Chris Simms - Savage Moon

On seeing the car Nikki broke into a jog. They hopped over the ditch and on to the track. Somehow just being on a man- made surface was reassuring. Five metres from the car Jon said,

'It's not locked. Jump straight in.'

He opened the rear door, slung the case on to the back seat, opened the driver's door and got in. Nikki was in the passenger seat, her legs shivering violently.

He shut the door and started the engine, flicking the central locking on as he did so. Then he put the vehicle into gear and reversed as fast as he dared up the track, not giving a toss what happened to the car's suspension.

Jon nudged the car up his drive, bringing the front bumper to within inches of his house before pulling the handbrake on. He sank back in his seat. Thank Christ to be home. His mind was still twitching, settling momentarily on one aspect of what had happened on the moor before springing to another. When they'd got back to the car park at Crime Lake not a single word had passed between them. During the drive down off the moor Jon had glanced across at Nikki several times. She was hunched in her seat, knees, shoulders and elbows drawn in as she nibbled on the tip of a thumbnail. Occasionally the hand moved upwards to brush a tear from the corner of her eye.

He parked next to her car and she immediately got out, stepped over to the driver's door and got inside. The engine started and he had to quickly climb out and knock on her window. The noise startled her. 'Hang on, Nikki. I've got the Portascope.'

She nodded, then gestured to the back seat. As he placed the case inside, he quietly said, 'Do you want to talk about this?' She shook her head, hands clamped on the steering wheel.

'Nikki,' he watched her ponytail trembling. 'Maybe we should take five minutes to calm down.'

'Fuck off.' She was still staring ahead. 'You had no right to take me up there.' She shuddered. 'Just shut the door. I'm going home.'

He straightened up, then ducked his head back in for one last try. 'Nikki, I don't know what it was up there, but… '

The vehicle started to move and he had to step forwards to swing the door shut. She had accelerated down the road before remembering to turn her headlights on.

With a sigh, Jon looked at his house, hooking a finger into the inner curve of the steering wheel. He'd ring her tomorrow. What had really occurred up there? The primal terror that had come so close to engulfing him was skewing his perception of events. He tried to analyse things objectively. They'd heard a strange sound. In the darkness, their imaginations had supplied the image of what had made it. A huge black beast, a monster moving stealthily forward, yellow eyes able to see them clearly in the night.

But it was only a noise and, at one point, the faintest trace of a smell. It could easily have been a stag, a badger, someone with a tape of a big cat. The headrest seemed to be curling about his ears, gently cupping his skull. A tape recording. The sort of thing to scare off unwelcome visitors. Hobson. He could have recorded any number of those noises. Yeah, that wouldn't be any problem at all. An impact in his lap brought him awake. His hand had dropped off the steering wheel as sleep had relaxed his grip. With itchy eyes he regarded the glow at his front window. Hopefully she's relaxing in front of the telly, he thought.

He opened the front door to hear the tapping of computer keys. She was sitting at the computer in a tracksuit with an old cardigan over the top. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. Strands bulged out at the side of her head, increasing her dishevelled look. He glimpsed a Portcullis logo at the top of the screen.

'Sorry I'm late back. I got delayed.'

'I didn't think you'd be home any earlier.' She didn't turn round.

'What are you up to?'

'There's these things called Hansard documents which let you see what's been debated in the House of Commons and I've been on Number Ten Downing Street's site. I can't find anything on civilian deaths in Iraq and I've been here for bloody hours.'

For fuck's sake, he thought, put another bloody record on will you? He knelt down and looked at Holly on her play mat.

'Hello, princess, how are you doing?'

Her head jerked at the sound of his voice and her arms began to wriggle back and forth. 'Daddy's home. You coming for a cuddle?'

He slid a hand under her nappy to lift her up. 'Ali, she's soaking wet.'

No reply.

He unbuttoned the base of her babygrow and was hit by a cloying smell. Brown stains were leaking out from the edge of her nappy. 'She's filthy. How long has she been lying here?'

He spotted the shadow of a frown as she glanced with tired eyes at their daughter. 'Well, change her then.'

'I will. But I'm asking how long she's been left here.'

'Since her last feed. I'm not sure. She wasn't crying.'

'Surely it's not a good idea for her to be lying in her own shit?'

The comment was intended to goad her, but all it provoked was another backward glance. 'When's the last time you changed her nappy?'

He opened his mouth, but said nothing.

'Exactly,' she answered, eyes on the screen once again. 'Do your fair share before having a go at me.'

But that's not the point, he thought. You should be concerned that Holly was being neglected. She clicked the mouse and another text-heavy page filled the screen. There was a detached air about her, as if attending to Holly was just another household chore. You're using this Iraq thing as a way to screen her out, he thought, remembering something about depressed mothers being unable to connect emotionally with their babies.

'Come on then, you,' he whispered, carrying Holly upstairs to the nursery. After bagging up the dirty nappy and wiping her clean, he wrapped a fresh nappy around her. 'We don't want a dirty bottom, do we?' he whispered. She grinned at the sensation and he wondered whether to call down that their daughter had just produced her biggest smile yet. Then he changed his mind, afraid Alice would just grunt a reply back up the stairs.

He gazed down at the tiny human before him. So totally helpless. She stared back, eyes fixed on his. He actually felt something shift in his chest as the realisation suddenly hit him. You're ours. Ours. The word was filled with new significance.

No one else will care for you in the same way because no one else is responsible for you in the same way. We created you. But now your mum doesn't seem able to cope with you. Which leaves me. I've got to take care of you until Alice is better.

He leaned down and brought his face so close to hers he could see his entire head captured in her unwavering pupils. There he was, as much a part of her as she was of him. He picked her up and held her close, waves of emotion flooding out. Then he bowed his head and held a kiss to the top of her skull, drinking in the delicious warmth coming from her soft skin.

The voice came and went, music drifting lazily over it. Then someone spoke over an urgent drumming. Words caught in Jon's semi conscious mind. Key 103 bulletin. Dramatic new theory. No official comment. River Medlock. Other world news. Attack on the Rashid Hotel, Baghdad. Paul Wolfowitz narrowly escapes.

He struggled to bring himself awake, eyes opening just as the newsreader announced, And now to our main story. This morning Manchester awakes to a dramatic new development in the hunt for the Monster of the Moor.

Jon looked to his left. Alice was sitting up in bed, Holly silently feeding at her breast.

Analysis shows that all three victims were attacked within a short distance of the Medlock, a river that rises on Saddleworth Moor and runs into the very heart of the city. What worries experts is the possibility that, if the Monster is following the river in its hunt for new victims, it will end up in the centre of Manchester itself. So far, no one from Greater Manchester Police has been available for comment.