In The Blood (Book 4): The Blood Bath

by Lee Isserow

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  PRESENTS

  IN THE BLOOD

  By

  LEE ISSEROW

  Copyright © 2017 Lee Isserow

  All rights reserved.

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  PART FOUR

  THE BLOOD BATH

  1

  The walls, if you could call them that, looked like they were lead. If they were, it certainly wasn't healthy to have quite that much lead around, even if it were only for the start of the ancient labyrinth. That gave way to iron, a dull grey lying somewhere beneath all the rust. Once again, too much rust to be healthy. Ben was starting to wonder about the safety of those up above. They were hardly likely to lead salubrious lives if their water was going through this decrepit, uncared for pipework. Past the older passages to newer ones, copper, it seemed. It whipped this way and that, heading down paths that apparently went nowhere, then backing up on itself, until it found the most recent installations, all plastic or PVC, white and practically stainless. Onwards it went, through the system, until it found what Ben was looking for; light.

  In the disabled toilet on the fourth floor of the hospital the tap started leaking, not water, but blood. The plasma cascaded out, not pooling, but snaking and circling around the basin until all of it had emerged from the catacombs of pipework that lead all the way through the water system to the sewer, where Ben had first ushered it out of his veins.

  When its full mass had emerged from the tap, the blood made its way over the side of the sink, down to the floor, and slid under the door. As soon as it was in the hallway, it stuck close to the door frame, climbing up like a slug, reaching the ceiling and shimmying along the corridor at speed. Ben was out of the tunnels and making his way towards the hospital. It still had a lot to accomplish before he arrived.

  First, it found the nurses' station, slinking down the wall behind them, scooting across the floor and up one of their chairs. Its head forked, turning into vestigial fingers, un-clipping the ID pass from the nurse's uniform, and whisking it away as it returned to the ceiling

  Ben walked up to the hospital on autopilot. His body was present, as he came ever closer to the looming glass-fronted building with every step, but his mind was already deep inside, guiding the blood.

  The haematology lab was at the end of the corridor. The blood couldn't read the signs towards it, the images Ben saw from its point of view were in his mind's eye, writing transmitted as if it were a dream, with the characters illegible. However, Ben had spent the days before this incursion studying up on the layout of the hospital, he knew exactly where he was heading.

  Waiting for the coast to become clear, the blood came down from the ceiling, swiping the stolen badge against the sensor. As the door's lock clicked the blood got to the floor, the snake consolidating its long, thin body into a short, fat slug, about the size of a pug. It pushed with all its might against the door, which swung open. The creature tore itself into two parts, a larger section that moved onwards, and a smaller piece that hardened as it reshaped its body into a three inch long wedge, that caught itself in between the foot of the door and the frame, leaving it ajar by only an inch or so.

  The rest of the blood continued its path onwards. There were six doors along this hall. Only one of them would contain what they needed, and time was running out.

  Ben put on a baseball cap before he stepped into the hospital, lowering his head to face the ground so as to avoid the piercing glare of the cameras perched on every corner of the entrance. He walked across the reception area, following the signs to the elevators. Twenty five paces ahead, thirty paces to the left, anything from thirty to up to ninety seconds to wait for the elevator if they were all indisposed on other floors. The lift doors dinged as they opened. He didn't expect that. Every time he, his father, or Kat had walked the route through, the elevators took their time to get back to the ground floor. It was unprecedented that it should be there right away.

  He froze for a moment, as the blood sneaked under the second door – no luck. It moved back into the hallway towards the third door. He entered the elevator and hit the button to the fourth floor. The doors closed behind him, and he prayed for someone to step in, or for the button to be pushed on the three floors between the entrance and his destination.

  No such luck. The elevator doors opened, and the blood was making its way to the fourth door. The lights were off in each of the rooms, it was having to find the light switch before it searched for their bounty, and that was slowing the process down.

  Ben turned right out of the elevator. It was faster to go left, but that would take him past the nurses' station, and he didn't wish to arouse their suspicion. He walked round behind them, and came to the door to the lab. The bloody doorstop turned back to liquid as he walked past, and chased after him, climbing up his leg and creating a small, sharp spike at its peak. Ben winced as it dug into his calf, creating an entryway back into his body, closing the hole behind itself, stitching it up as if it were never there.

  The blood snaked out from under the fourth door and paid no attention to him as it went to investigate the fifth room. Ben walked ahead and entered the sixth. Flicking the light, he saw exactly what he needed. The blood scooted off down the hallway whilst he pulled his jacket off, removed his trousers, and hid them under the second set of clothes he was wearing. Both he and the plasma still had another task to accomplish before they could leave.

  Ben emerged from the lab in a paramedic's uniform. He pushed the machine along the corridor. Its wheels were uneven, rolling a little to the left as he moved it along. He decided to lift it up and carry it as he walked behind the nurses, in case they heard the soft rattle it made against the floor as he took it back towards the elevator. He pressed the button, expecting the elevator to be as swift now as it was in the entrance, but once again, luck was not on his side. He checked in on the blood. It was almost ready to go, and if he wasn't fast enough, someone would most certainly notice it.

  The elevator finally arrived, and he hit the button for the second floor. As the doors opened, he pulled the machine out and left it conspicuously in a corner as he walked towards the blood. It was behind another door-stopped door, and had been awaiting his arrival. Ben took a deep breath and stretched his fingers out. The skin on the palms of his hands tore open, folding back on itself like flags in a blusterous wind as blood poured out, coalescing on the floor, surrounding the blood and its bounty.

  Ben emerged from the room with the ID badge clipped to his pocket. Reclaiming the doorstop en route, he pulled a large deep brown trunk the length of a small car out through the door. It had a scabrous texture, and if anyone were to look too closely, they might see that it was made of dried blood, with rubbery, almost jelly-like crimson wheels. But he wasn't going to let anyone get that close. He wheeled it through to the elevator, hitting the button as he went over to grab the machine. As he pushed both into the lift, the trunk's lid returned to a liquid state. A large tentacle burst forth, wrapping around the machine, taking it into its hollow centre. Ben flashed the ID badge up against the inner panel of the lift, and was given access to the basement level. He hit the button and the hulking cube of metal groaned at the load it was being forced to carry downwards. The trunk should have been near impossible for Ben to push, given its weight, but the blood was taking most of the load, the wheels rolling under their own steam at his command.

  The doors opened and he walked ahead as the trunk followed. Both of them knew where they were headed. They passed a series of cars belonging to doctors and nurses, and continued onwards towards the ambulance bays. A small sl
iver of blood separated from the trunk and scooted on ahead, unlocking the back doors of the ambulance. The trunk manoeuvred behind the rig as Ben pulled the doors open. It was too low to the ground to roll straight in, and was already setting about to rectify that, lowering its main bulk so its base rested on the tarmac, absorbing its wheels in the process. The sides of it shimmered, returning to liquid state, and six long, thin spider legs emerged, heaving the trunk upwards, stepping up awkwardly into the back of the emergency vehicle.

  Ben watched, providing it a third-person view as the box tried to navigate its way in. The thing was too long to fit completely, and he had it grow wider and taller, in favour of losing the length. It filled all the free space in the back of the rig, and he slammed the doors behind it and made his way to the driver's seat. He couldn't help but smile as a spike of blood burst forth from his finger and slid into the key hole, taking shape and turning, bringing the engine to life. Stage one of their grand, completely insane plan was going off without a hitch.

  2

  The ambulance was conspicuous, and Ben knew it. He drove for ten miles before pulling in under a bridge and opening the back doors. The trunk waited until the all-clear, then crawled out from the ambulance. The suspension groaned as it lifted its weight out, springing back and forth with relief.

  Ben was already over by a old VW van, opening up the back doors for the trunk to relocate. It scuttled over towards him and climbed in, the van hanging all too close to the ground with the weight of its contents. Ben checked the tyres, they only had to make it fifteen miles, then he was going to change vehicles one last time, and would only have to make it another five miles or so 'til they were home free.

  As he drove towards the location of the next vehicle, he couldn't help but feel guilty. This plan, changing cars up, hiding them under bridges and so on was all cribbed from the group he had had a hand in all but wiping out. Their memory would live on, he told himself, through these actions.

  The final vehicle took to the weight of the trunk even less kindly than the old VW van. It was an old BMW that Ben had stolen that morning, and it was in dire need of a service. The trunk wouldn't fit on the back seat or boot in any configuration or reshaping, so he had it get up on the roof, and form a luggage rack under itself, with straps of a different hue of blood that were intended to look as though they held the trunk to the rack, even though they were one and the same. Appearances were everything. He knew he could have made the trunk take the form of some kind of trailer dragged behind the car, but he was sorely lacking any kind of knowledge regarding the rules and regulations of trailers. If some over ambitious police officer saw him driving with a trailer that was too big or too low to the ground for the vehicle pulling it, they might want to see his license. Or worse, they might want to know what was inside.

  He turned the car down a long, thin road. Large buildings and former warehouses towering over on either side, mostly abandoned, unloved, forgotten. Through gaps in large metal fences, the Millennium Dome could be seen off on the other side of the water. But other than the occasional driver who came down the wrong way and had to go all the way down the road to turn and reverse out, for the most part it was completely empty. This was why they had chosen this place, Container City.

  The chosen descriptor, city, was an exaggeration. The gates led to a concourse of old brown and black cobbles, a private road that a car could go down, but only the one car. It opened out to a large square, with more cobblestones that were newer, in a uniform grey, a bulbous monotopian blanket laid out on the ground. If one were to squint, the monochrome would bleed into the dull, colourless river, and on a cloudy day, merge with the sky. completely A massive wall awash with a distinct absence of personality or vibe. Turning right from the square, all that changed, as that was where the containers of Container City resided. Stacked on top of one another like giant metal Lego blocks. four stories high, three passageways made between the arrangement of massive cubes. Each was painted a distinct, bold, bright colour. Each had electricity, and most of them were insulated, once refrigerated, and with the aid of just a small convection heater, were suitable for habitation all through the winter. A metal staircase had been erected, that zig-zagged to the upper floors, painted a glossy black that caught reflections of the colours of the containers at certain angles, taking on their hues like a rainbow slick with tar. The lower blocks could act as balconies for the upper blocks, and each had windows cut in their sides, circular, like portholes on a ship.

  Kat had come down this way for a party many years ago, one of the parties from her former life, the life she wished she remembered less of. But her memory of that particular party was of not seeing a single soul when she stumbled out some time after dawn. A hidden oasis at the east of London, but still within driving distance of the city and any supplies they might need.

  Ben pulled up at the end of the road, and got out of the car before the trunk dismounted from the roof. It was a dead end as far as anyone else might be concerned, giant metal gates blocking the way. As he walked towards them, they started moving, with a loud squeal. Several free blood heaving them open from the other side. He slipped through the gap, the trunk following, and helped the blood close the gates back up. The trunk scuttled on ahead, its massive spider legs tick-tacking against the cobbles, becoming harder, sharper claps as it turned the corner and walked along a concrete path past the containers that served as their living quarters, towards a door cut into a container at the far end.

  Ben followed it, and found his father struggling with the lid of the massive walking luggage. It tried to continue walking onwards, through the old man, whilst he tried in vain to prise it open. He looked up, seeing his son smirking at him.

  “If you'd be so kind...” he said, letting go of the bloody thing.

  The trunk lowered itself down on to the ground, legs receding into the body, lid lifting open of its own accord.

  “Oh, this will do nicely,” his father said, inspecting the machine. “Better get the rest of this on ice though...”

  He started making his way through to the door cut in the shipping container. The trunk did not follow.

  “Ben, don't be obstinate,” the old man sighed.

  “It was on its way there,” Ben replied, with a smirk. “You're the one that wanted a look-see first...” He asked the blood to grow new legs, and it continued to follow his father through the door to refrigerate its precious cargo.

  This was where they were to train their army, a place nobody from the Squad would ever expect to find them, so close to the river, let alone still in London. This excursion, that Ben had just successfully returned from, was the last piece that needed to slot into place before they put the call out for their recruits. Before they would try to activate the blood drive. Once they had brought the infected together, then, and only then would they descend upon Thames House.

  Together, they would be a mass of white cells attacking the vicious pathogen of Steve MacGaulty and his murderous Blood Squad. And with the blood on their side, Ben was certain there was no reason they shouldn't be victorious.

  3

  Kat was pacing. She was anxious, nervous. Breaking into the hospital was a massive risk. It was so public, and they were meant to be hiding. But it was Ben's call to make, he had taken the lead and she was following in line, whether she was fully behind the plan or not. Right now, she was veering very much on the side of not.

  A squeal of excitement came from outside. “He's back!” Luke shrieked.

  She put her pace to use, left the shipping container that was functioning as a room for her and the boy, and came down the stairs to a balcony above another container that Ben had adopted as his own room. She watched as on the far side of the courtyard his father emptied the contents of a large scabby trunk.

  Blood. Bags and bags of it. There was a pit in her gut at the sight of it. A nagging feeling that gathering all that plasma was the first step in a massive endeavour that could go very wrong right from the off. More t
han that, it was morally questionable to embark on the plan at all.

  She could hear Ben pottering away in the cabin beneath her and continued down the stairs to ground level. She needed to voice her concerns, even if it were the third or fourth time they would be raised. Ben's myopic focus was worrying, a tunnel vision that was leading him on a path he could not come back from. One of violence, of death.

  The knock at the door startled Ben. He spun on his heel and caught her shocked, wide eyes staring back at him. She wasn't looking him in the eye, her gaze rested lower down at his clenched fist. The skin around his wrist was warped, torn, foot-long black spikes protruding around his fist like a charred crown.

  At his silent request, the spikes withdrew, their darkness fading, saturation returning as they softened to the consistency of jello and the skin sealed up behind them.

  “Sorry,” he said. He was still on edge, adrenaline from the heist continuing to surge through his system, the neurotransmitter's hands firmly on the wheel.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  She wasn't convinced, and bit at her lip absent mindedly whilst trying to phase her thoughts in a different way to how she had done so before.

  “You're still not sure about it, are you?” He beat her to the punch, picking up her emotions through the blood, through the infection they shared.

  “I'm hesitant,” she elaborated.

  “You don't have to be.” He smiled, hoping it would be reassuring.

  “What you want to do, it's not right, not fair to those people.”

  “What Steve wants to do to those people is worse... either he kills them, or he trains them to kill others.”

  “Whereas you just want to make them kill others.” She hadn't meant to say that, not with that tone at least. It was coming off as churlish, argumentative, when she had a genuine point to make. She took a moment, rephrased. “You're prepared try to use the blood to make them do what you want, in the grand scheme it's not far off from the way Steve uses people, manipulates them.”