Blue Skin (Book 4): Blue Skin

by Jenkins, Steven

  The purebred squeals in agony as the light burns his skin. Smoke coming from his thin body, he releases his hold on me and scurries back inside.

  And then it’s gone. Back into the darkness. Its home.

  Panting, I get to my feet, gripping Sean’s arm for support.

  The man is sitting against the wall, his eyes barely open, his breathing shallow. Kneeling down in front of him, I place my hand on his bony shoulder. “Can you hear me?” He doesn’t respond. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

  The man’s eyelids heavily part, slobber running down his chin, over his blood and dirt-soaked clothes.

  “Hello?” I say.

  “We’ll have to get him to a hospital,” Sean points out.

  Suddenly, I’m met with the back of the man’s hand, the force knocking me off balance.

  “Hey!” Sean snaps, grabbing my arm, pulling me away from him. “We’re just trying to help.”

  Frantic, the man gets to his feet and limps across the car park.

  “Wait!” I shout, chasing after him. “You need a doctor!”

  He swings a fist at my face, missing it by inches.

  “Leave him, Freya,” Sean yells.

  The man’s limp becomes an unsteady jog as he slips between some trees and disappears.

  “What the hell’s he doing?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Is he mad?”

  “He’s just scared, Frey.”

  “He’s going to pass out if he keeps running. God knows how much blood he’s lost.”

  “There’s nothing we can do for him, anyway.”

  With a scowl, I turn to him. “We could have taken him to the hospital.”

  “What hospital? There aren’t any for miles.”

  I nearly suggest that we call the police, but that’s dumb and out of the question. Frustrated and drained, I let out a sigh, and then run my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair.

  Sean takes my hand. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”

  “What about the search?”

  “We’ll pick it up tomorrow. I don’t think I’ve got another one in me today. Do you?”

  “No. Maybe not.” Exhausted, I lean against the wall, glance at the entrance to the fitness centre, and recoil. “Tomorrow it is, then.”

  5

  I bite into the microwave pizza and the boiling-hot cheese burns my tongue.

  This is the second time this week we’ve had this meal. I used to love pizza. Any pizza. Microwave or not.

  Now I hate it.

  Give me a Sunday roast or a plate of spaghetti and meatballs any day.

  Sean finishes his glass of lemonade and sets the cup down on the bedside cabinet. He holds a hand over his mouth, stifling a burp. He looks tired. The whites of his eyes are red, dark rings beneath the sockets.

  I wish we didn’t have to be in this shitty little hotel room. I wish we had a normal life, instead of being stuck here eating junk food, with no money, and no family.

  It sucks.

  I blow on the pizza and take another bite. Sean chuckles as I cautiously sink my teeth into it.

  “Why don’t you let it cool?” he suggests. “You’re always in a rush to eat your pizza.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m starving.”

  “Well, you’d better take your time because that’s all that’s left.”

  I look at the dressing table. Two empty boxes of pizza, half a bag of crisps, and an empty bottle of lemonade. It’s a grim sight.

  Grim? After this morning’s events?

  I struggle to get that man out of my head. Did he make it home? Does he even have one?

  Is he dead?

  Stop torturing yourself. You did everything you could. You got him out alive, didn’t you?

  Would Ben really do something like that? Keep people alive like cattle?

  No, not Ben. Not him. He’s different.

  Different? How is he different? He ran out on you. Ran away with his own kind.

  He hates your guts!

  Suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.

  Sean sits up on the bed and pats the mattress for me to join him. With a strained smile, I sit next to him. The TV is on, but the volume is muted. These days it’s hard to find joy in watching anything. If it’s not a news report about the virus, it’s a rerun of some awful show. I haven’t seen something new in months. It’s as if the world is on hold until this is all over.

  When the hell will that be?

  “You okay?” Sean asks, his hand on my leg.

  I shrug, unable to hide how shitty this predicament is. “This is stupid.”

  “What’s ‘stupid’?”

  “Us, risking our lives, searching for Ben.” I sigh, the stress weighing down on my shoulders and neck, draining my body of energy. “It’s pointless, and I’m sick of it.”

  “We’ll find him,” Sean says softly, but he knows I’m right. Ben is lost, for good this time. It’s just the way it is. “I’m sure of it.”

  “And what happens if he doesn’t want to come with me? What if he really is better off without me?” Melancholy resurfaces as my eyes sweep the room. “I mean look at this dump. What sort of life will he have with us?”

  Sean takes my hand. “He’ll have you. His sister. Because he loves you.”

  “I doubt it. He probably hates me.”

  “That’s not true. He just hates me. That’s why he left. It’s got nothing to do with you. I’m sure he’s missing you. I’m sure he’s desperate to find you. He just made a rash decision to leave. I bet he regretted it the moment he left The Facility.”

  His words are sweet, and he means well, but they’re just words. Nothing more. And they don’t settle the upset in my stomach.

  I get off the bed and go to the window. Need some fresh air. I part the curtains and grab the handle. It’s stiff and rusty, but I manage to get it open. A cold breeze hits my face. It feels nice, easing the claustrophobia of the room. “What are we going to do when we run out of money?”

  “I’ll ask my grandparents to take out some cash.”

  Staring down at the dark street, I shake my head. “You can’t keep asking them. It’s not fair.”

  “Of course it’s fair. It’s my money. Once the house is sold, we’ll have all the money we need.”

  I want to tell him that no one’s going to buy his old house. Not in this current climate. And certainly not after what happened to his parents. But instead, I just nod in agreement, unwilling to dredge up bad memories.

  Silence takes hold of the room. There’s an atmosphere. It’s thick and uncomfortable. This is not how we should be living our lives.

  On the street below, a vampire sprints along the pavement. A half-breed. I know it won’t be Ben, but I press my face against the glass for a better look. I follow his journey to the junction at the end of the street. He comes to a stop as headlights illuminate the road. It’s a white van.

  Oh, shit! HCA!

  The vampire changes direction, heading back the way he came. By the time it passes our building, a shot is fired.

  “What the hell was that?” Sean asks, rushing to the window.

  “HCA,” I say, pointing at the dead vampire lying on the road.

  “Jesus,” he says, exhaling heavily. “There’re just so many of them now.”

  The van door flies open and a HCA officer leaps out. For a moment, I see the face of Michael Matthias. But it’s not him. This one is shorter. Younger. He drags the dead body into the back of the van, and then skids away, leaving the echo of a shrill squeak behind. I close the curtains and we move away from the window.

  Sean sits on the bed. “At least we’re safe up here.”

  “For now.”

  With a big smile on his face, he pulls me next to him. “Bloody hell, Frey. Talk about a grumpy git. I treat you to fancy meal and a bottle of flat lemonade, and this is how you repay me.”

  I can’t help but return a grin. “I’m sorry.” I take his hand. “It’s been a rough few months. I just feel so bad dragging
you down with me.”

  Sean pulls me near. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. There’s nowhere I’d rather be right now.”

  “In this shithole?”

  “Yeah. As long as I’m with you.”

  It’s cheesy, but I love it, so I kiss him on the lips.

  “You don’t have to worry about money,” he continues. “If things get rough, I’ll find a job. God knows where, but I’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay. Maybe we can work together in a kebab shop.”

  His face lights up. “Perfect!”

  I hug him, annoyed with myself for forgetting how lucky I am to have him again. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Tomorrow, first thing, we’re gonna take a trip to the shop. Stock up on some food. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds great,” I reply. “But absolutely no more microwave pizza.”

  “Agreed.”

  6

  Sean and I stand in silence, glaring at the shop. Copplefield Stores. The steel shutter is half open, covering a smashed window, and the door is ajar.

  “Shit,” I say with a loud sigh. “What are we going to do now?”

  Sean pushes the door open and peeks inside.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go in.”

  “I’m gonna see what’s left on the shelves.”

  “What if someone’s in there?”

  Sean frowns at me. “So? We’re not looting. We’re just gonna see if we can buy some food.” He steps into the shop, and I reluctantly follow. God help us if the cops are here.

  The small shop has been trashed and ransacked, shelves completely bare, shards of broken glass scattered across the floor.

  “Vampires or looters?” I whisper.

  Sean shrugs. “Both probably.”

  We step over some papers, envelopes and magazines to get to the counter. The till drawer is hanging open and empty, and the staff door behind it is closed. Does someone live upstairs?

  I hope not.

  Sean pushes the door open, revealing a corridor with a staircase at the very end. “Hello?”

  We should have brought a weapon.

  A weapon? Just to get some food?

  “There’s no one up there,” a voice says from behind us.

  Startled, I twist ‘round, both fists up, ready to swing a punch.

  There’s a grey-haired woman standing in the shop entrance. “Blues got in last night.”

  “That’s awful,” I say. “Was anyone hurt?”

  The woman shakes her head. “Owner was out. Thank the lord.”

  “That’s lucky,” I say. “What happened to all the food?”

  “Kids, probably. They’ll steal anything given half the chance.”

  “Is there somewhere else we can get supplies?” Sean asks. “Somewhere safe?”

  The woman shakes her head. “Not ‘round here.”

  “What about out of town?” I cut in. “A supermarket, maybe?”

  “You could try over in Fallston,” the woman replies. “There’s a supermarket near the old train station.”

  “How far is that?” Sean asks.

  “About three miles.” She pulls out a pen from her handbag, and then grabs a tiny notepad from one of the shelves. “I’ll write down some directions.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say. Maybe this world hasn’t completely lost its way. “Can we get any supplies for you?”

  The woman looks up from the notepad. “No. Dave and I are fine. We’re leaving this afternoon. We’re heading to Cardiff to stay with my sister.” She tears out the paper and hands it to me. “It’s not safe ‘round here. I suggest you get your supplies, get in your car, and drive as far from here as possible.”

  I throw her a tight smile and pass the directions to Sean. “Thanks for the advice.”

  “You’re both welcome.” She steps out of the shop. “And don’t stay out too late. Those blues are nasty little buggers.”

  And then she’s gone.

  Sean examines the directions, and stuffs the paper into his pocket. “Fancy a walk?”

  7

  It’s more like five miles to Fallston.

  My feet are aching, and I’m thirsty. Sean’s ginger hair is saturated with sweat, and his lips are bone-dry. We remembered to put the crowbar in the rucksack, but no bloody water. What the hell is wrong with us? How are we meant to survive if we don’t have basic sense?

  The directions take us past a row of dilapidated council houses, and an old train station that looks like it hasn’t functioned since long before the outbreak.

  Struggling to read the woman’s handwriting, Sean squints at the paper. “It can’t be far. She said it was near the station.”

  We stop at a junction.

  Sean purses his lips and then points to a playing field straight ahead. “That way.”

  “Really? She said to go through there?”

  “No, but let’s try it, anyway. We might get lucky.”

  “We’ll get lost.” I snatch the directions out of his hand, and with a deep frown, I try to read the last few lines. But he’s right, it’s impossible to decipher.

  Sean chuckles. “Told you.”

  “Fine,” I say, handing the paper back to him. “But if we get murdered by some hillbillies, then I swear to God I’ll haunt you for all eternity.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  I hold Sean’s hand as we walk across the field. The grass is thick and covered in weeds, and there’s a rusty old football goal post in the distance. It’s doubtful anyone’s kicked a ball here in some time.

  After a few minutes, we come to a steep hill. Sean tries to pull me up, but slips, dragging me to the ground. “Oh, crap!” he blurts out, scrambling to get back up. “Are you okay?”

  I laugh when I notice the streak of mud on the side of his jeans.

  “What?” he asks, but then follows my stare the stain. He attempts to wipe it off, but only makes it worse.

  Wrapping my arm around his waist, I slowly walk him up the hill, anchoring my feet into the dry dirt.

  There’s a stunning view at the summit. Acres and acres of green countryside carrying on forever. To the left, perhaps two or three miles away is a forest. Yet, neither of those sights are as satisfying as the car park at the base of this hill.

  The car park belongs to a supermarket.

  Sean throws me one of his ‘I-told-you-so’ smirks, and we make our way towards it, following a gravel path.

  Please be open.

  At the bottom, we inspect the car park. It’s big enough to hold about fifty vehicles, and right now I only count three—all of which are burnt out.

  Such a gloomy sight.

  “Doesn’t look good,” Sean points out as we pass the first car: formerly known as a Land Rover.

  “Nope. Where the hell are all the police? Have they just given up?”

  “I hope not. Should we go back to the hotel? I can’t see this place being open. Can you?”

  Surprisingly, the windows and the glass on the entrance doors are intact. No boards. No graffiti. “Do you think it could be a nest?”

  “Unlikely. This supermarket looks in decent shape. They usually go for somewhere less high profile.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Maybe we’ll find a few tins inside.”

  “Maybe. Let’s just have a quick look and get back to the hotel. I don’t fancy being around here after dark.”

  “Okay.”

  There’s a slight flutter of nerves as we walk up to the automatic doors. They don’t open when we stand under the sensor, so I wave my hand just to be sure. Nothing happens. Sean jams the crowbar between the two glass doors, and tries to pry them apart. There’s a slight squeak, but no movement.

  “Let me help.” Wiggling my fingers between the doors, I pull as hard as I can until the doors part.

  “That should do it,” Sean says when there’s about a two feet gap between them.

  Out of breath, I slip through the opening and enter the s
upermarket.

  To the right of the entrance is a set of five checkout counters. The till drawers are open and bare. Robbed or taken by the owner? Who knows? Beyond the checkouts, four aisles separated by shelves and fridges make up the rest of the building. I race over to the carrier bags hanging by the nearest check out.

  And then we shop.

  The first aisle is almost completely stripped, apart from a few packages of toilet paper, kitchen roll, and wet-wipes. For a moment, I think about taking a few, but we’ve got limited space in these bags, and a five-mile hike back to the hotel. Food has to come first. A little further down, there’s a jar of pickles. I hate them, but I put it into the bag anyway. I can always take it out if we find something better. At the very end of the aisle is a row of fridges, all of which have been cleaned out.

  The second aisle is much more promising. A few bags of rice, a jar of green pesto, and a packet of gnocchi on the floor. We don’t have a stove, but I bag it up nevertheless.

  Sean’s face suddenly lights up when he spots a box of lager at the centre. He races over to it, picks it up, but immediately puts it down with a scowl.

  “Empty?” I whisper.

  He nods and mouths a profanity.

  I smile and then continue to explore the shelves for supplies.

  On first glance, the third aisle seems empty. But then something a little further up catches my eye. Bright yellow and red.

  Crisps!

  I sprint over to the shelf, snatching the bag of salt and vinegar like they’re the last bag in existence. “The mother-load!” I say, forgetting to whisper.

  Sean checks for another packet of crisps, but there’s none. “Lucky cow.”

  “I’ll share them with you,” I say, and we walk around to the next aisle. “As long as—”

  A heavy thud infects the air.

  My heart judders as we crouch behind the shelf. “What the hell was that?” I whisper, squeezing Sean’s arm in panic.

  Glass smashes.

  Then laughter.

  We’re not alone.

  “You think you can steal from me?” a man’s voice bellows, coming from the next aisle. “Do you?”

  “I’m sorry,” a second man pleads, his voice lined with terror. “I didn’t know. I swear to God!”