Hostile, p.1
Hostile, page 1
Hostile
Luke Scull
Copyright © 2025 Luke Scull
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: Phil Williams
For fathers everywhere
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
2007
17
18
19
20
2013
21
22
23
2011
24
25
2015
26
2015
27
28
2015
29
30
31
2016
32
2003
33
34
35
2006
36
Afterword
Acknowledgement
About The Author
Praise For Author
Books By This Author
1
A crimson sun bled across the sky above Longleat Safari and Adventure Park, its savage dawn light threatened by encroaching thunderclouds. Savannah Grace eyed the ominous, slate-grey clouds clawing at the horizon, grateful she’d brought her waterproof parka.
She’d been an animal keeper at the park for six months now and absolutely loved her job. With a name like Savannah, it seemed destined that she would end up working with wildlife after finishing university. The move from London to rustic Wiltshire had taken a while to get used to, and the pay wasn’t great—in fact, she earned less now than she had as an intern at her uncle’s insurance firm—but she got to work with the most marvellous creatures on Earth. Her family had always obsessed too much about money. Savannah’s interests were more aligned with living in harmony with the planet than worrying about her bank balance.
She pulled her coat tighter in the spring dawn chill. This early in the day, only a handful of employees disturbed the sprawling Longleat estate. She waved to several while making her way towards the park entrance. The majesty of Longleat House rose in the distance, a stunning example of Elizabethan architecture that contained 128 rooms and had housed the Marquess of Bath for generations.
Savannah didn’t like the ostentatiousness of Longleat House, though she was grateful for the role the Thynne family had played in establishing a wildlife sanctuary in such unlikely surroundings. The park supported several important scientific research programmes, as well as providing a home for rescued and endangered animals that could no longer survive in the wilds. Savannah dreamed of one day working in Kenya or South Africa, protecting the animals there from the capitalist predations of humanity. For now, Longleat was a solid first step in realising her ambitions.
She hurried by the various restaurants and shops designed to tempt guests to part with their hard-earned cash in return for greasy fries or soggy pizza, or perhaps an overpriced T-shirt to commemorate their visit. Half Mile Pond was just ahead, a man-made reservoir that acted as a buffer to the much larger safari park beyond. She thought she glimpsed the immense bulk of a hippo rippling through the dark water. A pair of sea lions lounged on the rocks nearby.
In the middle of the artificial lake, the climbing sun suffused Gorilla Island in crimson gold. There was no sign of Nico, the park’s oldest inhabitant. The great silverback spent less and less time outside the house that occupied much of the island. He was likely the only gorilla in the world with access to central heating and satellite television, enjoying his favourite cartoons.
A boat was moored at the edge of the water. Savannah recognised Bob, one of the Jungle Cruise guides. He was a heavy, grizzled Welshman pushing sixty. Despite his no-nonsense appearance, he was friendly and a good storyteller, with a voice that carried. He seemed to be consoling Maria, who looked like she’d been crying again.
‘Morning,’ said Bob, as Savannah approached. ‘Don’t mind us. I’m just giving Maria here a pep talk.’
Maria gave Savannah an embarrassed smile. Her brown eyes were wet with tears. ‘Just me being silly,’ she said.
‘No, don’t be daft,’ Savannah replied, hopping on to the deck of the boat and giving the woman a hug. Maria was some ten years her senior, but there was an almost childlike fragility about her. ‘I can’t imagine how it feels to be married so long and then… Any luck finding your own place yet?’
‘I’m still at my friend’s, in Warminster,’ Maria replied. ‘I’ve been looking for a flat to rent, but it’s just so expensive. I wanted to visit my family this year.’
Savannah nodded sympathetically, though her father had paid a year’s rent up front for her roomy, two-bedroom apartment in Bath. The local town of Warminster was only a few minutes down the road and was a much cheaper place in which to live. ‘Perhaps your family could visit you?’
Maria shook her head. ‘They don’t have the money for flights, and my dad works every hour God sends. The Spanish economy is still recovering from the crash.’
‘Oh,’ said Savannah. She hadn’t thought of that. ‘How are my boys? How’s Charlie?’ she asked, embarrassed and keen to change the subject.
‘They were acting a bit strange.’ Maria fiddled with the heart pendant hanging around her neck. ‘Charlie wouldn’t come with the others when I called.’
‘Well, you know Charlie.’ Savannah smiled. He was the eldest of the four brothers that lived in the Chimpanzee Enclosure on the opposite bank of the Pond.
Maria sometimes worked night shifts, and her responsibilities included checking in on the enclosure. The apes liked Maria, which occasionally gave Savannah pangs of jealousy. Still, she knew that she, not Maria, was their favourite person. Maria was an infrequent visitor in the night, while Savannah fed them and played with them and groomed them, almost as though she was their big sister.
‘Bad Charlie,’ Maria agreed, smiling back. She yawned, and Savannah noticed the bags under the woman’s eyes, the lack of care that had gone into applying her makeup. ‘I should get some rest,’ said Maria. ‘Lovely to see you.’ She turned to Bob. ‘Thanks for your advice,’ she said earnestly.
‘You’re welcome, lovely,’ he replied. He watched Maria clamber off the boat before turning back to Savannah. ‘And you, lass,’ the Welshman said, ‘care for a ride across the water?’
‘Yes, please,’ Savannah replied eagerly. The boat trip across the Pond to the enclosure would take only a few minutes and save her feet the longer, roundabout trip. Her phone vibrated in her coat pocket. She checked it and sighed. It was Brandon again. Her ex still hadn’t gotten the message. He was a nice enough guy, but the distance between Longleat and London was too far to be convenient, and besides, the animals had always been her first love.
Bob turned the boat, and they set off towards the opposite shore. The grey clouds looked closer now. For a moment, the sun was swallowed by a passing bank and a great shadow seemed to descend over the lake. Silence immediately followed, broken only by the trickle of water against the hull and the low thrum of the boat engine. Savannah raised her head towards the clouds and revelled in the utter calm. It was moments like this where she felt the most free and powerful. She was the goddess of the lake, and this was her domain.
A bestial roar shattered the calm. Startled, she almost toppled off the boat. ‘The lions are awake early,’ she called out to Bob, hoping he hadn’t witnessed her embarrassment. Even several miles distant, the angry roar of a male lion could freeze the blood.
‘Big cats have been restless lately,’ the Welshman called back. If he noticed her near mishap, he didn’t mention it. ‘All a bit queer if you ask me.’
As the boat neared Gorilla Island, Savannah’s eyes were drawn to a hulking figure standing in the doorway of the solitary house. Nico, the famous silverback for which the island was named, was twice Bob’s size and likely just as old.
At first, Savannah thought he had been drawn out by the untimely roar of the lion in the safari park. As she watched, Nico turned his great head to regard her. His amber eyes flicked to the chimpanzee enclosure, and then back. He shook his head, his gaze boring into her. Was Nico warning her not to go there?
It was Savannah’s turn to shake her head. She was being silly. Nico might be ancient among his kind, but he was just a gorilla. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled over her as the sentinel of Gorilla Island watched their passing in silence.
The boat reached the opposite side of the lake a minute later. Savannah bid farewell to Bob and watched as he turned the boat around and began the short trip back across the water. It was a simple life, she reflected, sailing up and down the lake all day. Pleasant though he was, Bob was a simple man. She wanted so much more for herself. She wanted to see the world. To experience everything there was to see while she was young and carefree.
The en closure was unusually quiet as she approached. Normally, the brothers would hear her coming and hoot in excitement. She’d only been working at the park for six months, and already they had grown to adore her. But this morning there was barely a sound to be heard. She could see three of the four apes lurking in the upper reaches of the structure that ran almost the entire length of the enclosure. There was no sign of Charlie.
Her phone vibrated again. She tsked when she saw it was Brandon trying to call once again. Why did he keep trying to call while she was busy at work? She made a mental note to block his number later.
She shoved her phone back into her pocket as she made her way to the storage shed beside the enclosure. The boys would definitely be hungry. Savannah filled her bucket with the proper ratio of roots, nuts, leaves, and assorted vegetables and made her way to the enclosure's main entrance.
She anticipated that the apes would immediately come knuckling towards her, eager to inspect their breakfast as they’d done every morning for the past six months. But they didn’t move. Instead, they huddled together on the wooden apparatus. They hardly so much as glanced in her direction. The chimps seemed subdued, spooked, even. She remembered Nico’s odd behaviour and felt a tightness in her chest.
Stop it, Savannah, she told herself. She was being ridiculous.
‘Charlie?’ she called out, worrying something had happened to her favourite boy. ‘Bad Charlie,’ she had nicknamed him affectionately, for he was wilful and liked to play silly pranks. She smiled, remembering the time he had stolen the feed bucket and forced her to chase him around the enclosure.
There was no response. She opened her mouth to call him again but stopped when, finally, she heard it: an eerie panting noise, like the struggling breaths of a dying man. She saw Charlie sitting under the apparatus between two iron cables. His back was to her. Charlie was the largest of the brothers, easily the weight of a man and appallingly muscular beneath his dark brown fur.
As she approached, concern warred with dread in her chest. What if he was sick? The panting sound he was making was not normal. He twitched suddenly. Behind her, Savannah heard the other apes whimper and skitter away.
‘Charlie?’ she called again. Still no reaction. It was as though he was focused on something in front of him. Something only he could see.
When she was less than six feet away, the big chimpanzee finally turned his head.
Savannah froze as her gaze met his. Something was wrong with Charlie’s eyes. They looked as though they were filled with blood. He opened his mouth, not to smile but rather to announce savage intent, a gesture that in the wilds was more feared than a great cat’s growl. Charlie’s canines were twice the length of any human tooth, his fangs capable of rending flesh and bone and committing violence beyond the comprehension of most sane minds.
Sudden terror gripped Savannah. ‘Please, Charlie, it’s me,’ she said, her voice choked with fear as she backed away. She managed to steel herself and forced her voice to become calm. ‘You know me.’
His prodigious muscles tensed, but something in her tone must have penetrated Charlie’s crazed brain. He hesitated. Recognition flickered in the bloodshot fury of his simian gaze.
‘Yes…that’s right, it’s me, Charlie. It’s me. You’re sick. Let me call for help—’
The phone vibrated again.
Charlie noticed it and barked in fury. Savannah hurriedly tore the phone from her coat pocket and tried to cancel the call. Instead, she fumbled the device. It hit the ground with a soft thud. And then:
‘Hello? Savannah? I can’t believe it, you answered my call! God, I missed you.’
Brandon’s babbling broadcast to the entire enclosure, his Estuary English whine like fingernails down a chalkboard.
Charlie howled in fury, his body shaking. He met her gaze, and all trace of familiarity was gone. Now, there was only a sick rage, a bestial desire to tear and maim and render beauty into unspeakable ugliness. Savannah screamed and turned to flee.
She had barely taken half a dozen steps before Charlie reached her.
2
John Sharrock was having a bad morning.
First, Alfie had woken him at four in the morning, pawing at the duvet cover and making pitiful whining noises. The smell hit John moments later, and he fumbled for the bedside lamp, dreading what he’d find. A lumpy puddle of yellow vomit met his horrified gaze. It was hard to believe so much could come out of such a small dog.
John had shoved the dog off the bed and jumped up, rolling the soiled blanket into a ball so he wouldn’t have to look at the partially digested mess. Alfie hovered nearby looking shamefaced. The shih tzu’s distress had made John feel incredibly guilty.
By the time John had replaced the bedding and settled back down to sleep, night was already giving way to the grey light of dawn and the first delicate notes of birdsong. John was a night owl and rarely went to bed before the early hours. Sleeping in till midday made him feel like some sort of ghoul, only grudgingly part of the world of the living. It was a bad habit he had fallen into since his wife had left.
The garage had called just as John was leaving his house on the way to the post office. The mechanic grimly informed John that his car would cost more to repair than it had cost to buy in the first place. John had owned it less than a year. The red convertible had been his reward for himself after securing his big book-deal. Now, it sat broken on the driveway, the front panel on the passenger side a mangled wreck and one wheel fallen off. A forlorn end for what had been his pride and joy.
That was what happened when you went driving around town after too much to drink. Never mind that he hadn’t done anything like that in his thirty-four years before that fateful night. Never mind that his marriage was already falling apart. John had made the dumbest mistake of his life. Now, he was facing a lengthy driving ban and a future without Maria. At least no one had been hurt. It was a miracle he’d made it home after smashing into the parked vehicle that seemed to his alcohol-addled mind to appear from nowhere.
Halfway to the post office, the heavens had opened, and John realised he had forgotten his coat. The spring rain came hard and fast, and he was drenched before he’d taken another twenty steps.
He was definitely having a bad morning.
Unfortunately, the middle-aged jobsworth staring at him from behind the counter seemed determined to make it even worse.
‘It’s too large to post as a large letter,’ she said again. She dropped the parcel, and it bounced off the slot in the plastic measuring tool. She smiled triumphantly.
John tried to keep his tone reasonable. ‘Give it a slight push, you’ll see that it fits. I’ve posted the same parcel before as a large letter many times.’
The woman shook her head, causing her unflattering bob to bounce. ‘No, I’m sorry, it must be sent as a parcel. If you’re happy with that, it’ll be four pounds and fifty pence.’
John wiped his hand down his still-wet face and gestured at the blue IKEA bag on the counter beside him. It was filled with small, identical brown parcels. The handful on top were damp from the rain. ‘But there’s twenty here. It’ll cost me an extra fifty pounds to post them all.’
The post office worker shrugged and gave him her best it’s not my problem stare through her thick-rimmed spectacles. He stared at her name badge: ‘Carrie.’
John took a deep breath. What was it his therapist had said? Focus on the anger. Imagine it as a black ball inside of you. Imagine yourself reaching in and pulling out the ball. You don’t need it, it doesn’t serve you. Throw it away. Let go of the anger.
‘Fine,’ he said, smothering his annoyance with a supreme act of will. ‘I assume you don’t need to weigh them individually.’
For a moment, Carrie seemed torn between laziness and the opportunity to inconvenience him further. Evidently, laziness won. She calculated the price as John took his bank card out of his wallet. ‘May I ask what is in the parcels?’ Her tone seemed to suggest it wasn’t a question.
‘Books,’ he replied. Written by him, as it happened. He didn’t mention that fact. People were generally a lot less impressed to find out he was an author than he’d imagined they would be, especially when they learned he wrote fantasy. ‘Like Harry Potter?’ they often asked, to which John would reply, ‘Kind of, yeah.’ In truth, his books were nothing like Harry Potter. But it saved five minutes of a pointless discussion neither party really cared to have.
