K-9 (28 page)

Bill watched in disgust as King unnaturally rotated his wrists and lifted his hands until the thumbs dislocated themselves and bent backwards, then with a sicken­­­­ing series of snapping sounds, the fingers flattened, resembling a paw.

Bill started to feel his food repeating on him. The bag of coffee beans slowly emptied itself on to the ground below.

The clicking noise returned as King extended his heels until his feet appeared to fold in half and his toes lay flat on the carpet facing forward. His head then dropped between his shoulder blades and stared up at the window, lit by the full moon.

Through a process of contortion, King had, to all intents and purposes, transformed himself into a
wolf
.

Bill’s white face could be seen drawing further and further away from the window, until both his hands went up into mid-air in a surrender sign and he vanished from sight – followed a moment later by a dull thud.

In the basement, Knightley tapped his earpiece. ‘Bill? We thought we heard a howling noise. Bill . . . ?’

The two hoodies emerged from the gym doorway with knives in their hands. The rest of the pack yapped miserably, refusing to leave their cages. Confused, the youths picked their way over the writhing Rottweilers and marched towards Darkus and his dad with their blades extended.

‘My skills aren’t entirely up to this. Are yours?’ enquired Knightley.

Darkus’s catastrophiser whirred to life but didn’t get a chance to act.

Wilbur had already run between the Knightleys and leaped at the attackers, executing a double takedown.

Wilbur bit into one attacker’s arm, forcing him to drop the knife, while Darkus trod on the other one’s wrist, forcing him to do the same.

‘Well, that went smoothly,’ said Knightley and collected their weapons, while Wilbur stood guard, growling. ‘Bill, d’you read me?’ he repeated into his earpiece.

Knightley was interrupted by a crash from upstairs as something smashed through a glass cabinet; then another crash that sounded like a plate glass window shattering. Darkus’s catastophiser changed up a gear, the cogs spinning faster. He was painfully aware that he didn’t have a complete explanation for the facts. Or for the exact nature of the transformation that had taken place above them.

Wilbur woofed and looked at the ceiling. The hoodies looked equally concerned and decided to stay on the ground for their own safety.

‘It’s King,’ said Darkus instinctively.

Darkus led Knightley and Wilbur to the top of the staircase and opened the basement door to find a trail of destruction. Darkus took the key from the inside of the door and locked it behind him, trapping the dogs and their handlers below. Then he picked his way over the broken glass and chinaware that littered the reception rooms. One chandelier had been pulled to the ground while another hung at an indecent angle. The retrievers and lapdogs all sat cowering in silence.

Knightley grabbed his son’s shoulder. ‘Wait . . . Are you saying that thing we saw on the CCTV cameras was King?’

Darkus nodded. ‘However improbable, it’s the only explanation.’

He ran to the living-room window, just in time to see a dark shape scale the back wall and vanish over the other side.

Darkus reasoned. ‘He’s going to the Heath.’

Chapter 26

Dogfight

Tilly sawed frantically at the last binding as the full moon rose above the trees, overlooking the clearing. Alexis watched her work, her eyes vacant and lifeless.

Tilly’s attention lapsed for a second and the knife slipped, nicking Alexis’s wrist, drawing blood. ‘Ouch, I’m sorry –’ Tilly apologised. ‘I didn’t hit a vein . . . I don’t think.’

But Alexis didn’t even seem to notice. ‘Thank you for saving me, Tilly,’ she whispered hoarsely.

‘I haven’t saved you yet,’ she warned.

A quarter of a mile away, King hurdled a tree stump and galloped on all fours through the dense woods surrounding the Connelly residence. He detoured around a police search party that was still seeking Alexis Bateman, and paused on a bluff, sniffing the air to see if his enemies were in pursuit. Then he tugged on his double-jointed fingers to ensure they remained in pos­ition. The pain made him arch and howl again, his wail echoing across the Heath.

King glanced up at the moon, drawing on its immense glowing power, then scrambled up a steep incline, heading in the direction of Parliament Hill. He brushed through the middle of a pack of thrill-seekers, who took one look at the beast and fled screaming in all directions.

Wilbur led the Knightleys across the driveway snout-first, passing Bill who was sprawled on his back on the lawn.

‘Bill . . .’ Knightley panted. ‘Are you OK? Is anything broken?’

‘Verra probably,’ replied Bill. ‘I foresee another extended stay in the hospital. Fortuitously this pile of leaves seems tae have broken mah fall though.’

‘Can you feel your toes?’ said Darkus, examining Bill’s orthopaedic loafers.

‘Aye, Doc, most of ’em. Not tae worry. I’m just going tae have a wee rest if it’s all the same tae ye.’

‘I’ll instruct the police to round up the dogs and seal off the area,’ said Knightley.

Bill grabbed Knightley by the lapel. ‘Tell Bogna I miss her.’ Then he delved under his sweat-stained armpit and pulled out his revolver, offering it to him. ‘I suggest ye take this . . . It’s got silver bullets. I dinna know if King’s a genuine werewolf, but best tae shoot first, ask questions later.’

Wilbur began bobbing his nose about to get the scent.

‘We’ll get you help,’ Darkus assured him.

‘Nae bother. Cheerio for nou,’ replied Bill, defeated.

Wilbur led the Knightleys away, straining at the lead. Then the full moon appeared from behind the clouds again, painting them in blue light. The German shepherd came to a halt and cried softly.

‘It’s OK, boy,’ whispered Darkus, then recited the K-9 promise. ‘My eyes are your eyes, to watch and protect. My ears are your ears, to hear in the dark.’

Wilbur furrowed his brow, then regained the scent and led them briskly out of the gates and along the pavement towards the Heath.

‘Where’s he taking us?’ asked Knightley between breaths.

‘I think I know.’

Tilly cut through the last cord of rope and breathed a sigh of relief.

Realising she was free, Alexis struggled to her feet, shaking loose the bindings.

‘OK,’ whispered Tilly triumphantly. ‘Let’s get out of this dump.’

The two girls crawled out of the corner of the lodge, ducking low to avoid the gallery of grotesques, and crept towards the doorway, until . . .

A demonic shadow passed over the makeshift wall of branches. It was a crooked shadow of a man, bent over and distorted, walking on all fours. It was the stuff of nightmares; the manifestation of pure evil.

Tilly stopped Alexis’s arm with a shaky hand. Alexis began to spiral downwards again, shaking her head back and forth in quick motions, about to scream. Tilly clamped a hand over her classmate’s mouth and pulled her back into the darkness of the corner, sheltering behind the row of rotting animal carcasses.

Alexis kept shaking her head, mouthing the words silently, ‘No-no-no-no . . .’

Tilly laid her back down in the position she’d been in before and arranged the ropes to look like they were intact. Alexis’s eyes rolled back, barely able to stay conscious, as Tilly moved to the opposite corner, behind the body of a large dog, and froze on the spot.

Suddenly, the makeshift door was whipped open and the full horror of King appeared on all fours, backlit by the moon. He stalked into the lodge, heading for his prize, sending the trophies swinging on their hooks, casting horrific shadows that made the walls move. His jaw fell open, revealing the rows of sharpened teeth, dripping with saliva.

Alexis locked eyes with the beast and began screaming at the top of her voice, over and over again, like a horror film caught on repeat.

Tilly didn’t have time to deduce who or what she was facing. She clutched her rosary beads in one hand and raised her ultrasonic device in the other.

King’s head cranked round unnaturally – like a dog’s – detecting her scent.

Tilly locked eyes with him. ‘Chew on this . . .’

She pressed the button and the ultrasonic signal went straight through King’s head, but only seemed to make him angrier.

A disjointed hand shot out and struck Tilly, violently knocking her back and sending the device tumbling to the ground, until a hind leg effortlessly stamped it to pieces.

Tilly slid backwards across the muddy floor, covering Alexis’s body with her own, struggling for any kind of weapon.

King crept closer on all fours, his foul breath rising as puffs of steam from his nose and mouth. His irises expanded and contracted hungrily. He reared back on his hindquarters and prepared to strike, then a bright light flashed into his eyes, momentarily blinding him.

Tilly raised her camera-phone, firing off shot after shot. Then that too was knocked aside as King roared and raised both mangled paws.

Tilly lay back, next to Alexis, and prepared for the inevitable, until . . .

One wall of the lodge appeared to explode, as Wilbur burst through it at speed, tackling King so aggressively that they both rolled through the opposite wall and out into the moonlit clearing.

The momentum carried the two creatures several metres before they came to rest near a fallen tree.

Then the real fight began in a frenzy of biting and kicking.

Wilbur pinned King down and went straight for his sinewy neck, but King used both hands to throttle him, flipping the dog over and reversing the power balance. Wilbur yelped as he found himself pinned to the ground with King on top of him – the beast’s gigantic muscles flexing and tensing. King bit the dog’s ear, then Wilbur brought his hind legs through the middle of King’s, and began running on the spot, battering on King’s chest to give himself room to manoeuvre – his tail sweeping back and forth all the while.

Darkus and his dad stumbled through the opening in the undergrowth and beheld the spectacle.

‘Wilbur!’ Darkus cried out.

But Wilbur ignored his master, wrestling with King as the beast held him in a death-grip.

Tilly and Alexis crawled out of the collapsed remains of the lodge, shaking and covered in animal blood, then ran to Knightley who immediately took off his coat and sheltered them.

King and Wilbur rolled over each other again, crossing half of the clearing in a single fluid motion. King landed up on top again, striking downwards and tearing at Wilbur’s chest, shredding the tactical vest. Wilbur struggled, snarling and biting into thin air.

‘Dad!!’ Darkus cried out. ‘Do something!’

Knightley pulled out his ultrasonic device, but Darkus stopped his hand.

‘No – it’ll affect Wilbur more than him.’

Knightley reached in his other pocket and pulled out Uncle Bill’s revolver, then aimed it at the two grappling opponents. Knightley squinted down the barrel of the gun, positioning the bead on King.

At that moment, the two creatures rolled again, in a chaotic mess of cries and kicking limbs. King still remained on top, pinning Wilbur down and biting down on his neck. Knightley re-trained the revolver, lowering his brow, deepening his gaze and steadying his breathing.

Darkus shook his head, not wanting to watch – but realised there was no other way. ‘Do it. Pull the trigger.’

King reared up, ready to deliver the death blow when –

Knightley fired the gun, striking King cleanly in the shoulder and propelling him off Wilbur and on to the ground.

Knightley sighed with relief, before King roared and struggled to his feet again, flexing his massive torso. Knightley raised the barrel again and fired, striking King in the thigh.

King floundered on all fours, disoriented, then took off galloping through the gap in the woods.

Darkus ran to Wilbur’s side, collapsing in the mud next to him where the dog was panting and heaving. Darkus began to check him over as Knightley, Tilly and Alexis remained huddled, watching in silence.

King climbed Parliament Hill for what he knew would be the last time. He was losing blood rapidly and he was too far from home, and in fact didn’t really know where home was any more. He just knew he wanted to see the city one more time. He loped to the summit of the hill and saw the London skyline twinkling, stretched out below him in all its majesty, with the perfect full moon shining overhead.

As his chest heaved and fell, his jaw dropped at the sheer magic of it all.

Several hundred metres below, concealed in dense trees, the long barrel of a silenced sniper’s rifle also observed the moment.

An infrared sight lined up King in the cross hairs, accompanied by the clipped tone of a professional marksman.

‘Mr Underwood? I have the shot.’