The Devil's Hound

Chapter 25 - Thursday 9th August

Wedging the rifle butt beneath his armpit so that he could hold the rifle with one hand and still rest his index finger on the trigger he reached for the barn door. He pulled it open. Stepping backwards from the swinging door he snatched the rifle into both hands poised to fire if the werewolf was waiting on the other side.

The werewolves in the yard were dead. The alpha male werewolf was still by the water trough. The other werewolf lay where it had been shot in the middle of the yard. Nigel wondered if they would transform back into humans with the dawn. They probably wouldn't. To transform they would need to be alive. If he survived the night he would get the satisfaction of presenting the Professor with the corpse of a human wolf hybrid creature. It would be fun to watch him deny it as a hoax.

He was procrastinating. Standing in the doorway of the barn was liking standing above a high drop into water. You knew that one step would send you plunging on a path out of your control. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the yard. He quickly pulled the door closed. He couldn't lock it. Even from the inside, the door could not be sealed. The giant of a werewolf had snapped the locking bar in two when it had smashed into the door.

Looking down the sight of the barrel he marched across the yard. He swung the rifle from side to side watching the shadows from any sign of movement. He took one last look at the yard then moved out on to the track running between the high wall of the exercise yards and the wheat fields. He kept close to the wall. Away from the barns he felt exposed. He watched the wheat warily. The werewolf could be five feet from him and he wouldn't know it was there. An owl hooted in the distance and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Nigel risked a glance up the track to the corner of the brick wall. A dark shadow the size of a large dog darted out of the wheat and across the track. He hesitated and by the time he thought about shooting, the shadow was gone. It could only have been the werewolf.

He paused. He was certain the werewolf was no longer in the wheat. It had gone round the corner of the brick wall, perhaps laying in ambush in the trees. He thought about doubling back and looking for another way into the workhouse or even returning to the barn and waiting until dawn, but he didn't know how serious Renée's injuries were. She might bleed to death in that time.

Nigel forced himself forward. He had a rifle. He had already shot it, perhaps fatally injured it, and now that he knew it was in front of him it couldn't take him by surprise. Approaching the end of the brick wall he moved out towards the wheat stepping into the field as he turned the corner. There was no sign of the werewolf. Just the trees growing out of the pasture ground and the perimeter wall of the workhouse.

Desperate to get back amongst the workhouse buildings and their perceived safety Nigel hurried on to the tree growing next to the brick wall. The barrel of the rifle swung erratically as he jogged down the track. He slowed down as he approached the tree. He couldn't climb it and hold the rifle at the same time. He triple checked every direction for the werewolf before swinging the rifle strap over his head. The rifle dangled uselessly behind him leaving him momentarily defenceless. He grabbed hold of a branch and pulled himself up into the tree. He shuffled along the branches until he could clamber up on to the brick wall. Before he dropped down the other side Nigel took one last look out at the fields beyond the perimeter wall of the workhouse.

The werewolf was twenty paces away. How long it had been there he couldn't say. It had taken him a minute to climb the tree and onto the wall. With the rifle strapped to his back he was affectively unarmed, helpless if it had chosen to attack, but for some reason it remained upright on its hind legs, its long hairy forearms down by its side watching. Its large ears were erect in his direction as if every one of its senses was trained upon him. Perhaps it feared him. Nigel frowned. It was almost as if it had no intention of attacking. He slowly reached for the rifle. The werewolf dropped to all fours. Nigel swung the rifle into position. The werewolf turned and with a slight hobble as if its back leg was injured it fled. Nigel glanced down the sight trying to find it in the shadows. But he was too late. The werewolf was gone.

Nigel lowered his legs over the edge of the brickwork and dropped down on the opposite side of the wall. Walking through the orchards towards the looming buildings he felt ashamed for his cowardice. The werewolf was injured and he should have followed it. For the second time that night he had let down. She would not have thought twice about hunting it down and ending it. The werewolf was a killer and instead of pursing it he had let it get away to kill again. Perhaps it might even go for Renée. He knew he shouldn't be worrying about her. If the werewolf did go looking for her she had her rifle. She was more than capable of looking after herself.

Nigel tried to convince himself he had made the right decision. The werewolf could have been feigning injury to lure him down to the ground. Down there in the open the werewolf would have the advantage. It could use the wheat field for cover and there was nowhere to offer him protection. Yet these just felt like feeble excuses.

Without thinking he entered the infirmary through the laundry. Only little of the moonlight made it through the windows. Nigel stood in the doorway for a few moments letting his eyes adjust. The drying racks ran up the middle of the room. The hulking washing machines sat brooding against the wall to his left. He swung the rifle strap over his shoulder. He was halfway around the room when he noticed the neat pile of clothes stacked underneath the drying rack. It was a dress and bonnet; the discarded clothes of a female inmate.

He bit the inside of his cheek as he stared down at the clothes with indecision. Were they just a pile of laundry that had been forgotten about? He looked at the two huge washing vats. There was a narrow gap between them. It offered the perfect place to observe the clothes hidden from view of the door. He squeezed into the gap. If the clothes did belong to the werewolf, he would discover their identity when they returned to transform back into a human.

The hours that followed were the most uncomfortable of his life. He was wedged between the machines at a slight angle with his shoulders pressed against the vats on either side of him and his back against the brick wall. A bolt or a rivet dug painfully into his hip. He held the rifle out in front of him in a firing position. The machines concealed the barrel from view. The slight movement in his arms allowed him to turn the barrel from side to side and up and down. As the hours passed his body seized and pins and needle, only alleviated by the little movement he could manage, came and went in waves. It wasn't just the physical discomfort but the mental discomfort. He was painfully aware that he had left Renée bleeding in the barn. What if she bled to death before he got back? Would she be another Inspector Campbell and become another cross that he had to bear. He had left the Inspector and had never seen him again. Would the same happen to Renée and he would be left with her death on his conscious?

Just as his guilt was about to spur him to leave his hiding place, he heard the faint early morning chorus of bird song. The dawn wasn't far away. The darkness abated as the grey light of dawn spilled through the windows. The external door to the laundry swung open. More grey light filled the room.

From his position he couldn't see who it was. There was the soft patter of footsteps as somebody crossed the room. A girl in her late teens stepped into view. She had her back to him, but in the grey light he could see she wore no clothes. Her long hair dangled down the bare skin of her back. She hobbled forward. His shot had left a long shallow gash along the top of her left thigh. A surface wound that had already stopped bleeding. She walked up to the pile of clothes and then stopped. She lifted her head and sniffed the air.

"Good morning Nigel."