On the hospital roof he crouched, regaining his composure as he scanned all about. The sounds of the turmoil below were initially of anger at the prize that had escaped them but soon became petty squabbling as they started fighting each other over the three corpses. He shut the noises out and checked around for any sign of the mystery vampire. Ordinarily meeting unfamiliar vampires should not necessarily be a problem, but these were far from ordinary times and he was wary about encountering any in the open by himself. He could see or sense nobody and so felt slightly more at ease. He arranged his clothes and smoothed back his hair.
If Farzin and Sebastian had polarized attitudes about killing the infected then Luca’s opinion was positively equatorial. Normally he did not take actual pleasure from it but neither did he shy away from it. He would not deliberately go out to kill for sport but if it was necessary and the easiest option for him then he would do what he had to without hesitation or remorse. On this occasion however, in a confined space with such numbers attacking him, he knew that it would have been foolhardy to remain and fight. He had come as close to peril as he cared. Even staying as briefly as he had in order to exercise his frustration had been foolish, although his anger had been assuaged somewhat. Satisfied that he was now safe, unobserved, and content that he had indulged in at least a modest amount of human blood, he had then returned to the church and to Darius’s apparently decreasing esteem.
Darius and Sebastian’s search in order to try and pick up the human trail from the petrol station was to prove fruitless. This was disappointing, although as yet they did not appreciate exactly how significant the ramifications would be for them all. If they had known how important this was, they may well have hunted longer and more determinedly.
Luca now stood alone in the presbytery in the gathering gloom. He rubbed at the blood stain on his collar, with the sounds from Farzin and his entourage faint and hushed in muted conversation in another room. There were several reception rooms and bedrooms, enough that they all had their own privacy and space. The furniture and décor were unusual but tasteful. There were several old works of art that could have cost a significant amount, some of which dated back several hundred years. The priest who had lived there had obviously had an eye for historical pieces and it made the clan members feel at home amongst articles some of which were as old as Darius and Max themselves.
Luca stood staring vacantly at a small painting from Iran hidden away behind some tall, wilting plants in a corner of the room. It depicted a great battle between hosts of opposing armies. There was a central figure, presumably a famous hero, whose body shone with a kind of radiance. For the first time in a while Luca did not hear the soft footfall behind him and he was startled by the faint voice, virtually a whisper, at his shoulder.
“One of the most famous artists of the Khajar period in the sixteenth century, Mohammad Kamal-ul-Molk.” Farzin’s voice had taken on a strange edge to it; perhaps it was talking of his home-land that made him exaggerate slightly his usually faint Persian accent. “He painted many scenes of war from Persian folklore. This one portrays Fath Ali Shah Qajar, our most celebrated ruler, in a great battle in order to demonstrate his fighting prowess. Here he is depicted with his arch-enemy Zakhak, a celestial being of evil origins.” He pointed now to a cowering figure in the shadows, who sat upon an exhausted horse that wore faded, black armour. From his shoulders grew two serpents, both attacking enemy soldiers.
“Sometimes Zakhak is shown as being guarded by these vipers that grow out of his body, but occasionally in rare, more ancient works of art, his defenders are two stooping, hooded creatures with claws and long teeth who drink the blood of their enemies.”
Luca turned in surprise and Farzin smiled. “Yes, even back then in Persia they had knowledge of us. When I lived there no one would talk of us in the open but there were folk tales of people who became infected with a terrible disease and were cursed for eternity. It is just in more recent times that they have become blind to the truth. Modern living has led them to forget such old tales; luckily for us I would say.”
He turned back abruptly to the painting. “In truth Fath Ali Shah Qajar never went into battle himself. Instead he sat dictating the fate of his minions from the comfort of his royal court whilst those serving him fought and died in his honour. He would suffer no betrayal or cowardice amongst his troops. Anyone who did not excel themselves on the battlefield or who showed the enemy the slightest degree of mercy was thrown into a pit of snakes on returning home. If anybody died before taking the blood of an enemy then their family was thrown into the pit, a fairly successful method for encouraging his troops. However he rewarded his victorious armies well and was both revered and feared by his own in equal measure. He had a strict code, a protocol, which he followed, in life as in death. It’s that protocol that elevates us all from animals. He was a truly great leader for a truly great time.”
Even in the gloom Farzin’s eyes were positively luminous, shining and glinting with an excited zeal that Luca had never seen before. He said nothing further and after a pause backed slowly away with a bow, leaving Luca alone once more, wondering which quality Farzin most admired – that which inspired fear, or reverence. He also wondered exactly what that brief exchange had all been about. Had he really been merely discussing art from his homeland? Was he tentatively trying to extend the olive branch of peace towards Luca? Or more ominously, was he trying to imply that like the great leader in the painting, he too would suffer no cowardice or betrayal? It left an uneasy feeling with Luca as the shadows lengthened and gathered all around him.
CHAPTER 11
Lewis was waiting by the guardroom when the two Land Rovers arrived. A worried-looking Millington flung the gates open. This time there was no big, welcoming flash of teeth and full-bellied laugh, but instead a look of consternation and concern. Behind him Denny and Singleton stood looking pale and grim. Straddling paced up and down scowling and tutting under his breath in an uncharacteristic demonstration of nervous energy, not his normal dispassionate state.
The gates were closed resolutely behind the vehicles and the six soldiers were ushered into the guardroom.
“I am delighted that you all made it back here alive.” Denny spoke gruffly with no procrastination. “Well done and thank goodness. Has anyone been bitten?” He scanned the group who all stood in front of him with sullen expressions. He looked to Walkden for an answer but it was Hutchison who spoke up.
“The three of us missed the majority of the action but none of us were bitten in my Land Rover sir.”
Denny nodded. “Good. And what about you others?”
He looked directly at Bannister who caught the look in Collins’s eyes. He shifted uneasily but said nothing.
“Well, was anyone bitten?” he demanded.
Collins’s glared at Bannister and he cleared his throat. “Seems I may have… been bitten sir, although not by any of the infected,” he added quickly. All six of the soldiers looked awkward and none of them said anything further.
“What? Bitten by whom then?” Denny was perplexed.
“I dunno sir,” Bannister said, but he lacked his usual bravado and slumped back into silence.
Denny exploded, now getting irate. “What on earth are you talking about? What do you mean - you don’t know who bit you? That’s ridiculous!”
“Look, tell us what happened?” Lewis asked more calmly, trying to encourage some information out of him. He was beginning to appreciate that Denny was perhaps not the best person to be asking the questions in such tense situations as this.
“The other Landy blew a tyre just up the road from the petrol station,” Bannister muttered, “but as it was so close we thought it would be safe to go ahead and start to get the fuel.”
Denny raised his hands in exasperation and started to draw breath to speak but Lewis gave him a withering glare and he shut his mouth.
“Before they got to us,” Bannister continued sullenly, “we were attacked by some diseased and h
ad to take shelter in the petrol station shop. There were loads of them, trying to break in to get at us. They would have killed us too but suddenly two people came from out of nowhere. They just jumped down into the middle of them and started attacking. They completely took them apart, killed every last one of them. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. They just totally ripped through those zombies.
“I think at that stage I must have been in sort of a state of shock, but afterwards the two came to the shop and one of them sort of…” he paused and rubbed at his throat, embarrassed to say it, or perhaps just unsure of exactly what happened as it all sounded too far-fetched. “She sort of bit me.” He pointed to the small prick of blood on his neck.
Nobody said anything at first but Singleton started to examine the tiny wound and Denny was stunned, trying to take in the information.
“Were they infected, these two strangers?” Lewis asked.
“No, I don’t think so sir.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Well they weren’t acting like the rest of the diseased. They were controlled and rational. They did seem kinda unusual but they were attacking and killing the rest of them, so no, I really don’t think they were lurchers.”
“Well who were they then?”
“I dunno sir.”
“So let me get this straight,” Denny said, finding his voice again, “a group of the Great Impure were killed by just two strangers, then one of them bit you on the neck but you don’t know whom they were or anything about them?”
Bannister shrugged again, having run out of words and explanation. He glanced down at his feet and Collins found she could not bring herself to look up at Denny either.
“I don’t understand, I just don’t understand.” Denny raised his hands. “If they weren’t contaminated why the hell did one of them bite you?” He turned now to Hutchison. “Did you see these two individuals?”
“Err, yes sir,” Hutchison mumbled. “I got a brief glimpse of them.”
“Well, did they look diseased to you?”
“It’s hard to say sir, I didn’t see much of them. They fled as soon as we got there but they didn’t seem to be infected, no sir.”
Lewis could see the interrogation was not really getting anywhere. He stepped forwards, partly in front of Denny, and half-turned to look at him. Denny caught the expression and let his shoulders droop.
“Well, at least none of you are dead, that in itself is a blessing,” Lewis sighed. “After the twenty-four hours we’ve had, I hope you’re right and that’s not a contaminated bite. I’m still not sure what you’re talking about but let’s sort this out inside. I’m sorry but you’ll have to be quarantined Bannister, obviously. Look, let’s get you all checked over, then we can debrief you in the mess.”
Denny seemed unhappy with this solution, but he reluctantly agreed to continue inside the main building. Lewis thought that it would allow his commanding officer time to calm down and they might actually get somewhere with their questions. He turned now to Collins, remembering something. “Where’s Cujo?”
Immediately her face crinkled and the tears recommenced as her shoulders shook with grief.
The sky was grey and had clouded over, as bleak and depressed as the mood on base. At times over the last couple of weeks there had been glimpses of normality at Headley Court, sporadic episodes of black humour as one might find on a hospital A&E ward. Occasionally each person had spells where they briefly forgot their own woes and for a time went about with a temporary suspension of reality. Everyone knew that their survival thus far was extremely fortuitous and this helped to keep them focused on the present, rather than on the past and lost loved ones. As for the future, that remained out of bounds to all. After recent events however, the atmosphere throughout the base turned disconsolate. A spontaneous period of mourning sprang up and the malaise of collective depression sank like a veil over them all.
Singleton, Dr Handley and the rest of the medical team thoroughly checked all those who had been off base before clearing them as ‘unbitten’. When it came to Bannister they were still completely bewildered as to what had happened. The only bite mark on him was a single puncture would on his neck. It was a small incision with no significant sign of bruising around it and no other obvious teeth marks. It did not resemble an attack from one of the infected and none of them could conceive of a reasonable explanation, despite what Bannister told them.
Finally all six soldiers were assembled in the conference room where Denny had held his meeting only hours before. Whilst the mood then had not exactly been light-hearted, it was decidedly grimmer now and tempers were getting frayed. Everyone else from the meeting earlier in the day was already assembled, sitting in gloomy silence.
“Okay does somebody want to tell me again what happened out there today?” Denny started. “I thought we agreed earlier, no more cock-ups? How the hell did it all go so badly wrong? What happened to implementing new, safer procedures?” He was nearly shouting already, and had gone red in the face. He thumped the table as he spoke.
Lewis glanced at him and groaned inwardly. He half-stood and gave an imploring look towards his commanding officer. He was under enough pressure of his own without constantly having to placate both his commanding officer and his senior sergeant. It also irritated him that Denny could sit in judgement when he would not leave the base himself. “I guess that’s all very well to sit here in the comfort of this function room and decide that we are going to do everything more safely, but ultimately out there things do not always go according to plan, sir. Out there sometimes we have to make instant decisions in situations that one couldn’t possibly have expected. Perhaps it might be worth finding out exactly what happened before we make any judgements and cast any aspersions?”
Denny was one of the longest serving military personnel on the base. He had spent a lot of time running training or logistical establishments in the UK, but compared to some of the others around that table his experience in the battle zone was extremely lacking. This only added to the stress that he was under. He not only had to keep everybody safe and motivated but also felt totally out of his depth. He was trying really hard to adapt his knowledge to a new way of operating, as a front line base under siege by a strange, uncompromising enemy.
He took a deep breath, stared at Lewis a moment and then sank into his chair. “Yes, Thomas, you are quite right.”
“So?” Lewis looked around the table at the six soldiers. “What did happen?” His question was a general one but slanted more at Walkden as the senior officer on the scavenging party, another whose experience for this type of scenario was woefully inadequate.
Walkden was staring glumly at the table but looked up at Lewis and then at everybody else. He recounted the day’s events in a concise fashion but sparing no important details. When he mentioned the decision that he had made for the leading Land Rover to proceed alone he paused expectantly, waiting for criticism. A few eyebrows were raised and Lewis cast another warning glance at Denny who had to stop himself from berating Walkden, but nobody made a comment and Lewis prompted him to continue. Walkden spoke in glowing terms of the actions of his two soldiers, in particular praising Hutchison for keeping them all focused and maintaining clear control of the situation. To his credit he did not try to exonerate himself or explain away how he had frozen when faced with the attackers. He merely said that his experience in the field was wanting, and that had showed through. He spoke with the humiliated voice of someone spent and defeated.
He finished by describing the final moments as they approached the petrol station. Until then he had been composed and clear but now he coughed, became unsure of himself, and rubbed his chin as he spoke. “When we finally arrived we thought these three must surely be dead. There were corpses everywhere but as we were pulling up we noticed two strange people running away. From what I could tell one came out of the shop where Collins and Samuels were, and the other seemed to have been standing with Bannister just outsid
e, as though saying something in his ear or something like that. We got out of our Landy as fast as we could but they were gone already.”
“Where did they go?” Lewis asked.
“I didn’t really see but it looked as though they must have climbed the wall of the building beside the petrol station, but then…” he stuttered and ran out of explanation.
“But then what?”
“Well, it’s just a bit unlikely, that’s all. The building was quite high and we would have seen them climb it. It would have taken them a while but we were there a moment or two later and they were gone already.”
Hutchison and Neale were both nodding furiously at this stage too, in clear agreement with Walkden.
Singleton interrupted now, more interested in the people themselves. “When you say ‘strange’, what exactly do you mean?”
Walkden was genuinely embarrassed and clearly quite perplexed. “I didn’t get a close-up view of them, but from where I was they both seemed quite tall and lanky. They sort of moved in an odd manner, effortlessly, as though they were floating an inch or two above the ground. I don’t really know how to describe it other than that.” Again he could not think of anything further to add and fell silent.
They were getting no closer to understanding what had occurred. Lewis felt his hackles rise as this was starting to become extremely creepy. He exchanged a worried glance with Singleton. The six soldiers from the scavenging trip were all obviously shaken and disturbed, and he had not seen Walkden, or Bannister for that matter, so stuck for words before.
“That’s it? That’s all you can say?” Denny was getting frustrated again. “Tall and lanky? And floating? What kind of description is that?”
Walkden shrugged apologetically and remained silent.
The Blood of the Infected (Book 1): Once Bitten, Twice Die Page 22