Blue Skin (Book 4): Blue Skin

by Jenkins, Steven

  Freya runs her fingers through the side of my hair and kisses me. “I love you, Sean. More than anything in the world.”

  “I love you, too,” I reply with a lump in my throat. Don’t cry, you pussy.

  “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you as well.”

  I pull her close to me, her warm breath against my neck. “That’s never going to happen.” I switch the lamp off and the attic falls into darkness. “You’re stuck with me for good.”

  37

  2:15 a.m. and I’m still wide awake.

  I can’t get the thought of leaving this house out of my mind. What if something happens to us? What if we get caught by the HCA? Or attacked by a horde of vamps? We’d be separated. Again. Even thinking about it makes me want to throw up.

  The rain hammering against the attic window isn’t helping either. Usually the noise sends me to sleep. But not tonight. Not after Freya’s bombshell.

  I toss and turn for another few minutes before the urge to pee hits me. I fight it for maybe half an hour, repulsed by the fact that the bathroom is below, which right now, feels like a thousand miles away. But the more I think about it, the more I lose the battle.

  With a quiet groan of defeat, I crawl out of bed, making sure not to disturb Freya. I carefully pull open the hatch and climb down the attic stairs. My bare feet land softly on the landing, and then I creep to the bathroom. I pull the string on the small mirror light, and take a piss. It still feels weird not having ceiling lights. It’s taken me weeks to get out of the habit of pushing the switches. But Neil’s right—they draw too much attention to the house. He’s a pain in the arse, but most of the time he’s spot on. He reminds me of my aunt Jessica. She’s a fussy bitch, but she’s the one who books every holiday, every minibus, every venue, without fail.

  Everyone needs an Aunt Jessica.

  It’s Neil and Ethan’s shift tonight. I peek through the blinds, but can’t see anyone at the back of the house. They must be around the front. Either that or they’re sleeping on the job, but that’s highly unlikely.

  Just as I release the blinds, something catches my eye.

  A figure.

  I part the blinds again, staring out just beyond the apples trees.

  Someone’s out there.

  Maybe it’s one of the guys.

  No, too thin.

  My body stiffens.

  It’s obvious who it is.

  I knock off the mirror light and leave the bathroom.

  Our blue friend is back.

  With haste, I tiptoe downstairs. I yank open the cupboard by the sink, pull out a pair of wellies and coat, and slip them on. At the back of the cupboard, I see Freya’s machete. I grab that instead of my bat and race out through the back door.

  “Neil,” I whisper, pulling up my hood as the rain pours. “Ethan.”

  No answer.

  I scan the garden. “Neil,” I whisper again, this time louder. “Ethan.”

  No sign of them

  Where the fuck are they?

  Wellies squelching in the muddy grass, I race over to the fence to get a better look.

  The vampire is still there, his position unchanged.

  What does he want?

  A place to stay? To feed?

  Maybe he’s like Ben. Maybe he’s lost his sister, too.

  Christ, maybe it is Ben?

  I should go down. See for myself. Or maybe try to scare—

  I jolt in fright when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Clutching the machete tightly, ready to take out a vampire, I fling my body around.

  Neil and Ethan leap back when they spot the machete.

  “Jesus, guys,” I say, panting as the shock subsides, “you scared the shit out of me. I almost took your heads off.”

  “You saw him too, then?” Neil asks, his eyes focused on the vampire.

  “Yeah. From the bathroom window. Do you think it’s the same one?”

  Neil shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “We should scare it away,” Ethan suggests, binoculars hanging around his neck, a meat cleaver in his grasp. “At least give it a go.”

  “Okay, fine,” Neil says in defeat, leaning against the fence. “Let’s try it your way then.”

  “Heeeeeey!” Ethan screams, with a hand around his mouth to amplify the sound.

  The vampire doesn’t budge.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Neil snaps, nudging him.

  “Scaring it,” Ethan replies.

  “I meant go down there. Scare it with a weapon. It’s not a bloody cat, Ethan.”

  I hit the fence hard with the flat side of the machete, hoping to create a loud bang. Ethan does the same. It’s noisy, but ineffective.

  “I told you it wouldn’t work,” Neil says. “We need to go down there.”

  I glance up at the house. “We should get some more back up. Wake up Freya.”

  “There’s three of us, Sean,” Neil says. “We can deal with it ourselves.”

  A flutter of nerves moves through my body.

  Why, though? This should be a piece of cake. I’ve taken out countless vampires. Why the hell is this one so daunting?

  It’s obvious why. You’ve had it too easy here. You’ve forgotten what it’s like out there.

  With a pounding heart, I follow Neil and Ethan over the fence and down the hill.

  The moment we reach the apples trees, the vampire takes a step back. The closer we get, the more it backs away.

  “Fuck off!” Neil screams, and the creature takes another step back. He swings the bar out in front. I do the same with the machete, the blade slicing through the rain.

  Ethan screams at it again.

  So do I.

  We stomp our feet.

  Another step back.

  It’s working.

  He hunches over, his thin arms up in defence.

  He’s afraid of us.

  I almost feel sorry for him.

  With confidence, Neil lunges forward, swiping the bar just a few metres from the creature.

  In a flash of blue, the vampire sprints off, across the field, through the trees, swallowed up by the darkness and the rain.

  Neil laughs, high-fives Ethan, and then me. “See? What did I say? You have to be firm with these blue bastards, take no shit, no prisoners, otherwise they’ll walk all—”

  Something leaps out from behind the tree, throwing Neil to the ground with a thump.

  “Shit!” I shriek, stepping backwards into another tree.

  The purebred grabs Neil by his ankle and drags him across the wet ground. Crying out in terror, soaked in mud, Neil kicks and punches hysterically, desperate to free his legs.

  In a frenzy of panic, I swing the machete, driving it down onto the creature’s back. With a loud wail of agony, the vampire releases Neil and faces me, snarling.

  I swing the weapon again, this time slashing its stomach.

  Bleeding, it runs off, disappearing into the night.

  There might be others.

  An army.

  With a racing heart, I scan my surroundings.

  Clear.

  Neil is already up on his feet, leaning against a tree, clutching his right arm, blood gushing from between his fingers.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Ethan blurts out, throwing his arm around Neil’s shoulder, steering him towards the house.

  I follow closely behind, across the grass, over the fence, my neck darting back and forth, petrified of a second ambush.

  Within seconds, we reach the back door.

  Hannah is standing in the doorway. “What’s happened?”

  “Get inside!” Neil orders. “Quickly!”

  With urgency, Ethan ushers her back into the house, and I close the door, locking it behind us.

  Everyone makes a clear path for Neil to get to the sofa. He sits down with a wince, his hand and coat soaked in blood.

  “Oh, my God,” Rose says in horror, trudging down the stairs, with Freya in tow. “Are you okay, Neil?”

&nb
sp; “He’s been bitten,” I say, the panic replaced by composure. “Get some bandages.”

  “Okay,” she replies, rushing into the kitchen.

  “What happened?” Freya asks, sitting next to Neil on the sofa to check his wound.

  “We got attacked down by the apple trees,” I reply. “The skinny bastard tried to take Neil.”

  “What do you mean ‘take him’?”

  I help Neil remove his coat off. “It grabbed his ankle and tried to drag him off.”

  “Jesus,” Hannah says. “Why would it drag him off?”

  “Because they’ve been stockpiling humans,” I reply as the memory of that man from the gym flashes in my head.

  Rose returns with bandages and a bottle of alcohol spray. “This is going to sting like hell.”

  “Just do it,” Neil says bravely, his words slurry, his eyes half-open.

  She saturates the bite with the clear liquid, and a painful squeal leaves his throat.

  “I did warn you,” she says, wrapping his arm up with the bandage.

  “How do you know they’ve been stockpiling?” Neil asks me, the colour drained from his cheeks.

  “Freya and I saw it. They’ve been keeping humans alive as a food source.”

  “For how long?” Ethan asks, still gripping the meat cleaver.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Days. Weeks. It probably depends on the human.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Ethan says, shaking his head in astonishment. “We need to get back out there, Sean.”

  “I’ll come too,” Freya says, taking the machete from me. “We’ll need to watch this place like a hawk from now on.”

  I almost tell her to stay inside, keep the others safe, but she’ll never listen, so I grab my baseball bat, and we head for the back door.

  “Sean!” Neil calls out from the sofa. “Ethan!”

  We stop and turn to him.

  “Thanks for having my back out there,” he says.

  I open the door. “Don’t mention it. You’d do the same for us.”

  “Are you going to be all right?” Freya asks Neil.

  “I’ll be fine,” he replies. “It’s just a scratch.”

  “Liar,” she says with a tight grin, and then we leave the house. “You’re not that tough.”

  38

  It’s been almost two days since the attack, and so far, we’ve had no more visits from our blue friends.

  But for how long?

  A day? A week?

  We’ve got to stay vigilante. Keep on our toes at all times. I was a fool to think we were safe here. Vampires are thirsty. Travelling a few miles across the country is hardly a chore when you’re desperate.

  Freya knocks on Neil’s door, and Rose’s faint voice tells us to come in.

  Ellie is sitting next to him on his double bed, a book on her lap, and Rose is changing his bandage.

  There’s a rancid smell in the air. It’s kind of sweet, like old fruit left to rot at the bottom of a bin. “How you feeling, buddy?” I ask, but judging by his grey completion and bags under his eyes, I’d say he’s feeling like absolute shit.

  “I’m all right,” Neil replies, his voice hoarse, drowsy sounding.

  “You’re not all right, Neil,” Rose points out. “It’s infected.”

  “Stop it,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna scare Ellie.”

  Rose looks at me with a frustrated grunt. “He needs a doctor, or that wound is going to get worse.”

  “Let’s go then, Daddy,” Ellie asks with eagerness. “Sean or Ethan will drive us.”

  “We can’t, El,” Neil says with certainty. “The nearest hospital is all the way in Stowford, and for all we know that’s gone, too.”

  “What about a doctor’s surgery?” Freya suggests. “There wasn’t one in Copplefield, but there might be one further out. Maybe Fallston?”

  “Look, I’m not going to go out on a wild goose chase to look for a doctor. It’s only been a couple of days. We haven’t given it a chance to heal.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you, Neil,” Rose says firmly. “But you do need antibiotics, and that’s that.”

  “Maybe I can find a pharmacy in town,” I suggest. “If I head out first light tomorrow, I can be back before dark.”

  Freya glances at me, her eyes brimming with worry. “Then I’m coming, too.”

  The thought of leaving without her is torture, but I have to do this alone. “You can’t, Frey. Neil’s too sick to watch the house. That leaves just you and Ethan on the nightshift.”

  “You said you’d be back before dark.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure I will be, but we can’t risk it.” I kiss her on the lips. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  “What if you can’t find a pharmacy?” she asks.

  “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll find someone that can point me in the right direction.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Neil asks, grasping Ellie by her tiny hand.

  “Of course I’m sure,” I reply. “The world hasn’t ended just yet. There’s bound to be someone with some medicine.”

  Ellie runs over and hugs me. It feels unexpected, alien, because this is the first time she’s done this. “Thank you,” she says, her words cutting through me like a dagger.

  I wrap my arm around her. “It’s no problem, El. I’ll find something. I promise.”

  “I know you will.”

  No pressure then.

  39

  I can see it in Freya’s eyes that she’s just as worried as me. Every supply run Ethan and I have been on has got harder and harder. The towns, the shops more fucked up as each week passes. Tinned food is always difficult to find, fresh food even more so.

  I’m betting medicine is near impossible.

  Freya kisses me by the campervan, and tells me to watch my back, and to bring my arse home pronto. I tell her that I’ll be fine, and to take care of the house while I’m gone. But these are just words, just clichés that everyone says when they’re about to do something dangerous. Or dumb.

  With deep trepidation, I slam the door, start the engine, and I’m off, all alone, searching for something that I probably won’t find.

  But if I don’t find it, or if I do and don’t make it back in time, Neil will most likely die. And Ellie will lose yet another parent to vampires.

  Just like me.

  I dig my nails into the steering wheel, and try to bury the dread, the weight of the mission, and lock it away to the darkest, furthest corner of my mind.

  The gravelly, bumpy ground eventually hardens, becoming the main road, so I put my foot down on the accelerator, careering across the tarmac like some idiot petrol-head. The morning sun peeks through the branches and clouds, making the journey a little less daunting, so I open the window and breathe in the fresh air. The radio is pointless these days. Like the TV, it’s just repeated news about city rioting, false hope of a cure, and police resources running on fumes. God only knows how many HCA officers are left after The Facility went under.

  Are Freya and I even fugitives anymore?

  I doubt anyone gives a shit.

  Miles and miles of empty road conjure up a horrible feeling of gloom and loneliness, like I’m the last man alive. Even the notion sends chills through me. How could anyone cope being alone like that? No one to talk to. No one to laugh with. Argue with.

  For some reason, I think about Erin. I try not to. It’s so much easier that way. Too many painful memories. Torn emotions.

  Guilt.

  Maybe it’s because I’m driving again, like I’m on another HCA house call. Erin sitting next to me in the lorry, her head resting against my shoulder. I feel horrible for shutting her out, but every time she pops into my head, I’m thrown back to the moment she died. That horrifying sight. No matter how things ended between us, no one deserves to be ripped to—

  Don’t think about her. It’s too hard. Mourn her another day, when everything’s back to normal.

  Back to no
rmal?

  When will that be?

  Reaching the roundabout, I see another car in the distance, and a strange sense of relief washes over me. It’s heading towards Copplefield. God, I hate that town. Such a dump. I can’t believe Freya and I considered staying there instead of going with Ethan. What the hell were we thinking? We were never going to find Ben in those Nests. Out there, among all this chaos, he’s like a needle in a haystack.

  But what else could we do?

  I promised I’d help her find him. If I didn’t go with her, she would have gone alone. She might be a tough girl, she might be part-vampire, but those bastards would have killed her, ripped her limb from limb.

  I arrive at Fallston and take the campervan down a lane. It’s narrow, but I manage to park between two overflowing wheelie-bins, the front wheel flattening a cardboard box as I come to a stop. Once my feet touch the ground, the most rancid stink imaginable hits my senses, making me retch. Pinching my nostrils, I throw my rucksack over my shoulder, lock the doors, and then walk into the street.

  In every direction, I find shops. Mostly boarded up or ransacked beyond repair. Some with steel shutters covering the entrances, others with metal mesh protecting the glass. I march along the pavement, checking the shop signs on each side of the road.

  No pharmacy.

  There’s got to be one somewhere. Doctor’s surgery, maybe? Normally they have pharmacies attached to them.

  The row of shops becomes a row of terrace houses. Hundreds of rubbish bags sit along the pavement, stacked up on top of each other, torn, their contents leaking onto the concrete.

  How long have these been out here? Weeks? Months?

  Some of the front doors and windows are smashed or sealed off with wooden panels, while others still have the glass intact.

  Not for long, I’m guessing.

  A few houses down, a woman steps out from her property. She’s blonde, maybe in her fifties, carrying a red handbag. I jog towards her, hoping she can point me in the right direction.

  “Excuse me,” I say when I’m about two or three metres away. “I’m looking for—”

  “Stay back!” She reaches into her handbag and yanks out a small can. “I’ve got pepper-spray!” With wild eyes, she points it at me, her grip trembling, her stance like a boxer’s.