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6M

P2

Movement In The Shadows

By

S. R. Unwin

Synopsis

 

Stephen Stone has just returned to the family farm due to the recent death of his father, located in the sleepy village of Easington. Nothing much really happens there, but in the weeks that follow, his life is turned around, lives are lost, friends become enemies, and all hell breaks loose.

Whilst in the local pub one day, Stone meets an attractive young journalist called Nicola Handley. She lives in one of the other villages in the area, a place called Peterlee. It’s the total opposite of Easington and its rural settings.

They got to know one another and after long talks as to why Nicola’s there, Stone eventually agrees to help her locate a man that was supposed to meet her recently. The man being Arthur Tate, a research specialist working on a new brand of livestock feed for a company called Agricultural Chemicals.

During the first few days of their meeting, Stone has a big problem on his land; his stock is twice the size it should be and one of his cows has just been killed trying to give birth to her calf. The calf in question though wasn’t a calf at all, it was some sort of mutated atrocity that didn’t really resemble a calf at all. He finds out later that he’s not the only one to suffer such incidents with the animals. His friends that run other farms around the village are experiencing such things as well.

The usually busy streets are becoming deserted during the day but are swarming with untold life throughout the night. A mass of pale figures. Stone and Nicola notice several bodies lying in and around the streets, their throats torn out and ragged. The scenes of carnage seem strange though because there’s no blood to be seen around any of the corpses, except the odd droplet around the gaping wounds themselves.

That night Stone and Nicola stay at her hotel. They are confronted by one of the things that roams the darkness: half- human, half wolf-like in appearance. Its face is gaunt and pale, its hands matted with tufts of hair and tipped with claws, its teeth as sharp as razors. They don’t know what to do but they’re both certain now that it all points to the missing Arthur Tate and what he was working on in his lab.

This all leads to one place, one man.

 Robert Webster and Agricultural Chemicals, who is full of rage and power crazed. He wants them both dead and the village placed under quarantine, sealed off from the outside world and its peering eyes.

Because of his hatred towards them they’re shot at, hunted like prey by the creatures and caged like lab rats ready for the go ahead for termination.

Can they survive this ordeal or will they simply become another meal of flesh for the shadows to feed upon?

Chapter One.

The gravel of the driveway crunched loudly beneath the wheels of the Jaguar XJ6 as Alec Jones brought the vehicle to a halt.

He switched off its engine and glanced across to the passenger seat where his wife, Debra, sat. They exchanged smiles and clambered out of the car. The drive from their home some nine miles away from Easington, to the stables, had taken them less than twenty minutes and they had passed just two other cars on the way.

It was still early and Debra pulled her white mink coat tighter around her body in an effort to ward off the slight chill in the morning air. Fingers of mist drew patterns across the grass which surrounded the complex of white-washed buildings.  She usually wasn’t up at such an hour, and, glancing down, she saw that the hands of her Rolex watch had barely reached 7:03 am.

Jones rubbed his hands together, smiling as he saw one of the stable workers approaching, the manager to be precise, from one of  the stables. They exchanged pleasantries and proceeded up a narrow path towards another building close by.

“How are things today?” asked Jones.

“Fine, Mr. Jones,” said Paul Davies, scratching at his brow. “We had the calf out in the paddock yesterday. He’s feeding well and looks quite strong.”

Jones nodded approvingly. The bull-calf had been late, born just three days ago. Something of a rarity in the world of prize-breeding cattle but, Jones reasoned, the animal would be worth thousands in a few months, sired, as it had been, by Highland Red, the winner of both the English and Irish shows the previous year. After the second victory, Jones had made his mind up and put the animal out to stud. Now as he leant on the gate of the stable and looked in, he smiled to himself contentedly.

The smell of fresh bedding was strong in his nostrils and, inside the stable itself, one young worker was busy turning the yellow strands of hay and straw with a small pitchfork. Another lad, a rotund, red-faced youth in his late teens, was helping him.  Jones’ eyes strayed to the calf and he was suitably satisfied by the sleek sheen of the beast’s coat. The cow beside it was a Jersey, a large animal some fifteen or sixteen hands and she seemed to dwarf her offspring which nuzzled at her flanks.

“A winner if I ever saw one,” said Jones reaching across to take his wife’s hand into his own.

Debra was looking at the cow which had begun to sway its head back and forth agitatedly.

“She’s lathering up, isn’t she?” Debra said, noticing some flecks of sweat around the animal’s neck and shoulders.

The stable lad who had begun to clean her merely continued with his task. He stepped back, accidentally treading in some droppings. His companion held back a chuckle and went on turning the bedding, but, as he looked up, he too noticed that the cow was starting to sweat. She continued to sway her head back and forth for a moment longer then she suddenly froze. Her floppy ears were pricked, her nostrils flared wide and, as he watched, her eyes rolled up into their sockets, she snorted loudly, violently.

With lightening speed, the cow lashed out with her hind-leg, driving her hoof back savagely, catching the stable worker who was washing her flanks in his solar plexus. There was a sickening thud, accompanied by the strident cracking of bone as several ribs splintered under the impact and he was propelled backwards by the blow, crashing into the far wall of the stable as he landed.  In the twelve foot square area all hell was breaking loose.

“What the hell’s wrong with her?” Jones shouted at Davies who was already slipping the catch on the gate in an effort  to get inside the enclosure but, as he saw the cow rear up, he slowed his pace dramatically.

The other stable worker dropped his pitchfork and pressed himself against the wall, heart hammering against his ribs in shear fear. He glanced at the cow and then at his companion who was now slumped beside the rear wall, blood dribbling from his lips. He had no means of restraining the distraught cow for she wore no harness of any kind. The calf took a few nervous steps back, away from its mother, mooing softly.

“For Christ’s sake do something,” Jones demanded as he watched the cow turn its attention to her calf.

The larger beast struck swiftly, its head snaking forward to strike at her bewildered offspring. Powerful teeth clamped together like a vice and the cow bit down hard, twisted its head for a moment, ripping a large chunk of flesh and muscle free. The bite was a lethal one as it severed one of the calf’s arteries. Blood exploded from the horrific wound with the force of a high-pressure hose, spraying the terrified onlookers.

Debra screamed as the crimson fluid spattered across her face and body, turning her white coat the colour of spring roses in the process. Jones himself could only watch mesmerised as the cow reared high in the air before bringing both of its front hooves crashing down onto her offspring’s back, smashing its thin spine like a toothpick. The calf crumpled beneath the onslaught, its legs buckling under it. The little beast raised its head as if soliciting help but a pile-driver blow from its mother caught it above the right eye. The sharp edge of the hoof shaved away a portion of the skull and tore the glistening orb of an eye from the socket. Still attached by the optic nerve, it swayed like some bloodied table-tennis ball from the gaping hole in its head where it used to be situated.