotions keep getting in the way. I guess that's something that 'll change at some point.

  "Scouts," Duncan says. "Werewolves patrolling the border. Moving quietly but fast. They're expecting trouble. They're probably expecting me, too, which is kind of the same thing. But they're not going to be expecting you." He smiles at me. "They won't know who you are, so they'll be cautious. But me, they'll be expecting me." He stands in silence for a moment, listening. "They know we're here. There'll be a welcome party out to meet us at some point." He turns to Darla, who is slowly catching up with us. "Welcome home," he says.

  "Darling, I've never been here before in my life," she says, not sounding particularly impressed.

  "It's still home," Duncan says. "For all werewolves."

  Darla shakes her head. "It's a place the humans put us. They drew a circle on a map and told us we have to live here, and nowhere else, or they'll kill us. And that circle keeps shrinking. Face it, this place is just a place where they're keeping us while they decide how best to slaughter us."

  "You have no idea how wrong you are," Duncan says. "This has been werewolf territory for centuries. For longer than I've been alive, and longer than you've been alive too. It's ancestral territory, part of our tradition. This is where our species has its roots. This is in our identity, it's our... our Jerusalem. Our Washington. Our Mecca. That's why it's so important that we defend it."

  Darla still doesn't seem particularly keen. Since we left Edinburgh, she's not seemed herself. I miss the old Darla, the Darla who seemed to be able to have fun no matter what was happening. There was always a hint of darkness in her eyes, and in the way that she laughed, but she seemed able to cover it with a smile and a kind of lust for life. So much has happened recently, though, and things have changed. She seems sad all the time, as if she can't stop remembering all the bad things that have happened. I understand why she's like this, but I still wish I could find a way to get her fighting spirit back out into the open. Right now, it's as if she's happy to just sit down and wait to die. There was a time when I'd have bet on Darla in any fight, in any conflict, but now I'm not so sure. Now I feel as if something has broken inside her, and I'm not sure if the old Darla is ever going to re-surface.

  "What do we do now?" I ask. "Where do we go?"

  "There'll be a gathering," Duncan says. "All the werewolves will meet to discuss a plan. The humans will be on top of us soon, and we have to be prepared for anything."

  "So do you have a plan?" I ask.

  He opens his mouth, then pauses for a moment. "Yes," he says finally, looking a little uncertain. "Of course I do."

  I wait for him to continue. "And what's your plan?" I ask eventually.

  "My plan..." he says slowly, clearly thinking on the spot, "is to come up with a brilliant plan."

  Darla laughs. "That's your plan?"

  "It's a good plan!" Duncan says, clearly offended. "What's your plan? Not to come up with a brilliant plan?"

  Darla just shakes her head.

  "I always come up with a plan," Duncan says, turning to me. "Always. I know sometimes it doesn't come to me until he last moment, but I always come up with a plan. When did I ever let you down?"

  It occurs to me to mention that time when I had to rescue him from the Underworld, but I decide to let it go. "Shouldn't we go and find the other werewolves?" I ask. After all, they might actually have a plan right now.

  The three of us start walking through the forest. "I'll come up with a plan, you know," Duncan says. I cast him a dubious glance. "I will!" he insists. "No matter how bad the situation looks, no matter how doomed we appear to be, there's always a way out. Always. We just have to be smart enough to spot it in time."

  "And when we're all dead?" Darla asks. "When we've all been killed and minced up and vaporized? Will you still be waiting to come up with a plan? Face it, we shouldn't be here. We should have turned around and run. We should have run to the other side of the world and hidden. At least we'd have a chance of surviving."

  "The Wolf King will know what to do," Duncan says.

  "Wolf King?" I ask.

  "He knows how to handle the humans," Duncan insists.

  "Clearly," says Darla. "He's done such a good job so far, hasn't he?"

  We stop as there's suddenly a loud bang in the distance, following by a couple more. This is followed by a whooshing sound, and a jet fighter roars over our heads.

  "It's started," Duncan says, a look of worry etched across his face.

  "No kidding," Darla says. "How's that plan of yours coming along?"

  Duncan hurries ahead. "I know where they'll be," he says as we follow. "We have to get to the Wolf King and find out the situation, then we can come up with a plan."

  "Sure," says Darla. "Let's hope so anyway. I sure don't want to be dead by the weekend."

  Duncan stops again.

  "They're here," he says, looking concerned.

  "Who?" I ask.

  "The welcome party," he says. The three of us stand completely still. I can't hear a thing anywhere near us, but Duncan clearly thinks that there's someone nearby. "It's okay," he continues. "They just need to get a sense of us, to make sure we're not an enemy. Then they'll -"

  "Duncan," says a voice.

  We turn to find a man standing behind us. He's older than us, looking like he's in his forties, and he has a worried look on his face. His clothes are torn.

  "Robin!" Duncan says, clearly please
d to see a familiar face. They greet each other with a hug. "I should have known it'd be you they'd send to meet me. Last time I saw you, you were -"

  "Attacking a small car, wasn't I?" Robin says.

  "That's right!" Duncan says. "You were attacking a small car, and I was... What was I doing?"

  "You were running naked past the Queen's window," Robin says. "And the car I was attacking was chasing you."

  Duncan puts his hand up for a high-five, which Robin reluctantly gives him.

  "I see your time in London didn't change you very much," Robin says.

  "I got a haircut!" Duncan replies. "Well, almost."

  Robin seems unconvinced by Duncan's excitement. "It's good that you came back," he says. "It's going worse than we ever could have feared. The -"

  "I saw a jet fighter," Duncan says. "Unless you've managed to get hold of some pretty mean technology -"

  "The attack has started," Robin says. "Missiles and bombs several times a day, and at night. The water supply has been poisoned, so has most of the food. There are large numbers of troops massing to the south-west and we think they're going to move in tonight. And it gets worse. This morning, the -"

  "How many are left?" Duncan asks. "How many do we have left?"

  "Not enough," Robin says. "They've killed a lot of us over the past 24 hours. There are maybe sixty werewolves left, but some of those are children and old wolves, incapable of fighting. The humans have new technology. Bullets coated with poison. Not enough to kill us, but enough to subdue us while they load our bodies into their machines. Each wolf is then sliced up and vaporized Permanent death."

  "But we can recover, can't we?" I ask. "Even if we're killed, we can heal ourselves?"

  Robin shakes his head. "We can only heal our bodies if our bodies still exist. The humans vaporize the bodies. There's nothing left."

  "Sounds like fun," Darla says, interrupting.

  "Duncan," says Robin, a note of urgency in his voice. "We have to talk about the -"