“Damn it!” exclaimed Vivien. “The wolf’s left the motorway. Stop!”
Merlin pulled the cab off onto the hard shoulder, adjacent to a field of new-mown hay. The sun was rising, and the traffic was increasing, though there was a lot more heading south than north, over on the other side of the motorway.
“They’re west of here, and close,” said Vivien. “And the Fenris is much slower now. Your sword must be taking a toll. I’m going to have a look where it went into the field—I think it’s only fifty or sixty yards back.”
“Make it quick,” said Merlin. “We shouldn’t be stopping here. I don’t want to attract attention. From anyone.”
He got out and opened the bonnet of the cab, to make it look as if it had broken down, on the principle of giving people an obvious reason for something so they looked no deeper. Vivien climbed over the fence and went into the field. Though it had been recently cut, and there was little more than stubble between the rolls of hay, it was fairly obvious where the wolf had gone. Though by its nature it did not leave enormous paw prints, it did cause mysterious scuff marks that would be very confusing to any normal person. If the creature had laid down for a while, and the clover was high, it would have made a crop circle.
Vivien followed the tracks through the field for about a hundred yards, looking at the distance between prints. There were bloodstains, too, though they were not visible to any normal mortal’s eyes, and were not as frequent nor as large as Vivien hoped.
She turned to go back to the cab as a police Rover 3500 drew up on the hard shoulder about twenty yards behind it, with blue light flashing, but no siren. The doors on either side opened and the police got out but did not move beyond the doors.
Merlin was standing in front of the cab, leaning into the engine bay. He didn’t step out to greet the police officers but instead knelt down, and Vivien saw him pull out the little Beretta he had in his ankle holster.
Vivien looked back at the police officers, who had drawn revolvers and were aiming over the top of their splayed-open doors. She started to run, drawing in an enormous breath as she did so.
The softer bang of the .25 Beretta came a fraction of a second after the crack of the police officers’ Smith & Wesson .38 revolvers.
Chapter Sixteen
moonlight on rushes and still water
the quiet of the night
yet if you listen
very carefully
you might hear it
crawling closer
and closer
clos—
MERLIN FIRED TWICE FROM THE LEFT FRONT OF THE CAB, DUCKED across to the right, and fired twice more. Glass shattered as the police officers’ bullets blew out the back window of the cab and starred the windscreen, but didn’t go anywhere close to Merlin.
After these initial shots, there were no more.
Merlin dropped prone and crawled along the side of the cab to take a closer look. He saw one police officer on the ground and crawled farther, ready to shoot if necessary. But the other officer was also down. Merlin got up and raced forward. He arrived at the same time as Vivien on the other side, who kicked a revolver under the car before kneeling down to give the officer first aid.
Merlin checked the police officer closest to him. She was lying on her back, with her hands clutched low on the right side of her neck, blood trickling between her fingers. She looked up at Merlin, a puzzled expression on her face. Not from pain, but bewilderment.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Why on earth are we on the M1?”
“You’ll be okay,” soothed Merlin. He had aimed for her right shoulder, not the neck. He moved her hands aside, pulled open her jacket, and tried not to show alarm. It didn’t look good.
He pulled a vial of Sipper saliva out of the narrow pocket inside his sleeve, snapped the top off, swilled it around in his mouth, and spat it into the wound. The liquid glowed as it fell, bright rivulets spreading through the darker blood.
Vivien appeared with the first aid kit from the police car’s boot. She opened it, grabbed a field dressing, and pressed it hard on the woman’s neck, holding it on.
“Bandage!” she said.
“Why is the sky so blue?” asked the woman. “So blue.”
“How’s the other one?” asked Merlin. He lifted the woman’s head so he could get the bandage around her neck.
“Dead,” said Vivien. She peeled back the edge of her glove so an inch of silver skin was visible at the heel of her hand and held it against the wound, sucking in her breath. She held it for several seconds, then exhaled.
“Definitely dead?” asked Merlin in a small voice.
“A ricochet off the door frame into his eye and then the brain. Instant death.”
“Shit,” said Merlin. “Shit, shit.”
“This one will live, I think,” said Vivien. She took her hand away and pulled up the glove. “But as well as the wound, someone’s interfered with her mind. I can’t tell who, or whether it will last.”
Cars were slowing down as the people in them gawked at the scene. Merlin looked up as he heard a car stopping behind the police vehicle and instantly picked up his pistol. The stopping car was a newish Vauxhall Estate, splashed with mud. A woman in Wellington boots and wearing what looked like green hospital scrubs leaped out the passenger side, her hands held high. The man in the driver’s seat was hunched as low as he could go and still see out the windscreen.
“I’m a vet!” called the woman nervously. “Can I help? Please?”
“Yes,” shouted Merlin. “Tell your friend to drive to the next emergency telephone and call an ambulance and the police! You can take over here.”
The Vauxhall took off. The traffic had been increasing, there was a steady flow, but now all of them were slowing down to have a look, which would cause a tailback for miles and bring attention sooner rather than later. It was also possible one of those who’d previously gone past had already stopped at the next emergency phone and called for help.
The vet ran up, keeping her hands in the air. Merlin picked up the officer’s .38 to remove any temptation for some sort of heroic intervention, and went around the other side of the car to lean in and check the VHF two-way radio, stepping over the man he’d killed.
“The other officer’s dead,” said Vivien to the vet. “Keep direct pressure on. I think she’ll make it.”
As Merlin expected, the radio was still on the London general frequency, useless here in Leicestershire. If this had been any sort of authorized excursion, they would have already telephoned the local police and prearranged a frequency or at least tuned it to the general channel for the county. He got out, and gestured to Vivien. The vet had her hands on the pad over the gunshot wound, concentrating entirely on the patient, not looking at Merlin and Vivien.
The two booksellers walked quickly back towards their taxi.
“How did you know?” asked Vivien.
“It’s a Met car, not Leicestershire Constabulary,” said Merlin. “That made me suspicious, and then they moved strangely getting out. Reminded me of the thugs who came for Susan. That constable back there, she wasn’t asking why she was on the motorway out of shock, she genuinely didn’t know how she came to be there. Her mind had been messed with!”