Department 19, The Rising, and Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  “Neither do I,” said Jamie.

  The procession making its way along the abandoned tunnel beneath the heart of Central London would have looked ridiculous to anyone who witnessed it.

  Aggie and Jamie were at the front, walking steadily side by side. Behind them came Ellison and Morton, looking utterly bemused as they followed their squad leader through the darkness. After the two rookie Operators came the rest of Aggie’s Guardians: two wide lines of remarkable-looking men and women who strolled easily across the uneven surface, their twists of foil and slivers of metal sparkling as they passed beneath the tunnel’s maintenance lights.

  Jamie kept his eyes peeled as they made their way forward. The mission had turned from what he had expected into something very different, and he was determined to stay focused on what had become an evolving situation. He thought there was very little chance that Alastair Dempsey would go down without a fight, but he hoped that, by arriving with Aggie and her odd band of painted Guardians, they might be able to take him by surprise and destroy him before he had either the chance to flee or to hurt anyone who lived down here.

  He had asked Aggie about the lights, but she had just grunted that a big boy like him ought to know what made lights work, so he had dropped it. He assumed someone had run cable up to an electricity source on the surface, a feat that must have taken a huge amount of daring and a significant amount of technical expertise. He wanted to know about this strange place, but didn’t want to annoy Aggie any more than he already had by bringing his squad into her home.

  I don’t blame her for not wanting to tell me, he thought. She probably already thinks I’m going to bring a hundred Met officers back here and chase them all out.

  If she did think that, however, she was wrong; Jamie had already made up his mind that he would not be including this place in his report. It did not need bringing to anyone’s attention; it wasn’t a haven for vampires, or any other kind of supernatural, and therefore not his Department’s concern. It was merely home to a group of people who presumably had nowhere else to go.

  “How much further?” he asked. The tunnel seemed endless, the yellow lights illuminating little more than the ten metres directly in front of them.

  “Ain’t far,” grunted Aggie. “Soon enough we’ll be there. Then you can take your vampire man and leave us in peace.”

  I don’t think it’s going to be that simple, thought Jamie. Although I hope I’m wrong. I really do.

  “It might be for the best,” he said, carefully, “if you let the three of us confront him on our own. If you tell us when we’re nearly there, then the rest of you can stay back.”

  “Piss on that,” said Aggie, mildly. “We’re the Guardians of this place, not you and your little friends. You do what we say, not the other way around.”

  Have it your way, he thought. For a little bit longer, at least.

  After a period of time that Jamie could not have accurately estimated, but which he thought had to have been less than fifteen minutes, perhaps no more than ten, the tunnel suddenly expanded to twice its width, and Aggie stopped.

  “This here’s the junction,” she said. “Two lines used to cross here, although both of them are gone now. Straight ahead, where those fires are, that’s where we’ll find your vampire.”

  Jamie stared into the darkness. After a few seconds, his eyes were able to pick out the faintest orange glow, what seemed like miles away.

  Her eyes are incredible, he thought. I doubt even Larissa can see that well.

  “What’s over there?” he asked.

  “It’s a dead end,” said Aggie. “Kind of a circle, although it ain’t really, not any more. There’s some shelters been built, and other bits and pieces.”

  “How many ways out?”

  “If he runs before we cross the junction, then too many,” she said. “If he don’t, then two. There’s a door on the left-hand wall, leads up to an old power exchange. It’s one of the main ways in and out. Once we cross, the rest’ll all be behind you. If you don’t let him get past, and you don’t let him get out the door, there ain’t going to be nowhere for him to go.”

  A dead end, thought Jamie. Excellent.

  “Did you get all that?” he asked, turning to face his squad mates, who both nodded. “Ellison, I want you to get in front of that door as soon as we’re across. Morton, you stay with me. We finish this down here. Clear?”

  “Clear,” said Ellison. Morton merely nodded, staring directly at Jamie.

  “OK,” he said. “Aggie, do you want to lead us in? If we mix in with your people, then he’s less likely to see us.”

  “Aye,” said Aggie. “That seems like sense.”

  Jamie nodded and stepped back into the brightly painted crowd. Ellison and Morton did the same, holstering their MP5s and drawing their T-Bones. The three Operators kept their weapons low, where they would be less obvious to anyone watching the crowd approach.

  “Let’s do this,” said Jamie. Aggie nodded and led them out across the junction.

  The space was huge; the tracks were long gone, but the places where they had once intersected were still clearly marked by patches of the tunnel floor that were paler than their surroundings. Jamie found himself standing at the nexus, with four tunnel openings surrounding him. To the rear was the one they had just walked down, to the front their destination, where he hoped Alastair Dempsey was relaxing, unaware of their presence. To the left and right the tunnels disappeared into darkness, their destinations unknown.

  Aggie’s right, thought Jamie. If he gets past us, he’s gone.

  His heart was starting to beat more rapidly in his chest; he made no attempt to slow it, preferring to let its steady thud focus his mind on what was about to happen. If all went to plan, it would be over in a matter of seconds, but experience had taught him that things rarely did where vampires were concerned, particularly vampires as dangerous as Alastair Dempsey.

  Jamie looked round and saw his squad mates walking steadily among the colourful throng of the Guardians. Both of them appeared calm, their eyes clear, their shoulders low, their progress quiet and steady.

  Good, he thought. Morton’s got himself under control. About time too.

  He looked back just in time to see them pass beneath the entrance of the tunnel they were heading into. He could now see the fires clearly; there were two, built on opposite sides of the wide space. Figures huddled round them or wandered between them; he was just starting to be able to make out individuals when a voice echoed through the tunnel.

  “Who’s that?” it shouted. “That you, Aggie?”

  “Aye,” she shouted. “Me and mine.”

  “Find anything?”

  “Nothing,” she shouted. “Looks like someone did come through, but they ain’t there no more.”

  “That ain’t good, Aggie.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?”

  The other voice fell silent.

  “Visors,” Jamie whispered over the comms link, and flipped his down. He glanced over his shoulder, saw that both his squad mates had done as they were told, and turned back as they approached the fires. The flames cast a beautiful orange glow, and his eyes widened as he saw the number of people the dead-end tunnel contained: there had to be a hundred and fifty men and women, maybe more. He was starting to wonder how they were going to go about finding their target without giving themselves away, when he saw the man they were looking for.

  Alastair Dempsey was leaning against the wall on the other side of the fires. He was wearing a dark shirt and a pair of black jeans, and was standing on his own, his attention fixed firmly on the approaching group of men and women; there was an expression on his face that Jamie didn’t like.

  This one’s a wild animal, he thought. He can sense something is wrong, even though he doesn’t know what yet.

  He was about to whisper their target’s location to his squad mates, when Morton’s voice boomed out, amplified by the microphone in his helmet, deafeningly loud i
n the enclosed space of the tunnel.

  “Alastair Dempsey,” shouted Morton. “Come forward with your hands up.”

  Dempsey was still more than ten metres away, but Jamie saw his eyes instantly flood a deep, glowing red, as a dreadful smile burst across his face.

  “You—” began Ellison, but the insult she had been about to level at Morton was lost forever, as everything turned to chaos.

  Jamie raised his T-Bone, his eyes fixed on Dempsey, determined not to let the vampire out of his sight while simultaneously trying to ignore the fury that had rushed through him as Morton gave away their element of surprise, but saw instantly that he had no shot.

  People were running blindly, crashing into and over each other, sending huge showers of sparks into the air as they trampled through the fires. Men and women stumbled to the ground and Jamie heard the terrified screams of children beneath the roar emerging from the adults. Aggie turned and looked at him with terrible reproach, but he forced himself to ignore her; he was trying to focus on Dempsey, trying to keep their target in front of him, but realised with rising horror that he could no longer see the vampire.

  “Sir?”

  “What is it, Ellison?” he snapped, scanning the writhing mass before him.

  “He’s got me, sir.”

  Jamie felt the blood in his veins turn to ice. Slowly, he turned to face Ellison, who was standing as still as a statue. Looming over her right shoulder was the face of a middle-aged man, his mouth wide and grinning, his eyes smouldering red.

  “Don’t move,” he growled. “I’ll kill this one if you move.”

  Jamie let his T-Bone fall from his hands, drew his Glock, and levelled it at the vampire; there was a blur of movement as Dempsey pulled Ellison’s head back and pressed his fingernails against her throat. He shook his head in gentle warning. Jamie didn’t move, but nor did he lower his gun; he kept it trained directly on the visible portion of Dempsey’s face.

  “Stay calm,” he said, over the comms link. “You’re OK, stay calm.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Ellison, her words silent to everyone apart from her squad mates. “What’s the plan?”

  “Give me a second,” he replied. “Morton, where the hell are you?”

  There was no reply.

  Cursing inwardly, he risked a glance to his right. Morton was facing the vampire, his weapon resting uselessly in his hands. Men and women were streaming around him, but he appeared not to even notice; he seemed to be frozen to the spot.

  “Morton!” Jamie bellowed. His words burst directly into Morton’s ears and the rookie yelled in pain, shoving his visor up as he stumbled backwards, his eyes squeezed tightly together. When they opened again, they were clear, and he turned towards his squad leader, his face flushing the deep red of shame.

  “Go and cover the door,” said Jamie, trying to control the anger that was filling him. “Don’t say a word without your visor down. Just do it. Now.”

  Morton nodded and circled towards the wall, his eyes wide, his T-Bone locked against his shoulder.

  Alastair Dempsey frowned; he was breathing heavily, his eyes flicking right and left, the eyes of a cornered animal.

  Jamie looked quickly around the wide space and saw there were perhaps forty people still there, watching with open terror on their faces. He twisted the dial on his belt.

  “Nobody move!” he shouted. “This has nothing to do with any of you. None of you are in any danger, unless you move now that I’ve told you not to.” He refocused his attention on the vampire. “Alastair Dempsey,” he said. “Surrender yourself to our custody. There’s nowhere for you to go.”

  An expression of surprise flickered across the escapee’s face, then he grunted with laughter. “Not a chance,” he spat. “I’m not going back there. Not a chance in hell.”

  “Just give yourself up,” said Jamie. “There’s no way out of here.”

  The vampire shook his head. “Who are you?” he growled. “Special Branch?”

  “It doesn’t matter who we are,” said Jamie.

  “It does to me,” he said, dragging Ellison backwards. “Do the doctors want me back this badly? Or are you just here to kill me?”

  “We’re here to kill you,” said Morton, from his position in front of the door.

  “SHUT THE HELL UP!” shouted Jamie, his voice echoing through the wide tunnel as his frustration with his squad mate finally got the better of him.

  “Why?” asked Dempsey, glancing at Morton with an expression of apparently genuine curiosity. “What have I done that I haven’t already paid for?”

  “You’re a vampire,” replied Morton.

  Dempsey laughed. “And that gives you the right to kill me?”

  Morton didn’t respond.

  Jamie twisted the dial on his belt again and spoke to Ellison in a voice that only his squad mates could hear. “When I say go, whip your head to the left as hard as you can. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Ellison.

  Dempsey took another step backwards, dragging Ellison with him, his gaze flicking between the two dark figures. Jamie tracked him with the Glock, silent and unmoving.

  “Go,” he said.

  Ellison jerked her head to the left with all her strength. Dempsey was taken completely by surprise; his grip on her neck slipped, his fingers sliding across her uniform as she threw herself away from him. As Ellison hit the floor, her shoulder crunching into the ground, Dempsey’s head became fully visible and Jamie emptied his Glock into it.

  The reports were deafening in the confined space of the tunnel. The men and women he had ordered to stay still screamed in terror, clapping their hands to their ears and diving for the ground. Dempsey, who had an instinct for survival that far predated his being turned, flung himself back through the air, twisting as he did so. The first two bullets slammed into his face, tearing off his left ear and destroying his left eye in a shower of yellow fluid. The rest thudded into his shoulder and arm, sending the vampire crashing to the ground as the Glock’s hammer closed on an empty chamber with a dry click.

  Jamie ran forward, scooping his T-Bone up from the ground as he did so, but Dempsey leapt to his feet before he could take aim. With a screeching howl of anger and pain, his blood spraying in high-pressure jets from at least a dozen bullet holes, he hurled himself towards the door set into the far wall.

  “Incoming!” Jamie yelled, racing after him. “Morton!”

  Morton stepped forward, his finger tightening on the trigger of his T-Bone. The blood-soaked monstrosity shambled towards him, screaming and bleeding and howling, its remaining eye glowing red, its mouth wide and full of fangs. He took an involuntary half-step backwards and pulled the trigger. The metal stake erupted from the weapon’s barrel with a burst of exploding gas and rocketed across the cavernous space.

  But the half-step had been just enough to disrupt his aim; the stake ploughed through Dempsey’s shoulder, tearing loose a chunk of meat the size of a grapefruit, causing a fresh bellow of agony to issue forth from the vampire’s mouth. Morton grabbed for his stake, but was too slow; Dempsey thundered past him, sending him crashing into the wall before the weapon was even free of its belt loop.

  Jamie sprinted across the wide tunnel and leapt through the doorway, his T-Bone pointing up the stairs that lay beyond it. He screamed an appalling torrent of abuse after the escaping vampire and stuck his head back through the door.

  “I have to call this in,” he yelled. “Follow me up.” He disappeared back through the door, his footsteps clattering away up the stairs.

  Ellison watched him go, then turned and looked for her squad mate.

  Morton was sitting on the ground, staring across the echoing tunnel. He was perfectly still, his eyes wide, almost uncomprehending. She hauled herself to her feet, wincing at the pain pulsing through her shoulder, and looked in the direction of his stare.

  Her breath stopped in her chest.

  “Oh shit,” she said.

  Lying on the floor, Morton’s T-
Bone stake sticking out of her throat, was Jackie, the girl who Aggie had asked about Alastair Dempsey. The orange glow of the fires lit her pale face; her eyes stared up at the ceiling and her mouth worked silently. Blood poured out of her neck, spilling across her fur coat, staining it black. Her hands clenched and unclenched weakly at her sides, as a crimson pool spread steadily beneath her.

  Ellison ran across the chamber, forgetting about Morton entirely. She slid to the ground beside the stricken girl, pushing her helmet from her head, and examined the damage. The wound was deep and wide; the metal stake had been slowed by Dempsey’s shoulder, but had still torn almost all the way through her neck, stopping only when it hit her spine. Ellison stared helplessly, knowing there was no help she could offer. If they had been within a minute’s run of a hospital with a world-class trauma centre, then maybe, maybe something could have been done. But down here, in the tunnels below the city, there was nothing.

  Jackie’s eyes met hers. Ellison stared at the dying girl, forcing herself not to look away, not to fail at the only thing she could do: let the girl know that she was not alone. She took Jackie’s hand, held her gaze, and watched her breathe her last. Her chest fluttered once, twice, then was still. A bubble of blood formed on her lower lip. After a second or two, it burst, and Ellison felt tears spill from her eyes.

  “Leave her,” said a voice.

  Ellison turned and saw a man standing over her. His hands were tightly clasped in front of his chest, as if in prayer, and he was looking down at Jackie’s body with disbelieving horror.

  “Leave her,” he repeated, his voice quavering. “Please. I’ll take her.”

  Ellison stared up at him, then nodded. She turned back to the dead girl, pulled the metal stake gently out of her throat, then moved aside. The man knelt down, laid his head on Jackie’s chest, and began to weep. She watched him for a long moment, then forced herself to her feet and staggered back towards her squad mate.

  Morton hadn’t moved; he was still staring blankly at the horror unfolding before him. Ellison crouched down and took hold of his shoulders.