Caged: An Apocalyptic Horror Series (The Wolfmen of Kielder Book 2) Read online

  Caged

  The Wolfmen of Kielder

  Rebecca Fernfield

  Caged

  LYCAN PLAGUE ORIGINS

  BOOK 2

  By

  Rebecca Fernfield

  Ebook first published in 2018 by REDBEGGA LIMITED

  Copyright REDBEGGA LIMITED

  The moral right of Rebecca Fernfield to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  www.rebeccafernfieldauthor.com

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Never Miss Another Book

  Other Books by the Author

  1

  Freddie flinches at the howl as he swings his legs over the bed and sits. Startled from sleep, his head throbs, and he regrets staying up so late, although the time had been well spent. He glances over to Hayley, blonde hair splayed across the pillow, bedsheet doing nothing to disguise her curves. An ache of desire. He reaches over to pull at the covers – there’s no time Fred. Just a little look then. Another howl fills the room, one so loud that it could have been called from beneath the bedroom window. He drops the sheet as the hairs on his neck prickle and his scrotum shrivels. What the hell was going on in this village? The bedside alarm trips. Hayley murmurs in her sleep, pulls at the bedclothes. He crosses the room, kicking yesterday’s jeans to the skirting, and steps to the window. An orange haze from the single streetlight fills the road outside. Nothing moves. Across the village there are one or two windows filled with light.

  Another howl rips through the dark morning as Freddie steps out of the warmth of the bedroom and onto the pitch-black landing. He shivers as he fumbles for the light switch and closes the door behind him, not wanting to wake Hayley. The radiators haven’t come on yet, and the stone-built cottage is quick to lose heat in the winter months. He scratches at his beard, walks down the stairs, shivers and pulls the cord on his dressing gown a little tighter, already missing Hayley’s warmth and dreading the lonely nights ahead on the rig. He shivers again as cold creeps at his neck and pads to the bottom of the stairs.

  Moonlight brightens the dark hallway to grey where a white fold of paper sits bright on the doormat. Reaching down, he grabs the leaflet, steps into the kitchen and flicks the light to on. Toby, their liver and white Springer Spaniel, raises its head from its basket next to the radiator and eyes him for a moment, decides he’s of no interest, and returns to sleep. The windows reflect the room and he’s suddenly aware that if anyone is standing outside, they’ll be able to see inside. He dismisses the thought; apart from the fact that theirs was the last cottage on Church Lane before the road disappeared back into the forest, no one would be outside at this time in the morning. There’s only him that’s dumb enough to be getting up this early. Today is the first day back after a couple of weeks off from the grind. He checks the clock. Five-thirty am. If he doesn’t get a move on, he’ll miss the boat out to the rig. For once, he’s anxious to get back. All the howling in the village is setting everyone’s nerves on edge, and even Hayley, usually so laid back and unafraid of anything, is getting the creeps. He grabs a bowl, fills it with muesli, sprinkles it with walnuts and almonds, then adds some more, mindful of his mother’s warning voice to get enough protein.

  The paper sits on the table, he pushes in another mouthful of cereal, dripping milk onto the table, and, with nothing else to occupy him, unfolds the sheet. No doubt another flyer about the village dance, or perhaps Marjorie Maybank is on the warpath again about dog mess on the path? Freddie had been much more vigilant since she’d read him the riot act in front of Sid at the shop, and he’d faithfully scooped the poop since then. Having Marjory’s wrath descend upon him once again was not something he was about to invite. He gives the dog a baleful glance as he remembers the encounter, then reads the large red and black print on the sheet.

  “What the-” He chokes as he shouts at the words stamped across the paper, spraying muesli across the table as milk and particles of oats are sucked to the back of his throat.

  “Curfew!” He reads further. “On your bike, lady!” There is no way he, Freddie Barnes, is going to be forced to stay in his house between sunset and sunrise. Silly cow was as bad as the others—getting spooked by things going bump in the night and some creature howling in the woods. It’s like Farmer Burdon had said, the Lynx Trust had done the dirty and freed the lynxes on the sly. What else would have killed his sheep unless it was a dog gone mad? He muses that for a moment. If that were the case, then the rabies outbreak down in Whitby had perhaps travelled as far as Kielder. They said it was untreatable and virulent—a mutated form. The media were scaremongering there too – as per bloody usual – calling the outbreak a plague, likening it to the Spanish flu of 1918. People really needed to get things in perspective, but it sold papers and advertising space no doubt.

  He takes another spoonful of muesli, crunches down hard on a hazelnut and shakes his head as he reads the remainder of the notice. ‘To discuss the recent unusual sightings and incidents in Kielder Forest, a meeting is to be held on 9am at the Village Hall. It would be advisable for all villagers to attend.’ Sod that for a laugh! Hayley could go. He’d be well on the way back to the rig by then, and she had another day off before getting back to work. He lays the notice by the side of the kettle and returns to the bathroom to dress.

  By the time Freddie has washed, dressed, kissed Hayley goodbye, and pulled on his bike leathers it is six-fifteen am, but still dark. He wheels the Kawasaki out of the driveway, and cringes for a second as the bike’s engine roars into life. They’d have to put up with the noise; a man has to get to work, it wasn’t that often he had to start so early, and they were on the outskirts of the village after all.

  Freddie manoeuvres the bike in the direction of the village, takes a quick glance back at the cottage, then releases the clutch. The bike powers forward and glides past Emily Carmichael’s cottage where light and movement catch his attention; Kathy is already at work. She is a good soul—washing a ninety-odd-year old’s backside day in, day out, wasn’t something he would be able to stomach. He shifts up a gear, passes the church, turns onto Main Street then rides past the shop where Sid had witnessed Freddie’s dressing down at the hands of Marjorie Maybank. T
he only light comes from his headlight and the orange haze cast by the sparse streetlights.

  Movement to the right, between two houses, catches his attention. He dismisses it; spotting the odd cat, fox, badger, or even deer, at this time of the morning wasn’t unusual. He increases his speed, being careful not to rev the engine; there was the odd house with a light on, but much of the village was still asleep. As he leaves the outskirts, passing the sign that proclaimed ‘Kielder Village’ and ‘England’s most isolated village’, a figure catches in the edge of his light then disappears. He swerves, nearly running into the verge then brings the bike back to the left. As his headlamp illuminates the edge of the road and the woodlands beyond, yellow light flashes over a figure, highlighting its limbs and head for those seconds. Its arm rises to block out the glare, its teeth bared in an angry snarl. What the hell had he just seen?

  He changes up a gear, pulls down his visor, and opens the throttle. The Kawasaki revs and powers forward. He checks the mirrors. Nothing is visible. He checks either side, swinging his head round to peer beyond the visor’s limits. Nothing. He turns back to the front, focusing on the road ahead, attempts to process the bizarre images now stamped into his memory. That each of the figures had been female was obvious from their bare, and freely moving, breasts. Both looked human, but had been covered in – he grimaces – hair. It was particularly thick between their legs but appeared to cover the rest of their bodies too, even on their faces. And what had happened to their faces! The eyes had glinted in the dark, but when the light travelled across their bodies, the eyes were like dark pools of blood. What the hell were those things? The one that had raised its arms to cut out the bike’s light had drawn back its lips in a grimace to reveal sharp incisors that resembled fangs.

  Someone was winding him up. He wouldn’t put it past Craig to pull a stunt like this. Craig knew what time Freddie was leaving this morning. He’d also mentioned old Mrs Carmichael’s tale of seeing a stark naked wolfman jumping over Max Anderson’s wall. They’d laughed, said that it was the most action the old biddy had seen in decades, then got a little spooked when Hayley added that Kathy Oldfield had told her Billy had also seen one. They’d decided the whole village was getting over-excited, but now Freddie was seeing things too—unnatural things—things that shouldn’t exist. His chest tightens. Get a grip, Freddie. It was just a trick of the light. Yeah, two naked women running through the woods with their tits jiggling, snapping their fangs at him—just a trick of the light! He snorts with derision; the image of the two ‘women’ strong in his mind. One was lithe and young with small, pert breasts, and dark hair. The other was obviously older, a natural blonde with larger breasts. Both were muscular though—two body-building, hairy as fuck, butt-naked werewolves. Globs of snot spray from his nostril and stick to the visor as his eyes flit from side to side. Heart hammering painfully, Freddie pushes the bike forward, increasing the distance between himself and the village, and whatever was running in the woods.

  Pressure clamps down on his shoulder.

  He screams.

  Razors slice at his flesh.

  The bike swerves. He fights to keep it under control, snaps his head to look behind, and screams again as a clawed hand disappears back into the gloom. What the fuck! The bike wobbles. He straightens it, forcing himself to focus on the road ahead, then checks his right mirror. Pain stings his shoulder as the blonde wolfman – wolfwoman? - drops out of view. Heart pounding as though it will burst, he accelerates.

  Ahead, the rising sun is turning the sky from navy to thin grey and the forest sits as a thick band of jagged black turrets across the horizon. He checks the mirror again. Whatever had attacked him is nowhere to be seen. His heart pounds. Whatever had attacked him could go back to the village. His gut begins to twist. Whatever had attacked him could attack Hayley. Stomach knotted, he powers the bike forward, increasing its speed from eighty to ninety, then one hundred miles per hour. As the road disappears into another bank of trees he slows and swings around. Behind, the forest looms black and the sky brightens. Before him is the road back to the village and whatever is crawling through the woods. He revs the bike then launches it forward, pushing the engine hard, and roars past the village sign at one hundred and sixty miles per hour. No hair-covered freak would stop him getting back home.

  Lois snaps at Kelly as they leave the road, leaving the wheels, noise, and man behind. Too fast to claw and grab. Too fast to pull to the earth and sink her teeth into his throat. Panting, Kelly bares her teeth as they run side-by-side and pushes against Lois. Rage flares and Lois jumps onto the woman’s back. The man was for her. Not Kelly-bitch. The power of Lois’ leap forces Kelly to the floor, and she sinks her claws into flesh as she straddles her back. Blood seeps from the wounds. Kelly snarls, snapping her jaws as she twists beneath Lois’ weight. Lois bites down into her shoulder as Kelly twists onto her back then sinks fangs into her neck, pinning Kelly’s head against a trunk. She bites hard, holding the woman in place, Lois’ hands gripping her shoulders. The man had been hers. Kelly-bitch should have waited—waited for permission. The woman quiets beneath Lois. She withdraws her fangs and sits back, staring down into Kelly’s eyes and growls. Mine. He was mine. Blood drips from her fangs to the woman’s chest, trickling to the skin through the light covering of hairs that sweep across her chest.

  2

  Freddie relays his terrifying story to a disbelieving Hayley as Javeen waits for Doreen to unlock the door to the village hall. Their breath billows as white clouds in the cold November air. Hands stuffed deep into her pockets, woollen hat pulled low, scarf wound tight around her neck and a thick, police-issue, raincoat zipped with the poppers done up to the top, Javeen moves from foot to foot taking furtive glances at the trees that once formed an enchanting, fairytale-like, border around the village but now only appear dank and latent with terror. Despite the cold of the November morning, sweat is already making her underclothes damp. In her pocket is the sharpest kitchen knife she could find. She’d mulled over the weapon, knowing that carrying it would breach the law, but also knowing that leaving the house unarmed would make her far too vulnerable.

  Sleep last night had been non-existent as she’d sat and listened to every creak of the branches from the trees surrounding her cottage. Images of PC Oldfield’s snarling face smashing against the van’s window, her eyes rimmed with blood, and then the men firing round after round into her body taunted her, along with Anita - poor, poor, Anita - disembowelled and hanging in the tree.

  Anita and Jim sitting in the tree. K. I. S. S. I. N. G.

  Javeen grits her teeth. The damned rhyme just wouldn’t stop repeating in her head. It was morbid, grotesque, a sign of the hysteria that she is trying so hard to hold back. Her hand grips the handle of the hammer in her other pocket as she scans the road, walls, cars, and trees for any sign of movement. Come on, Doreen!

  With a shaking hand, Doreen unlocks the door and swings it open. A comforting waft of warmer air laden with the odour of cooking and floor polish waves over Javeen as she enters. The door swings to a close.

  “Could you lock it again, please, Doreen?”

  Doreen gives a quick frown that flickers with concern and turns to lock the door then rubs her gloved hands together. “I’ll put the heating on. It’s nippy in here and some of the older villagers will feel it.”

  A pang of guilt waves over Javeen; a large proportion of the village’s population were pensioners, some still fit and full of energy, but a good number elderly. They would struggle to make it to the meeting. She hopes now that they stay indoors. What has she done? Calling the villagers out like this would make them all easy prey! Her heart taps a faster beat, her bowels suddenly queasy. Get a grip! Stay in control. She takes a breath to calm herself, releases some of the tension across her chest and walks to the rows of stacked chairs. Being busy, thinking of the meeting, and how she would deliver the ‘news’, will help her keep the horror of yesterday at bay.

  As she finishes setting o
ut the chairs, a knock comes at the door. Andy. She smiles at him with relief though his face remains grim.

  “Morning, Jav.” His usual smile has disappeared.

  “Morning, Andy.” It’s as though they haven’t been … intimate.

  Through the doorway she can see other villagers making their way to the hall; they have about thirty seconds of privacy at most. He’s gone off her! “What’s wrong?”

  His jaw clenches and he shift his gaze around the room, a frown settling between his brows?

  “Andy? What is it?” Dealing with a mardy bloke is the last thing she needs. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you, but yesterday was-”

  “It’s Topsy.” Javeen’s relief is instant. “She’s missing. She never goes off. I let her out in the back garden last night. She was wary at first, but desperate, practically crossing her legs. I watched her disappear to the end of the garden. She’s clean like that; doesn’t like to do it in the garden, only right at the end. I trained her to go down there to do her business when she was a puppy. If we don’t go out for a walk then she goes down there.” He’s gabbling, obviously on edge. “I watched her go Jav. She didn’t come back.”

  A stone sinks in Javeen’s belly. Topsy is - she swallows - was, a beautiful Springer Spaniel that Andy treated as well as he would a precious child.