Blue Skin (Book 4): Blue Skin

by Jenkins, Steven

  “Calm down,” I say, stopping dead in my tracks, my palms out in retreat. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just—”

  The woman scurries back inside her house, slamming the door behind her.

  “Wait!”

  Dejected, I check the rest of the street for someone else, but it’s deserted. Should I give her door a knock? Maybe I could persuade her to help me.

  No. I’m wasting time. There’s got to be a pharmacy nearby. I’ve just got to keep looking.

  I head down another street until I come to a set of traffic lights. I peer up at them and it dawns on me that they still function. At what point will they stop working? When the power goes out? When the government falls? Maybe traffic lights will be the last thing to disappear. The final glimmer of a normal society.

  I cross over the road and my chest fills with hope. A second row of boarded-up shops. Hair salons. A butcher’s. A bookies. Even a key-cutters. And like a gift from God, right at the very end of the street no less, is a white building with a green cross attached to the front.

  A pharmacy!

  Thank Christ for that!

  But the closer I get to the entrance, the more my excitement fades. Just like the rest of this stinking town, the windows and door are boarded up. I don’t know why I thought this would be any different, but I did. Maybe I’m old-fashioned. Maybe there’s still a part of me that believes in karma. That if you do good, good things will happen to you. But it’s not true. I’m a good person, and I lost Mum and Dad. And they were good people, too.

  Life just sucks and I’m an idiot for thinking any different.

  I rattle the wooden panel that’s covering the door, even though I know damn well I won’t find any medicine inside. I pull on it until the screw comes out of the door frame. I do the same for the other end. Muscles straining, the panel finally comes away from the door, the force knocking me backwards.

  From my rucksack, I pull out my crowbar, jam the end into the edge of the door, and yank it open. This kind of thing seems to get easier and easier. Another skill I thought I’d never obtain.

  I swap the crowbar for the baseball bat, and step inside.

  Dust is all that occupies each shelf. Not a single box of paracetamol. Not even a box of tampons. I step carefully over the broken glass as I head towards the counter. The till has been ripped out and thrown onto the floor, the empty tray cracked, the tiny computer monitor protruding, dangling by thin wires. Behind the counter is bare as well. In fact, all I find is one of those horrid sugar-free lollies on the floor.

  “Fuck.” What was the point in even coming here? Did I really expect to find medicine in a town this messed up? The only place they’ll have antibiotics is in a hospital. I should just drive to the nearest one, no matter how long it takes.

  But what if Neil can’t hang on that long? What if he’s dead by tomorrow?

  Why couldn’t Hannah have been a doctor?

  That would have been so much more useful.

  I hear a rumble of an engine coming from outside. I twist around to the pharmacy door and see a car parked just outside. I quickly crouch behind the counter, trying to make out the vehicle.

  Oh, shit! It’s a police car!

  Cowering, I skulk towards the staff door behind me, nudge it open, and then slip out of the shop floor. Running down a narrow corridor, I set my sights on the back door.

  I hear muffled voices coming from the shop.

  They’re inside!

  I twist the lock on the back door and burst out into the lane. That disgusting smell hits me again as I sprint to the right.

  Adrenaline surging, I set my sights on the clear patch of street at the end of the lane, perhaps twenty metres away. But then I skid to a stop because there’s another police car blocking the lane. I change direction and dart the other way. Bins and empty boxes block my path, so I leap over them, landing in a patch of oil.

  There’s a turn in the lane, so I follow it ‘round, praying that there isn’t another cop car waiting at the other exit.

  Just up in front, there’s a red car blocking my path. I slow down, aiming to slip past through the small gap between the car and the wall. But then the passenger door swings open and a man steps out. Short blond hair. White vest. Pumped up with steroids. He looks familiar, but then again, guys like him all look the same. I slow down, hoping to slip past the other side of the car. Just as I reach the driver’s side, the lane door flies open, and a tall man steps out in front of me. This one looks familiar, too.

  And then it comes to me like a shotgun to the chest.

  In horror, I grind to a halt, ready to change direction once again.

  But I’m too late—the muscle-head has me in a rear chokehold, the force causing the bat to fall from my grip. In a desperate panic, I fight and writhe, trying to free my neck from his thick arm, but it won’t budge. He’s too strong. Too aggressive. The blood vessels in my face are ready to explode. I can’t breathe. My vision starts to fade. And the last thing I see before I pass out is a skinhead and a cracked-toothed grin.

  “Hello, Sean,” Tommy Reid says, holding the baseball bat. “Welcome back...”

  Part X

  FREYA LAWSON

  40

  I lay the damp cloth on Neil’s forehead, trying to bring his temperature down. He’s been in and out of consciousness for most of the day. When he has been awake, all he’s done is complained that he’s absolutely fine and that we’re mothering him too much. I’m sure he thinks he’s just got a touch of the flu.

  He’s an idiot if he thinks that.

  I haven’t seen Ellie cry before this afternoon. It’s a gloomy sight. Seeing her dad so weak, so helpless, must be terrible. She’s fast asleep next to him, her thin arm draped over his wheezing chest. I’ve thrown a blanket over her instead of covering her with the quilt. The last thing I want to do right now is disturb him.

  I squeeze the cloth over the bowl, draining the water, and then walk over to the window. The sun is withdrawing behind the tree line, reminding me that Sean still isn’t home. It brings a cold, suffocating dread over me.

  Where the hell is he? He should be here by now.

  I pull the curtains shut and leave the room.

  In the living room, Rose and Hannah greet me with worry etched onto their faces.

  “How is he?” Rose asks, her feet curled up on the sofa, a steaming mug of coffee on the coffee table in front of her. “Any better?”

  “No. He’s still burning up.”

  “Do you need me to help with anything?” Hannah asks from the armchair, both hands resting on her enormous stomach, her skin purple, her veins ready to pop. “Change his bandage maybe?”

  “Don’t be silly.” I pour myself a glass of water from the sink. “You need your rest, too.”

  A whimper escapes me.

  “He’ll be all right, Frey,” Rose says with confidence. I wish I shared hers, but there’s a knot in my gut that tightens the darker it gets outside. “I know.”

  “Have a little faith.”

  “I’ll try,” I say, but even the words feel heavy. I open the tall cupboard by the back door and pull out my machete. “I’ll see you both in the morning. Keep inside the house at all times, but call me if Neil gets any worse.

  “Will do, sweetheart.” Rose blows me a kiss as I step out through the back door. “See you later.”

  The night is here and Sean is still out there. I should have gone with him, or even gone in his place. I know he can handle himself, but I’d rather something happen to me than him. At least it’s me with the problem. Up here, waiting, hoping he’s okay, is torture. Punishment. I’m too impatient. I need to know that he’s okay. I mean, what if he’s gone for two days? What kind of state will that leave me in? He’s only been missing for a day and I’m already climbing the walls.

  From the deck chair, Ethan hands me a flask of coffee. “Here, I made this for you.”

  “Thanks.” I unscrew the top and sniff the contents. I love the smell of stove-b
oiled milky-coffee. Reminds me of picnics down the beach with mum when I was a kid. The food was always the best part. Cheese sandwiches. Jam doughnuts. Strawberries. “What about you? Where’s your coffee?”

  Ethan shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Too much coffee makes me piss.”

  “Fair enough.” I sit next to him.

  The air is calm tonight, no clouds, just a sky filled with stars and a clear view of the endless fields ahead.

  “Lots of great memories playing out in this garden,” Ethan says, and points at the apple trees at the bottom of the hill. “Rose used to get so mad when I climbed the trees. She said I’d shake all the apples off before they were ready to be picked.”

  “It must have been awesome. Mum and I didn’t have a big garden. I always wanted one. Well, I suppose everyone does. We had Solace Park nearby, but that’s not the same as having your own. Did she let you bring friends over to play?”

  “I never had many friends,” he replies, as if it’s no big deal. “I mean, I had a couple, but they were just boys that lived on my street. I wouldn’t call them real friends.”

  “How come?”

  Ethan shrugs, pursing his lips. “Not sure. Never fitted in at my school, I guess. Always an easy target for bullies.” He squeezes his left bicep. “Being a skinny bugger is never a popular look.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being skinny.”

  He snorts. “Try telling that to Colin Priest.”

  “I will if I ever meet him.” I pour myself a cup of coffee. “And I’ll break his nose if you like.”

  “That’d be nice,” he says, beaming. “And his twat of a brother, while you’re at it.”

  I swallow the coffee, and my body instantly warms up. “A two-for-one deal? Consider it done.”

  Ethan checks his watch. “Right then. I better go check the front of the house. Can’t have us chatting all night. Neil will have our jobs.”

  An image of Neil dying in bed stabs at my heart. Ellie trying to wake him. Sobbing. Screaming for daddy. Begging for—

  Shut up, Freya!

  Everything’s gonna be fine.

  Neil’s gonna fine.

  Sean’s gonna be fine.

  Stop worrying.

  Take a breath and relax.

  “Yeah, good point,” I say, screwing the top back onto the flask. “Shall we swap over in an hour? And then maybe take a stroll?”

  Ethan gets up, wielding his meat cleaver like it’s a samurai sword. “Sounds good. Enjoy the coffee.”

  “I will.”

  And then, just like that, he’s gone, leaving me alone in the darkness, allowing the fret to creep to the front of my mind.

  In my head, I see Sean in danger. Pinned to the ground by a pack of vampires. Calling for help. Calling for me. The sound is piercing. Haunting. It’s so loud in my head that I want to cover my ears. I want to run across this field, all the way to the road, all the way to town and bring him home. Back where he belongs.

  Right here, by my side.

  Be okay, Sean.

  Please God, be okay.

  I breathe out for what seems like an eternity. The knot starts to unravel. My shoulders loosen. And I refocus on my job.

  He’ll be okay.

  He’ll find medicine.

  He’ll make it back to me.

  Back to all of us.

  I know he will.

  I know it because if he doesn’t...then I’m totally and utterly lost.

  We all are.

  41

  It’s almost midnight and still no sign of Sean.

  My eyes are burning with fatigue, but even if I wasn’t on the nightshift, I could never sleep.

  Not until he’s home safely.

  I finished Ethan’s flask of coffee within the first two hours. It was meant to last me all night, but I need the caffeine. I need to stay alert.

  I walk to the fence and peer off into the distance. The moonlight is weak tonight, but I can still make out the trees. There’s a slight breeze which gently brushes past the branches. The sound it makes is eerie, like the woods in a horror movie. Maybe it just feels eerie because I’m on my own. Ethan is at the back of the house, but right now, the way I’m feeling, he might as well be hundred miles away.

  And Sean, a million.

  What are you doing now, Sean?

  Are you hurt?

  Scared?

  What if he’s run out of fuel?

  What then?

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  What if he’s dead?

  I pace back and forth along the fence line, examining the area, but not really taking anything in. Maybe Ethan and I should just patrol together. We could just walk around the house all night. It certainly beats being left out here with just my thoughts for company.

  I check my watch. 12:11 a.m. I’ll give him a shout.

  On my way, I stop at the greenhouse and peek through the glass. Who the hell would’ve thought I’d ever give a shit about some potted plants?

  Mum would be shocked.

  And proud.

  “Ethan,” I whisper when I reach the back lawn. I can’t see him and the deck chair is empty.

  He must have gone for a piss.

  The back door is hanging wide open. What the hell is he doing? He knows we can’t go leaving the doors open at night. If Neil was well, he’d string him up by his balls.

  I step into the kitchen, which is mostly dark, lit only by the three spotlights above the stove. “Ethan,” I whisper again, closing the door behind me. Walking across the tiles, there’s a tingle of nerves creeping from my stomach up to my arms and neck, prompting me to squeeze the handle of the machete.

  I slip on something wet on the floor, so I grab the edge of the worktop for support. It’s too dark to see what the spillage is. Water maybe? I step over the liquid only to slip for a second time. Using the worktop to guide me, I find the tall lamp in the corner. I click the switch and the kitchen comes to life, the brightness blinding me for a few seconds.

  And then I gasp in horror.

  Battling for air, praying that my eyes have deceived me, I follow the trail of smeared blood to the body of a purebred. A wide pool of thick ooze surrounds her as she lies on the tiles, a deep slash across her throat and skull.

  Muscles clenched with fear, pulse racing, I switch on the living-room lamp.

  A pair of severed blue fingers rest at the foot of the stairs.

  And then nausea overwhelms me when I spot Ethan.

  He’s sitting on the furthest armchair, clutching his blood-soaked meat cleaver with one hand, and pressing the other over the side of his neck.

  “Oh, shit! Ethan!”

  I rush to him.

  His eyelids are hanging low, and his skin as white as milk, but there’s a faint rasp passing his purple lips. He’s still alive.

  “Someone help!” Dropping the machete, I put my hands over his, adding to the pressure on the wound. Blood spews between our fingers, dribbling endlessly like a cracked pipe, so I press even harder, desperate to stop the bleeding.

  It’s not working.

  It’s not fucking working!

  In seconds, there’s a set of footsteps charging down the stairs. They belong to Ellie.

  “What’s wrong?” But she doesn’t need an answer. She’s seen the devastation for herself.

  “Get Rose! Now!”

  Eyes wide with dismay, she scurries back upstairs, crying out to Rose.

  “Stay with me, buddy!” I plead. “It’s gonna be all right!”

  He tries to speak, but it comes out as a gurgling sound.

  “You’re gonna make it!”

  A flood of tears spills from Ethan’s eyes. I try to hold back my own, but I can’t.

  “I’m sorry,” Ethan battles to say. “I fucked…up.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s dead. You saved us. You protected the house.” I start to blubber uncontrollably. “Like you always do.”

  His eyes fully close,
so I push harder on his neck, the cream armchair now soaked in red. “Wake up, Ethan!” I snap as the meat cleaver leaves his hand and hits the wooden floor. “Come on!” Rose appears next to me, her face a mask of torment, of absolute despair. “I’m not going to lose you as well. Now open your fucking eyes!”

  Sobbing, Rose feels his neck for a pulse, waits with swallow breath, and then drops to her knees, grasping his hand, kissing it, mumbling inaudible words.

  A heart broken into a million pieces.

  There’s no air passing his lips, no movement from his chest, but I’m still pressing hard against his neck. Still hoping. Praying for a miracle. A gentle hand touches my shoulder. I twist ‘round. Hannah is standing behind me, her eyes drenched, tears running down her puffy cheeks.

  In defeat, I let go of Ethan’s neck and the blood trickles from the gash. A bite. Deep enough to take my friend from me.

  I glance over at the dead vampire.

  The bitch!

  The murdering bitch!

  Ellie is standing at the foot of the stairs, next to the severed fingers. She’s crying, too. She’s just lost her friend. Someone she’s known much longer than I have.

  I check the vampire’s pulse to make sure.

  Dead.

  Thank you, Ethan.

  “Secure the front door!” I order Hannah as I rush to the back door. “There could be more of them out there!”

  “Okay.” She races over to it, checks the lock, and then hooks a steel bar across the bottom, another at the centre, and a third at the top.

  I do the same for the back door.

  “We need to make—” The kitchen window smashes. Glass sprays over the worktop and floor. I leap backwards in shock as a thin blue arm appears, ripping the blinds clean off.

  The door-handle turns.

  A loud bang hits the door, vibrating the steel bars.

  Another smash. This time from living-room window.

  A vampire grabs the curtain and rips it from the rail, exposing us to the outside, the metal bars the only things between us and them.

  “They’re everywhere!” Ellie screams. “What are we gonna do?”