He crossed the room and looked into the gun cabinet. Sutton's single shot.22, used for killing rats. Better than nothing. As he pulled it from the rack the walkie-talkie sounded again.
'I'm near the wall. The sneaky bastard, I think he's doubled-' A burst of noise like a hurricane, punctuated by gasping screams. Silence.
Jon pressed the button. 'Hello! Andrew! Can you hear me, Andrew!'
He let his finger off and now heard the sound of an engine getting louder and louder. The noise died down and, as Jon stared into the fire, he heard Sutton's voice. 'Oh Andrew. Oh sweet Jesus Christ. Andrew can you-'
A loud snarl. The start of a shout, abruptly cut off. Jon threw the walkie-talkie on to the armchair and ran from the room, the rifle in his right hand. Images seemed to register in freeze frames. The red light on the monitor in the kitchen flashing on and off, Sutton's cat staring smugly at him from on top of the Aga, Chip barking loudly and throwing himself against his chain, sheep in the barns with mouths open as they bleated in fear.
He ran down the track, all the while glancing through the low hedge into the top field. The headlights of the quad-bike came into view. The vehicle was motionless on the far side of the field. Jon squeezed between the thorny branches and began jogging across the lumpy grass, all the time trying to scan the darkness before him.
The headlights shone towards the dry-stone wall, just illuminating the beginnings of the moor as it loomed up, blotting out a good part of the night sky. Within fifty metres of the still idling vehicle he stopped. Two bloody forms were visible in the outer reaches of the quad-bike's beam, steam rising from their wounds. They were lying almost at the base of the dry-stone wall. Jon fought the urge to turn and run. Instead he began a slow circle round, trying to get a better view. Fuck this, a voice screamed. Get back to the farmhouse and lock yourself in. One of the bodies moved, a hand fluttered weakly in the air. Shit, Jon thought, drawing closer, gun held before him.
Now he could see them better. Andrew Du Toit was on his side, a gory mess below his chin. His unblinking eyes stared at the grass and Jon knew he was dead. Next to him Sutton lay on his back, a hand still waving weakly in the air. Along with the steam rising from his gaping chest, Jon could see breath curling from his open mouth. He crept forwards. No sign of the killer. Maybe hiding on the other side of that wall? He knew that helping Sutton meant entering the beam of light and exposing himself to view. His heart was like a drum beating in the night. Do it. Go in fast, get him on to the quad-bike and drive for the main road. Don't! Just turn around and get away from here! He extended a foot, then brought it back. He took several quick breaths. 'Come on Spicer, go, go!'
Keeping low, he ran across the grass and entered the bright glare. As he knelt down, he looked for their weapons. All he spotted was the other walkie-talkie by Sutton's leg. Quickly he jammed it into his pocket. Then he tried to hook an arm under Sutton's. The man was like a sack of coal. Jon looked at the rifle in his hand. Do I put you down? No fucking way. He grasped Sutton's collar and started trying to pull him through the long grass towards the vehicle. The lamp shone directly into his eyes and slowly he started to stagger towards it.
Something black passed across the beam of light, a long tail trailing behind it. Jon squinted, just able to make out movement behind the vehicle. The engine abruptly died and with it the light. Jon blinked, suddenly unable to see a thing. At his feet Sutton let out a shuddering sigh then stopped breathing. Jon opened his eyes as wide as they could go. But all he could see was churning clouds of bright colours, his night vision ruined by looking into the headlight. Shit, shit, shit. From the darkness in front came a low rumbling snarl. Ice blasted through Jon's veins and he let Sutton's corpse sink to the turf. Hands shaking, he brought the weapon up, desperately trying to hear if something was running at him. He felt tears brimming in his eyes. Alice, I'm so fucking sorry to leave you like this.
The noise came again, closer this time. Jon felt his last bit of self-control give way. Pure terror flooded him. His legs began to pump and he realised he was sprinting blindly across the grass. Pain exploded up from his left ankle and he pitched face first into the ground. He got back on his feet and tried to put some weight on his twisted ankle. An agonising stabbing carried right up his leg, countering the waves of panic, clearing his head. The dipping sheds, he thought, somewhere to my right. He started to hobble in what he hoped was the right direction. He became aware of the wall at his side. There was light above. The moon. It had come out. He was regaining the ability to see. Turning round he searched the field, just able to spot a dark form in the silvery light. It was zigzagging across the grass towards him, pointed ears sticking up from its head.
Lights on the track, flashing blue. Lots of them. The procession of vehicles was speeding towards the farm. 'Here!' Jon yelled, waving his arms. 'I'm here!'
The police cars didn't slow. He pointed the rifle upwards and pulled the trigger. A weak pop and the procession continued past. From the corner of his eye, Jon could see the black shape was now less than thirty metres away. He turned in the other direction. The sheds were just ahead. Half running, half hopping, he set off, the anticipation of the claws sinking into his back increasing with every step. Into the courtyard, railings lining the edge of several deep trenches. He thought of hiding in one, then imagined being trapped down there as the creature, with claws extended, dropped into the other end. A wooden door led into the shed on his right. Please. Please God you have to be open. Gasping for breath, he yanked the handle. Locked. He rammed the tip of the barrel into the gap between the edge of the door and the frame, started levering it violently back and forth. The barrel suddenly snapped with a loud crack. As the broken halves dropped to the ground he looked wildly around. There was one other door in the far corner of the courtyard. Knowing it was his last chance, he hobbled towards it, curled his fingers round the rusty handle and pulled. No! It wouldn't budge. As he sank against the wooden surface the walkie-talkie sounded in his pocket.
'Hello? Can anyone hear me? Jon, are you out there?'
Fresh energy exploded inside him. A chance to survive, however slim. He pulled the handset out. 'Rick! I'm in the field above the house. There's some sheds on the other side. For fuck's sake, hurry!'
At the edge of his vision a black form slid round the corner of the wall. His sense of elation vanished as he slowly turned his head. Holy Mother of God. The panther's pelt was dripping with gore, the fur matted together in stiff clumps. Beneath it he could make out a human form, totally soaked in blood. The cruel hooks of the weapons clinked against the concrete as the person lowered himself onto all fours and began crawling towards Jon, long tail dragging behind.
Jon sank to the ground, drew his knees up and held his palms out. 'Please, please, don't do this. I have a baby. I have-' Snot broke from his nose. His eyes filled with tears once again and he choked on his words.
Snarling quietly, the creature drew closer and a sour stench filled the air. The lower jaw of the panther had been removed and the upper part of the animal's head sat snug on the person's skull, long teeth curling down over his forehead. Now within striking distance, he sank on to his haunches and the low snarling stopped.
Pressing himself back against the door, Jon's breath came in short snatches through his nostrils. The head lifted up and he found himself staring into James Field's eyes.
'I remember you.'
Jon blinked. Terror had robbed him of the ability to reply.
'DI Spicer, isn't it?'
He raised himself up a little and wiped the snot from his lips.
'You offered me your card, tried to help me with a job. You have a good heart.'