[Vampire Babylon 01] - Skarlet (2009)

by Thomas Emson

  “You have no idea about your own kids, do you.” Richard’s face was red and puffy, and the skin glistened with sweat.

  “What are you talking about, Richard?”

  “These lads, these boys that I have to care for on my own, these boys are going off the rails.”

  “Off the rails?”

  “Michael, in particular, is disruptive at school.”

  “I didn’t know – ”

  He sat up. “Of course you didn’t know, you stupid cow, you’re never here.”

  Murray winced.

  She said, “W-what kind of disruption?”

  “Bullying – ”

  A chill leached through her. “Bullying?”

  “Abusive towards his teachers. His work in decline.”

  “What about David?”

  “Learns by example. Worships his older brother. Out with him till all hours – ”

  “Richard, why do you let them stay out?”

  “Why do I let them?”

  Murray said, “You’re drinking. You’re drunk, that’s why. You get drunk and let them run riot.”

  He said, “I’m here, on my own, looking after two adolescent boys. While you’re – ”

  She let a silence fall between them. Richard slumped back in the chair. Spit oozed from between his lips.

  She said, “This is what we agreed. That I’m making the better money, so you would look after the boys at home. This is what we agreed.”

  Richard said, “I gave up my career for yours.”

  “This is what we agreed. You agreed. You said, ‘I’ll do some work at home, write my novel.’ Those were your words, Richard.”

  He shrugged drunkenly, almost falling from the chair. “It’s not working, I’m not happy. I want to renegotiate.”

  “Renegotiate? Don’t use long words when you’re pissed.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be away for so long – these hours you’re working, Chrissie – ”

  “I’m working to bring home a good wage, Richard. I work these long hours because I get paid for my time. I get paid for the stories I find. And with what’s going on in London today, do you expect me to sit back and let other reporters get all the good angles?”

  He didn’t respond, just stared at the television that was silently showing Michael Caine in Zulu.

  She said, “I thought you were going to support me. This is what we’d agreed. You support me for five years, see where I can get to.”

  “You put ambition over your kids’ well-being – ”

  She leaped to her feet, anger searing her breast. “How dare you, how dare you!”

  He flinched, but Murray went on:

  “We sat at the kitchen table two years ago,” she said, “and discussed this. I asked you and asked you, Are you sure? Are you certain this will work? And you said that it was okay. ‘You go ahead,’ you said. ‘I’ll write my novel when they’re at school,’ you said. How dare you, Richard.”

  He stared at the television. Wave after wave of Zulu attacked Roarke’s Drift.

  “Are you listening to me, or sulking again?” she said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, now.”

  “Good, neither do I,” and she stomped out of the living room. She went into the kitchen, sat at the table and started to cry.

  Her phone rang and she reached into her trouser pocket. The words private number flashed on the screen.

  She furrowed her brow and answered.

  The male voice said, “Sorry to call so late, Christine, it’s Phil Birch.”

  She pulled herself together and said, “Mr. Birch, what a delight.”

  “I’m sure,” he said. There was a lot of noise in the background.

  “What’s all that shouting?” she said.

  “Have you seen the news?”

  Hot, sour liquid came up from her stomach; she retched. She looked at the radio perched on the fridge and though about switching it on.

  She told Birch she hadn’t seen the news.

  “Well,” he said, “London’s gone to hell, that’s what’s happened.

  And – I’m not happy about this – but Commander Deere thought, perhaps, a reporter, embedded as it were, with the police, might help our communication with the outside world.”

  “Embedded?” she said. “That’s very – war-like.”

  “It’s a pretty war-like situation, Christine.” He sniffed. “I want to make it clear I’m not happy about it.”

  “You said.”

  “But I’ve little choice.”

  “Good.”

  “So if you’re not doing anything, I can send a car to pick you up within the hour.”

  She said, “I can make my own way.”

  Birch said, “I’m telling you that’s not a good idea. You’re chances of making it are slim.”

  Chapter 49

  ALL HELL.

  LITHGOW barged through the crowd. His heart raced and adrenalin flushed his system. Screams and shouts filled the nightclub.

  Management had just switched on the lights, and the clubbers were surging towards the exits. Doormen tried to hold back the tide.

  Trapped in a sea of bodies, he looked over his shoulder.

  One of the vampires hurled itself from the balcony and crashlanded into a cluster of bodies. The clubbers screamed and scattered.

  The creature pounced on a fallen girl and sank its teeth into her neck.

  She screeched and thrashed. A man – her boyfriend, perhaps – started pummelling the creature around the head, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Like a fucking pit bull, thought Lithgow. He’d seen those dogs fight, once. Wouldn’t let go once they got their teeth into something.

  A doorman, tank-solid, tussled with another vampire. The doorman tried to keep the thing away from his neck, holding it at bay with his strong arms. But another creature leapt on he doorman’s back and bit his throat. The first vampire bypassed the strong arms and buried its teeth under the doorman’s chin.

  Got to get out, thought Lithgow.

  He’d only come here to get blinded after the crazy day he’d had. He didn’t want to think about what he’d seen last night in Holland Park, what he’d learned today.

  But fifteen minutes ago, before he’d even downed a couple of pints, it all kicked off. A scuffle broke out at the door. Bouncers were strewn around the entrance as six vampires invaded the club. They’d started attacking clubbers right from the off – no subtlety about these creatures:

  they want blood, thought Lithgow, and they were getting blood.

  Fights broke out. Lads tried to batter the vampires away, not realizing what they were, what little chance they had of surviving.

  Lithgow felt hot and sweaty, pressed in this surge of bodies. Screams filled the club.

  How the fuck had this happened?

  It was all his fault; his greed.

  He started to sob, his rage growing.

  He pushed against the bodies in front of him, forcing his thin frame through the gaps in the crowd.

  There were shrieks behind him. The crowd pressed forward.

  The vampires must be herding us forward, picking off the ones at the back, he thought.

  Lithgow looked again, craning his neck to see over the wave of bodies washing towards the exit.

  Some lads had gathered into groups and were attacking the creatures.

  A gang had one surrounded, and they were giving it a kicking. It rolled around and hissed as the boots smacked into its body.

  The vampire got on all fours, his muscles corded. He jumped, clearing the circle of attackers. They watched it shoot out of their midst like a rocket. It landed a few yards away, and they charged at it again. But this time it was ready and it threw itself at the group, knocking the lads over. The youths were dazed. The vampire attacked one of them, tearing out his throat. Blood fountained from the wound.

  It attacked another youth, butchering him, blood spouting from the shredded throat. Another vampire joined in the attack
, pouncing on a fallen youth, holding him down and – instead of tearing out the lad’s throat – sunk its teeth into his neck, sucking the blood from him.

  They’re killing some and feeding off others, thought Lithgow. He wondered how you became a vampire. Did you have to have your blood sucked out, or would those who were just killed, murdered, change too.

  He didn’t know.

  Maybe that woman Lawton had been talking to knew something.

  Lawton, he thought; the bastard.

  The man he hated most, the only one he could trust. The only one who’d believe him. He had to get to him.

  Ten minutes later, Lithgow finally succeeded to tumbling out of the club. Fresh air flooded his lungs and made him dizzy. He got himself together. Horns blared and screams saturated the air. Traffic gridlocked Charterhouse Street. Sirens wailed, and helicopters swooped above the streets.

  Lithgow thought, It’s like the end of the world.

  Chapter 50

  BEGGING FOR BLOOD.

  JENNA said, “If I don’t have blood, I’ll die. I’ll die in three days, Jake. I’ll wither away, turn to dust. I have to have it, Jake.”

  He said, “What d’you want me to do about it?”

  She tilted her head. “You always helped me out, Jake. Always looked after me.”

  “That was before you died and got up again.”

  “It’s still me, though,” she said.

  “It’s not, is it. You’ve said it’s not. You said you feel nothing.” He looked into her bloodied eyes, and they chilled his bones. What was he doing talking to this creature that used to be Jenna McCall?

  She squinted and said, “I still remember, you know.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She moved towards him.

  “Stay where you are,” he said. “I know how to kill you.”

  She opened her mouth in a gasp and he saw her fangs. She said, “Jake, that’s a terrible thing to say.”

  Lawton stared at her. What should he do? Kill her, making it one less of these things, or let her go and hope he’d never come across her again?

  He thought about the future.

  What would happen with these creatures roaming the streets?

  He hoped the authorities had a grasp on things, but knowing the authorities like he did, they probably didn’t.

  Beaureucrats, red tape, “computer-says-no” – that’s what it was like.

  “I want you to leave,” he said.

  “I’m starving,” she said, clawing at her belly, “You can’t imagine what it feels like. It’s like cold turkey but a million times worse.”

  “I wouldn’t know. Just deal with it. It’ll pass.”

  Jenna frowned and said, “Yeah, when I wither away, a dried up old hag.”

  He thought about that and guessed it would be better that she did die.

  “Okay, then,” she said, shrugging, “I’ll go get blood elsewhere. I wouldn’t kill you, you see. Just take enough. And it wouldn’t do you any harm, as long as I didn’t take it all. I mean, a forty per cent blood loss will probably kill someone, but I’d only take about half that – just a little to keep me going. You’d only suffer tachycardia. Rapid heartbeat.

  Your blood pressure’d be normal, and you’d be right as rain in a couple of days.”

  Lawton raised an eyebrow and said, “Your two years at medical school came in handy then. Bet your dad’d be proud. That he’d not wasted all that money on your education.”

  She hissed. “Fuck him and my family. I’ll fucking kill them next. But won’t bother with their blood. Rip their fucking throats out.”

  Lawton steeled himself, ready for an attack. But Jenna appeared to relax. The lines around her eyes and on her brow disappeared and her skin smoothed out again.

  “Fine,” she said, “I’ll leave. I’ll find myself an innocent victim, drink all their blood, make another one like me.” She shrugged. “That’s all I can do if you’re not willing to help me, Jake.”

  His throat dried out. “Why don’t you take a little, let them live? Like you were going to do with me?”

  Jenna said, “Can’t do that. Only do that for you. Something in me still beats for you, honey.” She reached out and brushed his arm.

  Her touch sent a shiver through him. She said, “And that’s my offer – you live, but they, well, they become undead.” She looked at him, her tongue flickering over her lips, back and forth. “So what are you going to do, Jake? Let me take my fill, or send me out there to make more of me.”

  Chapter 51

  EMBEDDED.

  PHIL Birch, shouting over the helicopter’s rotor blades, said, “The city’s going wild. There’s death everywhere.”

  Leicester Square had been cordoned off. Yellow police tape bordered the area from Charing Cross Road to Whitcomb Street. Police cars and emergency vehicles sat at each end of the roadblock, their sirens flashing blue. Paramedics attended to the injured and the dead. Units of armed police patrolled the area. Helicopters, like the one deafening Murray right now, wheeled over London, casting their spotlights over the streets.

  She scribbled in her notebook and thought of Lithgow’s description of the killers: Vampires. Vampires? No – never. That’s nonsense; superstitious nonsense.

  “People are getting their throats ripped out, they’re being drained of blood,” said Birch, his voice matter-of-fact. “And I’ve got something else I’m supposed to show you.” He sighed, didn’t show much enthusiasm.

  Deere had foisted her on to Birch, and the detective made an effort not to hide his irritation.

  “Since you seem to know what’s happening before we do,” Birch had told her with a sneer when she arrived, “your friend Commander Deere thought you might as well be centre stage. You pissed him off at that press conference this morning, I’m telling you. Pissed him off so much he wants you in his pocket. I’d have locked you in a cell till this was over if it was me.”

  He led her to a white van. They got in the back. Three techies stared at banks of screens. Wires dangled everywhere, like vines in some electronic forest.

  One of the techies rolled two chairs over, and Murray and Birch sat.

  “What are we looking at?” she said.

  Birch said, “Michelle, run the Northern Line tape.”

  The techie reached over and flicked a switch, pointing Murray to a blank screen that flickered to life. A CCTV image showed a Tube platform.

  “This is from a couple of hours ago,” said Birch.

  It showed a black guy firing his gun across the platform. A girl, tall and attractive in a wisp of a dress, shouted silently at him. A train burst out of the tunnel. Three figures appeared from the top of the screen.

  Murray gasped.

  “Yeah,” said Birch, “they leaped across the platform, over the bloody train, would you believe it.”

  Two of the men attacked the gunman, pinning him to the floor.

  “They rip out his throat here,” said Birch.

  “Thanks for the commentary, Detective Superintendent Birch,” said Murray.

  Birch muttered. On the CCTV footage, the third man cornered the girl. He closed in on her and she cowered. The other two seemed to be nuzzling the gunman’s neck. The man pounced on the girl, swept her over his shoulders, and bounded into the tunnel. The other two raised their heads. The faces were covered in blood. They dived off the platform and into the tunnel. The gunman’s body twitched on the platform. Blood spouted from his ravaged throat. Someone rushed up to him, kneeling next to him, and waved for help.

  The techie switched off the tape and Murray asked what on earth she’d seen.

  “Those three attackers were” said Birch, checking his clipboard, “Adam N’Tenga, Daniel Fisherman, and Horace Whatling. Brokers in the City.”

  “Have you caught them?”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “How did you manage to I.D. them so quickly?”

  “We had them already, Christine.”

  She scowled at
him. “What d’you mean?”

  “They were three of the victims killed the night after the Religion incident – with the blood drained from their bodies.”

  Chapter 52

  DEATH’S KISS.

  LAWTON shoved her away, and she hissed. Blood stained her lips.

  He put his hand to his throat, and the wound smarted.

  “You taste good, Jake,” she said. She licked her lips, washing the thick fluid into her mouth. She swallowed, half-closing her eyes.

  Nausea swept over him, and the room floated in front of his eyes.

  He reached out his hand and steadied himself against the wall.

  “Get out,” he said.

  “You saved a life tonight.”

  “Get out before I kill you, Jenna.”

  “I don’t think you can,” she said.

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  She glided past him and he smelled blood on her breath. He closed his eyes and what they had done played out in his mind:

  She’d walked up to him and sank her fangs into his throat. He’d flinched at the pain, but she held him. Her breasts pressed against him. She stroked his body. He could hear the pulse of his blood. It throbbed in his head as it streamed out of his vein and coursed into Jenna’s mouth.

  Jenna opened the door. She said, “I’ll see you again.”

  “No you won’t.”

  “You will, Jake. Every time you give me blood, you’ll be saving a life, you’ll be keeping another human from joining us. You save one life, you save many, yeah?”

  She shut the door, and he listened to her race down stairs and out of the front door.

  He straightened, but his legs trembled. He staggered through to the kitchen, and threw up in the sink. He poured himself some water and drank.

  His phone rang. It was in the living room and he listened to it, thinking he wouldn’t be able to get to it without tripping. It stopped ringing, and he tottered back to the living room. He slumped onto the couch.

  I should’ve killed her, he thought; turned her into dust like we did those things at the house.