Lycanthropic (Book 2): Wolf Moon (The Rise of the Werewolves)

by Morris, Steve

  He’d gathered a specialist team of nurses too, and put Chanita in charge of them. That had led to some resentment, as Chanita wasn’t the most senior nurse on the team. But she was the one with most hands-on experience of the syndrome. That’s what they were calling it now. Not a disease, but a syndrome. No one knew exactly what it was, or where it had come from. But they knew what it could do.

  But the Medical Director still hadn’t gone far enough. Doctor Kapoor wasn’t the only person in the hospital to have been attacked by one of the bite patients. And there were rumours that several of the treated patients had run amok after being discharged, attacking and biting victims themselves. The practice of discharging patients back into the community would have to stop, but Chanita couldn’t make that call. She didn’t even know if the hospital had the authority to detain people against their will. Only Doctor Brookes could make the necessary decision. She had spent the past hour assembling a case for detaining all treated bite patients in indefinite quarantine, and had rehearsed her argument a dozen times. She knew she was right. She just needed to convince the doctor.

  She knocked again on the door, louder this time.

  ‘Come in,’ said a gruff voice.

  Chanita took a deep breath and smoothed down her uniform before entering the Medical Director’s office.

  Doctor Brookes sat in his usual place behind his desk, his thinning hair looking greyer than ever, his face white and lined with fatigue. Opposite him sat a man in military uniform. The stranger was much younger than Doctor Brookes, very tall and slim but with broad shoulders. His skin was tanned but smooth, framed by short, silver-blonde hair. What most caught Chanita’s attention though was his sapphire blue eyes, and she found herself staring into his face, her jaw slack, her well-rehearsed argument temporarily forgotten.

  The man’s mouth suggested amusement at her startled look, and he jumped to his feet with a fluid, easy movement and half-bowed to her, like a knight to a lady.

  Doctor Brookes looked at her grimly, as if he had just received terrible news. ‘Chanita, I’m in the middle of a meeting with Colonel Griffin.’

  The Colonel waived the doctor’s objection aside. ‘I think we’d just about finished here, Doctor Brookes. In fact Chanita was the next person I intended to speak to. Why don’t we tell her the news right away? We can wrap up any outstanding business later.’

  Doctor Brookes indicated for her to sit. It seemed like he had very little choice in the matter. ‘Colonel Griffin has just been appointed as the hospital’s new Medical Director,’ he explained. He held up a sheet of paper. ‘The Prime Minister herself has appointed him to this role.’

  Chanita raised her eyebrows. ‘Medical Director for the Emergency Department?’ That would mean that Doctor Brookes would lose his role.

  ‘For the entire hospital,’ said the doctor, as if he could only half believe what he was saying. ‘It seems that from now on this hospital will treat bite and scratch cases only. All other patients will be transferred to other hospitals, or discharged.’

  ‘This is a temporary measure,’ said Colonel Griffin. ‘Just as long as the current emergency continues. Afterwards, everything will return to normal, and I will be gone.’ He smiled at Chanita, a sparkle in his blue eyes.

  The smile encouraged her to be brave. ‘A soldier as Medical Director?’ she enquired. ‘A curious appointment.’

  The Colonel laughed. ‘I thought so too, but these are strange times, are they not?’

  Chanita nodded. ‘So the entire hospital is to become a centre for treating the syndrome? Do you plan to bring patients here from other hospitals too?’

  ‘That’s right. We’ll establish a specialist centre of expertise, building on the success of your team here.’

  Chanita hesitated. This was the moment for her to argue her case. ‘We’ve had some limited success in treating the patients,’ she admitted. ‘But we don’t yet have a cure. We don’t even have a definitive test for the disease. We can’t be sure that the patients we discharge are fully recovered.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘So can I ask what you plan to do with the patients after they’ve been treated?’

  ‘What do you think we should do?’ asked the Colonel, watching her face closely.

  ‘Keep them here,’ said Chanita quickly. ‘In quarantine. It’s too dangerous to let them leave until we understand more about how the condition evolves and spreads.’

  Doctor Brookes frowned. ‘I don’t think that’s feasible, Chanita. Resources are already stretched to breaking point. And this is a hospital, not a prison.’

  But the Colonel was studying her intently. ‘Your concern is that discharged patients might spread the disease among the population?’ he asked.

  ‘Precisely.’

  Colonel Griffin gave her another of his smiles. ‘My thinking exactly. Until we fully understand the nature of this new syndrome and its infection pathways, our only hope of containment is to make this hospital into a secure quarantine facility and establish strict biosafety conditions. If we can contain the disease sufficiently we might even be able to stop its spread without any further action.’

  Doctor Brookes protested. ‘You can’t simply keep patients in the hospital against their will.’

  ‘Actually,’ said the Colonel, ‘with the emergency powers I’ve been granted by the Prime Minister, I think we can. In fact, I think that’s precisely why she put me here.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Brixton Village, South London, waning moon

  Salma Ali was pleased with the way the night patrol had arrested the ram raiders on the first night of the Watch. ‘You did very well,’ she said to Ben and Mr Stewart the following morning. ‘You kept our community safe from harm.’

  Ben felt awkward accepting her praise. He had kept waking during the night, wondering if he had done the right thing. Should he have called the police instead of getting involved in the fight? Or should he have joined in sooner? Above all, should he have agreed to carry a knife? ‘I’m still not sure if we did the right thing,’ he said. ‘Maybe we should leave this in the hands of the police. They turned up quickly enough last night.’

  ‘You think so?’ sneered Mr Stewart. ‘If we hadn’t acted when we did, those thieves might have got away.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ admitted Ben. ‘Still, one of those men ended up with a broken arm. How can that be right?’

  ‘One thing I’ve learned during my years as a lawyer,’ said Salma Ali, ‘is that there’s really no such thing as right or wrong. There’s only win or lose.’ She smiled at Ben engagingly. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, before he could respond, ‘today I have a completely different task for you both. One that won’t involve any kind of violence. It’s clear that in order to help our community we need to find out more about our residents – names, addresses, telephone numbers and so on. I’d like you both to go door-to-door, asking people to complete one of these forms.’ She picked up a neatly-stacked pile of paper from her table and handed them to Ben. ‘With this information we’ll be able to plan better, whatever happens in the days to come.’

  ‘What are you expecting to happen?’ he asked.

  ‘I really don’t know, Ben. But we have to prepare for the worst. You know yourself just how stretched police resources are at present. My contacts in the criminal justice world tell me that under the new emergency powers introduced by the government, the police will be responding only to the highest priority situations, and will be aiming simply to arrest suspected criminals and put them into custody. The normal judicial processes have been suspended. That means we’re largely on our own as far as day-to-day law enforcement goes. And that makes the role of the Neighbourhood Watch even more vital.’

  Ben studied the printed forms she had given him. ‘There are a lot of questions here,’ he remarked.

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Ms Ali. ‘We need to find out how many people are in each house, get a list of their names, how old they are, if they have any special needs, whe
ther they go out to work, or whatever.’

  ‘Why do you need all that information?’

  ‘So we can do our job better. The more we know about our neighbours, the more we can help them.’

  ‘What if people don’t want to give us this kind of information?’

  ‘Then maybe we can’t help them so much. We only have limited amounts of manpower, time and other resources available to us. If people won’t give us what we want, maybe we can’t give them what they want.’

  ‘You’re saying you’ll refuse to help people if they won’t fill in these forms?’

  She smiled at him again. ‘No, of course not. But we can only operate effectively and efficiently if we have the right information.’

  ‘We’re supposed to be helping people, not spying on them.’

  ‘We are helping them, Ben.’

  ‘But you don’t deny you’re spying on them too?’

  Salma Ali sighed. ‘We’re not doing anything illegal, Ben. We’re just watching to make sure everyone’s safe. That’s what the Neighbourhood Watch scheme is all about.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to join in with your scheme?’

  She held up her hands. ‘It’s your choice. I can’t force you. But it won’t be me you’re letting down. It’ll be your neighbours. The young, the sick, the elderly. They’re the ones who need your help, Ben. They really do.’

  Mr Stewart was pacing the room impatiently. ‘Can we just get on with it? Or is mister smug teacher going to skip this job too?’

  ‘I didn’t skip any job,’ snapped Ben. ‘Don’t ever suggest I did.’

  ‘Please, gentlemen,’ interjected Salma Ali. ‘Let’s all work together on this.’

  Ben glared at the other man. ‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  As soon as they were outside, Mr Stewart said, ‘I don’t know what you’re so fussed about. I’d have thought this job would be just right for you.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Nice easy work, filling out forms. That’s the kind of thing teachers are good at, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is your problem with teachers?’

  Mr Stewart shrugged. ‘Let’s just say I don’t have many fond memories of my school days.’

  ‘That’s hardly my fault,’ said Ben. ‘Maybe you should have made more of the opportunities. Anyway, what do you do for a living?’

  ‘What difference does it make?’ demanded the other man.

  Ben wanted to shake him in frustration. ‘None,’ he said. ‘I don’t actually care what you do. I was just being polite, but I don’t know why I bothered.’

  ‘Being polite won’t help you next time we get into a fight,’ sneered Mr Stewart.

  ‘Right,’ said Ben angrily. ‘Have it your way.’ He had been about to suggest they call each other by their Christian names. All this Mr Stewart, Mr Harvey nonsense was starting to irritate him. But it seemed that the other man was simply going to rebuff any attempt at friendship.

  Ben walked crossly up to the nearest house and rang the doorbell.

  An elderly woman answered the door and seemed pleased to have visitors. ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘I don’t often have such nice-looking young men call at my door.’

  ‘We can’t stop,’ said Ben apologetically. ‘We have the whole street to cover. Can we leave this form with you and call back later? If you have any problems answering the questions, we can help you when we come back.’

  The next few houses were straightforward too. Once Ben explained who they were and what they were doing, people seemed happy to help. They were also keen to find out if Ben had any news for them, but he didn’t really know anything they hadn’t already seen on the TV themselves.

  The next door was answered by a middle-aged man wearing casual trousers and a shirt. He gazed suspiciously at the two men on his doorstep. ‘How can I help you?’ he asked.

  ‘Hi,’ said Ben. ‘We’re from the Neighbourhood Watch scheme. We’re just conducting a preliminary assessment of the local community, and we’d be grateful if you could fill in this form with your personal details.’

  The man took the form Ben offered and studied it carefully. He frowned. ‘Why do you need this information?’

  ‘We’re trying to build a snapshot of the local area,’ explained Ben. ‘We need to find out who lives where, who needs help, who has skills that we can use, that kind of thing.’

  The man began to read some of the questions aloud. ‘Medical conditions? Ethnicity? Religion? Why would you possibly need to know my religion?’

  Ben hesitated. He had wondered the same thing when he’d first read the questionnaire. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Just answer the questions you feel comfortable with. Leave any that you’d rather not answer.’

  ‘I don’t feel comfortable with any of these questions,’ said the man. ‘I don’t even know who you really are. Show me your ID.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Ben. ‘We don’t have ID cards. Only the Neighbourhood Watch coordinator holds an ID card. She’s been authorized by the police. In fact she’s a lawyer. Do you know her? Salma Ali. She lives just a few doors down.’

  ‘Why don’t you send her round then?’ demanded the man.

  ‘Well perhaps we will,’ replied Ben. He would be quite happy to pass all the grumpy neighbours to Salma Ali to deal with.

  Mr Stewart wasn’t so easily deflected however. ‘Hey,’ he said, taking a step toward the man. ‘It’s only a piece of paper. Why don’t you just do what we asked?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said the man. ‘What are you, some kind of private militia?’

  Ben opened his mouth to soothe the situation, but Mr Stewart pushed past him. He advanced aggressively until he was staring the homeowner in the face. ‘Look, we’re here to protect the community, and we’re just asking for a little information. We can’t force you to cooperate with us, but if you’ve got something to hide, we can draw our own conclusions.’

  ‘I can hide whatever I like from you,’ said the other man, raising his voice in anger. ‘You have no authority to poke into people’s private lives. But if you claim to be making the area safe, let me tell you that my daughter has been attacked three times in as many weeks, and you clowns have been entirely useless in protecting her.’

  ‘Mr Harvey?’ said a voice from inside the house. ‘Is that you?’ A teenage girl had appeared behind the man. Ben recognized her immediately. Her bright red hair and pale, freckled face seemed to light up the dim hallway.

  ‘Rose?’ said Ben. ‘Rose Hallibury?’

  The man in the doorway – Rose’s father presumably – turned to her in surprise. ‘Do you know these men?’

  ‘I know one of them,’ said Rose. ‘It’s Mr Harvey, the teacher from school.’

  ‘The one who rescued you from the headmaster?’

  Rose nodded.

  Her father turned back to face Ben. The anger that had animated his face had gone. ‘I owe you an apology, Mr Harvey. If you’d said who you were …’

  ‘You know these people?’ interrupted Mr Stewart. He seemed put out that he’d been robbed of his opportunity for a confrontation.

  ‘I know them,’ confirmed Ben, relieved that Rose’s appearance had calmed the situation down so quickly. ‘Don’t worry. They’re with us.’ That seemed to placate Mr Stewart, but Ben felt a cold wave creeping up the back of his neck. It had come to this, already. People were with you, or they were against you.

  ‘I’m Richard Hallibury,’ said the man. ‘Rose’s father.’ He reached out a hand to shake Ben’s.

  Ben seized it gladly. ‘Ben Harvey,’ he said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ He turned his attention back to Rose. ‘How are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m good,’ she said. ‘What about you? I didn’t see you after the police took Mr Canning away. Did you have to go to the hospital?’

  ‘Just for a few hours,’ said Ben. ‘I’m fine now.’ He didn’t mention the killer headaches and the lingering effects of concussion. He hop
ed that the stitches in his forehead wouldn’t give him away.

  Another person appeared in the hallway behind Rose. A younger boy, in a wheelchair. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s Mr Harvey from school,’ said Rose. ‘He’s in the Neighbourhood Watch now.’

  ‘Cool,’ said the boy. ‘Is that like the vigilantes?’

  ‘No,’ said Ben firmly. ‘Absolutely not.’ But the question had shone a spotlight right at the heart of his concerns.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  King’s College Hospital, Lambeth, South London, waning moon

  Colonel Griffin wasted no time in establishing his authority in the hospital. Within an hour of his arrival he had called for a general meeting of all staff, and Chanita was eager to hear what he had to say. Change certainly needed to happen, and from what she had seen already, the Colonel wouldn’t shy away from the tasks that needed to be done.

  The rumour mill in the corridors and staff rooms was operating at fever pitch, and the announcement that a military man had replaced Doctor Brookes as Medical Director was generally going down badly. From anaesthetists and surgeons down through nurses, porters and even the catering staff, everyone Chanita spoke to had severe misgivings. The Colonel would face a tough time winning them over, but Chanita already knew that she would give him her full support. She wondered if the Colonel would be able to work the same magic that he had already used to win her around.

  They gathered together in the hospital’s dining room at noon, as requested. The atmosphere in the hall was rebellious. Nurses grumbled about being taken away from their patients, and one junior doctor wondered aloud if the new man would have them all marching up and down and saluting.