by Lee Isserow
Ben watched in horror as the viscous monster landed on the ground, dragging the tacks down with it. The speared tips that connected it to the necks of the men softened, turned back to a brighter red that glimmered as they snaked back and forth, fluids draining from their bodies down shimmering tubes, making the gelatinous crimson jellybean bigger and fatter.
He forced himself to look away, return his gaze to the warehouse, his eyes adjusting to the dark. Beyond him lay a seemingly endless cavern, a relic of the industrial age that was long abandoned. He heard feet tearing across the concrete, sounds of struggles, susurration of hushed voices, the liquid growls of a number of haemogoblins. He knew he should join the fray, take down the sixteen infected that were inside. But he couldn't let those men die.
His fingers found the hilt of a blade before he knew what he was looking for. The location pins he had mentally laid down on his body armour doing their job. He dug the knife an inch into the muscle at the base of his left thumb, wincing at the pain, and pulled the knife out. The blood began to pump out into his hand, coalescing into an agitated maroon baseball. He flexed his bicep to increase the bloodflow, until he was holding an angry bowling ball sized creature that started forming primordial, ossified teeth beneath its thin, diaphanous red skin.
Ben pulled his arm back and hurled the viscous sphere towards the monster sucking the life out of the four men. The ball spun through the air, connecting to him by a snaking red tube of syrupy blood, that pumped more mass into the 'goblin. As it hurtled towards the jelly bean, its colour darkened, dull spikes forming around its circumference. The ball burst through the soft skin of the creature getting its fill, skin returning to a softer state, teeth snapping away from within the 'goblin, guzzling it down from the inside out.
The jellybean's spikes withdrew from the necks of the men, as it tried in vain to protect itself, but it was too late. By the time it attempted self defence, Ben had absorbed most of its mass.
He pulled the 'goblin back into his body, all but for the original fist-sized sphere. He held it in his hand, and looked down at the four tacks. They were still, but unconscious rather than dead, it looked as though they were all still breathing slow, shallow breaths. He forced a small smile at the thought that Steve would probably be pleased at the idea of having an additional four new recruits. Then grimaced, because it was at the cost of one of his friend's lives. He looked down at Chris's body, gaunt and lifeless, then looked into the darkness ahead. Somewhere in there was the person responsible. He was going to find them, and vowed to make them pay.
37
Stepping past the body, Ben could see glimpses of running bodies, and the shadows of haemogoblins of various shapes and sizes doing battle. Across the warehouse there were a cacophony of footsteps and grunts, screams and liquid roars.
There was a sickly slurp from somewhere nearby. He scanned the floor, and found Chris's head moving slowly across the bare concrete, the small 'goblin under it was slinking around like a snail. Ben reached down and picked the head up by the hair. He placed the sticky baseball in his hand up to the blood hanging from the neck of his fallen friend. It opened tiny jaws and slurped the thing down. Ben returned Chris's head to her body and swallowed over a lump in his throat. This had been a distraction, intended to slow him and the tacks down, and it had worked.
Clicking the blades on the left glove, he tore into the flesh of his right hand, another small sphere of blood filling his palm. He would be ready for whoever came at him, and he wasn't going to let them get a chance to make the first strike.
Walking through the dimly lit space, he saw a form lying still, and pulled his arm back, ready to let his 'goblins fly. The person wasn't moving. Coming closer, he discovered it was a man. Ben didn't recognise him, his face was dirty, stray patches of a pale pallor were visible beneath the filth, his hair thick and matted. It looked like he had been out on the streets for a while. The dead man was younger than Ben, and had a number of large rips through his shirt, flaps of ruddy skin torn wide open, revealing his flesh and musculature thoroughly gored. There was a look of shock frozen on his face, as if he had had no idea that death was coming for him.
Ben kicked the body in the ribs. He heard them click, and kicked again, and again. “You killed her!” he grunted, as his foot cracked the ribs, boot sinking into the dent he had made in the torso. He pulled his foot free and settled it back on the ground, tried to breathe deeply to dispel the anger. He was wasting time.
He passed giant shelves stacked with dusty machine parts, long forgotten and abandoned, and came to a large, open doorway. Crossing into the next room, he stepped into the fray. Steve had a 'goblin coming out of each of his hands, both of them with their jaws clamped around a blood-driven. The person held by the left creature was trying to fight it, snakes of blood thrashing at Steve, but he had already drained her enough to insure she could do no harm. The snakes shrunk with every passing moment the 'goblin continued to slurp, sucking them through her body like noodles.
Ben scoured the shadows for signs of further vectors. Beyond Steve, Nick was facing off against one. It seemed as though he and the man he was fighting were in a stand-off. Both of them had large spherical haemogoblins coming from their bodies, that lashed and snapped at one another, dodging the teeth of their attacker. He wondered if that was both of them being hesitant to kill the other.
To the far side opposite them, Tess's blood dropped the drained body of an older man. She saw him, smiled, and began to walk over towards him. Ben saw the blood coming from the shadows before she had a time to react. He tried to warn her, but the blood already had her in its grasp. It didn't harden, not enough to pierce her skin at least. The blood formed into a tentacle, that wrapped around her, lifted her into the air, and cast her aside, throwing her into a wall with a resounding thud.
Her body fell, lifeless, crumpling into a pile on the hard concrete. Ben ran to her, re-absorbing the two balls of blood in his hands, dodging under the tentacle as it came for him. He got to her body, turned her over, she was still breathing. There were scratches from the rough metalwork across her face. Blood was seeping through the thin tears in her skin, tiny jaws opening and closing frantically with soft snaps. She was still alive, for now.
He turned to the tentacle, just as it came towards him. The tip was still red, it wasn't aiming to skewer. He rolled out of the way, and the tentacle splattered against the wall, sending a clang that reverberated up and around the building. It started pulling itself back together, as Ben looked around, trying to find the source of the creature.
The origin was moving. Small feet pitter-pattering in the darkness heading towards the east entrance he had just come through. There were other shadows heading towards it. The vectors were making a break for it.
He launched himself to his feet, running towards the source of the tentacle. His fingers knew where the knives were on the armour, and as his feet pounded against the hard, bare floor, he cut deep into the meat of his wrist. Adrenaline pulsing through his body, he didn't even feel the blades slicing through his skin as he sent the blood surging out towards the figure that hurt Tess.
His legs were taken from under him. The tentacle had lurched back towards the person who made it, rammed at his knees from behind. He rolled head over heels, falling over his own 'goblins in the process, flattening them like a pancake.
He grunted as he came to a standstill and looked up. There were large, bright eyes staring down at him. A young boy, no older than he was when he lost his mother.
A woman took the boy's hand, looking down at Ben with disgust. She pulled him closer to the door. A young man stepped in the way, blocking Ben's view of them. He crouched down, glaring, with a face Ben had seen before.
“You killed my brother,” he said. Ben knew where he had seen that face; it was identical to the filth covered corpse he had stumbled upon earlier.
He wanted to say that it wasn't him, but the man had already stuck a small penknife into his side. The haemogoblin that e
merged had bright red eyes that seemed to burn bright in the darkness. A long snout furrowed out from the head, with deep, dark nostrils and large sharp teeth. Ben tried to command the blood that had caught his fall, but it was slow to respond. The demon pouring out of the man opened its mouth wide, a forked tongue lashing back and forth, and from the depths of its gullet, a liquid fire burst forth.
It consumed Ben's body, felt as though a thousand needles were piercing his skin, each of them supping at his lifeblood. He tried to fight it, but the fiery blood was all encompassing, consuming him from every angle. Drowning him alive whilst drinking him down.
He looked up at the man, his face rippling through the pulsing layers of red and purple that were flowing around him.
“No!” a voice cried out, the word gargled through the waves of liquid passing all around.
Two figures joined the man whose dragon was devouring Ben. They had a short conversation, an argument that he couldn't make out. He tried to summon what little blood was left in his body to fight, but his thoughts were weak, slow, the dark warehouse around him seeming all that much darker now.
The blood around him grew thicker, more viscous, and what little he could see of the warehouse was now moving too.
“You better be right about this...” he heard a gargled voice say, distant, as his grip on consciousness began to flee.
“He's never wrong,” another voice said, softer, but determined.
Ben tried to breath, but there was no air to ingest, only the fluids that surrounded him. He couldn't find the energy to fight. There was no fight to give. Drowning wasn't such a bad death, he thought, as he began to let the darkness take him. There was a feeling of euphoria, of mindlessness. The warehouse was now just a distant blur, all the more distant behind the thick layer of congealing crimson surrounding him. He felt at peace.
Whilst his head was on the road to Nirvana, his heart still beat with a slow, pulsing rage. He promised himself that if he survived this, as soon as he had the chance, he would kill each and every one of these blood-driven bastards, and bring the Blood Squad their heads.
To be continued with
In The Blood
Part 2
The Blood Lies
Available April 7th 2017
Please keep reading for an exclusive preview
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In The Blood continues April 7th with:
The Blood Lies
SYNOPSIS
Ben is at the mercy of a group who wish to infect the world with the creatures that flow through their veins.
The only hope he has is to gain their confidence, their trust, until he has a chance to escape.
But there's something about the blood-driven that doesn't sit right with him, and the more he gets to know them, the more he distrusts everything he thought he knew . . .
The Blood Lies
1
Ben Graham had accepted his fate. He knew that he was going to die, and was comfortable with that fact. His last memory was of the warehouse, seeing it through the syrupy crimson sheen of the blood that encased him. A fly trapped in amber, before the darkness took him. When he found himself bolstered awake by a violent cough erupting from his chest, it was more than a shock. He had not expected the blood-driven who attacked him to be merciful, let alone have any interest in keeping prisoners.
As his lungs cleared, Ben could feel adrenaline start to surge. He tried to rise to his feet, and discovered his legs were weak. His head hit the ceiling, which was lower than he expected. With his body bent over at two thirds his full height, the top inch or so of his head was enveloped by soft, smooth material lining ceiling. He tried to reach for it, and discovered his hands were tied behind his back. Ben tried to pull and twist the bindings, cause friction against his skin, spill some blood to let a 'goblin out to break him free, but the bindings were also soft and smooth, chosen to prevent him from injuring himself.
He inspected his surroundings. There was a thick stench of burning in the air, but there didn't appear to be any signs of scorch marks in the room itself. The walls were covered with the same material as the ceiling. It was hard to see in the darkness, there was no light in the room but for a thin glimmer coming from under a door. At least there was a door, he reassured himself.
Feeling around in the dim space, he found the small bed he had been lying on when he woke up. The frame was covered in the same material as the walls and ceilings. He couldn't feel slats or springs under the mattress. There were no other objects locked in the room with him. He was trapped in a padded call, with no means to escape, and no means to bleed.
The adrenaline rush was over, and Ben collapsed back on the bed. His legs could no longer support his weight. He found his breath weak in his chest, and tried to force long, slow breaths through his lungs. It didn't feel like the oxygen was getting around his body. He tried to recall how much blood he had lost. There was no way to tell, his 'goblins being devoured by the blood dragon was only the tip of the iceberg. The fiend's flames had encompassed him, sucked the blood out through pinprick sized holes across his body.
He felt his thoughts slowing. His breath slowing even more, and once again he returned to the darkness.
At first, there was no way to track days in the cell. Ben woke intermittently at various points, discovering polystyrene clamshells of food waiting for him in the dim light under the door. They never left him cutlery, after all, disposable wood or plastic eating implements could be used to draw blood. Not that it would be much use if they did leave him cutlery, for his captors had not unbound his hands when it was time for him to be fed.
To get to the meal of the day or night, Ben had to kneel on the floor, use his teeth and tongue to nudge the box open. The food was often luke warm or cold by the time he got to it, but any kind of nourishment felt like a godsend to his frail frame, with its scattered half-thoughts. He ploughed his face into the boxes with barely any inspection as to the contents. If they wanted to kill him, he'd be dead already, so they certainly wouldn't have poisoned the food. Every other meal, a disposable plastic cup was placed next to the food with water in it, which he drank with barely a thought about what chemicals it might contain. Survival was the only thing on his mind. Survival, and revenge.
As the meals continued, and Ben's strength returned, he began to use them as a sundial to tell what time of day it was. The morning meal was always porridge, thick and goopy, unsweetened and too dry. The second meal, and often the third when there was a third, was either a stew or curry, a myriad ingredients thrown in a pot with something to flavour it. The meals were cheap to produce, and not cooked for his benefit, he wagered. Leftovers from when the blood-driven had had their fill, which explained why sometimes there were only two meals rather than three.
Ben counted five days worth of meals before he actually witnessed the door open for himself. He was lying on the bed when he heard the heavy clunk of the lock, and craned his neck, squinting into the bright light pouring into his padded cage. The shadow of a man stepped into the rectangle of blinding white light, forming a large silhouette that blocked his view of the outside world. The shadow came towards him, ducked into the cell, and crouched on the floor by
the bed. The door closed behind him, the lock clunked back into position.
“How you liking the accommodation?” the man scoffed. His voice was deep, hoarse, words a little muffled. Ben stared at him as his eyes adjusted back to the darkness. The man was speaking through a thin layer of fabric over his face, a balaclava. It hid everything but for his eyes, which gleamed in the darkness through an oval cut in the material. The eyes were dark, irises large, and they looked angry.
Ben said nothing, turning his head away from his captor. “Got your strength back some, I reckon. Food's been packed with iron and the like to heal you up,” The words were cold, as if the man didn't approve of Ben being fed. “Bloods good like that, replenishing itself. But I'm sure you already know that...”
The man shifted his weight. Crouching down in the cell seemed to be uncomfortable for him. Ben smiled at the observation, he might not be able to break free or let a 'goblin out, but at least he could make his captor uncomfortable, if only for the brief time he was in the cell.
“Got some questions we need answering...”
Ben rolled his eyes. He wasn't going to tell them anything.
“Who d'you work for?” The man waited for a response. When there was none, he started elucidating, and monitored his prisoner for a reaction. “Police? MI5? Government? Interpol? CDC? CIA?” Ben did his best not to give anything away. Not that he truly knew who he worked for. The Blood Squad might have been based under the MI5 building, but it did not seem directly related to MI5. His experiences there started and ended with Ailes. He had never seen anyone enter the building who appeared to be Ailes' superior, and so as far as he was aware, the Blood Squad was autonomous.