The Wolfmen of Kielder: Bitten: An Apocalyptic Horror Survival Series (Lycan Plague Origins Book 1)

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Turn up the sound. I can barely hear him.”

  “Blake. Do you copy?”

  The man can’t be seen apart from the flash of a boot or arm as he walks through the forest.

  “We’re here, Walton. Go ahead.”

  “I think I’ve found him.”

  Marta’s heart beats a rapid tattoo against her ribs. “Tell him to turn around soon. It’s getting dark.”

  “Shh! Marta. Watch.”

  Walton walks slowly forward, a trunk looms, filling the screen, and then a small clearing comes into view. Ahead, a figure squats on the forest floor. Its arms move rhythmically backwards and forwards in a pulling motion.

  Marta bends forward, peering at the screen. “What is it?”

  Blake clicks the keyboard and the camera zooms in to focus.

  “Max!”

  Crouched over the still body of a roe deer is Max Anderson, or something that still has the features of Max Anderson.

  “He’s ripping it apart … with his bare hands.”

  Marta watches with disgusted fascination as the creature rips at the flesh, moist, warm air rising in the cold, and pulls at the deer’s innards.

  “What’s it eating?”

  “Looks like a heart.”

  Marta gags as the creature opens its jaws and takes an enormous bite of the steaming offal. Spiked fangs slice into the red flesh. Blood drips at the side of its jaws.

  “Max didn’t have a beard. That thing has hairs all across its face.”

  “The girl did too. I noticed as she ran past me. It must be part of the transmogrification. That thing has fangs too, and I’m pretty damned sure Max didn’t have those either.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “You’ll have to head this project now, Marta. Unless we can get another research-”

  Blake quiets as the thing stops and twists its head in the direction of the camera, staring straight at them.

  “He’s seen us.”

  “Don’t be stupid. We’re in your office.”

  “Seen Walton, then. Look! It’s sniffing at the air.”

  The office falls silent, and Marta hears only the in-out of Blake’s breath and her own pounding pulse. She grips Blake’s arm as the creature moves towards the camera.

  The camera holds still for less than five seconds. Suddenly airborne, the creature springs from the carcass to less than six feet from the camera, its blood-filled eyes are almost black in the light. The camera jerks and the screen fills with trees, ferns and forest floor as Walton runs. His breath is heavy and the office seems full of its noise. The screen goes dark as he thuds to the ground. Light suddenly reappears and the creature’s face fills the screen. Walton screams as its teeth gnash and become huge, its mouth widening as it descends. The camera rolls to the floor, and the screen goes black as it is pressed into the earth. Walton’s screams fill the room and Blake jabs at the keyboard to reduce the volume.

  “Shit!”

  As Martha turns and vomits into the wastepaper bin, Blake reaches for his phone.

  15

  Max rips at the man’s throat and quiet returns to the forest. In his peripheral vision, movement catches his eye. He can smell her again—the woman from the laboratory—Lois. She steps out from behind the tree, sniffing at the air. He crouches low over the dying man, the warmth of his body brushing against his own. Lois takes another step out from the shadow of the tree towards his kill.

  His lips pull back against his teeth. Mine. It’s mine. She steps next to the deer carcass and crouches, her hand reaching out to take the innards, her eyes checking the spaces around her. She looks down at the body and Max pounces. Before she has time to lift the intestines in her hand to her mouth Max crashes into her, sending her smashing into a tree. She stands, snarls at him and darts to the left. He gnashes his teeth, lunging close to her face, and steps back to the deer. He reaches for the liver and bites. She watches from the tree, a dark welt of blood running down her temple where the force of landing against the rough bark has torn at her skin. She scurries back between the trees. He eats until his belly is full, then moves from the carcass and into the forest before turning to watch from behind a tall and nodding fern. Leaves rustle and the girl reappears, the torn flesh now mended, and crouches over the carcass, reaches into its sliced belly, takes the remaining kidney, and bites down.

  As Lois finishes tearing at the roe deer and makes her way through the woods, Javeen replaces the phone’s receiver. Her hand aches with taking down yet another report of noises coming from the woodlands. The door opens and a man stamps in. His boots leave a muddy print on the mat, his hands rests on the open door.

  “Where’s Stangton?”

  Javeen forces a smile. Thomas Burdon’s frustration leaks from him. To diffuse the situation, she’ll need to stay calm and be non-confrontational. “He’s out on a call. Can I help?”

  “Come out and see.” He disappears back out into the gathering gloom. The sun is sinking rapidly and a mist has rolled in from the forest to settle across the village. As she steps outside, he’s already at his Land Rover. Coupled to it is a low-sided trailer. Javeen can tell from his pursed lips and grim demeanour that he wants her to look inside.

  As she approaches, the smell of sheep rises to her nostrils and she makes her best effort not to make it obvious that the stench is offensive. At the side of the trailer, she realises why the reek is so bad. Lying on its bed are three full-grown sheep. Blood has soaked into their wool, clotted and crimson in places, in others a dark pink. The stench of their ruptured intestines, which roll like thick, grey worms from their bellies, clings to Javeen’s nostrils. She moves her head to the side in an effort to suck in clean air.

  “Aye, it’s a sorry sight.”

  “Are these your sheep, Mr. Burdon?” She knows that they are. Thomas Burdon was one of three hill farmers that had farmed the land for generations in the immediate vicinity of Kielder village.

  “Aye. You can see from them markings,” he stabs a finger at the nearly luminous green splodges of dye on the animal’s fleece, “that they’re mine. The ear tags’ll prove it. They’re identified with DEFRA.”

  “Have you any idea what did this to them?”

  “Have I any idea? Damned right I do. It’s them lynx that were introduced back into the forest. I said this would happen. I told them,” he rages. “I even told them about the one that escaped from the zoo in Wales and went on a killing spree, but did they listen? No, they did not, and this,” he stabs a finger at the sheep, “is what happens. I even went to the National Parks meeting they set up about it and told them. Didn’t listen though, did they. Now look!”

  The next half an hour is spent with Thomas Burdon taking his statement, making him a coffee, reassuring him that the matter would be taken seriously, and photographing the sheep, before the farmer went back up to his hillside farm, muttering about compensation, and the ‘bloody idiots at the Lynx Trust putting a bloody bunch of cats’ before his livestock and his family.

  Javeen had listened as he’d made his complaints, nodded in the right places, taken notes, and wondered if a lynx could really do that type of damage to a sheep. Each of the animals had been gutted with a great tear from sternum to lower abdomen, and one had its throat ripped out. Mention had been made of the lynx perhaps being the source of the noise in some of the complaints already received, and she’d done some research. Her findings were uncomfortable if not unsurprising; although there was no confirmation of the release, controversy had been aroused by the Lynx Trust claiming they had overwhelming support and approval to release six Eurasian Lynx into the forest. Their opponents had argued that the lynx would prey on livestock, particularly sheep, and were efficient killers that preyed on animals up to four times their size, so perhaps a lynx could be the killer. She’d called the Trust for confirmation of the release but the receptionist had been evasive and mumbled something about ‘fake news’. She was waiting for the Trust’s Director to return her call.

  As t
he sun sets, she checks her watch. Only an hour and a half before Andy would be at hers expecting the meal she had promised. Memories of last night spark an excitement in her that she’d thought she’d never feel again. She smiles despite the stress of the day, and closes down her computer.

  As early evening darkens, and Javeen pulls her bedroom curtains to a close, newly washed hair wrapped in a towel, the howling in the woods starts again. She closes the curtains with a shiver. She loved the rented cottage, and had even considered buying it if she could convince the landlord to sell, but sitting at the edge of the village without a neighbour in shouting distance, with the howling in the background, was making her reconsider. She switches the television on to drown out the noise and frowns in frustration as the screen brightens and fizzles with white noise. No picture appears. She stabs the controls at the screen. Each time she flicks over ‘No signal’ appears. The howl comes again, and she draws her dressing gown tight.

  She dresses and goes downstairs to the warmth of the kitchen and the aroma of the beef casserole cooking in the oven. She uncorks the bottle of her newly discovered favourite red wine and sets it on the side to breathe. As she pours herself a small glass and takes a sip, a knock raps at the door. Andy! She wipes a drop of wine from her lips, strides through to the hall, checks her hair in the mirror, then opens the door.

  Andy stands on her doorstep, freshly showered, fingers scrubbed of oil, and with a huge grin on his face. His eyes catch the light from the hallway and glint. He looks as happy to see her as she is of him, and the tension that had been rising all day, making her jittery on top of all the odd events, releases. As she ushers him into the warm kitchen and pours him a glass of wine her hands tremble.

  “Smells great in here.”

  “It’s beef casserole, my mum’s recipe.”

  “She a good cook?”

  “Not really, but she has a few dishes that taste great.”

  The chatter continues through the evening and the day disappears as they eat the meal, then sit side by side on the sofa. Completely at ease, Javeen relaxes in the warmth of Andy’s arms, amazed that she can feel so at home with someone in such a short space of time. Another howl breaks into the room as Javeen reaches for the bottle of wine.

  “Those howls are seriously creeping me out. Has anyone figured out what it is yet?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it could be a lynx.”

  “A lynx? I thought they’d decided not to go ahead with that. There was uproar among the farmers and landowners about it earlier in the year.”

  “I’ve been reading up about it. I think it may have gone ahead on the quiet. Thomas Burdon came to the station this afternoon with a trailer full of mutilated sheep.”

  “Nice!”

  “They’d been disembowelled. I did some research and lynxes do prey on sheep, so it may solve the mystery.”

  “I can’t forget that scream, Jav. That wasn’t a lynx. It was human. Did you go back into the woods to check?”

  “No, I haven’t had time, and without anyone reporting a missing person I won’t be able to get Stangton to agree to a search.”

  Andy is silent for a moment then adds, “I had to drag Topsy out of the house this morning, which isn’t like her. Usually, I can just open the back door and she’s off. She’s never been fearful of going into the woods.”

  A chill runs through Javeen as she remembers Andy’s affectionate English Springer Spaniel. Dogs had a much better sense of smell, and perhaps danger, than humans. If the dog was wary of going into the woods, then perhaps there was a predator out there. “She must be able to smell the lynxes. Anyway,” she shivers and pushes up closer to Andy, “let’s change the subject.”

  As they drink the wine, and talk, the evening becomes night, and they drift to sleep on the sofa, until she leads him upstairs to make love and block out the howling from the woods.

  16

  As Javeen and Andy lie entwined in her bed, their energy spent from a night of love-making, Max uncurls from beneath the workbench to the opening shed door. A figure stands in silhouette against the grey light of morning. He can’t see the face, but he can smell her—the woman from the laboratory—the one Shep took a bite out of—Lois. She stumbles forward, pulls the door closed behind her and limps across to join him. She sits on haunches, her eyes averted beneath dark brows that spread to her temples, her breasts visible beneath a torn shirt, the nipples erect. There is no sign of the damage Shep had wrought on her neck. Her lower body is naked.

  Max slaps her face. She flinches and snarls. He slaps it again and pushes at her shoulder. She gnashes her teeth. He scuffles closer and circles her, sniffing at her hair. She smells of pine and sweat and woman. He crouches behind her, leans in, and takes a deep breath through his nose. Particles of her scent cling to the hairs inside his nostrils. Aroused, he licks the skin of her neck. She doesn’t flinch. Encouraged, he bites at her shoulder. She growls and pulls away, turns and stands. This time she meets his eyes; a challenge. He rises, erect, and steps forward. She snarls and moves to the right. Max follows her movement and they circle one another, fists clenching, unclenching, teeth bared. He snarls; the noise erupting from his belly, deep and guttural. She responds with a snap of her jaws, the elongated incisors bone white against dark red lips. He pounces, biting down hard on her neck. He licks at the blood seeping from the wounds.

  They circle, his incisors sunk into her flesh. Her yelps of pain are followed by grunts of desire. The scent rising from between her legs is musky and sweet. He’ll take her. She will be his. She pulls away, pushing her claws against his chest, digging them into his flesh. The pain is exquisite and the ache of his hard-on pulses as she turns, drops on all fours and leans into the floor—an open invitation. Her pussy bulges between the dark hairs of her arse. Pink and glistening, he takes it. Thrusting hard, digging sharp claws into her buttocks, he bursts inside her warmth, tilting his head to the heavens to howl as ecstasy rides him with enormous spasms. She was his now.

  “What in the hell was that?”

  Something ungodly. Reverend Baxter crosses himself. “Language, my child.”

  “Sorry, Reverend, but by hell—sorry! … But that noise sent shivers through me. It sounded like a wolf but kind of screamy with it. It’s made my flesh creep.” Kathy rubs at her forearm.

  The Church gate clacks shut behind Reverend Baxter as Kathy leads him up the path, arm at his elbow, to the Church. The huge key of the door rattles on its iron ring as he leans forward on his walking stick. He pokes at the massive keyhole and misses. His hand trembles as he tries again.

  “Shall I do it for you, Reverend?”

  “No, Kathy. Let me try, but thank you.” He holds the long iron key to the keyhole. It scrapes backwards and forwards as he takes aim. He grunts with frustration and it scrapes across the ancient metal then slots into place. “Ah. There we have it.” He turns the lock and Kathy twists the massive iron door handle. Cold seeps out from the unlit interior.

  “I’ll get the heater going, shall I?”

  The Reverend nods and shuffles forward. His time was nearing, he could feel it in his bones, and, if he can, he’d like to be kneeling before the altar, praying for the Lord to take his soul, praying for the villagers, and for God to make his passing easy. He makes his way slowly down to the chancel and kneels.

  17

  Javeen uncurls, taking Andy’s arm from her waist, and lays it on the bed. She swings her legs to the floor, rises, and bends to kiss his lips. He gropes for her, eyes still closed, a smile breaking across his face.

  “C’mere. I could do with a bit more of you,” he chuckles.

  “Got to get to work, otherwise I’d take you up on that.”

  He grabs her backside and pulls her back down to the bed. “I’ll make it quick.”

  She giggles as she falls onto him and then submits to his need with her own passion. After, she showers and makes coffee as he takes his turn in the bathroom. The noise of the shower running has never sou
nded so good.

  As he enters the kitchen, she slides an omelette onto his plate and drops toast into the rack.

  “I could get used to this.”

  She laughs. “Your turn next time.”

  “Deal. I’m a dab hand at pouring milk onto cereal.”

  “Cheat!”

  His turn to laugh. As he eats, Javeen glances at the clock.

  “Shit!”

  “What’s up?”

  “Work. I’m going to be late for work.”

  “Stangton won’t mind.”

  “Ugh! Stangton will mind, and if he knows I’ve been with you, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “Let him talk. He’s just jealous.”

  “Why would he be jealous?”

  “Well, word is he can’t get it u-”

  “Stop!” Javeen laughs with mock horror. “I do not want to know anything about Stangton’s sex life.”

  “Or lack of it.”

  “Right. Or lack of it.”

  The next minutes are spent in a flurry as Javeen wolfs down the remainder of her breakfast, pulls on her shoes, double checks she’s put on deodorant, then leaves, kissing Andy on the doorstep as she locks the door.

  “Love ‘em and leave ‘em, ay?”

  She grabs his jacket and pulls him close. “I’ll love ‘em later.” She dabs a kiss on his lips.

  To Javeen’s relief, Stangton arrives at the station ten minutes after she has made a coffee and started on her ‘to do’ list. His cheeks are ruddier than usual and he seems tense. She resists the urge to ask what’s wrong and instead makes a start on the list of calls she needs to make. First on the list is Nature England and then Lynx UK to ask again for confirmation about the lynx trials. Second is Marta Steward and then Laura Anderson to see if Dr Max Anderson has reappeared. The phone rings. The voice on the other end is clipped, a little breathy, it takes a moment for Javeen to realise that the woman at the other end is holding back her emotion. “It’s Mrs Maybank. I want to report a missing person.”