Bad Blood (Battle of the Undead Book 1)

by Nicky Peacock

  Nicholas eyed me with a curious look.

  Philippe pressed the button again, and suddenly, the screen showed a picture of the Vatican in Rome.

  “There we go. It just needed a certain touch,” he said with a wink.

  The Vatican then disappeared, leaving us with a live feed of another haven, one deep below Vatican City. A man appeared in front of the camera. He was late-thirties in looks. He was probably made a vampire in a time when that age was considered old. His mannerisms were that of an old man trapped in a young man’s body. He looked serious…not good.

  “My children…”

  Hmm, not a great start. Referring to vampires as “children” was always a veiled insult, but the Elders had to show their power somehow.

  “Only three?” he asked, worry lines creasing his pale skin.

  “Yes, my lord, only three.” Nicholas spat the word “three.”

  “Oh, dear, you’ve been busy again, Britannia.” The Elder almost sighed.

  It was then I recognized his voice as the regent who had called me earlier.

  “We are all very busy.” I tapped my fingernails deliberately on the arm of the couch as I spoke.

  “Yes, it’s all a rush now, isn’t it?” The Elder looked sullen for a moment. “I have terrible news, children.”

  Before we knew it, all three of us had edged forward.

  “We have had word that the humans have destroyed themselves.”

  “Pardon me?” Philippe looked quizzical. “But I saw a group of them only moments ago, and they all appeared rather robust.”

  “Now, yes, but in a few days, or even hours, that will drastically change. It would seem that science will in fact be their, and our, downfall. Scientists in Cambridge have released a virus.”

  “What virus?” Nicholas narrowed his eyes.

  “The humans infected become the very basic of the undead…revenants.”

  “Revenants?” I’d heard the word before, but had never really latched on to its meaning.

  “Zombies, my dear.” Philippe looked down at his feet.

  “Indeed, zombies,” echoed the Elder.

  The word hung in the air, and we were all silent as we struggled with our own chains of thought.

  “What do we do?” I asked.

  “We cannot stop it. The outbreak has already begun. What we do know is that we cannot drink dead blood, and so those who survive this…incident will need to be taken care of… That is, if vampires are to survive.”

  “What do we do?” I asked again, although to be honest, by now, the answer was unfortunately already forming in my mind.

  “We have developed a safe town in a remote area of Britain. Vampires from all over the country are to collect as many uninfected humans as they can and herd them there. We will then protect the remaining humans and fix the problem they have created.”

  “Can we be infected?” Damn Nicholas and his good questions.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, but infection takes hold only after a number of consecutive bites.”

  “How many?”

  “Ten or more in one attack. More if you are older, stronger.”

  I wondered for a second how they knew that, then the answer came to me and made me gag. The Elders were never ones to refrain from experimenting in order to further their knowledge—knowledge is power. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine them, in the past, locking up vampires with revenants to see what would happen. Zombies weren’t new, but an outbreak that the Elders couldn’t stop was very new.

  “So where’s the safe town?” Nicholas asked.

  Again with the good questions!

  “Argyll.”

  “Argyll? As in the Scottish Highlands?” I asked.

  Once again, I knew the answer to my question, but I asked in the hope that he meant the posh wool shop down Covent Garden.

  “It is remote and easily fortified. We are asking that all vampires make their way there, finding survivors where they can.”

  “I’ve never been to Scotland.” Philippe looked wistful.

  “Sleep for today, children. Gather your strength for the morrow night. You’ll need it.” The Elder then dramatically clicked off his Skype.

  We sat in an easy silence for about ten minutes, Philippe looking thoughtful, Nicholas beginning to speak then thinking better of it. Personally, I’d have been happy to remain in silence. Any acknowledgement would have made it all real. Nicholas broke first. He stood.

  “Okay,” he said, “we need to go home, get some sleep, and meet here at sundown.”

  “Who put you in charge?” I sprung up to glare at him.

  “I’m the eldest. Of course I’m in charge. It’s the system that vampires adhere to. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  “Up yours! I’m not taking orders from you!”

  “Now, now. Let’s not make this worse than it already is.” Philippe stepped between us. “Let us do as brother Nicholas suggests. We will get our sleep, meet here at sundown, then begin the trek to Scotland. Kilts will be optional.” Philippe winked at Nicholas, who actually blushed. He then jerked forward and quickly embraced me. “Britannia, darling, this is bigger than your petty squabble. Please promise me that you will work with Nicholas and put the survival of both species above it?”

  His arms were strong and gentle at the same time. It made me wonder how he did it. Unlike the myriad of vampires in movies and books, we didn’t have special powers like telepathy, predicting the future, or seeing into someone’s soul. We were stronger than humans—in fact, I could bench press a truck trailer, and have done it in fleeting movements of boredom. We were much faster than any animal alive, and we had better senses—heightened vision, hearing, smell. But if one of us had one of those elusive special powers, it was Philippe with his calming influence and soft touch that always made you feel warm and loved. I allowed myself to briefly enjoy his embrace—a small compensation considering the world I knew was teetering on the edge of a zombie apocalypse.

  “I’ll just go then.” With that, Nicholas stomped out of the haven and back up through the door to the pub.

  “I’m so thankful for you, Philippe.”

  “I am more so for you, Britannia, my dear. Who better to guide us through the forthcoming carnage than a seasoned hunter?” He tenderly kissed each of my cheeks then followed Nicholas up and out.

  Chapter Two

  Having lived so long believing I still had an eternity before me, the knowledge of impending doom threw me up two options: One, let it break me. I could close the door of the haven, sink into the velvet furniture, and fade to dust and bone. Not a very attractive image. Two, I could grit my teeth and live up to my name, protecting my country from a full stop on its history. There was a time when the sun never set on the British Empire. Now it threatened to set on every man, woman, and child in the country. Not on my watch! I’d been defending my country all my unnatural life, and I wasn’t going to let an undead invasion stop me now.

  It was an odd sensation to know that everything was about to change, yet be powerless to stop it, especially if you were a vampire. The only thing that didn't yield to the strength of a vampire was time itself. It marched on regardless, and you either went with it reluctantly or swam against the tide. Most modern vampires in London didn’t last very long—mainly because of me—but also because the idea of being a vampire had been so warped by this time.

  Back when I was taken, becoming a vampire wasn’t a pleasant thing. Especially if you believed in God, which we all did to some degree, as you felt your very presence was an affront to him. Of course, the longer you stayed a vampire, the worse it got. The more deeply you evolved into someone so far from your human self, the less you recognized yourself. Old vampires kept their talents hidden, their kills small, and their presence barely above a whisper. Modern vampires don’t believe in anything. They strut around with a new self-worth, declaring themselves to all and sundry. They’ve been brainwashed by TV and books into thinking being a vampire is coo
l and, once they’ve mastered it, they’ll be unstoppable, capable of doing anything, killing anyone, living forever. They’re wrong, and they die quicker and with more mess than if they had remained human.

  When I stepped out of the Dead Hare, I noticed how much busier the streets were. I felt like warning people, but that would have put me amongst the ranks of unwashed sandwich-board marauders screaming, “the end is nigh!” Nobody listened to them. No one would listen to me.

  I got back to my apartment block and bumped into my neighbor, Mrs. Lewis. She was the only one in the building who gave me the time of day. She was a spry, seventy-year-old throwback from the cockney era. Whenever she felt less than her normal, energetic self, I would walk her Blue Merle Rough Collie dog, Buttons. With his alien blue eyes and bad temperament, I had taken to calling him Satan. He had a habit of starting fights with other dogs, especially ones bigger than him. Needless to say, we bonded quickly.

  “Hello, darling.” She always had the most wicked grin.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Lewis. How are you today?”

  “Very well, thank you.” She looked me up and down. I suspected she suspected what I was, but both of us were from a time too polite to say.

  I hesitated. I wasn’t supposed to say anything to anyone, but if I didn’t warn her, she’d have a very slim chance at survival.

  “Mrs. Lewis, if I told you to go somewhere, right now, no questions, for your own safety, would you?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I think I probably would, sweetheart.”

  “Good, go to the Dead Hare Pub. They’ll be having a lock-in from tonight through tomorrow. You’ll be safe.”

  Mrs. Lewis narrowed her eyes. “You know, dear, I know what you are.”

  “You do?”

  She leaned forward as if to whisper a long lost secret. “You’re a…witch,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes. “Just go to the Dead Hare, okay?”

  She looked down at Buttons. “They don’t allow dogs in pubs. Will you look after him for me? He likes you, gets so excited when you come over to see us.”

  She handed me his leash. No good deed goes unpunished! I’d saved her, but had ended up with Satan on a string!

  The idea of hugging me flickered across her face. She then thought better of it and turned back into her flat to pack for the Dead Hare.

  She’ll be okay there, I thought, and you never know, she might find love with one of the many old war heroes who frequent the place.

  I looked down at Satan. He’d probably never be known as Buttons again. He eyed me with curiosity then pushed his head against my hand. I stroked him before leading him into my apartment.

  I locked the door and barricaded it with as much heavy furniture as I could, then nailed the balcony windows shut and covered them with broken wardrobe pieces. Suddenly, my massive luxury flat looked very small and shadowy. The walls seemed to push in on themselves, and part of me wanted to rip off all the barricades I’d just made so I could breathe again. The other part of me, the sane part, wanted me to nut up, remember that vampires didn’t need to breathe, and that if even one zombie got in while I slept, I’d be done for.

  By the time I’d finished, Satan and I felt very alone, shut off from the rest of the world, and worried.

  Vampires don’t need much sleep, but when we do sleep, we are vulnerable. When you commit to it, you have to sleep for nine hours straight. We don’t do siestas or power naps. Once we’re down, we are down for that amount of time. Maybe nine has some mystical meaning I’ve yet to discover. Maybe it has no meaning at all, but I knew that if zombies got in during those nine hours, I’d be dead…well, deader. It took a while for me to drop off. I heard sirens echoing in the distance, and I’m sure I smelled blood in the air. I lay curled in bed with Satan by my side and waited.

  I’m unsure why I dreamed that night. I could speculate it was the chaos outside my walls, the knowledge that, when I woke, the world would have changed more dramatically than my normal perception could accept. Whatever the reason, I hadn’t had a dream in centuries, but that night, I found myself tangled in distant memories and dark thoughts. I looked down at myself and found I wasn’t in my usual outfit. Instead, I was layered in mounds of lace and silk, an array of soft pastel colors that drenched my frame. My hair was long still, but its color was no longer dark blue. Instead, it was angelic gold, and my skin had a light tan dusted with freckles. And he was there. Langdon. The only man I’d ever loved and the one I’d been engaged to marry.

  In 1562, women were married off for money, power, titles, and to cover debts. I was the luckiest girl alive back then. Not only was I the youngest daughter of a wealthy clothes merchant—hence the fabulous outfit—but my father was allowing me to marry Langdon, who was a captain in His Majesty’s army. My older sister had married a title, and we had no need for money anymore, so I was free to marry for love. In the dream, although no music played, Langdon stood in uniform in front of me, offering his hand for a dance. I fluttered my eyelashes and tried to look coy, but as I turned away, his image changed and melted. Now, instead of Langdon, Nicholas stood before me, hand still outstretched and a wicked, satisfied grin across his face.

  I awoke to the sensation of a mouth warm and slimy around my wrist. I turned to see Satan pulling on me gently, his blue eyes pleading with me to let him out to do his business. I removed my wrist from his soft jaws, ruffled his fur, and pulled the wooden blockade down from my balcony. I opened the doors, and he sped out to pee up my neighbor’s dividing wall. The wafting warm, acidic smell made me gag, so I ventured further onto the balcony for some fresh air.

  The sun was setting, but daylight still bathed the scenery below. I leapt onto the railings, balancing, so I could see out over the city.

  London was burning. The flames licked the landscape with abandon, and the waters of the Thames looked dark and strangely busy. I strained to see it more clearly. That’s when I saw people thrashing, trying to swim. They pushed and pulled in the water, some just giving up and sinking beneath the surface. They were trying to get away from something, a faceless crowd that seemed to have gathered on the banks just to watch them drown. I couldn’t help them. Even with my speed, they’d all be dead by the time I got there.

  Satan barked then backed into me as my neighbor attempted to traverse the partition separating us. Mr. Gervis was not a nice guy when he was alive. As a zombie, he was positively gross. Ten stone overweight for his height of five-foot-five, he had almost hoisted himself over the barrier between us. His half-eaten hands reached toward me, his hungry moans sounding his frustration as he got stuck halfway through his journey. His belly sagged out of his jogging bottoms and wrapped itself over the fence top. Mr. Gervis the zombie was not strong enough to lift his own body weight…interesting.

  Satan barked again, and I watched as the zombie cowered at the noise—he didn’t like dogs either. His eyes were bulging and bloodshot with one eyeball dangling down his bloated cheek. He yelled at me, and for a moment, it was almost like I’d stepped on one of his garden boxes and he was telling me off. Yet the yell had no form and was just a long, uninterrupted stream of vowels. He wriggled to get free but couldn’t. He continued to reach toward me, ignoring Satan who had now stopped barking and was casually sniffing around the balcony.

  Knowing my zombie interloper wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, I strolled back into my flat, showered, changed, and packed a rucksack. I didn’t need food, but Satan did, so I put in a couple of chews and a few dog food cans that I had left from my pre-zombie-apocalypse dog-sitting days. I dressed in my Sex Pistols tee, red leather skinny jeans, and electric-blue leather biker jacket and boots. I plaited my long hair to keep it out of my face. I packed a first aid box, a change of clothes, my hand scythes, and two grenades left over from the Second World War. I always knew they’d come in handy someday! I’d also kept a pint of blood from my last kill. I didn’t like to think about the humans I killed. I tried to dwell more on the vampires. This particular human had
been a rather nasty piece of work who’d dedicated his life to making people suffer. I’d been drinking the tax inspector for five days now, and as I downed the last of him, I heard another more impatient moan from Mr. Gervis, who had now managed to wriggle free from the fence.

  Two strides and a swipe of my scythe, then off tumbled his head. It made a satisfying wet thump on my floor. Satan stared up at me. Then he sniffed the body and recoiled.

  “Bad blood, Satan. It’s why I can’t drink them.”

  Satan, of course, didn’t understand, but I think he knew the world was different now. I bent to put his leash on and stopped myself. If he were to have any chance of survival, he’d need to be free to run. I threw the thin strap of leather to the side, ruffled his head, and headed to the door.

  I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulders, pulled at my still steady barricade, and took a deep breath—told you it’s a hard habit to break. Suddenly, freedom loomed tantalizingly in front me.

  It wasn’t the first time in my life this had happened. Back when I had been first turned, Nicholas had kidnapped me in the vain hope of turning blind fury and hatred into love and passion. Twenty years I was imprisoned by Nicholas as he waited patiently for me to come around to his advances. I hadn’t come around. Instead, I just got angrier and more used to being alone. Once a day, Nicholas would visit me in my room, hoping I would look upon him with the same love he showed me, but every day, I would launch at him, tearing and clawing like some wild beast dressed in the finest clothes and fed by the best servants. I tried many methods of escape, many plots to convince him to let me go—hunger strikes, secret tunnels, suicide attempts, and even once pretending I was reformed. Nothing worked. Eventually, though, I stood in front of an open door, very much like this one. Nicholas was smiling. His new plan was to let me go to show me he loved me. I remember staring at the vampire who had been my captor for the past twenty years as he searched my face for defeat or for some jot of love for him. He found none. I simply kicked him as hard as I could in the crotch and, head held high, walked out of my prison.