by Will Hill
Turner glanced towards the hangar. A bright red fire engine from the Loop’s emergency services fleet was approaching, metal ladders gleaming on its roof. He waved his arm until the driver steered the red truck towards them, then turned back to Kate.
“Right now?” he said. “We do what we can, and hope it’s enough. That’s all we can do.”
The sky to the east was a glorious deep purple, the colour of a week-old bruise, as Jamie Carpenter opened his eyes.
The sun had not yet crawled above the horizon and it was bitterly cold, even inside his sleeping bag. The tarpaulin and plastic shelter had kept out the snow that had fallen relentlessly through the night, but not the whistling, creeping wind; it had worked its way into every warm corner, icy-cold fingers that searched and pried.
Jamie sat up, keeping the sleeping bag wrapped tightly round him, and shivered. Dawn was still half an hour away, maybe slightly less, and he felt physically exhausted, like his limbs were full of concrete and his head was made of glass. His mind felt slow, as though it needed shutting down and rebooting, and he tried to remember when he had last had more than four hours of uninterrupted sleep. He rubbed his upper arms with his hands, trying to will life back into them, and looked around the camp.
Tim Albertsson was asleep on his back beneath the edge of the shelter, one hand tucked behind his head. He looked a picture of contentment, as though he was sleeping under the finest duvet in the most luxurious hotel room in the world, rather than in a snowy field at the edge of the Teleorman Forest. There was the hint of a smile on the American’s tanned, handsome face, and the expression caused Jamie a momentary burst of anger.
He’s even smug when he’s asleep, he thought.
Jamie knew he was prone to making snap judgements, a quality that was not one of his best, and had caused him trouble in the past. He had taken an instant liking to Thomas Morris, who had turned out not only to have been working to betray Blacklight from within, but to have been involved in the death of Jamie’s father. Conversely, he had initially disliked Frankenstein and loathed Henry Seward, two men for whom he had come to have the utmost respect.
As a result, he would never have claimed to be the most reliable judge of character, and he was hoping that this would prove to be the case with Tim Albertsson; that the fault lay with him and that, in time, he would come to see the American’s finer qualities, would be able to respect him as an Operator even if he never came to like him as a person.
Jamie genuinely hoped so, because he currently felt very differently.
Right now, he hated Tim Albertsson.
Absolutely hated him.
It wasn’t just that there was obviously something between the American and Larissa that he wasn’t being told, although that was certainly reason enough. It was the way Albertsson talked, and walked, just the fundamental way he was; he reminded Jamie of the bullies who had swaggered round the playgrounds of the many schools he had attended after his dad had died, absolutely certain of their superiority to those around them, full of unwarranted, unjustifiable arrogance.
Come back to me when you’ve faced down Alexandru Rusmanov and lived to tell the tale, he thought. Then you can act like a big shot as much as you want.
Next to Albertsson, Arkady Petrov lay asleep on his side, his shaven scalp protruding from the thick green sleeping bag, his breathing light and steady. Jamie was sure that the cold, which he found utterly debilitating, posed no problem at all for Petrov, who had been raised in the biting teeth of the Russian winter and whose home base lay inside the Arctic Circle.
In the centre of the camp lay the sleeping forms of Van Orel and Engel. They had – involuntarily, he presumed – huddled together during the night, and were spooning like a couple on their honeymoon. Jamie smiled, wondering how embarrassed the two Operators would be when they awoke.
In the latest of the snap judgements that he was trying to stop himself making, he had decided that he liked Kristian Van Orel; liked him a lot. The South African was funny and self-deprecating, and seemed disinterested in the importance of age or experience. As far as Jamie, who worried endlessly about both of those issues, was concerned, it was a significant point in his favour.
At the southern edge of the shelter, where the snow that covered the rest of the field was piled steep and high, an empty sleeping bag lay crumpled on the groundsheet. Jamie stared at it, then dragged his protesting body out into the cold and went to find his girlfriend.
Snow crunched beneath his boots as he ducked under the corner of the shelter and stood up, stretching his aching arms towards the sky. His head was beginning to clear, and he allowed himself a moment to marvel at the vista of purple and orange that filled the sky to the east.
“Morning.”
Jamie smiled at the sound of Larissa’s voice, and turned towards it. His girlfriend was perched on a tree branch at the edge of the dark forest, high above the camp. She looked even paler than usual, but her eyes glowed momentarily red at the sight of him, and a smile rose slowly on to her face.
“Morning,” he replied, picking his way carefully up the slope towards her. “I thought your watch finished two hours ago?”
“It did,” she said. “I didn’t see the point of waking anyone else.”
“So you could get some sleep?” he suggested.
Larissa shrugged. “I’m not tired.”
Jamie reached the wide trunk of the tree, depressingly aware that his feet were already numb, even through his boots, and looked up at her. “Are you coming down?” he asked.
Larissa didn’t answer. Jamie was about to repeat the question when she pushed herself off the branch, floated gracefully down to the snow-covered ground, and closed his mouth with her own, the kiss passionate, almost violent. His eyes widened with surprise, then closed as he felt heat in his stomach, felt Larissa press herself against him. He gave himself over to the kiss, luxuriating in something that was warm and soft rather than cold and hard, then forced himself to break it and step back.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Larissa narrowed her eyes, the red in their corners pulsing. “I can’t kiss my boyfriend?”
Jamie shook his head. “You can,” he said. “You most definitely can. But maybe when we’re not in the middle of a Priority Level 1 operation?”
Larissa looked at him, her expression unreadable. Jamie stared back; the kiss had been so urgent, so aggressive, almost like she’d been trying to prove something with it. As he looked at her, he realised he could wait no longer to find out what she was hiding from him.
“What happened in Nevada, Larissa?” he asked. “With you and Tim. And please don’t say nothing.”
“Nothing,” she said.
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just don’t.”
Larissa’s eyes flared momentarily, before a look of profound sadness crossed her face. “It’s not what you think,” she said, softly. “I understand if you don’t believe that, and I don’t blame you, but it’s the truth. Nothing happened between me and Tim, absolutely nothing. He was someone I thought was a friend, but he turned out not to be. I should have told you everything when I got back to the Loop, and I will, I promise I will. But this isn’t the time or the place.”
“You never mentioned him,” said Jamie. “Not even once. But he talks like you were best mates, and he keeps smirking at me, like he knows something I don’t.”
“I know he does,” said Larissa. “I’m sorry. All I can say is that it isn’t what you think. Please try and trust me.”
Jamie stared at her, searching within himself for the strength, and the patience, to do as she asked. “OK,” he said, eventually. “I’ll try.”
They stood in silence for a long moment, the freezing air whistling around them, the eastern sky lightening.
“Do you reckon Kate and Matt are still asleep?” he asked, eventually.
Larissa smiled. “Kate will be at her desk in Security by now,” she said. “You know she will. And Ma
tt should be having dinner, with any luck.”
Jamie frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Nevada is ten hours behind us.”
“What does that have to do with Matt?” asked Jamie.
It was Larissa’s turn to frown. “Matt’s in Nevada,” she said, slowly. “Helping NS9 look for Adam. Didn’t he tell you?”
“I haven’t seen him for a couple of days,” said Jamie. “When did he leave?”
“Yesterday morning,” said Larissa. “And whose fault is it that you haven’t seen him? I know he tried to find you the day before yesterday, when you spent the whole day feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Shit,” said Jamie. “He probably wanted to tell me about it.”
Larissa nodded. “I’m sure he did.”
Jamie grimaced.
I can’t do anything about it now, he told himself. I’ll apologise to Matt when we get home.
“We should wake the others,” he said.
“Why?” asked Larissa, her voice suddenly low and urgent. “We could just go in there right now, you and me. We don’t need the rest of them. I can protect us.”
“We can’t do that, Larissa.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not,” he said. “Because we’ve got orders to follow.”
Larissa hissed loudly, and Jamie took an involuntary step back. “Orders?” she growled. “Since when do you give a shit about orders? You’ve disobeyed more than you’ve followed, and you’ve been right more times than not. Trust yourself, Jamie. Trust me. We can do this.”
“Do what?” asked a voice.
Jamie spun round and saw Tim Albertsson standing at the edge of the shelter, regarding them with a wide, easy smile. Behind him, he heard a low growl emerge from Larissa’s throat.
What the hell is going on here? he wondered. I mean, seriously.
“Nothing,” he said. “We were just about to wake the rest of you.”
Tim nodded, his smile growing even wider. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “It’s nearly dawn, and we need to be in the forest before your girlfriend bursts into flames, don’t we? Come on, Engel’s making coffee.”
The American ducked back under the shelter. Jamie turned to Larissa, and recoiled; her fangs were clearly visible, her eyes blazing red, and she was staring at the spot where Albertsson had been standing with open, roaring fury.
“Larissa,” he said. She gave no indication of having heard. “Larissa,” he said again, and grabbed her arm.
She turned on him with the speed of a striking cobra, her fingers closing round his hand, a terrible hiss bursting from between her bared teeth. Jamie stared, frozen with shock, until she blinked and let go of his arm, and the person in front of him was once again the girl he loved.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I hurt you?”
Jamie shook his head. “I’m fine,” he managed. “Are you OK?”
“No,” said Larissa. “I’m not.”
“And what about Albertsson?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’ve seen you look at people like that before,” said Jamie. “It normally doesn’t end well. For them, at least.”
Larissa shrugged, and smiled a thin, unpleasant smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “But if you’re saying that Tim should be careful, I agree with you. This forest seems like a dangerous place.”
“We have been here before,” said Arkady Petrov.
Larissa looked round at her squad mates and sighed. The Russian was right; she recognised the clearing they were standing in, the sprays of early wildflowers and low bushes that rose around the bases of the huge tree trunks, the mingled mixture of fragrances that filled the air.
“No we haven’t,” said Tim Albertsson, stabbing at a topographical survey map with a gloved finger. “We’re here, see. That’s where we made camp, that’s where we came in, this is where we are. We’re going in the right direction.”
“We are going in circles,” said Petrov, his voice flat and even.
“What are you saying?” said Albertsson, rounding angrily on the Russian Operator. “That I don’t know how to read a map?”
Petrov said nothing; he merely stared at Albertsson with his dark grey eyes.
“Arkady is right,” said Larissa. “We’ve been here before. We must have got turned around somewhere.”
“How could you possibly know that?” asked Albertsson.
Larissa shrugged. “I know.”
Albertsson rolled his eyes. “Well, isn’t that awesome? No, thanks for that, seriously. You just know. That’s really helpful.”
“Hey!” said Jamie, his eyes flashing with anger. “It’s not her fault we’re lost.”
“Are you taking your girlfriend’s side, Lieutenant Carpenter?” asked Tim. “What a colossal surprise. I’m sure nobody saw that coming.”
“I don’t give a shit what you saw coming,” said Jamie, his face colouring a dark red. “She’s right, Arkady is right, and you know they’re right. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“Thank you for your input, Lieutenant,” said Albertsson. “I’ll be sure to give it the consideration it deserves.” The American stalked away from the rest of the squad, flattened the map against one of the tree trunks, and began to trace a route on it with his finger, muttering angrily to himself.
Larissa glanced at Jamie, whose gaze was still fixed on Albertsson’s back, and then looked at the rest of the squad. Petrov was leaning against one of the trees, rolling a cigarette with practised ease. Van Orel was looking at Jamie with a small smile, its narrow curve full of what Larissa believed was support, and Engel was standing off to one side, her face impassive. It was already clear that the German Operator was hating every second of DARKWOODS; her dismay at the behaviour of her squad mates was obvious.
And perfectly justified, thought Larissa. This is going bad.
She took a deep breath as she waited for Tim to order them to move out again. She had told nobody, not even Jamie, but her head was swimming; it was as though the forest had been designed to overwhelm her, to nullify her supernatural abilities. The smells that rose from the ground as they made their way deeper and deeper into the dark trees grew stronger and more intense; spring wildflowers that gave off sweet, complicated scents, mushrooms and fauna that smelt of rot and decay, the thick stench of animal blood and waste. And beneath it all buzzed a constant, maddening drone, a relentless, painful rattle that burrowed into her ears, making clear thinking difficult, and causing her to wonder if there was something wrong with her. She had asked Jamie if he could hear it, and he had looked at her with a frown.
“Hear what?” he had asked.
Larissa hadn’t replied.
This is going bad, she thought again, as Tim Albertsson folded the map and strode back towards his squad.
It’s going bad fast.
In truth, things had started badly and got worse.
The squad had been ill-tempered from the moment she and Jamie had returned to camp, fractious and anxious and seemingly spoiling to pick fights with one another. They had taken down their shelter in near silence, before stepping past the disembowelled wolf and into the forest. The discovery that the snow that covered the field had largely failed to penetrate the thick canopy of trees briefly lifted spirits; searching their target area would have taken weeks if they’d been forced to wade through waist-deep snow. But barely a minute had passed when Van Orel, whom Albertsson had ordered to take point, stopped abruptly.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.
His squad mates gathered behind him, then froze in their tracks as they saw what had made him halt.
In front of them was a gallery of dead animals.
Wolves had been pinned to half a dozen trees, their grey fur soaked with blood, their innards spilled. Between them, two of the widest trunks were decorated with the corpses of red deer, their mouths coated with foam, their eyes bulging; Larissa stared at them, marvel
ling at the strength it must have taken to lift the heavy bodies and drive wooden stakes through thick muscle and old, heavy bark.
Two wild boars had been butchered and arranged on the floor of the forest, surrounded by bushes that were full of flayed squirrels, badgers, foxes and rats, the small corpses hung in neat, gruesome rows.
Designed, thought Larissa, and shivered. Arranged, especially for us.
“What the hell?” whispered Albertsson.
She turned to look at their squad leader, and saw his eyes widened with fear. Then Tim noticed her looking and collected himself; he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he pulled off a glove and dipped a finger in the blood of the nearest wolf.
“Still warm,” he said.
“It was done while we were asleep,” said Engel, saying out loud what everyone was thinking. “Asleep fifty metres away.”
Larissa felt her vampire side straining, begging for release. She felt familiar heat in the corners of her eyes, felt the itch in the roof of her mouth as her fangs began to move.
“This is a final warning,” said Petrov. “Last chance to turn back.”
“To hell with that,” said Albertsson, although Larissa didn’t think the tone of his voice matched the determination of his words. “We’re not going back till we find what we came here to find. Let’s move out.”
Cal Holmwood stood in the hangar of the Loop, a splitting headache pounding through his skull, and waited for his friend to be brought out.
After the general alarm had ceased its ungodly screeching, he had received a message from Paul Turner explaining what had happened out on the perimeter and assuring him that the situation was under control. Cal didn’t doubt it; he had more faith in his Security Officer than in any other member of the Department, himself included. But despite that faith, he had not been able to persuade his tired, aching body to return to sleep. Instead, he had lain awake for almost an hour, staring alternately at the dark ceiling of his bedroom and the glowing numbers of the digital clock on his bedside table, until he had admitted defeat, showered, dressed, and trudged out to his desk.
The mountain of files and folders that was piled precariously on its surface was nothing less than an Everest of red tape. At the summit was a new report from the Surveillance Division, which he lifted down and opened.