Darkest Night

by Will Hill

  “And what’s he getting in return?” asked Jamie.

  “That’s not something you need to concern yourself with, Lieutenant,” said Paul Turner.

  Jamie felt heat rise behind his eyes. “Why not use me?” he said. “If you’re serious about this, why not use what covers my fangs?”

  “Because research shows that vampires turned by Valentin will be a minimum of seventeen per cent more powerful than vampires turned by you,” said Turner. “And that seventeen per cent might make all the difference.”

  “What research?” asked Jamie, frowning deeply. “When did you—”

  Understanding hit him like a punch to the stomach. Cold spilled up his spine as he remembered the conversation with Matt in his quarters, the swab kit and the scraper.

  “Jesus,” he said, his voice low. “How could you lie to me like that, Matt?”

  Kate frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Matt, holding his gaze. “It was classified.”

  “Classified,” said Jamie, and grunted with laughter. “No more secrets, right?”

  Matt grimaced. “Please, Jamie,” he said. “This isn’t about you.”

  “So what is it about?” he asked. “Defeating Dracula? No matter what it takes to do so? No matter the—”

  Paul Turner stood up. “Enough!” he shouted. “This is a Zero Hour Task Force briefing, not a debate. Is that clear?”

  Jamie dropped his eyes to the table; he could no longer look at Matt.

  “Nobody’s going to agree to this,” said Jack Williams, his voice low. “You’re asking people to give up their humanity.”

  Matt narrowed his eyes and stared at Jack. “What about Jamie?” he said. “Do you no longer consider him human?”

  Jamie recoiled. “What did you say?”

  “Of course I consider him human,” said Jack. “That’s not what I’m saying. You know I—”

  “PROMETHEUS will give us more than a hundred Operators with Jamie’s speed and strength,” said Matt. “By using a process that we now know is completely reversible.”

  “You’re talking about our colleagues, Matt,” said Kate, her eyes wide with shock. “About our friends.”

  Matt glanced at her, and said nothing.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Frankenstein, his voice a low rumble. “Jack’s right. Nobody is going to agree to this.”

  “That’s irrelevant, Colonel,” said Paul Turner.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jack.

  “We will not be asking anyone to take part,” said the Director. “We will be ordering them to. Participation in PROMETHEUS is mandatory.”

  The cold working its way up Jamie’s spine spread through his body as he stared at the Director.

  Everything’s changed, he thought. I don’t know when it happened, or why I didn’t notice, but it has. Whatever happens, whatever’s to come, I don’t know if there’s any way back from this.

  We’re at the end of the line.

  Marie Carpenter stepped out of the airlock for the first time since she had volunteered to take the cure, and felt something other than the sense of desperation that usually filled her when she looked at the grey surroundings of the cellblock.

  She could normally read the words on the warning sign at the far end of the corridor, more than a hundred metres away, and feel the tingling warmth of the purple walls of ultraviolet light. Now, all she could see in the distance were the white lines painted along the floor, the border that visitors to the cellblock were not supposed to cross, so as not to get too close to the prisoners.

  Her arm throbbed with pain inside its cast, despite the painkillers she had taken before she left the infirmary, her eyes were still swollen almost shut, and she felt exhausted, felt mentally and physically worn out. All that notwithstanding, Marie was as happy as she could remember being; she felt like herself, for the first time since Alexandru Rusmanov had sunk his fangs into her neck, and arguably much longer than that.

  She walked slowly down the corridor, relishing the aches in her back and the mild headache lurking at the back of her skull. For more than a year, she had felt almost nothing physical; her vampire side had masked all discomfort, and a sensation of overwhelming power and euphoria had been only the flex of a muscle away.

  What she wanted now, more than anything, was to see her son. She knew he had visited her in the infirmary the morning after her arm had been repaired, when she had been sleeping off the surgery, and that a change in the rules had prevented him from returning; the doctors had explained it all to her when she had wondered aloud if he was ever going to come and see her. She had a suspicion that Jamie would be angry with her for not having told him what she was going to do before she did it, but she was confident she could make him see why she had not been able to wait.

  “Hello, Marie.”

  She jumped, and spun round to see Valentin Rusmanov smiling at her. She had been so deep in thought that she had not realised she had reached his cell and, as ever in this type of situation, her first response was to be embarrassed; how rude it must have seemed as she just walked past without bothering to say hello.

  “Hello, Valentin,” she said. “Sorry, I was in a world of my own.”

  “That’s quite all right,” said the vampire. “I would imagine you have a good deal on your mind.”

  “You would imagine correctly,” she said, and smiled. “How are you?”

  “Unchanging,” said Valentin, returning her smile. “Come on in, why don’t you? I was about to make tea.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and walked towards the cell. She paused at the ultraviolet barrier, even though she knew she no longer needed to worry about such things; the habit had become deeply ingrained. She took a deep breath and stepped through the purple light, feeling a warm tingle on her skin, and took a seat on the sofa as Valentin boiled the kettle and prepared two mugs; the look of disdain on his face as he placed teabags into them never failed to amuse her.

  “So you did it?” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her. “You took the cure?”

  She nodded. “I did it.”

  “Were you the first?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think so.”

  He looked at the cast on her arm, and smiled. “Risky.”

  “I suppose it was,” she said. “One worth taking, though.”

  Valentin carried the steaming mugs across the cell, handed one to her, and sat down at the other end of the sofa.

  “Did you really hate being a vampire that much?” he asked.

  “I did,” she said, and sipped her tea. “I really did.”

  “Why, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I don’t mind at all,” she said. “I didn’t feel like myself. I saw the same face in the mirror, but I felt like I had become someone else. Or something else, at least. Don’t you ever feel like that?”

  Valentin smiled. “I was turned more than five hundred years ago,” he said. “If I ever felt that way, I’m afraid I no longer remember it.”

  “So it’s safe to say you won’t be taking the cure then?”

  “No,” said Valentin. “I don’t see that happening.”

  Marie nodded. “You love it, don’t you?”

  The old vampire narrowed his eyes, and smiled. “Love what?”

  “Being powerful,” said Marie. “Being older and wiser and stronger and faster than everyone else. It’s what you live for.”

  Valentin’s smile widened into a grin. “It was,” he said. “It certainly was, for a long time. For more than a century, men and women flocked to my house in New York for the express purpose of showering me with their adoration. They would literally kill to spend time in my presence, and I’m afraid to say that I permitted them to do so. In truth, I encouraged them to.”

  Marie grimaced. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” she said. “I don’t like to think of you in such a way.”

  The vampire nodded. “I appreciate that,” he said.
“And I agree that it is hardly appropriate afternoon tea conversation. But I can no more change the past than you can. Mine lives inside me, as yours lives inside you. Although the reality of mine is far less blood-soaked than you have likely been led to believe.”

  “Really?” she asked. Despite his reputation, Valentin had only ever been polite to her, and kind, and she could hear the hope in her voice.

  “Really,” said the old vampire. “I know all too well the stories that circulate about me, the legends and myths, because I started many of them myself. If you ask Paul Turner, or any other man or woman inside this base, they will tell you that I have been something of a one-man genocide, an evil creature of extravagant cruelty and viciousness who has ended thousands of lives. The truth, my dear Marie, is markedly different. I doubt I have personally killed more than a hundred people in the last five centuries, which, when you are as notorious as I have been, when you are an endless target for vampires desperate to prove themselves, is really not very many. It is certainly far fewer than Valeri, and orders of magnitude fewer than Alexandru, who fitted the descriptions whispered about me far better than I ever have. I would never claim to be innocent. I have done terrible things, and been party to many more. But I am not the monster they would have you believe.”

  Marie realised she had been holding her breath as the ancient vampire spoke, and let it out in a long sigh. “Why haven’t you told anyone this?” she asked.

  Valentin smiled. “Because I take great satisfaction from people being scared of me,” he said. “Getting what you want without having to use violence is true power. I was taught that many centuries ago, and it still holds true.”

  “By Dracula?” she asked.

  “Indeed. He was a brilliant man, in many ways. A perfect creation of his time, possessed of endless determination and absolute ruthlessness, willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure victory. His time has long passed, however. He does not fit the world as it is.”

  “It seems he thinks otherwise,” said Marie. “If what I saw on the news is anything to go by.”

  Valentin sighed. “I saw it too,” he said. “Dracula is a creature of rage and vengeance. He would burn down the entire world rather than fail to impose his will upon it.”

  Marie grimaced. Her good mood had evaporated, replaced by unease about the future and, in particular, the part her son would be required to play in it.

  “What will happen?” she asked. “If Dracula wins, I mean. What will the world look like then?”

  Valentin shrugged. “I cannot say,” he said. “The world he wanted to conquer when I served him was very different. But I would imagine that you will be very grateful that you have taken the cure. I don’t think the long life of a vampire is going to be something to cherish if Dracula is victorious.”

  Marie stared at him for a long moment, then drained her mug and stood up.

  “Thank you for the tea, Valentin,” she said. “And the conversation. I’ll miss talking to you when this is all over.”

  The old vampire smiled. “The feeling is mutual,” he said. “You have been a beacon of grace and civility in this drab place, and I will always think of you most fondly.”

  Marie smiled, and turned away. She walked through the purple barrier without pausing, and almost crashed directly into Matt Browning. They leapt awkwardly out of each other’s way, their faces reddening, embarrassed apologies spilling from their mouths.

  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

  “No, I’m sorry, that was my—”

  “Please, I should have been—”

  “Are you OK? Did I—”

  Marie stopped talking, and smiled. Her son’s friend did likewise, his cheeks pink, a nervous look on his face.

  “Let’s start again,” she said. “Hello, Matt. It’s nice to see you.”

  “You too, Mrs Carpenter,” said Matt, nodding vigorously. “How are you doing?”

  “Much better than I was,” she said. “All thanks to you.”

  The colour in his face deepened, and she briefly wondered whether it was possible for a person to actually explode with embarrassment.

  “That’s good news,” he said. “Really good.”

  “What about you?” she asked. As she looked more closely, she could see that the teenager’s eyes were red and puffy and, with the exception of his crimson cheeks, his skin was ghostly pale. “Are you sure you’re all right, Matt?”

  He winced. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just … I’m fine. Rough meeting.”

  Marie nodded. “If you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” he said. “Thank you, though.”

  “You’re welcome. Have you seen Jamie?” she asked.

  Matt frowned. “Why?”

  Marie smiled. “I’d like to see my son,” she said. “If you see him, will you tell him I’ve been discharged? In case he doesn’t know?”

  “Right,” said Matt, his frown not quite disappearing. “I mean, yes. Of course I will. If I see him.”

  There’s something going on here, she thought. Have he and Jamie had a fight? It feels like it.

  “Thank you,” she said. “So what are you doing down here?”

  Matt nodded towards the purple barrier. “I’m here to see Valentin.”

  Inside the cell, the vampire got to his feet.

  “Is it time?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Matt. “It’s time.”

  All activity inside the displaced persons camp stopped as the helicopters rumbled over the horizon.

  They were Russian Mi-26s, the largest transport helicopters ever to fly, but there were no Russians inside their huge holds; they had been sent to Toulouse airport by the SPC to meet the plane that had brought General Bob Allen and his NS9 team across the Atlantic, and carry the Americans to their destination. It was a display of international teamwork that would have been unlikely as little as five years earlier; the thaw that followed the end of the Cold War had taken a long time to penetrate the highly secretive world of the supernatural Departments.

  The helicopters landed with a series of deafening thuds. Their engines and rotors began to wind down, and a loud beeping noise echoed out across the fields as the loading ramps at their rears were lowered slowly to the ground. Bob Allen stopped halfway down one of them, and looked out across the fledgling camp.

  Surrounding the landing site were a dozen large white tents, emblazoned with the logos of the Red Cross and UNICEF. Beyond them, parked neatly along one edge of the field, was a row of trucks and jeeps, and on the other side of a low hedge he could see hundreds and hundreds of parked cars; it looked like the outskirts of a music festival. To the north, there were at least two fields of grey and blue tents, all of them bearing the legend HUMANITARIAN AID. It was a sight General Allen had never expected to find in the countryside of a developed European country; it looked like the camps he had seen during his military days, in places like Rwanda and Sierra Leone.

  Behind him, Danny Lawrence led four squads of Operators down on to the grass while the technical support team started unloading towering pallets of containers and flight cases from the second helicopter. Allen didn’t waste time giving them the order to start assembling the command centre; he knew they would do their jobs without him needing to. He glanced round, saw Danny order the Operators to survey the camp and report back, and smiled; he had complete faith in his team, even in circumstances as strange and unprecedented as these.

  “General Allen?”

  He turned to see a French Army Captain standing in front of him.

  “I’m Allen,” he said.

  “Captain Mathias Guérin,” said the man, and extended his hand. “Welcome back to France, General. I am sorry it is not in better circumstances.”

  Allen took Guérin’s hand and shook it. “Thank you, Captain,” he said. “I take it the Germans aren’t here yet?”

  “We are expecting the FTB within the next two hours,” said Guérin. “Although I understand you will remain in charge?”

/>   “That’s correct,” said Allen. “I will act as Commanding Officer, under NATO authority. Can you give me a progress update?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Guérin. “More than eight thousand people have left the city so far, of which more than five thousand are here in this camp. Reconnaissance indicates—”

  “What’s the population of Carcassonne?” interrupted Allen.

  “Forty-eight thousand permanent residents, sir,” said Guérin. “Although there are likely to be at least three or four thousand tourists currently visiting the city.”

  “So more than fifty thousand people?” said Allen. “That’s a hell of an evacuation.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Guérin. “Reconnaissance indicates that a large number are preparing to leave later today, and we believe that many more will do so as the deadline approaches tomorrow.”

  “Believing so isn’t good enough,” said Allen. “We need to make sure they go. This is a mandatory evacuation.”

  “We are doing everything we can, sir,” said Guérin. “Many of the city’s police and emergency personnel appear to have already left, but those who are still here and still working have been deployed to keep the roads open and manage the crowds at the train station. SNCF has agreed to run extra rail services through the night, but are stopping them at noon tomorrow. The airport is closed to all non-military flights, and the Red Cross and UNICEF are going door to door inside the city, telling people that they are required to leave and assisting those who cannot do so on their own.”

  Allen nodded. “Dracula?”

  Guérin’s face paled, ever so slightly, but his voice remained calm and steady. “There have been no vampire sightings since last night,” he said. “Satellite thermal imaging shows heat blooms all over the old city, but the stone is thick, and it is impossible to tell the vampires from the hostages.”

  “Tell me about them,” he said.

  “One hundred and eleven names on the list that was distributed to the TV crews,” said Guérin. “Thirteen nationalities. French, German, British, American, Chinese, Japanese, Swedish, Spanish, Korean, Canadian, Russian, Norwegian, Turkish. No demands as yet.”