Moonrise
by Jadesfire (LJ
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Art by Matsujo9 (LJ | e-mail | comment) and Medley (LJ | e-mail | comment)
Part Three
Love is something eternal, the aspect may change, but not the essence.
Vincent van Gogh
There were many reasons Hugh had joined Torchwood, not least of which was the large hole he'd literally stumbled across at the age of seventeen, with something glowing green at the bottom of it. There had also been the fact that he was just out of the army with a wife to support, and the pay was pretty good, considering. If he was honest, there was also the fact that every day he got to see a world that most people didn't even dream about.
Nowhere, in any of the recruitment speeches or training sessions, had anyone mentioned how often he was going to be tied up. Within six months of joining Torchwood, he'd known how to get knots undone behind his back, and the best way to free himself from large immovable objects. None of which was doing him much good right now. With a bit of movement, he could probably have undone the ropes holding him to the chair, but there was no way to do that without attracting the attention of the men guarding them. Beside him, Major Goody seemed to have reached the same conclusion, and was sitting back in his chair, just staring across the room at Jack.
They were at the top of the observatory tower, in a small room next to the one that housed the telescope, wood-panelled and lined with books and pictures. The storm had nearly blown itself out, and the windows had been thrown open, letting in the dying wind and the occasional flurry of raindrops. Now that the clouds were clearing, the moonlight was filling the room, waxing and waning as the clouds passed across the sky. By the window, catching the best of the light, was a large square cage, the height of a man, with thick iron bars and a wooden base.
While Hugh and the Major had been given front row seats, the wolf-men – as Hugh was starting to think of them – had stripped Jack of his shirt and trousers and shoved him inside the cage, tying his wrists to the bars above his head. Then they retreated, leaving the cage open at the front, and simply waited.
There was no clock in here no way to mark the passing of time. Hugh tried counting his heartbeats, but they were pounding too fast to measure seconds by, and in the end he gave up, fixing his eyes on Jack instead. The wolf-men seemed to have lost interest in their prisoners, turning towards the window and lifting their heads every time the wolf howled. It sounded closer now.
As time went on, Jack's head sank lower on his chest, and he seemed to be hanging more heavily from the roof of the cage. Whatever energy surge had possessed him after his most recent resurrection had passed, and Hugh knew he'd be weak and shaking for a while yet. As time went on, Jack closed his eyes, sagging as far as he could in the ropes. Hugh began to carefully pull on his own bonds, trying to earn himself just a little bit of slack.
He stopped as the door opened and Sarah Harding came in, carrying a small wooden box which she placed on a table by the cage. Although he'd never spoken to her, Hugh knew that Jack liked and respected her, or at least he had done. This woman didn't resemble the mental image that Hugh had built. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, giving her face a taut, pinched appearance, and her skin was deathly pale in the moonlight.
To Hugh's relief, when Jack lifted his head again, there was a spark of defiance in his eyes. He looked tired, uncomfortable from spending however long it was with his arms tied above his head, but he stood a little straighter as Sarah looked at him.
"You know," he said, in that matter of fact voice that he saved for the most dangerous situations, "if you wanted me to take my clothes off, you could have just asked. I don't normally need much persuading."
Sarah didn't say anything, staring at him for another long moment before going back to the table and opening the box. Her body blocked Hugh's view of what she was doing, and when he caught Jack's eye, Jack shrugged as best he could, his gaze holding Hugh's, questioning. Hugh shook his head, trying to say that he was fine, and shouldn't Jack really be worried about the mad woman who had him tied up in a cage? Some of that must have come across, because the corner of Jack's mouth twitched and he tilted his head, half-shrugging again.
Finishing what she was doing, Sarah turned back to the cage, holding something in her right hand that reflected the light.
"You should be honoured, Jack," she said, and her voice was low and gentle, almost tender. "Most of the men here have only been given a weaker version of the lupine strain. This was my father's work, refining the strain, diluting it so that it enhanced rather than transformed. We've found that it consumes people otherwise, leaving nothing of the host behind."
Outside the wolf howled again, and Hugh shivered.
"Is that what happened to that poor thing?" Jack asked. "Who was he, before you killed him?"
"He isn't dead. Far from it. And you should save your pity for yourself." The object she was holding caught the light again, and Hugh could see now that it was a scalpel, small and gleaming and probably very sharp. He started to pull at the ropes around his wrists again.
"We find that the strain has more success in weaker subjects," Sarah was saying, as she ducked her head and walked into the cage, tilting the blade to catch the light." It's better if it doesn't have to compete with the body's own defences as much."
"So much for your all-powerful wolf, then." He was trying, but it was hard for even Jack to joke when someone had a sharp blade at his throat, and his voice sounded tight.
His words seemed to stop Sarah for a moment, and she tilted her head to the side. "I don't think you understand. We are not entirely the same as the primitive wolf-worshippers who invaded this castle a hundred years ago. They thought the wolf would rule this world. They didn't realise that the wolf is the foot soldier, a tool to be used. For all his vision, Father never really understood that."
Her voice was tender, fond even. Hugh wondered just how long she had spent with this 'vision', how much time she had devoted to this work. Enough to warp her mind, obviously. He'd dealt with fanatics before, and knew there would be no reasoning with her, no argument that would dissuade her. He could hear the madness lurking under the calm words as she went on, "He never understood that we can use these abilities, that we can improve on humanity. Those who are strong enough, we can transform completely. Others, we just give a limited advantage to."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be. Only one other subject has received the full wolf. Once we have enough, we will be ready for more subjects, and more."
"And then?"
Sarah was quiet for a long moment, and when she spoke, Hugh could hear the smile in her voice. "And then I will have an army."
"If you can control it."
"I think you can see that I can control it." She turned, sweeping a hand round to indicated the wolf-men standing around the room. Her eyes were wide and dark, and when they fell on Hugh, he could see the madness in them.
She glanced towards the table, then turned back to Jack, lifting the scalpel to place it against his skin.
"That's the Koh-i-noor box," Major Goody said, his voice surprisingly calm and even, although it had still made Hugh jump. "It was Queen Victoria's things you were after."
"Impressive. I didn't think Torchwood had the brains to figure that out." Still holding the scalpel, Sarah took a few steps closer, coming out of the cage and giving the Major an unpleasant smile. "So tell me, Major Goody, what else does Torchwood know?"
"We don't know why you needed it. We don't know what was in it that was so important to you. The Koh-i-noor is safe."
She laughed. "I'm afraid we were after something much more valuable than that. Not all of Her Majesty's visits were peaceful, and after one in particular, she left something behind. Just a few drops of blood on a handkerchief, not enough for most people to do anything with"
"But your father managed."
"Yes. The wolf survives. A single cell is enough, was more than enough for him, especially with all the alien equipment that Torchwood so kindly provided for him. But the fool hid it before he died. It took me months of searching to find what I needed."
"Needed for what?"
Hugh jumped at the sound of Jack's voice, having become preoccupied with Sarah, her hypnotic eyes and calm, determined manner. There was something haunting about her, and he understood how she had drawn others to her to help her in her cause. When she turned away, the spell was broken, and he shook his head, pulling his attention back to the present, back to what mattered. Back to Jack.
"The wolf is a tool for power," Sarah said, going back into the cage. "Nothing more, nothing less. A hundred years ago, they thought to seize it through accepted channels. They thought that power was like a game of chess, and if they took the queen, they would have it all. I don't intend to limit myself like that. But first, I need my army." She slid a hand into Jack's hair to hold him still and set the scalpel against his throat. "It is only when the moon is full that we can create the pure breed. With your apparently remarkable abilities, I expect you will make an equally remarkable wolf."
Hugh didn't see the scalpel move. Sarah was standing between him and Jack, so all he could see was Jack's face contorting into a grimace of pain and her hand moving down from his neck across his chest, then up to his bound hands. When she stepped away, out of the cage, Hugh could finally see the blood. It ran down Jack's body, coating his chest and arms. She must have made half a dozen cuts, and known where to make them. Most of the cuts were shallow, long stripes that were dripping red slowly, but the one on his wrist was different, the blood spurting in great arcs, bright red and gushing, and Hugh knew she'd cut into an artery. A line of blood ran down Jack's arm, dripping from his elbow, much too fast. Hugh had no idea how long it took someone to bleed to death like that, but he was guessing it wasn't long. He pulled harder at his ropes, ignoring the sting as they cut into his wrists.
The room was silent, apart from the sound of Jack's harsh breathing. Hugh had seen men bleed to death before, from bullet wounds or knife wounds, not to mention a dozen alien causes, and he knew it was messy and painful until the body went into shock, shutting itself down in an attempt to survive. He kept his eyes fixed on Jack's face, so that if he looked up, Hugh would be able to see into his eyes. At the same time, Hugh kept his hands moving, the roughness of the rope and the burn against his wrist keeping him grounded, stopping him from acting on any of the hundred impulses that were filling his head so much that he could hardly think. He wanted – needed – Jack to look up, to reassure him or even to look for reassurance. Any kind of reaction was better than this, the way Jack kept his head down, panting hard as the blood ran down his body, pooling at his feet.
After a moment, Sarah retreated from the cage, replacing the scalpel on the table and retrieving something else from the wooden box. She waited for one of the guards to lock the cage before holding up a small vial.
"The strain can live outside the body quite well, but we've found that this is the safest delivery method. I would ask you if you have any last words, but this isn't the end." She threw the vial at Jack's feet, where it smashed, releasing a thin stream of smoke that curled up around Jack's body. "This is just the beginning."
She and all the guards stepped back, although the smoke was spreading upwards rather than outwards, becoming more diffuse as it rose. Inside the cage, Jack lifted his head as though trying to get away from it, and Hugh could see the cuts on his neck more clearly now. Jack was pale, and his eyes seemed huge and bright, almost glowing against the dark circles under them. Hugh held the gaze for as long as he could, until Jack writhed and threw his head back, eyes closing in obvious pain. Hugh wanted to close his eyes as well, do anything to make this not be happening. But he wouldn't do that to Jack, wouldn't leave him to go through this alone, because however much it hurt him to watch, it was nothing compared to what Jack was going through. Everyone's attention was fixed on the cage, as Jack's body convulsed and shuddered, bending backwards as far as the ropes would let him.
Taking advantage of the moment, Hugh began to move again, twisting his wrists in their bonds, knowing there had to be a weak point somewhere. He finally shifted his attention to Sarah and the men around her, who appeared to be rapt by the scene in front of them. The anger and frustration threatened to overwhelm him again, and he had to stop, take a breath and push the feelings back. He needed to think before he acted, needed to focus. The only thing that would do them any good right now was getting free.
Hugh had rubbed his wrist almost raw by the time he had enough slack to turn it, really turn it in the tight loop of rope, and he resisted the urge to grin in triumph. His fingers fumbled with the knot, clumsy with pins and needles, and it took him three goes to begin to loosen it. He'd almost managed to get his hand free when Jack screamed.
No, he realised, his head snapping up to look. Jack had howled. From outside, he heard the echo of the wolf, as if replying to the unearthly sound. Just as suddenly, Jack hauled himself upright, his body still red and shining with blood, and his muscles straining against the ropes holding him to the cage. When he turned his face and opened his eyes, a chill ran down Hugh's spine.
Jack's eyes were black, solid and dark and utterly inhuman. As Hugh watched, his face began to contort, features changing and shifting, as though there was something under the surface, fighting to get out. The convulsions shook his body again, and he pulled harder on the ropes, almost lifting himself off his feet. A fresh wave of blood poured from the cut on his wrist, and the floor of the cage was stained with it.
Hugh had been distracted by Sarah and the others, so this time he kept his eyes on Jack even as his fingers pulled and tugged at the knots. One came free, and he grabbed at the rope, holding it in place. He needn't have worried, he noticed as he looked round; everyone was staring at Jack. In the brief moment that he'd looked away, something had changed, and when he turned back, he saw that Jack's whole body was contorting, while his face was morphing, growing and lengthening. His skin seemed to be getting darker, but when Hugh looked more closely, he saw that it was a fine layer of hair, thickening even as he watched.
He looked away, hating himself for it, but not wanting to see. If he told himself that he was doing the right thing, that he had work to do, that Jack needed him like this, not out of his mind with worry, then he could explain away at least some of the guilt. Reaching round behind his back, he started work on the other knots, listening for any sign that he'd been spotted. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear the change in sounds from the cage, the whining and grunting that gradually grew in volume, so that he was braced this time when Jack howled. This time, the sound was truly inhuman.
Waiting until he'd got his other hand free, Hugh checked on the guards one last time, making sure they were still preoccupied, before turning towards the cage.
Jack was gone. It was impossible to tell that the creature staring out from behind the bars had once been human. At some point while Hugh had been turned away, it had burst the ropes holding it to the cage, and was now crouched on the floor, supporting itself on enormous clawed hands. Hugh looked into its eyes, trying to see some trace of the man he knew, and found himself staring only into darkness. He jumped instinctively as the creature threw itself at the bars of its cage, howling when they didn't give way.
From outside, the other wolf howled as well, the two cries echoing each other and triggering some basic instinct in Hugh. He wanted to run, to find somewhere to hide from this monster in front of him and ironically, of course, now that his hands were free, he could. While the guards were distracted, this was the perfect moment to act. Then the wolf settled back on its haunches, falling silent again and looking round the room, sniffing the air. Its attention settled on Hugh and the Major, and it shifted forwards a little, lifting its head thoughtfully. The gesture was so completely and utterly Jack that Hugh froze, his stomach clenching, watching as the creature moved again, tilting its head as it looked at him. It whined softly, dropping its head and shaking it, as though confused. Hugh gripped the ropes tighter, forcing his trembling hands to stay still. He couldn't give himself away now, however much it cost him.
It was almost a relief when Sarah stepped forwards, putting herself in the wolf's - Jack's - line of sight.
"Do you know where you are?" she asked. "Can you understand me?" She got a low growl for an answer, and she turned to the man beside her with a triumphant smile. "It worked. I was right. Bring the van round. We'll set up here for the time being."
"What if someone comes looking for them?" The man jerked his head towards Hugh and the Major.
Sarah turned, giving them both a slow smile. "Even werewolves have to eat. No one will find them. And by the time they can send anyone to look for them, it will be too late. Let's begin."
Hugh had half-expected them to unlock the cage and leave them to their fate, but two of the guards stayed behind. That was, Hugh knew, their first mistake. These men were more concerned with the cage than with their human prisoners, and one of them even went and crouched in front of the wolf, staring up into its eyes. Taking the opportunity, Hugh reached out towards Major Goody, without taking his eyes off the guards. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand touched his own shoulder, and he turned to see the Major grinning at him, apparently having had the same idea. After a brief, silent conversation, Hugh got to his feet and slowly followed the Major across the room, waiting until he'd grabbed the standing guard around the throat before bearing the other man to the ground. He slammed his fist into the side of the man's face with a satisfying thud and felt the body under his go limp. Then he turned his attention to the cage.
He was still being watched. It wasn't true, he noticed, that the creature's eyes were wholly dark. The centre was rimmed with blue, bright and pale against the black. As he came closer, the wolf whined a little, moving its head from side to side, and when he lifted his hand to the bars of the cage, it shifted, stretching out its neck to sniff at his fingers. Hardly able to believe what he was doing, Hugh ignored the Major's sound of warning, and slowly reached out to touch the wolf's face.
The hair under his fingers was wiry and thick, and he moved his hand gently, stroking and smoothing the whorls of fur that covered the long snout. The wolf made a keening sound in the back of its throat, leaning into the touch and pushing closer, rubbing against him. Hugh kept on stroking slowly, taking long, deep breaths and forcing himself to stay calm. As long as he stayed calm, he could pretend that it was going to be alright, that he could do something about this, free the Jack who he knew had to be in there somewhere. For now, he focussed on the rhythmical movement of his hand, even though he no longer knew which of them he was comforting.
He was trying to get his cramped legs into a more comfortable position, when he caught a shift in mood, in the eyes that narrowed a fraction and the twitch of the nose so close to his face.
Acting on reflex, Hugh threw himself backwards as the wolf slammed into the bars of the cage, growling and snapping at him. When it couldn't get free, it lifted its head and howled, the noise almost unbearably loud at such close proximity. Below them, Hugh heard the other wolf raise its voice in reply.
"Are you alright?" Major Goody helped him up, and together they watched the wolf prowling the inside of the cage, looking for a way out.
"I'm fine." He didn't have anything worse than a few bruises and some rope burns on his wrists, and he couldn't take his eyes from the creature in the cage, watching it hurl itself against the bars. He shivered as it sat back and howled. No, not it.
Jack. He wouldn't let himself forget. In that moment, that had been Jack, not the wolf. Which meant that Jack was still in there somewhere. They just had to get him free.
"Hugh." Major Goody reached out and squeezed Hugh's shoulder, his tone suggesting that he'd been speaking for a while. "Hugh, I need to you focus."
"Sorry." Giving himself a shake, Hugh turned away from the cage, nodding when the Major gave him a questioning look. "What now?"
For answer, the Major lifted his hand, which was once again holding his gun. "I have five bullets left, and there's no reason not to fire them. They know we're here anyway. We take them out, quickly, alive or dead. Then we're going to ask Miss Harding how we reverse the process. Will that do?"
Despite the cold knot in the pit of his stomach, Hugh smiled. "It'll do nicely, sir." He carefully didn't ask the question that he knew they were both thinking, because there had to be a way to reverse this. There just had to.
It was not, Hugh decided, his best plan ever, although that was mostly because his best plans tended to involve him being heavily armed and the other man not being. The antique sword he'd retrieved from one of the store rooms was a step up from the lump of wood he'd been using earlier on, but not by much. He had a horrible feeling that it would break into rusty shards the moment he hit anyone with it, and the chances of it cutting through anything were small to minimal. Still, it was better than wandering the halls with no weapon at all.
By agreement, he was working his way down the North Wing, while Major Goody took the South. He'd just reached the ground floor when a sound made him freeze. Gun shots. Hurrying now, Hugh took the stairs two at a time, skidding to a stop at the bottom and trying to work out which direction the noise had come from. His eye caught the dining room door, which was still half-open, and he headed towards it before he'd really had a chance to think. He was running on instinct and adrenaline now, the only way he could function past the gnawing worry that threatened to overtake him.
He'd barely set foot inside the room when he heard footsteps behind him, and he turned quickly, bringing the sword up just in time to fend off the man running towards him. A blow from the stout stick the man was carrying sent a cloud of dust flying up from the sword, but it didn't break, and Hugh was almost too surprised to follow up. Flexing his fingers on the hilt, he pushed hard, making his attacker step back a few paces. Not letting the man regain his balance, Hugh kept pressing forward, not attempting anything fancy, just trying to get the upper hand. He managed it almost by accident, slamming the hand guard into the man's fingers, hard enough that he dropped the stick. Still moving, Hugh thrust upwards, the sword connecting with bone and knocking the man out.
Hoping the noise hadn't attracted any attention, Hugh headed back into the dining room, and paused by the sleeping bags and blankets that still lay on the floor. Everything was just as they'd left it, looking so normal that it took a real effort to leave them and go over to the window. Normal was for later. Right now, he had work to do.
If he pulled the curtains back a fraction, he could see the yard outside, now lit by several powerful electric lights. He remembered what Sarah had said about staying here a while; they must have their own generator, somewhere. Another piercing howl made him wince, and he realised it hadn't come from upstairs, although an answering cry was echoing down from there. The noise had come from the back of the van.
In the better light, Hugh could see men carrying boxes from the vehicle to outbuildings on the other side of the yard, with Sarah standing in the doorway watching them, and occasionally saying something as they passed. There was no doubting who was in charge, and Hugh tightened his grip on the sword, hoping that she had a way to undo what she'd done. He didn't know if he could bring himself to hit, or even threaten a woman, but he had a feeling that, if pushed, he'd be prepared to find out.
Tearing himself away from the window, Hugh made a brief stop at the sideboard, then rummaged through their packs for supplies, including the spare gun that had been at the bottom of the food hamper, and headed out into the corridor. The man he'd hit earlier on was still lying on the floor, still apparently unconscious, and despite his first impulse, Hugh couldn't bring himself to shoot an unarmed man.
On the other hand, he didn't hesitate to shoot at the man in the doorway, who turned just a fraction too late to see him. Hugh had been aiming to wound, but he saw the anger in the man's eyes, the tense way that he started to close the distance between them. He also remembered what Sarah had said about a weaker strain of the wolf-serum and the red mark across Jack's prisoner's face. This time he let instinct and just a little of his anger take over as he fired. The man's head snapped back, and he fell to the ground, a small hole in the middle of his forehead. There had been so much death today, so many additions to the ghosts that haunted this place. Hugh tried not to shiver, thinking about how many more he might add to that number, trying not to think about the one death that had really mattered to him.
He knew he didn't have long, and he hurried to the doorway, looking out into the yard again. Several men were running in his direction, and he fired at them, not sure if he'd hit them, but hoping to at least slow them down. On the other side of the courtyard, he saw Sarah pull one of the men towards her, then push him in the direction of the van, following him after a moment. Frowning, Hugh fired again, hearing a yelp of pain as a reward. Two others were still coming towards him though, and he didn't have an endless supply of bullets, so he lowered the gun and stepped out of the doorway. The men were fast, faster than he'd expected, and he barely had a chance to raise his hands before the first was on him.
He got one good hit in, then someone grabbed him round the waist and bore him to the ground. There was thick mud everywhere, and he dug his hand into it, trying to get enough leverage to shift the heavy weight on his back. Someone pushed into the back of his neck and his elbow buckled, bearing him down again. He managed to turn his head enough that he didn't end up face down in the dirt, but it was a close thing. Panting, he got his hands under him again and pushed, feeling cold mud seep between his fingers as he shifted his shoulders. Then he was moving, turning onto his back and carrying his attacker with him.
As they turned, he tried to get free of the grip around his waist and the other on his neck, and so he didn't notice the man standing over him at first. Rolling again, his cheek hit the mud as he heard the stick come down behind him with a wet thud. He couldn't shake the grip of the first man, who was slowly squeezing the breath out of him as he struggled in the mire. Just as he was on the point of considering how far playing dead would get him, he heard more gunshots and another thud of something crashing into the mud. His breath came rushing back as the body above his went limp, releasing its crushing hold on his ribs. Elbowing it off him, he took a few deep breaths before getting to his feet.
Major Goody was standing a few feet away, watching him carefully, his gun held loosely at his side. "Alright there, Jones?" he asked, also looking as though he was struggling for air.
"Fine, thank you, sir. You?"
"A little out of condition, but I expect I'll live. Where now?"
"Over there." Hugh nodded to the outbuildings, just in time to see the door slam shut. "Er..." he started to say, then he heard the low growling which he had assumed was the wind or the generator that was powering the electric lights, but which was now growing in volume. It was, he realised, coming from the back of the van. Before he could say anything, there was a scratching, scrabbling noise, and the wolf leapt to the ground in front of them.
This was the one they'd been hearing all evening, the one that had answered every howl Jack had made, and it lifted its head to the moon again now, making Hugh's ears ring with the sheer noise. Above him, he heard another howl, and something that sounded like metal under stress. There was no time to think about that, though, because the wolf here on the ground was sniffing the air, turning its long muzzle towards them, its eyes almost shining in the clear moonlight. It was darker than the wolf that Jack had become, fur thicker and more tangled, and it snarled at them, showing long, yellowing teeth. Beside him, Hugh felt the Major stiffen, then reach out for his shoulder, trying to push him back.
"Jack will never forgive me if I let anything happen to you," he muttered, when Hugh gave him a puzzled look.
"I think whatever happens to one of us is going to happen to both." Reluctant as he was to take his eyes from the wolf, Hugh lifted his eyes to the house, trying to find the right window. He didn't resist as the Major began to pull him backwards, retreating as far as they could in the confined space. The wolf was between them and the door into the house, and the gate behind them was still shut. There wouldn't be nearly enough time to get it open, even if it would do them any good.
It was strange, Hugh thought absently, but he'd stood here so many times before, so many times when he was sure his luck had finally run out, and just about every time, Jack had been standing beside him, ready with some insane idea or reckless plan that somehow saved their skins. Some part of Hugh was oddly glad that Jack wasn't here, didn't have to see this, as he tried not to stumble in the ankle deep mud and looked into the face of the animal that was about to kill him.
Everything happened too fast for Hugh to keep track of. He could see the wolf, getting ready to leap, then there was a terrible splintering noise and the yard filled with shards of falling glass. Hugh raised his hands to protect his face, looking upwards just in time to see a large shape falling from the top of the observatory tower. He took a step backwards instinctively, raising a hand against the splashes of mud as the creature landed in the centre of the yard, turning and snarling at the other wolf before throwing itself at it.
The Major still had hold of Hugh's arm, and he dragged them both along, trying to circle round to the door of the house again. The two wolves were locked together, snapping and biting and turning over and over, neither able to get the upper hand. Vaguely, Hugh wondered if they'd actually be able to kill each other, if it was true that only silver could kill these creatures. If it was, would they be like this forever, always fighting and neither able to win?
As they circled, Hugh saw a flicker of movement from the van, and he tugged at the Major's sleeve, pointing towards where Sarah Harding was crouched. Apparently she hadn't had time to get herself inside before the wolf got out. Together, he and the Major dashed as best they could across the yard, and before he really knew was he was doing, Hugh had grabbed the startled woman, pushing her against the side of the van.
"Tell me how to stop this," he shouted, barely recognising his own voice. Sarah made a low, snarling noise, baring her teeth at him and trying to break free. Hugh gripped her arms tighter, shoving her hard enough that her head hit the metal behind her. He didn't care. "If we don't do something, then the winner is going to come for us."
She shook her head, struggling against his grip. "Let me go. I can stop them."
"Can you?" Turning her, Hugh twisted one of her arms behind her back and spun round so that they were facing the fighting animals. "That's good, because when they come for us, I'm letting them have you first."
Unable to get free without breaking her arm, Sarah shrank back as the snarling got louder, the fight carrying the two wolves closer towards them.
Beside them, Hugh heard the Major's voice, low and calm. "Do you really think you can control that?"
"I..."
Hugh tightened his grip again as she struggled against him, not caring if he hurt her. It frightened him a little that he didn't, but the fear was overridden by his anger, and he forced her to take a step forwards. She pushed back against him, her earlier bravado beginning to crumble as she shook her head. Shifting his hands a little, Hugh took another step towards the fighting animals, having to half-carry the trembling woman.
"No," she whispered. "This isn't right."
"You did this." Hugh's mouth was by her ear, so he knew she could hear him, although his voice wasn't much more than a soft growl. "You can put it right. Tell me."
The trembling grew worse, and she shook her head again, cringing back towards him. Then, all at once, Hugh felt her resolve snap, and the body against his sagged as she gave in.
"Front of the van," she sad, almost sobbing.. "There's a rifle. Two silver bullets."
"That'll kill them?"
"It's the only thing that will. Please." She was crying freely now, going so limp that Hugh was the only thing holding her up. Despite his first instinct to let her drop into the mud, he made himself walk slowly backwards, hearing the Major opening the van door.
He had to lift her into the back of the van, leaving her in a crumpled heap, still crying and shaking her head, although he didn't know whether that was from anger or terror. Shutting the door on her, he went to see how the Major was getting on. Before he could get there, he heard a cry of triumph, and the unmistakeable sound of a gun being cocked. When the Major turned, he was holding a long rifle, the metal gleaming in the moonlight.
"Which one are you going to shoot?" Hugh asked, pressing himself back against the van. His legs were suddenly having trouble holding him up.
"Both if I can." The Major's voice was slightly muffled as he sighted down the barrel.
"With two bullets?" Hugh took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the night catching up with him. "If I might suggest, sir? Aim carefully."
"Thank you, Jones, I had thought of that."
The two wolves were still swiping at each other, and Hugh could see a long scratch down one of their backs. He had no idea how the Major was going to hit either of them when they were moving so fast. They fell to the ground again, tumbling over and over, coming to a crashing stop at the wall of the house, where one of them seemed to get the upper hand. It stood over the fallen body of the other, lifting its head to the sky and howling in what Hugh assumed was triumph, and as it did so, Major Goody fired.
The shot went wide. One of the panes of glass on the ground floor shattered, and the wolf's head snapped round to them. It howled again, then began to lope towards them, gathering speed. Hugh pressed further back against the van, resisting the urge to close his eyes. A second later, he was glad he hadn't, because the rifle cracked again, the sound splitting the night.
For a horrible moment, Hugh thought this shot had missed as well, and he got ready to grab the Major and pull him out of the way. He wasn't sure until the wolf shuddered, falling to the ground so quickly that the sudden silence was almost deafening. Hugh stood utterly still, trying to start breathing normally again. In front of him, Major Goody's shoulders slumped, and he lowered the rifle.
It wasn't over, though. Not yet confident that his legs were up to it, but needing to know, Hugh slowly walked towards the body in the middle of the yard, staring as it started to shift and change, the reverse of the transformation he'd witnessed earlier in the night. The fur seemed to melt away, revealing pale skin underneath, and a shock of blond hair. When he reached down and turned the body over, he saw it was that of a young man, with a bullet wound just above his right eye. He didn't know whether that was better or worse than it being Jack.
Jack. The dark shape of the other wolf was still lying against the wall of the house, caked in mud and blood. Its chest was rising and falling, but otherwise it didn't move as Hugh came closer. He stopped a few feet away, crouching down and trying to see its face. The dark eyes were closed, and there was a long gash running from one ear all the way down to the end of its nose.
As Hugh watched, one eye twitched a fraction, and relief surged through him, draining away again as the wolf growled, lifting its head and turning towards him. He'd been hoping that Jack would still be in there, that they'd be able to do this peacefully and quietly. Instead, Hugh knew he was looking at the wolf, and it was hurting. He shuffled backwards, giving himself more room and carefully putting one hand into a mud-stained pocket. Jack still needed him, and he wasn't going to let him down now.
The wolf seemed to be gathering its strength, starting to move with more purpose, trying to get to its feet. Deciding that he needed more space, Hugh tried to step backwards without standing up properly, finding that his feet had become embedded in the thick mud, so that he couldn't lift them. He fell before he could catch himself, landing on his back and losing his breath again.
He looked up into the face of the wolf. It was staring down at him, as though not sure what it was meant to do. At such close proximity, he could smell the musky scent, feel its breath on his skin. Strangely, he wasn't afraid, not anymore. He just couldn't be, not of Jack, even like this. It was the wolf he was afraid of, and he was ready for it this time.
His fingers closed on the silver knife that he'd picked up in the dining room, sliding it out of his pocket as the wolf lifted its face to the moon and howled. As it stood, body stretched and eyes closed, Hugh lifted his hand and thrust the knife into its belly. Almost before he'd finished the stroke, he was rolling away, barely making it in time as the wolf fell to its knees. The howl cut off, then rose again, in pain this time, and the huge claws pawed at the hilt just visible in the dark fur. Finally, the sound faded, and the wolf collapsed, lying still just as the other had done.
All was silent for a long moment, and Hugh could hear his pulse pounding in his ears, every breath rasping in his dry throat. There was blood on his hand, and he started to wipe it off automatically, but there was no part of him that didn't seem to be coated in mud. Staggering, he got to his feet, not taking his eyes from the prone form. He couldn't remember how long it had taken last time, how long before the human had reappeared. It felt like forever. As he forced his feet to move through the clinging mud, he realised that he was shivering, although his head felt hot and light. Killing Jack twice in one night must have that effect on him. He dug his nails into his palms as he came closer to the body, as he felt the hysteria welling up inside him. He'd let it out later, when it was safe. When he knew it was over.
Major Goody came slowly over, walking carefully and still holding the rifle. He stopped a few yards away and cleared his throat. "I've put Sarah in with the others, barred the door from the outside. They're not going anywhere."
"Good." Hugh dropped to his knees beside the body of the wolf, waiting for any sign of change. How long had it been? His watch had been one casualty of the fight, but he was sure it had been too long.
"Jones." Looking up, Hugh saw that the Major had come closer, hands clenched awkwardly at his sides. "Hugh. You did the right thing."
"I know." He'd done what Jack would have wanted. Strangely, as he tried to wipe some of the blood from his palm on a patch of shirt, he was remembering giving in to Jack earlier on, the feel of cloth under his hand and the sudden convulsion that had swept through Jack's body, replaced by a stillness that was worse. It had worked out alright, that time. He'd trusted Jack, and it had worked out alright.
He was still trying to brush at least some of the caked-on mud and blood from his hands when it started, so slowly that he nearly didn't notice. Then the black fur was receding, transforming back into human skin, and the body was growing smaller, losing the hulking mass and changing back into Jack. Moving so fast he almost fell, Hugh grabbed a bare shoulder, turning Jack over and wiping enough mud away for him to pull the knife out of his stomach. The wound didn't bleed, and Hugh watched as it sealed itself, flesh closing over the spot until there was no trace of it left.
Jack's first breath, as ever, came as a shuddering gulp, and he thrashed for a moment, eyes wide and unfocussed. Then the Major was kneeling on Jack's other side, and together they helped him to sit up, Hugh slid behind him, just like before, cradling the shivering body against his own. Jack coughed for a moment, then tipped his head back against Hugh's shoulder, and Hugh could feel the tension draining out of his muscles.
"I really hate that," Jack whispered, and passed out.