In The Blood (Book 3): The Blood Flows

by Lee Isserow

  “Sail it,” said the older man. “You don't drive a boat.” His tone was sarcastic, and he returned to his duties, wiping down the hull of his vessel with a cloth. He wasn't taking the attempt at piracy seriously.

  “You really don't want to screw with us,” Ben said, reaching into his pockets. He was all too aware that he was coming off as a joke to the man, and the only way he was going to get this man's attention was to let his blood do the talking. But as his fingers felt around, he remembered that he had no sharp objects on him, his pockets were completely bare.

  He turned to Kat and Luke, then remembered the boy's method of summoning a blood. His tongue slipped between his teeth as he parted them, preparing to bite down on the soft, fleshy mass in his mouth, wondering what would happen if he bit too hard, bit clean through his tongue. Would the blood put the two halves back together? Would it grow him a new one if it couldn't stitch it back up?

  Ben would not have to worry about such things, for as he opened his jaw, ready to clamp teeth down on his tongue, there was an almighty splash that emanated from the river. A free blood launched itself out of the water, landing on the dock with four vestigial legs, shaking the dank river water off like a dog. It turned to the old man, dark teeth forming beneath its translucent crimson skin. The jaws burst open, jagged teeth looking almost black against the ruby red of its mouth, and it roared a ungodly gargle of an angry snarl.

  “What the hell?!” shouted the captain.

  A further four bloods climbed up the dock, with less showmanship than the first, and took similar forms, surrounding the old man with sharp teeth on show and a cacophony of terrifying growls.

  “Like I said,” Ben smirked, “We're taking one of your boats, and you're going to drive it.” he stressed the incorrect verb, to make the point with the captain that he was not to be trifled with, and would have things exactly the way he wanted them, even if they were incorrect..

  “Where...” the old man stuttered, looking from the hideous ruddy fiends back to Ben. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Hamburg,” he said.

  “These... These yachts are for the river, they're not really seaworthy.”

  “We'll deal with it. Give me your phone,” he instructed, pocketing the man's handset. “Get one ready. Now.”

  The three of them stayed on the dock as the captain went from boat to boat, nervously trying to make the decision as to which one they should take. In the end, he settled with the newest of his fleet. Fifteen metres of gleaming white vessel, with a glossy black hull that sat in the water with a knowing serenity, as if it was all too aware how pretty people thought it was.

  The cockpit looked out over the nose of the boat, a long, wide bright white space with railings around the sides. At the rear of it, it there was a decked area with chairs set out. Down from the cockpit there was a seating area and kitchen, and two cabins that each housed a double bed, closets and an en-suite shower.

  “This will do nicely,” Ben said, as he watched the Captain toil away, refuelling and preparing the boat for departure, grabbing extra fuel from the other boats so they would be certain to make the journey without issue.

  Whilst the captain made ready for their exodus from the British Isles, Luke was playing catch with the free bloods, throwing a frisbee that one of them had created for him from its mass. Kat watched him, smiling wide. She hadn't seen him so happy in such a long time. He was finally getting to be a child again, to do the things a boy his age should be doing... albeit with hideous creatures that weren't part of any normal five year old's playtimes.

  Ben sidled up to her. “Not long now,” he said.

  “Are you sure you're dad's going to be there?” Kat asked. “How long since you last heard from him?”

  “Too long,” Ben said, trying to hide the resentment that funnelled out of him subconsciously on long sigh. “But it's the only lead I've got. If he's not in Hamburg, maybe someone there knows where he is. And if not, maybe he's left a clue... either way, it's a damn sight better that living above a river of crap.”

  “That's a lot of 'ifs' and 'maybes',” she said.

  Ben knew that all too well, but there were no other options. They couldn't keep hiding right under the Squad's noses. They had to act. Worst came to worse, they would die at sea, and that would feel a hell of a lot more noble than dying at the hands of his former friends and colleagues at Thames House.

  4

  The water was calm as they made their way down the Thames, past bucolic scenery before they went past Dartford, towards Gravesend. A cool breeze lay on the air, a few clouds hanging lazily amidst a thin haze in the azure sky. If this were any other day, of any other month, it might have been beautiful. But this was neither, and given their status as fugitives who had now kidnapped a man and stolen his boat, there was dread and fear haunting the journey.

  Luke and the free bloods sat on the nose of the boat, ebullient and blissfully unaware of the worry that lay in the hearts of his adult minders. The yacht's velocity rippled waves across the skin of the 'goblins, and he patted them as if they were pets, rubbing their bellies, hugging his gelatinous playthings.

  Kat continued to watch him as he embraced these moments of innocent alacrity, still relishing that for at least the next day or so he would continue to have these moments to be a child. The thought brought a smile to her face, and tears to her eyes.

  Whilst Kat watched Luke, Ben watched Kat. He wished for a better life for them both, and hoped that travelling across the sea would bring them closer to that peace. She had been avoiding his eye contact for the majority of their time in hiding. He knew full well that she wasn't even close to forgiving him for his betrayal, for the death of her friends, let alone for the captivity and torture.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. The words surprised him as they emanated from his lips. He hadn't meant to say anything out loud. They came out on a breath, an automatic response to the self-flagellation he was administering internally.

  “I know,” she said.

  As they made their way past Southend, the water became choppier, more clouds forming in the sky, but the blue still appeared to be winning territory over the white. Back behind them, in London, a uniform grey hung over the city, a blanket harbouring rain it no doubt intended to shed shortly on the capital.

  The waves calmed as they came out of the Thames, the Channel to their right as they curved through the water in the opposite direction, heading up towards the North Sea. The boat cut through the waves like butter, slinking through the water with ease. Just as when it was sitting in the dock, its movements out on the water screamed for attention, like a catwalk model's strut, as if it wanted the world to see how sleek and pretty it was in motion.

  Ben looked out on the waves rushing by and tried to suppress the feelings that were bubbling away inside. He was starting to doubt his decision making, wondering if it was a mistake to take Luke and Kat with him. Perhaps, he feared, he was putting them in more danger than if they had stayed behind. They could have continued to hide out in the sewers, they were safe there, in the foul smelling porosity of the tunnels under London, and the bloods would be able to look after them. Here, travelling across the sea, they only had five bloods with them for protection, and no method to cut themselves but for teeth through their tongues or lips.

  He felt a hand take his. Small, warm fingers wrapping around his own, larger, bonier digits. Luke smiled up at him.

  “Are you looking forward to seeing you dad?” he asked.

  Ben shrugged. “I don't know.”

  “What about your mum? Are we going to see her too?”

  “She...” He didn't know if he should tell the boy what happened to her, the horrific death he may or may not have caused. “She died,” he said, thinking it the most succinct way of putting it.

  “Mine too,” Luke said, with a raise of his eyebrows. There was something in the way he was so casual about it that Ben couldn't shake.

  At that age, after the loss of his mother, he
became withdrawn, destructive, broken as a person until the grief and dealing with the grief became an integral part of who he was.

  Kat came up to the two of them and ushered Luke down past the captain towards the cabins below. “You'll get a chill if you stay out here,” she said. The boy did as instructed, obeying the maternal figure, as he always appeared to.

  Ben couldn't help but wonder if that's how he would have ended up, respectful, obedient and seemingly well balanced, if only he had had a strong female role model in his life after his mother passed, rather than an absent father and two doting grandparents that were very much in a patriarchal mould.

  “You should get out the wind too, and get some sleep,” she said, following Luke down the steps. “We might need all our strength tomorrow.”

  He smiled, and nodded. She was right. There was no way to tell what lay in wait for them in Hamburg. Steve was still out there somewhere. If the Squad had been monitoring his emails, just as they did all the 999 calls, then they would have seen the last replies he received from his father. As much as tracing his last movements was the only plan they had, there was a high probability that the Squad, that MacGaulty, knew exactly where there were going.

  5

  Ben dreamed of blood.

  It wasn't the nightmare, wasn't the same vision that had haunted him for years ever since his mother's murder. It was something new. An army of blood. It wasn't blood with a form, not an army of 'goblins. It was a cascading, angry ruby river. He stood ahead of it, leading the charge, but it was not a version of himself that he recognised. In the dream he was wider, rounder than he had ever been in real life. Large black spikes had torn through his flesh at his sides, they looked like crab or spider legs, pivoting at joints that were a dark red. From his back, massive tentacles at least four meters long whipped wildly around him.

  The spiky legs met with the ground beneath him, hoisting him up into the air. He walked on them, four charred black limbs, scurrying ahead of tidal wave of blood. Ahead of them, Steve stood steadfast, an expression of sheer terror in his eyes. He looked so small in comparison to the mass Ben had become.

  The tsunami of blood overtook him, rocketed towards Steve, the corpulent little man being washed away by the rush of the unstoppable recalcitrant crimson wave. Ben lowered himself down on the giant spider legs, searching the ground where his former mentor once was. He was gone, his body taken with the current. He felt a pit in his gut. Steve was still out there somewhere, he would recover, and he would stop at nothing to track them down.

  Ben woke to the sound of rocking waves. At first, he thought them a relic of the dream, but swiftly remembered where he was. The slumbering reverie of blood had been disorienting, but nowhere near the horror of the nightmare he was so used to.

  Overall, it felt like it had been a much needed restful night. It helped that he had slept in a real bed, and was getting to witness the sun raising its weary head up on the horizon. It was the first time in a long time that he had got to see a sunrise, and Ben relished every second of the skies changing hue. The boat was rocking on the waves, the sea more unruly this new day than it had been through the night.

  After staring through the porthole, taking in his fill of the majesty of a dawn, he forced himself out of bed. There was a thin layer of sweat lingering under his clothes, which had reignited the mephitic stink of the sewer that lingered in their fabric. He took a shower, wishing that he had something else to wear. His clothes were still sodden with sweat when he put them back on, they felt uncomfortably moist, but he wasn't going to complain about it, appreciating his freedom rather than lingering on feeling bereft of fashion options.

  As he came above deck, the captain scowled at him with exhausted eyes. Ben shot him a polite smile nonetheless, trying to apologise with his eyes. Words wouldn't make the old man feel any better, but the least he could do was smile.

  Luke was sitting on the deck behind the captain, the bloods nuzzling at his feet. Ben looked around, Kat was nowhere to be seen.

  “She's still asleep,” said the boy.

  “Good,” Ben said. “She deserves a good night's sleep.”

  He sat with the child, a question burning in his mind, a question he had been harbouring for as long as he knew of the boy's talents with the blood. He didn't quite have the words, but he tried to inquire as best he could.

  “How do you do it,” he said. “Shape the blood.”

  Luke smiled, looking at him with big, bright eyes. “You feel it, y'know? Talking to you without words. Blood doesn't know words, so it speaks without them!” Ben didn't understand, and the child appeared all too aware. “It's a tingle, a wibble, in your head. Different parts squiggling about, that's it saying hello.”

  Ben's jaw became loose, not quite dropping, but his lips parted at the child's words. A part of him already knew the words before they came from the child. He was talking about that psychosomatic feeling, the pressure in his head, the ripples he had going through his skull all his life since his father's bedtime stories. The same pressure and undulating waves that he focussed on and sunk into during the torture, that at the time he believed had to be a delusion. Before the blood came, before it rescued them.

  He hadn't dwelled on it, hadn't tried to explain it, but now it was all making sense. This boy, the miraculous child who could control the creatures flowing through their veins, was telling him that that was the blood communicating. It had been with him all that time, for as long as he could remember.

  “You feel it, don't you?” Luke said.

  Ben nodded. Silent, speechless.

  “But it's all over your head, talking all the time, but not saying anything proper. You got to focus it, ask it real nice, through the middle of the front bit.”

  “The frontal lobe...” Ben said.

  “Middle of that,” Luke specified.

  “The... motor cortex?”

  The child shrugged.

  “So, you ask it, through that? Just ask it to form something?”

  Luke nodded.

  “How?”

  Another shrug. “You just do, and if you ask nice enough, it does it.”

  Ben's teeth were moving in his mouth, grabbing hold of a soft, fleshy part of the inside of his lip. His subconscious was taking over, it wanted to try it, and his conscious mind did too. “Will you teach me?” he asked.

  The boy smiled wide, eyes glistening in the morning light, as if he had been waiting all this time for Ben to ask.

  6

  When Kat awoke, the sun was well and truly up, rays shining across the wood panelled cabin, settling on the bed, cooking her under the duvet. She had slept better that night than she had in years at their various ramshackle camps and bivouacs. There was only so much comfort they could avail themselves of, hiding in abandoned buildings, vans they had broken into or stolen, under bridges and in woodland. A bed was a luxury, and she savoured every moment of it, before forcing herself up.

  The shower too was a pleasure, yet another thing she hadn't realised she missed. Sure, the more industrious of their group had created basic showering facilities whenever they could, but all too often bathing had been reduced to wiping down with baby wipes, or washing oneself with a cloth at a basin or barrel of rainwater.

  As she made her way through the boat's seating area, she caught sight of the captain standing in the cockpit. His jaw was slack, eyes wide. A mix of terror and wonder on his face. Coming up the stairs, she turned to the nose of the craft, and her eyes became rheumy, a smile stretching wide across her lips.

  Ben and Luke were standing on the gleaming white fibreglass, legs spread for balance, arms out as if they were surfing. The free bloods circled them, running around, as if entertained by the spectacle occurring between the two. Hanging in the air above them, two crimson knights were doing battle. Their ruby armour glinting in the sun, dark brown swords clattering back and forth. At the feet of the knights, thin strands of blood snaked back to wounds in their tongues.

  Luke saw Kat sta
nding on the deck, and his knight started shrinking, receding quickly back into his mouth. The remaining knight, bereft of an opponent, appeared dejected. Ben glanced over and saw her. His knight placed his sword away in his scabbard, turned in the air, and curtseyed.

  Tears were flowing down Kat's face, following the creases of her smile. She bowed at the knight. “Don't let me stop you...” she said, waving at them theatrically to continue.

  Luke smiled, and bit clean through his tongue again. This time, it was not a knight that formed from the flowing blood, but a dragon. Ben's knight raised his shield as liquid flames bellowed towards him He reached for the sword at his hip and whipped it out. This was a battle he finally felt prepared for.

  7

  They were a few hours out from Hamburg when the question of food was raised. The captain apologised profusely, sweat pouring from his brow, fearful at the notion of upsetting his kidnappers.

  It was not just the human travellers that were in need of sustenance. The free bloods had become indolent, as if conserving their energy. Luke tried to rile them, attempted a throw of the scabby frisbee at one, but it just slipped through the thin, diaphanous skin of the sluggish 'goblin, reabsorbed into its body. The child gave the exhausted creature a hug, stroking its rubbery shell, whispering reassuring words that it would get some food soon.

  Ben and Kat watched him from the deck, their bellies rumbling in unison. There was another question burning away, tugging on his dry throat to croak out. He turned to her, caught her eye. She maintained the eye contact, forced a small smile to her lips.

  “I was young,” she said, anticipating the question he couldn't make himself ask. “Too young.”

  He parted his lips as if to respond, but thought better of it. Her eyes glinted in the daylight, tears welling.

  “I never thought I'd have a child, never wanted one, thought it would be the worst thing in the world... to make another life, to curse it with...” She took a breath, gulped it down, tried to stave off the prickling tears and running nose. She sniffed, and continued. “I was born with thalassaemia, HB Bart's. I shouldn't have survived the womb... but my parents found a doctor who said he could help. He gave me, well, gave my mother, some kind of intrauterine infusion. Something that staved off the condition. But the genes are still in me, I knew that growing up, my parents made sure I knew that, that if I had a child, it would likely have it, and likely die before it was born...”