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

by Morris, Steve

  ‘I’m not a werewolf,’ protested Ben. ‘Don’t be so stupid. And why is it too late to save them?’

  The woman shrugged her shoulders. ‘Look for yourself.’ She gestured to the raging flames. The front door of the house was on fire now too, and more flames emerged from the top of the house as the roof began to collapse. The crowd retreated to a safer distance. ‘It was the girl who started the fire in the first place,’ explained the woman. ‘She ran into the road screaming that her brother was dead and there was nothing worth living for. The next thing we knew the house was burning.’

  ‘Oscar dead?’ said Ben, appalled. ‘And Rose? The girl?’

  The woman shrugged again. She turned her gaze back to the burning building. Little more than a shell remained already. No one could still be alive inside that inferno.

  The man who had challenged Ben returned with two other men. ‘How dare you show your face around here,’ he said. ‘This is all your fault. You and your kind. You did this.’

  Melanie pulled him by the arm. ‘Come on, Ben. We have to get out of here. It’s not safe.’

  Ben was in tears, but he helped her lift James back to his feet. James placed his arms around their shoulders and let them lead him away. The men watched them leave.

  Ben cried as they set off slowly on the long walk back to Richmond. James wanted to cry too. He hadn’t known these children, Oscar and Rose. He had done his best to save their parents from Leanna, but his best hadn’t been good enough.

  He thought of his own parents lying dead in their home. They had died because of him too. A sense of futility overwhelmed him. His feet dragged along the pavement as he stumbled along. ‘I need to rest,’ he said to Melanie. ‘Just for a minute.’ They sat him down on the cold pavement against the post of a streetlamp. He inhaled deeply, trying to get his breath back after the exertion of walking. He was broken and wasted, no use to anyone like this.

  And if he didn’t feed, he would grow weaker and become even more of a burden. But what choice did he have? ‘I promised,’ he muttered. ‘I promised not to kill.’

  Melanie and Ben exchanged glances. ‘Come on, James,’ said Melanie. ‘Let’s get you home.’

  He had a choice. There was always a choice.

  ‘I’m going to make a new promise,’ he said as they lifted him back to his feet. ‘I’m going to change.’ The memory of Leanna’s fury was enough to seal his decision. He had fought her off this time, but she would never give up. He knew that her hunger for vengeance had only been fuelled by her defeat tonight. And the sight of the burning building with the children inside, and the savaged corpses of Richard and Jane reinforced his determination.

  He had made a promise to Samuel. He had promised never to kill again. But Samuel had already lain dead when he had made that vow. Samuel was gone and he must finally accept it. I will never forget you, my friend. But he was ready to walk his path alone now. It was time for a new promise.

  He turned his head to look at Melanie. ‘I swear to protect you, whatever happens,’ he told her solemnly. ‘I vow to make myself strong again so that I won’t fail you next time you need me. I will never allow anyone to hurt you, or Sarah, or Ben again.’

  He was still weak, but his wolf hunger rose up inside, raging stronger than ever. This time he would use it. He would feed it.

  He would never deny his true nature again. If Samuel had taught him anything, it was surely that. For better or worse, he was a lycanthrope, a werewolf. And werewolves hunted for prey.

  His tears were all gone now, and though he still needed his friends’ help, he walked easier, he walked quicker. He was eager to begin again.

  Chapter Ninety-Five

  Herne Hill, South London, wolf moon

  Chris and Seth staggered away from the burning hospital, seeking safety. Machine gun fire still crackled behind them, and they hurried from it as quickly as they could. They passed the wreckage of the helicopter lying by the roadside, not wanting to peer too closely in case dead eyes stared back at them from inside the cockpit. A few last wolves streaked past them under the silver moonlight. One snapped its jaws at them as it went, but seemed too intoxicated by its unexpected freedom to put much effort into it.

  Somehow they had survived.

  Grey ash rained down on them as they stumbled along the roadside. Chris’s jaw throbbed viciously where Mr Canning had struck him with the rifle butt, but he was still alive. Starved, frozen and terrified witless, but nevertheless alive. He could hardly believe it.

  ‘I’m cold,’ moaned Seth. The red glow of the fire lent a devilish touch to his friend’s pointed beard. Seth’s unruly hair had grown even longer during his spell at the hospital and it now nearly covered his eyes completely. He tried to flick it away, but it was useless. It fell back over his face almost immediately.

  ‘Cold?’ shouted Chris angrily at his friend. ‘We were almost burned, shot and eaten, not to mention robbed, beaten and humiliated, and after all that, you’re complaining about the cold?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Seth miserably. ‘It’s freezing out here.’

  Chris shivered, despite his anger. Seth had a valid point. They wore nothing other than flimsy hospital pyjamas, gowns and slippers. Chris had carefully stockpiled all-weather survival gear, and now here they were wandering around in the snow dressed in their nightwear.

  The body of a doctor lay on the ground up ahead. Blood pooled all around, but his white coat looked warm enough despite the red stains. Chris carefully removed it. ‘Take this,’ he said to Seth.

  Seth accepted it with trepidation but slipped it on over his gown. ‘It fits,’ he said.

  ‘Good.’ Chris pulled his own dressing gown tight around his middle. If they kept moving, he would probably stay warm enough. Perhaps Seth would agree to a time-share option on his coat.

  ‘What now?’ asked Seth. ‘Everything’s gone wrong. We’ve lost all our stuff. We don’t even have a map. We might as well go back home.’

  ‘No,’ said Chris. ‘We can’t go back. We have to keep going. On foot if necessary.’ He plodded on determinedly into the night, one foot after another. After all, it was how a journey of a thousand miles was supposed to begin. And what other options did they have?

  ‘But where?’ asked Seth.

  ‘We follow our original plan. We head west.’

  Seth hurried to keep up with him. ‘Why west? We could go anywhere. Like north, east, south. Somewhere not so far away. What’s so good about west?’

  ‘I already explained,’ said Chris. ‘We need to go where there are fewer people. We need to get out of London as quickly as we can, then steer clear of the major population centres. West is best, Seth.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Seth, but he didn’t make any other suggestions.

  After a while Chris stopped feeling quite so cold. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was warming up, or if he was getting frostbite. It was probably best not to think about it.

  Up ahead a girl appeared, walking slowly down the middle of the road.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Seth.

  Chris glared at him. ‘Will you stop asking dumb questions?’ he said. ‘How am I supposed to know?’

  The girl came closer. A teenager with red hair, wearing just a thin top with bare arms. She looked vaguely familiar. She might be one of the girls from Manor Hall School. Chris had never paid much attention to the kids. He wondered what she was doing wandering around in the middle of the night all on her own. Then again, why was he here wearing a dressing gown and slippers? Perhaps there was no good reason.

  The girl walked past, appearing not to notice them. Her pale freckly skin was visibly shaking from the cold.

  Seth stopped. ‘Hey,’ he called to the girl. ‘Are you okay?’

  She stopped and turned back, seeming to see them for the first time. But she said nothing.

  ‘Are you cold?’ asked Seth.

  Still the girl said nothing.

  ‘Obviously she’s cold,’ said Chris. ‘Everyone�
��s cold apart from you. Why don’t you give her your coat?’

  ‘My coat?’ said Seth. ‘Then I’ll be cold too.’

  Chris took it from him and draped it over the girl’s shoulders.

  The girl looked at him. ‘I’ve seen you before,’ she said. ‘Was it in a dream?’

  Chris frowned. ‘Maybe it was at school,’ he suggested. ‘I used to work at Manor Road.’

  Seth came over to join them. ‘You dreamed of Chris?’ he asked the girl. ‘Like, freaky.’

  The girl’s eyes seemed to gaze into the distance. Chris wondered if she was on drugs.

  ‘Where are you heading?’ asked Seth.

  The girl shook her head. ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘Why don’t you come with us, then?’ suggested Seth.

  ‘What?’ said Chris. ‘She can’t come with us. Why did you say that?’

  ‘Because she looks like she needs our help,’ said Seth.

  ‘We’re the ones who need help,’ insisted Chris. ‘Where is your brain?’

  The girl gave no sign she’d heard them.

  ‘Come with us,’ said Seth again, ignoring Chris’s protests.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked the girl.

  ‘West,’ said Seth. ‘West is best.’

  ‘I’ll come with you then,’ said the girl. And she did.

  Chapter Ninety-Six

  Houses of Parliament, Westminster, London, waning moon

  Once, she had hoped to be remembered as the Prime Minister who brought the nation together, delivering a dynamic economy, improving the hopes of the many, and fashioning a Britain ready to face the challenges of the twenty-first century.

  Instead she would go down in history as the PM who presided over her country’s descent into anarchy.

  She had come straight from the latest all-night COBRA meeting to the Houses of Parliament without a chance to rest. Exhaustion tugged at every fibre of her being, but the House had been recalled for an emergency sitting, and her announcement would not wait. Sleep would come later, if it came at all.

  Earlier that morning she had taken a call from the US President, who had accused her of being personally responsible for the global spread of the werewolf due to her government’s failure to contain the threat. The facts hadn’t seemed to interest him a great deal, and she had concluded that his main purpose in calling her had been to vent his anger at someone for an extended period of time. It had left her feeling isolated at a moment when she most needed solidarity from her peers. But that was proving to be elusive. The President of France had been equally belligerent when she’d spoken to him. In his opinion, the open borders of the United Kingdom were sucking refugees into France and causing all kinds of security headaches. Werewolves at the port of Calais had run amok under the wolf moon, slaughtering freely among the refugee camps. He’d left her in no doubt that in his opinion her policies were to blame. In response to the attacks, vigilantes and protesters in French ports had set cars, coaches and goods vehicles alight, resulting in many more fatalities. He seemed to think that was her fault too.

  The options now were limited, and all her choices seemed to be made for her. The latest news from Colonel Griffin had taken away her last hopes of containing the disease.

  Her aides ushered her into a packed House of Commons and she took her seat on the front bench, flanked by the Home Secretary, the Foreign Secretary and other members of her Cabinet. Members of Parliament filled the green leather benches of the chamber on both sides of the house, and more stood before the oak doors at its entrance. The Chamber buzzed with the sound of speculation and rumour, the atmosphere tense and expectant.

  The Leader of the Opposition sat on the bench opposite, no more than a few feet away from her. His eyes were wary and gave away nothing. She wondered whether he would lend her his support, or if the way ahead would be even lonelier than she feared.

  It is too late now. My decision is made.

  ‘Order! Order!’ The words of the Speaker of the House of Commons cut through the hubbub of the Chamber, and the hum of voices dropped quickly to a hush. ‘The Prime Minister will now make an announcement to the House.’

  She rose to her feet and lifted her tired eyes to take in the historic Chamber, seeing its oak-panelled walls and galleries through a veil of sleep deprivation and a feeling close to despair. The architect Sir Giles Gilbert Scott had rebuilt the Commons Chamber in 1945 in an austere style reflecting the post-war mood. Her mood today was similarly downbeat, and yet to her eyes the Gothic architecture of the building seemed outdated and irrelevant. It felt totally out of place for the announcement she had to make today.

  Am I also outdated and outwitted by this strange, new enemy?

  Despite having heard nothing but bad news for the past twenty-four hours, she was determined that she would not be beaten. If necessary she would hold the country together against its foes by sheer force of will.

  Some of her foes sat on the benches opposite, looking mutinous. A few of the Opposition politicians jeered and heckled as she stood, but there were also murmurs of support and a few cheers. ‘Order! Order!’ bellowed the Speaker insistently, and despite the huge turnout the House fell eerily silent as she took her place at the despatch box in the middle of the Chamber.

  She had debated many times and on many subjects in this Chamber. But the time for debate was over.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Speaker,’ she began. ‘As you are aware, for the past month this Government has done its utmost to contain the outbreak of the disease known as lycanthropy, together with the other threats to the nation’s safety.’

  Fresh heckles greeted this announcement, but she ignored them and pressed on. ‘A cornerstone of our policy has been to contain carriers of the disease in a secure hospital controlled by the army. I regret to inform you that this policy has failed. As you may have already heard on news reports, the quarantine has been breached, and the suspected lycanthropes have escaped.’

  Shouts of ‘Shame!’ and ‘Resign!’ erupted from the Opposition benches. The Speaker intervened once more to silence them.

  Once order had been restored, the PM continued. ‘We are left with few choices, none of them good. The breakout from the hospital marks an end to our opportunity to extinguish the werewolf threat quickly. Instead we must now prepare ourselves for a long and difficult struggle. Our allies in other countries are turned inward, dealing with their own security matters, and so we face this challenge alone.

  ‘It is not the first time that Britain has stood alone against a seemingly unstoppable enemy. None of you will need reminding that Mr Winston Churchill stood in this very Chamber and contemplated similar threats. He did not shirk from his duty, nor give in to the enemy, and neither shall we. Mr Churchill had nothing better to offer his citizens than blood, sweat and tears. I fear that I can offer no more.’

  She wondered what her illustrious predecessor had really been thinking as he spoke those words. Had he known the true gravity of the threat the country had faced at that time? She was certain that he had. Britain had been confronted by a militarily superior enemy, ruthless in its ambitions. She feared the same was true now. The best she could hope for was that she would somehow blunder through this crisis and come out the other side. How many would be dead by then she dreaded to think. The cause seemed almost futile. Perhaps Churchill’s feelings had been the same. She gazed around the room at the faces turned expectantly in her direction. Did it really make any difference what she said or did now? But yes, the fate of millions of ordinary people depended critically on the decisions she must make. She must not flinch from her duty.

  ‘I have today instructed the Home Secretary to take measures to halt all international flights, blockade all ports and barricade the Channel Tunnel with immediate effect. I have asked the Foreign Secretary to contact our embassies abroad and notify them that they must now act alone, and that the safety of their own staff must be their primary concern henceforth.’

  A great outcry greeted this announcement. S
he waited patiently for it to subside.

  ‘I have authorized the Secretary of State for Defence to take all necessary measures to control and if possible prevent the further spread of lycanthropy. The full capacity of the British Army, Royal Navy and Air Force will be at the disposal of General Sir Roland Ney, Chief of the Defence Staff, and the police force and other emergency services too, should he deem it necessary. From today, all reserve forces have been called up, and the fleet has been recalled, including the aircraft carriers, HMS Queen Elizabeth and HMS Prince of Wales.

  ‘Finally, in order to be ready for any eventuality, the General has requested that all four of our Vanguard class nuclear submarines be deployed and fully operational, and I have granted him permission for that to happen.’

  A few more calls of protest greeted this last statement, but the House was largely shocked into silence.

  She felt utterly drained as she made her final pronouncement before leaving the Chamber. The arcane tradition of addressing her comments to the Speaker of the House did little to dampen the magnitude of her words. ‘Mr Speaker,’ she declared, knowing that her statement would be heard by every man and woman in Britain and beyond, ‘this country is now in a state of war.’

  To be continued in Wolf War, Book 3 of the Lycanthropic series …

  If you enjoyed this book, please leave a short review at Amazon. Thanks!