by William Hill
Kate had guided them onto a rough trail that wound through the woods. Jamie had given her the stake from his belt, and she carried it before her like a divining rod, her fist clenched tightly around the rubber grip. Larissa was floating above them, her eyes peeled for any sign of movement, as the team walked beneath her. They crossed a large clearing, on which a soccer pitch had been marked out in lines of fading paint, and then the trees enveloped them again.
McBride led the way, followed by Jamie and Kate, who were walking side by side, then by Stevenson, and finally by Morris, who had again taken up the rear position.
“So how old are you?” asked Kate, her voice trembling.
Jamie could see she was trying to hold herself together. “I’m sixteen,” he replied. “You?”
“Same,” she said, and grinned at him. “My birthday was last month.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” she said. “My dad had to work. But he’s going to take me to the mainland next month. We’re going shopping.” Her face creased with pain at the thought of her father, and Jamie’s heart went out to her.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” he said.
“So am I,” she replied.
They walked on in silence for a few minutes, then she spoke again.
“How did you end up here?” she asked, looking over at him.
This time he did laugh. “That’s a long story,” he replied.
“We’ve got time.”
“No,” said Jamie. “We really haven’t. Trust me.”
They emerged into a round clearing, and McBride held a hand up, bringing them to a halt. Larissa floated down next to Jamie and eyed Kate with a look of mild suspicion as the team fanned out in a tight line.
“What’s wrong?” Morris asked.
McBride glared at him, then held a finger to his lips. “Something’s not right,” he whispered. “I don’t-” He didn’t finish his sentence. Larissa tipped her head back and sniffed the night air, then gripped Jamie’s arm and turned to him, her eyes wide.
Vampires flooded into the clearing.
They emerged from the darkness at the edges, dropped from the overhanging branches. There were twelve of them, male and female; they formed into a loose line in the middle of the clearing, snarling at the Blacklight team.
Crimson spilled into Larissa’s eyes, and she bared her fangs at the group of vampires. Jamie grabbed at his belt for a UV grenade and felt only air. There had been no time to visit the armory before they left; the operators were carrying only their basic equipment. They raised their weapons and waited for the vampires to make a move.
They didn’t have to wait long.
Alexandru’s followers rushed toward them, snarling and hissing, their fangs gleaming in the silver moonlight. Stevenson was the first to fire; his T-Bone shot slammed into the chest of a man in his thirties wearing a stained yellow T-shirt and ripped khakis, obliterating his heart, and he exploded in a fountain of gore.
McBride dropped to one knee and strafed the approaching vampires with his MP5. The bullets tore through them at knee height, sending blood and white shards of bone flying into the air. Three of the vampires fell, and slid across the damp grass, howling in agony.
The rest kept coming.
Jamie fired his T-Bone squarely into the chest of a vampire woman. She threw her head back and howled in pain, blood gushing from the round hole the projectile had made, then she exploded, and the howl died with the rest of her.
Larissa leapt forward and sank her fingers into the eye sockets of two of the onrushing vampires. Blood squirted around her knuckles as she pressed deeper, blinding them with her razor-sharp fingernails. She pulled her hands free, her arms soaked with blood to the elbows, and ducked as Morris and McBride fired in unison. The vampires exploded above her, drenching her in gore. She shook her head, blood flying in thick streaks from her long hair, and then she was moving again, back to her position next to Jamie.
Stevenson ran forward and hand-staked the three vampires lying on the ground. They twisted and rolled on the grass, their faces contorted with pain, until the operator put them out of their misery in three splashes of blood.
The five remaining vampires backed away, hissing. Their numerical advantage was gone, and Jamie saw fear in their red eyes. Adrenaline surged through him, and he charged forward, without any idea of what he was going to do. All he knew was that there were vampires to be killed, and he wanted to be the one who did the killing.
Morris shouted something, but Jamie didn’t hear him. He sprinted across the clearing toward the vampire in the middle of the retreating group, a man in his forties who looked like a roadie for a heavy metal band, a black T-shirt and blue denim vest covering bulging arms that were coated in blue ink.
Three projectiles shot past him, metal cables trailing behind them, and thudded into a trio of vampires. They exploded as he dodged between them, splattering him with blood. A dark shape swooped over him, and Larissa hauled a vampire girl up into the trees. She came back down in pieces. Larissa reappeared, a blood-soaked nightmare, her red eyes glowing brightly, her teeth bared, and she tore open the severed torso and crushed the heart that was still beating inside it. The pieces of the girl exploded, and suddenly Jamie was running toward the last vampire in the clearing.
The roadie backed away, buying himself time and distance, then leapt forward. Jamie fired his T-Bone, but the shot went wide, disappearing into the dark trees at the edge of the clearing. He threw the weapon aside, reached for the stake on his belt, and found the loop empty.
I gave it to Kate.
The vampire crashed into him at waist height, knocking the air out of him and driving him to the ground. It straddled him, its knees on his elbows, sending pain screaming up his arms. He kicked his legs, but the huge vampire didn’t move an inch. It snarled, a grin on its contorted face, its eyes deep pits of crimson. Behind him he heard his companions winding in their T-Bone projectiles and realization hit him.
I ran too far. By the time they fire again, I’ll be dead.
A dark blur flashed to a halt at the vampire’s shoulder, and Larissa appeared, her wide eyes streaming red, her teeth bared. She reached for the vampire, but it swung an arm like a tree trunk and caught her square on the jaw, sending her flying into the darkness, where she hit something with a sickening crunch. The vampire leaned slowly toward him, its mouth peeling back to reveal two enormous fangs, at least an inch long, and then there was a wet crunching noise, and the vampire’s expression changed. A second later it exploded. Jamie shielded his eyes with one of his arms, and then hands were pulling at him, hauling him to a sitting position. He opened his eyes, and found Kate looking down at him, his stake in her hand, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Are you all right?” she asked, breathlessly. “Did it bite you?”
Jamie shook his head, slowly, and clambered to his feet. The three Blacklight operators appeared at his shoulder, and McBride spun him around.
“Did you get bitten?” he demanded. “Tell me the truth.”
“He didn’t get bitten,” said Kate. “I got it.”
McBride looked at her with open admiration, and then stepped forward and hugged her. She stood stiffly in his embrace for a few seconds, confusion on her face, then gradually gave in and wrapped her arms around the black-clad man. He broke the hug and held her by her shoulders.
“Well done,” he said. “Very well done.”
Kate flushed with embarrassment, but she smiled broadly.
A crash of noise came from the edge of the clearing, and Larissa reappeared. She strode toward the others, blood pumping down her face and neck from a wide gash at her temple, her left arm hanging at an unnatural angle at her side, pain and panic on her face.
“Are you-” started Morris, but she brushed past him without a glance and stopped in front of Jamie, grabbing his chin and tilting his head back and up. She inspected his neck carefully, and then released her grip. They stared at each other for a
long moment, until Larissa turned sharply on her heels, walked over to Kate and kissed her on the cheek.
Then she sat on the grass, cradling her broken arm in her lap, her crimson eyes glowing in the dark. After a few seconds, Jamie walked over and sat down beside her.
Ten minutes later, they moved on.
Beams of moonlight shone down through the canopy of the woods, long streams of silver light that gleamed and twinkled in the night air. They made their way along the trail in the same order they had entered the clearing. Larissa held her broken arm as still as she was able to, pressing it gently to her side. She was a terrifying vision, soaked from head to toe in blood that was starting to harden and crack, giving it the look of flaking war paint. Jamie was similarly coated; he had wiped most of the roadie’s blood from his face, but his uniform was drenched, and the coppery scent of blood hung around him like a cloud, turning his stomach. Kate was pale, as the shock of the things she had seen over the course of this long, bloody night began to settle into her mind, but her face was determined, and she walked steadily. McBride had reset his broken nose, and the blood had stopped flowing. It was badly swollen, and there was a high whistling noise when he breathed, but the operator cared little for a broken nose, and his eyes were clear.
Jamie walked next to Larissa, who was floating six inches above the ground so she didn’t jar her broken arm. Neither of them said anything, but every couple of minutes, one cast a sideways glance at the other. Kate followed behind, watching them.
They emerged from the woods at the top of a wide plain, studded with low bushes and tangles of shrubs, that gently sloped downward before them. The monastery stood at the top of the rise on the other side, a crumbling building of pale stone rising above the row of cliffs that marked the edge of the island. Jamie could hear the distant crashing of waves and smelled salt in the air. Light blazed from the uneven windows of the monastery, the flickering yellows and oranges that came from open fires.
They set out across the plain, unaware that one of them had less than three minutes to live.
Larissa smelled it before she saw it.
“Something’s coming,” she said. “Something bad. I’ve never smelled anything like it.”
Adrenaline splashed into six nervous systems.
Morris, McBride, and Stevenson immediately pulled Larissa and Jamie into a circle around Kate. The five members of the Blacklight team scanned the empty plain, their visors sweeping left and right, their weapons at their shoulders.
For long seconds, they stood motionless, silent apart from the sound of their own breathing. Then Stevenson lowered his weapon and turned to his companions.
“There’s nothing here,” he said.
A dense tangle of bushes behind the operator exploded in a shower of leaves and splintered wood as something huge leapt across the dark grass. It growled as it moved on four powerful legs, its yellow eyes glowing, thick ropes of saliva trailing from jaws that were filled with gleaming teeth. It clamped its mouth on Stevenson’s throat and hauled him forward, barreling into the rest of the team and sending them tumbling across the plain. As he fell, Jamie heard a terrible ripping sound as the creature pulled out a ragged chunk of Stevenson’s neck, and heard the operator scream in pain.
He dug his heels into the grass and pushed himself back to his feet. He saw Kate sliding down the slope, heard her shouting for his help, and ignored her. The further she was away from whatever had leapt from the bush, the better. He turned back, ready to run up the slope to Stevenson, but what he saw at the top of the rise froze him to the spot.
The operator was lying on his back, blood gushing from the hole that had been torn in his neck. His face was pale, and his eyes were closed, but Jamie could see the black material of his uniform rising and falling.
He’s still alive. You have to help him.
But he couldn’t make his petrified limbs move.
Standing over Stevenson was a huge gray wolf, as large as a small car. Its coat was thick and tangled, its snout soaked with the operator’s blood, its eyes gleaming. A terrible smell was emanating from it; a thick fog of spoiled meat and sickness. It looked down the slope at him, and Jamie felt his insides turn to water. Then it threw back its head and howled, an awful, deafening noise that sounded like damnation. It lowered its mouth toward Stevenson again, the moonlight gleaming off its enormous teeth.
The crack of gunfire rang across the plain, and the wolf twitched, red blooms of blood appearing along its flank, then howled again. Jamie looked round and saw Morris and McBride making their way up the slope, fire spitting from the barrels of their MP5s.
Where’s Larissa?
He looked around wildly and saw her near the bottom of the slope. She was crouching next to Kate, holding the girl’s face in her hands, and a surge of affection so hot it was almost something else shot through him. He drew his MP5, then ran back up the slope and fell into step next to McBride, who acknowledged him with the briefest of looks. The three Blacklight men pressed forward, their submachine guns screaming in the night air.
The wolf leapt down from Stevenson’s unconscious body and roared at them, a sound so gigantic it physically drove Jamie back a step. His ears rang as he stepped forward again, his finger clamped tightly on the trigger of the MP5. Bullets slammed into the wolf, tearing clumps of fur from its coat, spraying dark blood across the grass. Jamie saw a round take one of its eyes out, leaving a neat black hole where the pale yellow ball had been. But the huge animal seemed to barely notice.
“Take it down!” bellowed Morris. “Take out its legs!”
Jamie’s MP5 clicked empty. He hauled a new clip from his belt, slammed it into place, and pulled the trigger again. The three operators concentrated their fire on its left foreleg, and the limb splattered apart, wet chunks of flesh raining to the ground. The wolf howled in pain, and leapt forward, propelling itself across the grass on its three remaining legs, closing the distance in long, shambling strides. They fired at its right foreleg, bullets flying wide as the creature swayed toward them.
Ten feet away, the wolf dipped, the muscles in its powerful back legs tensing, ready to leap. Then with a sickening tearing noise, the right foreleg came apart under the weight of the gunfire, and the leap was a howling, aborted thing. The wolf flopped into the air, screeching in pain, and crashed to the ground before them. They jumped back, out of the reach of the jaws that were snapping blindly at the air, the teeth clamping together over and over with a sound like breaking pottery. The wolf pushed itself forward, its back legs digging into the ground, and they emptied their guns into its exposed underside. Explosions of blood burst from the white fur, and the animal bellowed. Then it lay still, its ruined chest rising and falling, great jets of warm air blasting out of its nose and mouth.
“Jesus,” said McBride, breathing hard, staring down at the fallen animal.
Jamie stepped forward slowly and looked at it. The wolf was lying on its side, its shattered forelegs hanging uselessly, its snout soaked red with blood. Its one remaining eye revolved, looking at nothing.
“Check on Stevenson,” said Morris, and McBride ran up the slope to the fallen operator. Jamie walked over next to Morris and gestured down at the animal.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a werewolf,” replied Morris, his eyes never leaving the stricken creature. “An old one. A hundred years, at least.”
Jamie stared at him. “A werewolf?” he asked.
Morris nodded, without looking at him. He was watching the creature’s flickering chest, the white fur moving in waves as the flesh beneath it rose and fell.
“Frankenstein told me they were real,” said Jamie in a low voice. “I didn’t believe him. Not really.”
Morris pulled the Glock pistol from his belt, then darted toward the wounded animal. He placed the muzzle of the pistol beside its one remaining eye and pulled the trigger. There was a dull thud, and the wolf lay still.
Then as Jamie watched, it began to change.
“Believe him now?” asked Morris, placing his pistol in its holster.
Jamie nodded, slowly.
“There aren’t many of them,” said Morris. “Most of them live in isolation in the forests, but a few act as hired muscle. Alexandru must be serious.”
Larissa and Kate appeared at Jamie’s shoulder, and he jumped. They looked down at the broken body, identical expressions of disgust on their faces. Then McBride shouted that Stevenson was still alive, and they ran over to where he was lying.
The operator was convulsing on the ground when Jamie reached him. McBride was holding the sides of his head, trying to steady him; his arms and legs beat the grass, his body jerked and twisted despite McBride’s strong grip.
“What’s wrong with him?” cried Kate.
“The change is coming,” replied Morris, his face ashen.
A terrible crunching noise emerged from Stevenson’s body, and Jamie saw his forearms break. They folded on themselves, until they were almost at right angles. The operator opened his mouth and screamed, a high, terrible wail of agony. Then the noise came again, and his shins snapped. This time the scream was so loud it was like an ice pick through Jamie’s head. Stevenson thumped against the ground, his body rocking back and forth, foam frothing from his mouth, blood squirting from his injured neck. Then, as his helpless companions watched, his jaw began to stretch, the bones grinding against each other, and his scream turned into a howl.