Jared couldn’t see the significance.
“What’s at The Green?”
“That’s where he used to live. And that’s where his wife and daughter live.”
Only one word was needed to express the thought that was going through both men’s minds.
“Shit.”
Trevor issued an order.
“Try to head him off before he gets to The Green. He’s going after his wife and daughter.”
One of the motorcycles accelerated away before Trevor had even completed his sentence, edging closer and closer to the wolf. The wolf was fast but even he couldn’t outrun a dirt bike, especially when it was being driven by the county cross-country champion, Tyrone Billings. Weaving in and out of parked cars, changing the direction of the bike effortlessly, he began to gain on the animal.
But the wolf was not to be diverted. It couldn’t see who was chasing it but it knew that it was being pursued by something, so it suddenly veered to the left and sprinted towards a tall chain-link fence, maybe fifteen foot high. Tyrone, fueled by adrenaline and bravado, knew that he had the animal cornered – there was no way that the animal was going to get over that fence.
The wolf stared at the motorcyclist, the stare from its good eye piercing Tyrone’s crash helmet. The rest of the vehicles pulled up behind the motorcycle, and the occupants got out and ducked behind car doors for protection.
Nobody knew what to do. In the USA, the beast would probably have had half a dozen high powered rifles trained on it, but this was rural Britain and the only weapon available was a shotgun belonging to one of the local farmers, Bill Selby. It was loaded with rock salt and might be good for scaring the odd fox, badger, or feral dog away from chicken coops, but would have as much impact on a super-strong wolf as beating the animal with a feather duster.
Common sense suddenly took over Tyrone. The chase had been fun, but he certainly didn’t fancy a standoff with a giant wolf. He let his bike drop to the ground and backed away towards the safety of the cars.
Suddenly the wolf lunged towards him.
All thoughts of a slow and controlled retreat were thrown to the wind as he turned and ran towards the cars as if his life depended upon it.
When it reached the fallen bike, the wolf turned around and ran as fast as it could back to the fence. Not breaking step it threw itself into the air, latching on to the wire mesh at a height of around nine feet, hauling itself up to the top of the fence before allowing itself to drop down on the other side.
Tyrone was bundled inside one of the cars, car doors were slammed shut, and stone chips were thrown into the air as wheels spun on the loose gravel.
The posse arrived at The Green, a normally tranquil cul-de-sac containing twenty-six pleasant modern cottages, in time to see the wolf approaching number eleven. The animal prowled up and down the façade for a few seconds before hurling itself through the glass of the front room window and landing in the middle of the living room he’d shared with his wife for fifteen happy years.
Gillian was upstairs with Keira watching a movie on the girl’s TV. Arnold hadn’t been in favour of his daughter having her own television, believing that it would be too much of a distraction from her school homework, but Gillian had persuaded him to relent. The crash of breaking glass downstairs shocked the two out of their quiet evening’s entertainment and Gilliam leapt to her feet.
“What was that?”
She turned to her daughter.
“You stay here. Don’t come downstairs whatever happens.”
Keira nodded.
“Yes, mum.”
Tip-toeing downstairs, Gillian could hear the snarling of some kind of animal. Of course, she’d seen the reports of the animal killings but it didn’t enter her head that the perpetrator of these murders might be in her own front room. She looked through the bannister into the front room and saw what looked like a giant wolf sniffing around her furniture. What the hell was going on? It was as if she was in a child’s fairy story – except that this wolf was very, very real.
She tried to remain quiet but her heart was beating in her chest like a big bass drum. Her first instinct was to run back upstairs and barricade her daughter’s bedroom door but she didn’t want to give the animal any reason to go upstairs – protecting her daughter was the most important thing. She opened WhatsApp on her phone and sent a message.
Don’t come downstairs, WHATEVER YOU DO! Climb out of the window and jump to the tree outside. Then run away as fast as you can.
Gillian wished that her daughter would just do as she said, but Keira was twelve years old. There was no way she wasn’t going to question the order. She added another message.
There’s a big dog in the house. I’ll join you in a minute. Mummy’s going to be ok. Don’t worry.
Upstairs, Keira was torn as to what she should do. She wanted to be with her mum, perhaps help her mum, but she knew that if she didn’t do as she was told, her mum would kill her later on – figuratively speaking, of course.
Gillian stayed where she was, halfway up the stairs, until she saw her daughter through the frosted glass window of the door, running across the lawn. At least, she didn’t have to worry about Keira anymore.
She began to creep backwards up the stairs but suddenly the wolf’s ears pricked up. What had he heard? Was she breathing too loudly? Had she coughed? She was sure that she hadn’t made a noise. She moved up the stairs one more step and the wooden tread groaned under her weight. That’s what it had heard.
The wolf looked in her direction.
It knew she was there. What should she do? Make a run for her bedroom? Or Keira’s?
She turned and leapt up the steps, diving into her bedroom and slamming the door shut. She’d never been so grateful for Arnold’s insistence on having a lock on their door, as she turned the key.
But she was still too vulnerable.
She wondered if she should lock herself in the ensuite bathroom. The sound of the animal throwing itself at the bedroom door made the decision easy – the door wouldn’t hold up for much longer.
Just as she closed and bolted the bathroom door, she heard the splintering of wood and the bedroom door gave way.
Terrified, she listened to the creature pacing around the room, sniffing her bedclothes and furniture.
She needed to call for help. Where was her phone? She’d had it with her earlier. She’d used it to message Keira.
Suddenly she felt very lonely. Her phone was the only way she stood a chance of getting out of this alive. She needed to call the police. Without it, she would be dead meat.
She double-checked her pockets; it must have fallen out when she ran upstairs.
Now she knew she was going to die – there was no way to escape.
In the bedroom, the wolf was pacing from side to side, psyching itself up for an assault on the bathroom door.
Suddenly it realised that it was no longer alone. Trevor had managed to sneak unseen into the room along with Jared, Tyrone, and Father Pickles. Two more of the posse managed to squeeze in, but the room wasn’t designed to cater for six adult males and a werewolf so they stood near the doorway in case the wolf made a run for it. Each man was equipped with a couple of high tensile chains with padlocks, and was armed for bloody battle with the beast.
Trevor whispered to Father Pickles.
“I don’t know why you’re wearing your cassock, Father. Religious stuff can’t harm me, and I’m damned sure it won’t have an effect on a werewolf.”
Father Pickles grinned and reached under his robe.
“I didn’t think it would be a good idea for a priest to be seen on the streets with this.”
He pulled a strange object from underneath his garment. Jared’s eyes widened.