Ivor Watkins - The Blood Snarl

Ivor Watkins - The Blood Snarl (Futura, 1980)



They were big - very big.
Their slanting green eyes seemed to glow even in the daylight. Huge teeth gleamed white in the pale winter sun. They were creatures out of folk nightmare.

Now the harshest winter in living memory has forced them to leave their mountain fastnesses in search of prey. At first it was Man's animals that fed their raging appetite. Now it is Man himself ...

THE BLOODSNARL, a nightmare of Man against Nature, fought to a pitiless crescendo in the frozen barrens of the North.

Britain is enduring a bitter winter. England has been hit by a killer flu epidemic, the Government is in meltdown due to their mismanagement of the vaccination programme, and energy rationing has been enforced. The Thames is frozen, Eros mangled by a skidding bus , and an England match has been abandoned with ten minutes to go because the Wembley staff hadn't obtained permission to use floodlights. We were about to take a "crucial penalty" when the plug was pulled so the fans probably rioted out of relief.

Things are far worse in the Scottish Highlands, but their problems have been overlooked in all the excitement. Some years ago, scientist and conservationist Richard Unthank reintroduced wolves to the mainland to cull the huge and destructive deer population. The pack, half a dozen strong, they did their job well. Trouble is, come the big freeze, the starving deer have come down from the mountains and brought the wolves with them. They are Canis Lupus and if Unthank hadn't the good sense to give them names, this novel would be impossible to follow. Their leader is Darkmind, his mate Black Patch, with Hollowbelly, Bent Ear, Rabbit and Slack Jaw comprising the rest. They're camped in the mountains surrounding the tiny village of Elphin.

Elphin has an ineffectual police force of two: Sergeant Dunceford - closing in on retirement and seeking recognition for his services - and the put-upon, ultra-scruffy, Temporary Constable Shaftoe. Their problems begin when a number of household pets go missing, one belonging to slimy, glory-seeking MP Sir Marcus Sheerwater, the most important man in the immediate vicinity. Shortly afterward, Darkmind and friends attack a farmhouse and drag off a little girl. Soon they've progressed to a postman. But it's with the death of Franklin Bakersman that things reach crisis proportions. Franklin is the son of an obscenely wealthy oil tycoon and the old man helicopters in to organise his own war on the wolves. With Sheerwater and Dunceford in his pocket, Bakersman senior is free to conduct his idiotic campaign of vengeance with no regard for what's best for the villagers which, naturally, contributes to a healthy bodycount and instigates many of the juiciest deaths.

Unthank, ostracized by Bakersman's toadies, forms an uneasy alliance with clubfooted London journalist Kelso, exiled after trying to break a story about a cabinet minister. Their relationship is complicated by Emma Dancer, a young archaeologist who they both have the hots for. Kelso is also knocking off Penny Bakersman (he was sleeping with her when she got the call telling her Franklin was dead. She'd not just lost a brother, but a lover too). Unthank, Kelso and Emma are involved in one of the books finest set pieces, a midnight break-in at the mortuary to view Franklin's corpse for clues as to what killed him. They prize open the coffin lids, but there's no sign of him. Hey, what's in these freezer bags ....?

The wolf-pack are far and away the stars of the show with Darkmind playing a blinder and Slack Jaw - shunned by his colleagues on account of his insanity - pushing him all the way. Now they've tasted human flesh, the pack have developed a fondness for kiddie meat and Darkmind instigates an attack on the local infant school. To go one better, Slack Jaw takes on an entire church congregation. The deaths are truly gory and often protracted, there are characters to loathe, others to root for, and considering it runs for 347 pages, once all the background info is done with there's rarely a few pages go by without something satisfyingly rotten happening to some luckless soul.

Some of our more avid ghouls may lack the patience, but for the rest : recommended.