Blue Skin (Book 4): Blue Skin

by Jenkins, Steven

  Blood like acid in my veins, my head pounding even harder, I leave the house before I punch another hole in the cupboard.

  11

  I hardly notice how filthy these streets look. The mess just sneaks up on you. Each night gets a little more violent, leaving each morning in total chaos. For a time, the locals would clean up the destruction the vampires left. Everyone pitching in, doing their part, looking out for their fellow neighbours.

  But now, there are no neighbours. Most of them are dead or have moved on to safer towns. Towns with more police. More secure homes.

  Those will dry up soon enough.

  I point to the third exit on the roundabout, reminding Gary of the way to Gilbert Road. He’s only been with us four months. He’s the first new recruit we’ve had for some time. These days, people aren’t exactly throwing themselves at a job like this. Any excitement, any notions of saving the world dried up when the vampires practically took down London. Leicester Square. The Houses of Parliament. A total shit storm. I can’t see the Royals or the Prime Minister coming back any time soon.

  Guess taking Marie to see Wicked will have to wait.

  I don’t know anything about Gary—where he’s from, why he wanted to join, what his star sign is. He just turned up, asked for the job, and I shook his hand. But when he’s had enough, or when he’s ripped to shreds, I’d rather he be a stranger to me. It’s so much easier that way.

  He pulls the van up to the curb and we climb out. Gary peers up at the four-storey building with a reluctant gaze. There’s a pep talk somewhere inside me, but I keep it locked away. Let someone else reassure him that everything will be okay. I’m done with all that bullshit. Let him figure it out for himself. And judging by how rundown this block of flats is, I’m confident he’ll figure it out pretty fast.

  With the door-ram in his grasp, Gary pushes the buzzer for flat number 8. Second floor. The first would be better. Easier escape route. But I suppose it’s better than the third or fourth.

  As expected, there’s no answer. He rings again. Still nothing, so I give him the nod to break down the door. Gary retracts his arm, ready to drive the ram into the lock.

  He takes a breath.

  Then another.

  And—

  “Wait,” I say, putting my hand to his chest. “Someone’s coming.” Through the thin bars that protect the glass door, I spot an elderly woman heading towards us. There’s a loud click and the door opens. Gary conceals the door-ram behind his back, smiles, and steps out of her way, leaving me to grab the door before it closes and locks.

  There’s a faint musky odour in the air, and the floor tiles are chipped and cracked. Compared to a nest, this place is The Ritz.

  I pull out my handgun and inspect the hallway. It’s clear. No kids. No residents. And it’s too early for vampires.

  With a subtle head gesture, Gary follows me up the stairs to the second floor. A part of me wishes I felt in the least bit nervous. To feel anything would be nice. Excitement. Anger. Even sadness. But all I feel is a strange kind of numbness. I felt something similar the day the news broke about the virus. A world where vampires existed. A world that I helped create. I remember the walls closing around me, and my breath shortening. I felt frozen in time. Lost. But that didn’t last. A day. Maybe two, if I recall. Once Doctor Moore and I knew what we were up against, we had a plan of attack. Detain. Test. Kill. Simple. Well, it was far from simple, but we had a goal.

  But now...

  Flat number 8 is at the end of a narrow corridor. Gary puts his ear to the door and nods. Someone’s inside. He knocks the door. No answer. A second, much harder knock follows. Still no answer.

  “Break it down,” I order. I’d use my foot if my ankle wasn’t so screwed up.

  Gary lines up the ram and slams it into the lock. The wood splits, the door swings open, and I lead us inside. The moment my boot touches the carpet, I feel knuckles connect with the side of my face. The force knocks me off balance, almost shaking the gun from my grip. Before I can retaliate, Gary sticks his stun-gun baton into the man’s chest, dropping him to his knees in agony, electricity surging through his chubby body.

  “Keep him there,” I say, my jaw painfully clicking as I speak.

  The flat is tiny. Nowhere to stash a vampire. There’s a living room with the TV on, and the bathroom door is wide open and empty. I try the handle of one of the bedroom doors. It’s locked. Big surprise. I barge the door with my shoulder, fracturing the wooden frame in the process, but the lock is still intact. I do it again. And again, until the door flies open, revealing a dark bedroom. There’s a woman standing in front of the bed, sobbing, screaming at me to get the fuck out, to leave her son alone. But they’re just words. They don’t mean anything. Not anymore. I grab her by her bleach-blonde ponytail and drag her squirming body out of the room, releasing her on the carpet. The vampire is still asleep on the bed. The woman hits me in the back of the head when I point the gun at him. But I keep my balance. I keep my composure. I squeeze the trigger and the woman’s cries of anguish become lost in the sound of gunfire. Like a flailing psychopath, she shoves past me, rushing to her dead son.

  “You bastard! You fucking bastard! Look what you did!”

  Let her grieve. Let her hate me.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Gary gawks at me with shocked eyes as I head for the flat door. The chubby man battles to escape his grasp, desperate to get to the bedroom. “Let him go,” I say, without emotion, without urgency.

  Gary stalls for a moment, confused, but then frees him.

  The father’s cries fade in the distance as we leave the flat, Gary trailing a few steps behind me. By the time we reach the van, I can feel a million questions burning inside him. Why didn’t we arrest the parents? Why the fuck did I murder their son?

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  But he knows the answer. We all do. Not just the police. Not just the HCA. Anyone who’s seen the devastation this virus has caused. Anyone who’s family’s been ripped apart. Anyone who’s watched the news. This is the end of the road for us. It’s us or them.

  And they’re winning by a mile.

  Gary starts the van and we head off to another house raid. I open the glove compartment and pull out my hip flask. I’ve had this since I was eighteen. A birthday gift from Uncle Ted. Gary turns to me, his expression brimming with unease.

  “Don’t worry.” I take a swig of the whiskey and then screw the lid back on. “It’s medicinal.”

  Part IV

  FREYA LAWSON

  12

  The campervan must be at least twenty years old. There’s rust around the door panels, the dented cupboards are a horrid tangerine colour, and there’s an unhealthy clatter coming from the engine.

  Sean is staring out through the window, most likely regretting his decision to go with Ethan.

  What if he’s a cult leader?

  Or an axe-murderer?

  No, he’s way too scrawny for that. I doubt he’d get the thing two inches off the ground.

  What if his whole act is to appear all weak and timid, so we’d drop our guards, and he can lure us to his house?

  And cook us!

  Shut up, Freya.

  Houses quickly become empty green fields as we leave the town. We’re back on that country road, with trees on each side, so tall and bushy they block out the sun.

  Ethan keeps changing the radio station, skipping past various news reports. Is he avoiding them on purpose, sick and tired of hearing about the horrors of the new world?

  Or maybe, just maybe, he wants to listen to a song.

  There’s a second of Taylor Swift, and perhaps another of The Rolling Stones before he settles on Wonderwall. I haven’t heard this in years. Mum used to play it all the time before she met Tony. The lyrics and that iconic opening guitar rift have been forever engrained onto my soul. Ethan twists the volume knob and the Oasis classic blares out of the tiny speakers.

  Fewer cars pass the further a
way we get from Copplefield. That’s a good sign. Fewer people mean less trouble.

  Thirty minutes go by before I relax. I’m not sure why? What the hell is there to relax about? Ben is missing, Sean and I are fugitives, and the world is well and truly doomed. Maybe it’s just Ethan’s face that puts me at ease. He reminds me so much of Sean. That nerdy boy who lived next door. The one who used to spy on me through his bedroom window. The geek that spent half his life playing video games and watching Star Wars.

  “Cows!” I blurt out in astonishment, pointing at the animals as they graze in the distance field. “Do you see them?”

  Sean chuckles. “Calm down, Sam Neil. They’re not dinosaurs.”

  “When was the last time you saw one?”

  Sean pauses as he contemplates my question, but comes back with nothing.

  “Exactly,” I say, smugly. “Farmers keep them locked away these days in case of vampire attacks.”

  “Only at night,” he points out. “They’re safe enough in the day.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But I’m telling you there’s hardly any these days.”

  Ethan turns down a single-track road. Brambles and twigs rub past the windows as we judder over the rough ground. Memories of my journey to Maggie’s farm resurface. Ben recovering from a broken leg in the back of Wesley and Katrina’s van. That nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. A fear of the unknown.

  “How much further?” Sean asks Ethan, pulling me away from my dark thoughts.

  “Just a couple more miles.”

  “Is this your house we’re going to?” I ask him.

  Ethan snorts. “I wish. The house belongs to Rose. My old maths teacher. Mrs Boswell. She used to be close friends with my mother before she passed away.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. Mum’s face suddenly appears in my head, filling my stomach with gloom.

  “It’s okay. She got cancer a few years back—long before the virus took over—so at least she never had to live through all this shit.”

  “I suppose,” I say, unable to think of anything more suitable.

  “You’re gonna love Rose. She’s a legend. Nicest teacher I ever had.”

  “I’m sure we will.” I hope to God.

  The juddering stops, the bushes and trees disappear, and the rough road becomes smooth tarmac, taking us along the edge of a massive field. “We’re here,” Ethan announces with childlike enthusiasm, pointing at the white house in the distance.

  “Jesus,” Sean says, unable to disguise the awe in his voice, “does she own all this land?”

  “Yep!” Ethan replies. “Every blade of grass.”

  “Bloody hell, it’s massive,” I say. “I wouldn’t fancy mowing the lawn.”

  Ethan chuckles. “She has one of those ride-on mowers. I’ve used it a couple of times. It’s fun.”

  As we pull up to the house, the metal bars fixed to each window fill my gut with foreboding. Now, even a beautiful place like this, in the middle of the countryside, needs to be sealed up like a prison.

  What if this is a prison?

  The front door opens and a plump woman steps out. She takes a sip from her mug, and throws us a warm smile as we climb out.

  “Hi, Rose,” Ethan says. “I’ve got good news and bad news. What would you like to hear first?”

  “Bad news should always come first,” Rose replies, brushing her grey fringe away from a thick set of glasses.

  “Okay. The bad news is I got attacked at the supermarket.”

  “Oh, no. Are you okay, Ethan?” she asks, inspecting the gash on his head.

  “Well, that’s the good news,” he replies, dodging her curious fingers. “These two lovely people saved my life.” He points at me. “This is Freya. She sprayed one of them in the face with the fire extinguisher.” He points at Sean. “And this is Sean.”

  Rose shakes my hand. “Thank you so much, Freya. This young man means the absolute world to me.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “We were just in the right place at the right time.”

  “Well, thank God you were.” She shakes Sean’s hand as well. “And thanks to you, too.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Ethan puts his arm around Rose. “So, I was wondering if they could stay with us. They’ve been living in Copplefield, and things are pretty bad down there. It’s like something out of a Mad Max movie.”

  “Of course you can stay,” Rose says, genuine eagerness in her tone. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

  She takes my hand, ushering me towards the front door.

  “Thanks,” I say. “You’re so kind.”

  Maggie was kind at first.

  And look how that turned out.

  13

  The living room is enormous because it’s integrated with the kitchen. There’s a cream-leather sofa and two armchairs resting on an oak wood floor, and a massive TV fixed to the ocean-blue wall.

  For an old house, owned by a sweet-little-old-lady, it’s pretty modern.

  “Well,” Rose says with pride, “what do you think of the old place?”

  “It’s lovely,” I reply, cheerfully. “Very stylish.”

  “The plan was to plaster the outside walls, too, but Jeff never liked change. He thought the outside had a rustic look that should never be tainted.”

  “Jeff was your husband?” I ask.

  “Yes. I lost him almost seven years ago. Lung cancer.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “That’s all right, sweetie. He was a wonderful man, and a wonderful husband. But, just like the rest of his snobby family, he was as stubborn as a bloody mule. So, as a compromise, I decided to modernise the inside, and leave the rest as it is.”

  “Good idea.”

  Ethan taps me on the shoulder, and gestures for us to follow him. “Let me show you to your room.”

  “Okay. That would be great.”

  Rose steps aside, clearing a path as we head for the staircase, which comes down directly between the kitchen and living room.

  Reaching the landing, Ethan points at the first door. “That’s my room. I won’t show you inside because it’s a pigsty.” He points to another. “Neil and Ellie share the big room.”

  “Neil and Ellie?” I ask, a little taken aback. What if they’re a pair of lunatics? A husband and wife from Hell? “Are they related to Rose, too?”

  “No. Just good friends. Neil’s wife used to work with Rose at the school.”

  “That’s Ellie, right?”

  “No,” Ethan replies. “Ellie’s his daughter. Neil’s wife passed away.” He peeks into their room. “Ellie’s a sweetheart. I’ll introduce you both at dinner.”

  “Anyone else living here?” Sean asks, his tone cautious, clearly sharing my unease.

  “No, that’s it. But don’t worry about Neil. He’ll be fine with you staying here. And Ellie could use another young female in the house.”

  “Where are they?” I ask, glancing inside at the deserted room. A made-up double bed. A few stray shoes.

  Ethan shrugs. “Not sure. Out walking, probably.”

  Sean and I exchange an anxious look.

  “That’s the bathroom,” Ethan continues as we pass another door. “It’s not the biggest, but it’s spotless and has a decent shower.” He takes us to the end of the landing. “And that’s Rose’s room.” Opposite her door, there’s a narrow wooden staircase leading to a hatch in the ceiling. “And this is where you’ll be staying. The attic room. It’s got a small sofa, which turns into a double bed. There’s no toilet, but there is a small sink up there, and a roof window. It’s pretty cosy when the rain hits the glass.” He shoots us a hesitant smile. “Hope that’s okay.”

  “The attic sounds perfect,” Sean says. “Thanks, buddy.”

  “Excellent!” Ethan climbs up the squeaky staircase. “Oh, and we only use minimal lighting at night. Lamps. Candles. Torches.”

  I look up at the ceiling and notice the missing bulb from the fixture.

  “Neil had the
m disconnected when he moved in,” Ethan continues. “Just in case...you know. We don’t want to attract any blues.”

  “Good thinking,” Sean says. “Can’t be too careful.”

  “Exactly.” Ethan gives the hatch a hard shove. With stiff hinges, it swings open. “Why don’t you two settle in, and I’ll give you a shout when dinner’s ready.”

  “You don’t have to cook for us,” I say, slightly embarrassed. “You’ve already done so much.”

  “It’s no trouble, guys.” Ethan leaps down from the attic opening, heading back towards the main staircase. “See you both later.”

  Sean directs me to the wooden steps, and grins. “Ladies first.”

  “Such a gentleman.” I climb until my head is inside the attic. It’s small, dusty, and smells a little mouldy, but it’s a gigantic step up from the hotel. On the left side, there’s a sink, a massive oak wardrobe, a chest of drawers, an office chair and desk, and to the right, directly above a small red sofa is the roof window, the glass protected by a set of metal bars.

  Sean follows me up and sits on the sofa, stretching his arms up with a yawn.

  “Tired?” I ask.

  He nods, reaching for my hand. I take it, and he pulls me down next to him. My body sinks into the sofa, and the weight of today’s events melt away.

  Sean rests his head back on the thick cushion, staring up at the window. “Why do you think the bars are on the inside? Shouldn’t they be on the outside of the house?”

  I shrug. “Maybe they didn’t fancy climbing up on the roof to fit them.”

  “Good point.” Sean scrutinises the room. “Do you think we could get a TV through that hatch? A big one?”

  I chuckle. “They got a bloody sofa up here. I’m pretty sure you can get a TV up here as well.”

  “You don’t know how big though, do you?”

  “How big we talking?” I ask, humouring him. “70 inch? 90? 200 maybe?”