Farzin had shown her the delights of the kill. Right at the beginning as she adjusted, she had been half out of her mind and not really aware of her own actions. He dictated and she complied. It became all that she knew. As the fog slowly dispersed and clarity returned she was overawed by the new experience of it all. Everything appeared different. She saw light more intensely, more brilliantly. It was a marvel to admire the kaleidoscope of colours that burst forth with every new sunrise, so many tones that she had never noticed before. She appreciated the variety of hues around her during the day, the way they interacted with one another, adding warmth to a cool blue or subtlety to an overpowering crimson, the colour of heat coming from a living being and the cool, empty shades of death. But perhaps more surprisingly was how clearly she could see at night. She loved the reflections bounced back at her in the eyes of nocturnal animals as they froze in terror, and the appearance of blood on her pale, slender hands, illuminated by a crisp moonlight.
Smells were carried to her from far away, greeting her as new friends. They were so much stronger and more intense than ever before that she did not recognise many of them at first and had to relearn the associations. The aromas filled her stomach almost as though she was eating them, consuming them like food. Each told her a story and suggested a new adventure with unknown possibilities. She wondered at how much she had been missing before, how much she had taken for granted and how little of this remarkable world she had hitherto truly appreciated. This existence after death of the supposedly 'undead' was ironically so much more vibrant and full of life than anything previously.
Her sense of hearing was vastly more acute, as though she had lived her human years with her head underwater and now she had broken through the surface into a chorus of music. The gentle serenade of a breeze amongst leaves or the lullaby of a stream cascading over rocks were rapturous melodies. The soft tempo of an animal's footfalls as it walked by, unaware of its imminent demise, were the notes of an orchestra to her ears. The sharply falsetto, indrawn breath accompanied by the sound of a quickening heartbeat of one who chanced to glimpse her true self, were the dramatic climax of an entire symphony.
Whilst she greeted these changes with relish, they did not exactly fill her with lasting wonder and amazement. It was her new attitude towards humans, however, that made the greatest impression upon her. They were no longer her equals and she viewed them with an intrigued measure of disdain. She now took the greatest pleasure in observing them silently from the shadows, watching their clumsy, inefficient movements, their insecure mannerisms, and their ever beating pulses visible on exposed body parts. Like the constant swing of a metronome, these pulses were an invitation to feast, a constant lure that promised ecstasy. Whilst she could still control her desires and act as appropriately as she felt necessary on the occasions that she placed herself amongst humankind, nevertheless, always at the back of her mind was this pledge of fulfilment. Always she had to keep it in check.
The vampires' existence, by its very nature, was self-centred. They took what they wanted, never asking permission and never giving anything back; well, almost never. Farzin epitomised this egocentric attitude to the fullest, enjoying the torments he left behind as markers of his superiority over those he now viewed as some sort of unworthy subclass. She followed him and at first knew no better, but as she learned and developed on her own, she began to see things differently. She had nothing to prove and did not bear the same grudge as he. She enjoyed her new existence and embraced it, but hers was not fuelled by the same constant anger and desire for revenge that drove him. She was happy to appease him though, and he never really knew of her indifference to the trail of devastation he liked to leave in his wake.
She had developed more rapidly than Farzin could have expected and swifter than even he realised. Her movements were precise and deliberate, like a cat walking in snow, yet they held an elegance that was mesmerising, even without her paying any mind to it. Fairly soon she had begun to cultivate her own style and her own ideas, although she soon realised that it was to her advantage to at least pretend to pay lip-service to his. She saw nothing wrong with this duplicity, a necessary state of being, and in fact duplicity became second nature to her. She became strong and fast, faster than any of them, and found she could read the others well. She delighted in predicting what they were about to say and do, and although they were vaguely aware of her prowess, she managed to keep the extent of this talent largely hidden. None of them, including Farzin, knew exactly how adept she was at reading them, and to some extent, controlling even them. Mind-manipulation of a human was straightforward enough, they could all do that. But to be able to influence a vampire, now that really was a skill to be admired. And to be kept secret.
Her relationship with Farzin had altered subtly over the years. It had started as teacher and student and as far as he was concerned it still possessed that mantle. Partly he was too arrogant or blinkered to consider any alternative; partly she had maintained the status quo to keep things tranquil. Besides, she had always felt that she could learn from him, but this learning was not always an appreciation of what was best. Sometimes, and increasingly so these days, she was watching and realising that his choices were not necessarily in the best interests of the clan and not necessarily what she herself would do.
She had been Farzin's mate ever since her turning, many long years before. She knew there had been another and that did not bother her, she was confident enough in herself. It merely served as a reminder that anyone can be replaced; a wise lesson for her to keep in mind, especially at times such as these.
Now that society had crumbled and was in disarray she knew better than any of them that the fate of the clan would follow. That was always the way of it; their lives were intrinsically linked to those of the humans. The refuge they had enjoyed in the most ironic of locations, a Roman Catholic church on the outskirts of Bishop’s Stortford, had afforded them convenient and comfortable sanctuary, but that had only been a temporary measure whilst they assessed the cataclysmic events unfolding around them. As the dust settled, the blood flowed and the infected grew in number and became ever hungrier and ever more desperate. The clan all realised that decisions had to be made, and fast. All of the clan that is, with the exception of the Clan Leader, Darius, who seemed unwilling - or unable- to comprehend the truth. He was reluctant to embrace change and appeared to be gripped with the malaise of indecision, a costly condition at such a pivotal time when the long daggers were already gathering to oppose him.
Within the clan throughout their extensive years together, although none of them had really appreciated this fact, Flavia had long been the glue that had held them all together. She bound them to each other and gave them a sense of unity, a reason to remain, a moderating presence and a surreptitiously calming influence. She was close now to both the protagonists and could foresee the hostility arising more clearly than any of the others. They all witnessed the arguments and watched the anger building between Darius and Farzin but she alone could sense the unspoken words and internal dilemmas that indicated exactly how deeply the frustrations ran on both sides. The one thing that neither she, nor anybody else, had noticed however, was the conflict going on inside herself. If something did not give, very soon the clan could well disintegrate. The seven would be no more. If that were to come about, and events seemed to suggest that it was almost inevitable, then they may be forced to make some choices. But exactly what the result would be, even she could not foresee.
CHAPTER 3
Many at Headley Court were awake early due to nerves. The mission to go to the GVF laboratories to search for any information that might possibly help create some kind of cure was at the forefront of everyone’s thoughts. Nobody had any doubt about the very real dangers involved. They had lost enough good men, experienced men, to know that a trip like this would almost certainly not return the same number to the base as would leave. It was a time for saying one’s goodbyes properly. It was a time to consider th
e meaning and the worth of their continued survival and the debt that it bestowed upon them.
The towering figure of Lance Corporal Dean Millington from the army security regiment had been a constant presence in the dining hall for over an hour. He seemed to be one of the few people whose appetite had not been affected. Whilst most came into the dining area and made vague attempts at eating but left their food barely touched, he chomped his way through an omelette made from dried eggs, an enormous bowl of some supposed porridge-like substance and several bits of fruit, chatting loquaciously to anyone who came in.
In charge of catering, the po-faced Sergeant Vallage had always been quietly fond of Dean Millington, as much for the fact that Millington was consistently complimentary about his food as for his irrepressible nature and all-embracing smile. Unlike Vallage, Millington always seemed to bring a positive rush of happy energy into a room as he burst in, was rarely quiet and never disparaging of others. He was one of those genuine characters in life that everyone liked and got on with, and Vallage found it hard to understand why he should have become such close friends with Corporal Bannister, who really was his antithesis. They were normally inseparable but this morning the sharp-tongued Scouser was not to be seen, and having stalled for over an hour, Millington went in search of his pal.
Corporal Bannister’s door was closed and Millington stood by it for nearly half a minute after banging loudly, until it was slowly opened.
“Hey mate, where you been? We gotta go soon.”
Bannister glared out through the crack at his incorrigible friend but the malice in his eyes was disguised by the red rims of a sleepless night.
“Man, are you okay? You look dreadful.”
“Uh, it’s you,” Bannister groaned. “I’m okay, I just didn’t sleep very well s’all.”
To anyone else the irritation in his voice would be obvious but Millington put it down to tiredness and stress. Everybody seemed to be a bit tetchy this morning, apart from Vallage, surprisingly enough.
“Well we’re due to go in under half an hour and you haven’t even eaten yet. You gotta get cracking my man.”
“Not hungry,” Bannister croaked back.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You really do look terrible.”
His eyes were bloodshot and the whites were tinged with yellow. His skin looked ashen and his general demeanour was of one suffering from malaria or some other tropical disease, as he stood shivering and drawing the dressing gown tightly around his body.
In order to try and get rid of his friend he attempted to enliven himself. “Ah I’m okay, really. I’ll grab a quick coffee from the mess and that’ll do for me. Seriously, I just had a bad night. I’ll be ready to go in a jiffy. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Lance Corporal Millington walked away but for once he did not take his friend at face value. There was an ominous feeling that even he, with his ever-optimistic outlook, could not shift. He was not superstitious and did not believe in fate but on this occasion he felt as though there was something bad lurking, awaiting them all in the not too distant future, something poised in the shadows, ready to pounce.
The Station Medical Officer, Squadron Leader Anna Singleton, had surreptitiously slipped out of Captain Thomas Lewis’s room as the sun started to add its tangible hues of fact and reason to the fantastical landscape of the night. The previous evening she had felt alone and frightened at the prospect of their imminent mission to the laboratories at GVF, and in need of solace. Despite their previous antagonisms she had started to warm towards Lewis and she had even surprised herself by seeking that comfort from him. If only he could cease his deliberately irritating ways, the constant smirk and innuendo, and discourteous way he spoke to her, and she was sure they would get on whole lot better. She bustled into the dining hall just as he was leaving, practically colliding with him.
“Oh, hi there.” She could feel the colour spread across her cheeks but was powerless to stop it and could barely look him in the eye.
“Well hello stranger, long time no see.” Captain Lewis grinned teasingly, unflustered by the night they had just spent and apparently enjoying her awkwardness. It seemed to her that he was back to his annoying ways that she had foolishly thought he might be starting to abandon.
She shot him a look that was almost angry, born out of intense embarrassment. The fact that he did not seem in the slightest bit awkward irked her somewhat. Was he mocking her? “Look, I’m sorry about last night…” she started to say but he raised his hand.
“Hey, don’t. There’s nothing to apologise for.”
“No really, that’s not at all like me. I shouldn’t have come to your room.”
He could tell that she was subtly trying to manoeuvre past him so he blocked her path.
“Seriously, I didn’t have to let you in last night. It’s not just you who’s suffering here. I get frightened just like all of us. How does that song go? Everybody needs somebody... And if I didn’t want you there I wouldn't have let you in. I was glad you came.”
She smiled. She was a teenager again. “Really?” She did not entirely believe him but was glad of his reassurance nevertheless.
“Really. I enjoyed last night, more than you know. So please, don’t demean it by apologising and saying it was a mistake. It wasn’t. Okay?”
She took a deep breath and relaxed her shoulders. She had not even realised how tense she was.
“Okay.”
She grinned again, unable to stop, and furiously berated herself for the blush that she could feel returning. She had never viewed him like this before, not that she was looking at him inappropriately now, she reminded herself, but still… After all, despite his annoying manner and lack of respect for her rank and experience, he was not exactly unattractive. He was tall, athletic and solidly built through years of physical training in the army. And besides, who could possibly know if any of them would even return home alive that very day? Every moment they had to live life to the full now. She watched as he moved confidently and quickly down the corridor before she turned and entered the dining hall.
Sergeant Liam Wood sat in the corner of the room by himself. He had witnessed the exchange and although he could not hear what was said he had noticed the expressions on her face and the flush of emotions. He smiled inwardly. He had sat there calmly for as long as Millington. He had watched people come and go but had not eaten the same amount as the other man, nor spoken to anywhere near as many people. Of those who were going out with him today it was fairly clear who was composed and mentally primed and who would be jumpy and needed to be watched carefully.
He sat quietly and did not seem very energetic but his mind was busy, working hard going over the plans and preparations for the day. Nevertheless his attention kept on wandering and that annoyed him. He was slightly surprised, and if he would admit it to himself, disappointed, that Charlotte Collins had not come to join him for breakfast. She knew what a big day this was for them all and yet there had been no sign of her. He assumed she must be exhausted after her night vigil and was determined not to disturb her, but was that because he was being considerate or because he felt slightly snubbed by her absence? It would have been nice anyway if she had just popped down at the very least to wish him luck. He chastised himself for letting his mind wander to such irrelevant matters; at least, irrelevant when there were so many more important things to consider. Like keeping everyone alive. He may not be the commanding officer, but he knew his position well enough, and his importance.
Corporals Reggie Pethard and May Williams sat with Josh, the young boy who had been found hiding in the store; the ‘Miracle Child’ as he was being called. They sat in the centre of the room looking to the unfamiliar eye every bit the happy family unit. Wood was pleased to see that Josh had already started to open up and talk. He still tended to cling fiercely to either of them and more specifically to Pethard, hiding his face when anyone else tried to talk to him, but that seemed to be improving, even after the short period of time
that he had spent at Headley Court. As Lewis departed, Wood slurped the rest of his coffee and rose to leave. Vallage waved to him as he left and he returned the gesture with a taut but genuine smile.
Flight Lieutenant Walkden of the Supply and Logistics section was more at home with a wrench than a rifle and was happier on his back under a car than on his stomach in a ditch aiming a gun at an enemy. He walked rather stiffly around the three Land Rovers that had been prepared for the journey today and inspected them closely one last time. The two that had already been off base had suffered a small amount of superficial damage, but the engines were good and had been serviced. The third Land Rover was the last that they had on the base and rudimentary crash bars had been welded to the front and rear the previous day. Walkden was finally satisfied that it was ready. He signalled to the three drivers who drove slowly out in a solemn funeral procession towards the front gate.
“Good luck lads,” he whispered to himself. “Wish I were going with you,” although in truth he was really very glad to be staying behind. He was more than happy not to have to face whatever lay in store for them today.
The Blood of the Infected (Book 2): Once Bitten, Twice Live Page 3