Department 19: Zero Hour

by Will Hill

  She was sitting on a plastic chair inside her office in the Security Division, and had just finished reading through an Intelligence Division projection that had been commissioned two weeks earlier. Its cover was marked Provisional Forecast of Losses and Damage in the Event of the Establishment of Supernatural (Type V) Social Dominance, a typically dry title for a report whose true purpose could be summed up far more succinctly.

  It was a prediction of exactly how bad things might get if Dracula came to power.

  Kate had expected it to make grim reading, so much so that she had let the report sit on her desk for almost an entire day before summoning up the courage to open it. Now she wished she had left it longer; the numbers contained within the pale yellow pages were so awful, so terribly, dreadfully huge, that she could barely comprehend them.

  She had been asked to present the findings at the next meeting of the Zero Hour Task Force, scheduled for the following morning, and she was already dreading the reaction they were going to elicit from her colleagues, who were struggling not only with the imminent arrival of Zero Hour itself, but with the seemingly endless list of other problems that had befallen the Department in recent months: the violent, treacherous defection of the Task Force’s former member Richard Brennan, who had tried to kill both Kate and her boss, and who, it was presumed, was now at Dracula’s side, telling him every plan they had made; the continued freedom of a number of the patients who had been turned and released from Broadmoor Hospital; and, most potentially devastating of all, the article the late Kevin McKenna had written under the influence of Albert Harker, an article that detailed the existence of both vampires and the men and women who policed them, and which was now out there, being read by an ever-increasing number of people.

  “What do you make of it?”

  The voice was familiar, but Kate still jumped in her seat. Standing by the door to her office, holding his own copy of the report, was Major Paul Turner, the Department’s Security Officer and Kate’s commanding officer. He was looking at her with a thin smile on his face.

  “Jesus, Paul,” she said, her heart racing in her chest. “Sneak up on me, why don’t you? There are vamps who aren’t as quiet as you.”

  “Sorry,” said Turner, the smile testament to the fact that he wasn’t. “Try not being so easy to sneak up on.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind next time I’m sitting in my office in the middle of the day,” said Kate, although a smile had now risen on to her face as well. “Can I help you with something?”

  Turner waved his copy of the Intelligence Division report. “What do you make of it?” he repeated.

  “It’s horrifying,” said Kate. “But I expected it to be. What about you?”

  “It’s worse than I thought,” said Turner. “Not by much, but it’s worse. And it’s going to cause panic through the Department if it gets out. It has to stay Zero Hour only, at least for now.”

  “Agreed,” said Kate. “No sense circulating the worst-case scenario.”

  Turner nodded, and threw his copy of the report down on to Kate’s desk. She watched him run his hands through his hair, and marvelled at the evolution their relationship had undergone in recent months.

  When she had first arrived at the Loop, her immediate response to the Security Officer had been the same as almost every other Operator’s: outright terror. Turner was stern and cold, so much so that he often seemed more like some kind of military robot than an actual breathing, feeling human being. But then she had started dating his son, Shaun, who had been so different to his father that, were it not for their almost identical physical appearance, you would have doubted they were even related. Shaun had been passionate, and impulsive, and short-tempered, and loud, and full of life.

  Until he died.

  Was murdered, she reminded herself. He didn’t die. He was murdered by Valeri Rusmanov.

  In the aftermath of the loss of Shaun, Kate and his father had found themselves clinging to each other like shipwreck survivors to a barrel, desperately trying to keep alive the memory of the boy they had both loved. As a result, when Turner had needed a partner to run ISAT, the Internal Security Assessment Team that had been charged with investigating every serving Operator after the revelation that Richard Talbot, the original Director of the Lazarus Project, had spent his whole life in Valeri’s service, Kate hadn’t hesitated; she had walked into his office and volunteered.

  Turner had asked her if she was sure, had warned her that everyone was going to hate them for carrying out such an unsavoury task, but she had told him she was. He had been right; they had been hated for it, so much so that Richard Brennan had tried to kill them both to preserve the secret of his disloyalty. But they had persevered, and the experience, the siege mentality that they had adopted, had pushed them closer and closer together, until they spoke to each like equals, not as Major and Lieutenant.

  “Any word from Valentin?” she asked.

  “No,” replied Turner. “Nothing.”

  Kate nodded. She knew the decision to let the youngest Rusmanov brother leave the Loop, with nothing more than a promise to find his former master and return, weighed heavily on the Security Officer. “Not yet, right?” she said.

  “I hope so.”

  She got up from behind her desk and headed for the coffee machine that stood on one of the shelves that occupied an entire wall of her office. She filled two mugs, handed one to Turner, and took a long sip from the other.

  “Tell me the truth,” she said. “Do you really think he’s coming back?”

  “I have to,” replied Turner.

  She nodded again. “What’s on your schedule for the rest of today?”

  “I’m briefing Cal in ninety minutes,” replied Turner. “Then Divisional assessments until four, and then I’m going home.”

  Kate frowned. Senior Blacklight personnel were allowed to live off base if they had families; it was how Jamie’s dad had been able to hide what he really did for a living from Jamie and Marie for so long. She knew that Caroline Turner, who was Henry Seward’s sister as well as the Security Officer’s wife, was used to such domestic dysfunction, having been around Blacklight for most of her life. And Paul’s devotion to her was abundantly clear; Kate did not think it would be an exaggeration to suggest that he couldn’t live without her, especially after Shaun. But despite all that, she was still surprised to hear her commanding officer say that he was going home, with the Zero Hour countdown ticking and a Task Force meeting less than twenty-four hours away.

  “How come?” she asked, then immediately blushed with embarrassment. “Sorry, sir, that’s none of my business. Forgive me.”

  Turner smiled. “Nothing to forgive,” he said. “We’re having family for dinner. It’s Shaun’s birthday today.”

  An icy wave of shock crashed through Kate’s system; she stared at the Security Officer, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide and unblinking, her heart pulsing with thick, bitter waves of guilt.

  Oh God, she thought. How did I not know that? How did I forget?

  Her time with Shaun had been painfully brief, but still long enough to have the cautious getting-to-know-each-other conversations that only happen when you’re starting to think you might be serious about someone; birthdays are only relevant if you think you might be around for the next one.

  “Shit,” she said, her voice trembling. “I totally forgot. You must think I’m an awful person.”

  Turner narrowed his eyes and fixed her with a look so full of reprimand that she almost physically backed away from it.

  “I think nothing of the sort,” he said, his voice low. “I know how much you and Shaun meant to each other. There’s far too much going on around here for you to be expected to remember a single date, so I want you to stop being so hard on yourself. Is that clear?”

  “I could come,” said Kate, frantically. “I mean, if you wanted me to. I could come with you and—”

  “No,” said Turner. “You can’t. If and when the world ever re
turns to normal, we’ll see. But right now you have work to do.”

  “But …”

  “That was an order, Lieutenant,” said Turner, his voice calm and even. “Do I have to repeat it?”

  Kate stared at him, her stomach churning with despair. “No, sir,” she said. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Good,” said Turner. “I’ll pass your condolences on to Caroline, and make sure she understands that you aren’t there because I wouldn’t let you be, rather than because you refused to come.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I’d really appreciate that.”

  Turner smiled, an expression that was so full of pain it took Kate’s breath away.

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  Kate sat at her desk for a long time after Paul Turner left her office.

  Her mind was racing, struggling to process everything that was going on around her, trying to stop her being crushed into paralysis by the sheer scale of it all; Shaun, Paul, Zero Hour, Dracula, the Intelligence Division report. She looked at the folder lying on her desk and felt a sudden rush of hatred for its contents, for the warning it contained, in plain language and numbers; a warning that could not be rationalised away, or ignored.

  It’s the end of the world, she thought. Unless we can stop it.

  Jamie Carpenter hurled himself to his right, crashing to the ground as the vampire’s fist thundered through the air where his head had been a millisecond earlier. He rolled with the fall and sprang back to his feet, his momentum sending him sliding backwards across the tiled floor, his blue eyes locked on his attacker.

  The vampire faced him. Her glowing gaze darkened from scarlet to a crimson that was almost black, her fangs gleamed in the fluorescent light of the bathroom, and a cruel smile rose on to her face.

  “Fast,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Not fast enough, though.”

  “We’ll see,” said Jamie. He was breathing hard, trying not to show it.

  The vampire tilted her head to one side and growled, a low rumble full of menace. Jamie reached for the loop on his belt that held his metal stake, and found it empty. He cursed, inwardly; the attack had taken him by surprise, coming seemingly from nowhere, and his weapons were in his quarters, standing neatly in their moulded cabinet.

  He was fighting for his life, and he was unarmed.

  Think, he told himself. Think, for God’s sake.

  The vampire’s smile widened, as though she could read his mind, could hear the panic steadily building inside him. He kept his gaze fixed on her, watching for the slightest movement, the tiniest tensing of muscle that might warn him her attack was coming, hoping there might be time for him to do something about it.

  There wasn’t.

  The vampire moved in a blur of black and streaming red, her fist slamming into Jamie’s chin with an impact that sent fireworks across his field of vision, constellations of red and white and yellow that spun and danced. A bolt of agony ripped through his head and he staggered backwards, his legs buckling, his arms reaching blindly for anything that might keep him upright, might keep him in the fight. His gloved hands closed on nothing, and he hit the ground in a tangled heap, his head pounding, his vision greying, his heart racing in his chest.

  He scrambled backwards, trying to create separation, but was far too slow; the vampire landed on him knees first, pinning his arms to the floor, sending pain shooting through his shoulders and up the back of his neck. He bucked his hips, kicking his legs up and out, trying to shake her loose as she reached down and carefully, almost gently, took his face in her hands. Her eyes blazed red above him, and her fangs were huge and bright beneath lips that had curled into a wide smile. Jamie twisted and fought as she lowered her face towards him, trying to delay the inevitable, until he felt the warmth of her breath in his ear.

  “Had enough?” she whispered, her voice a low growl.

  Jamie threw his body into one final set of desperate contortions, but the vampire didn’t move a millimetre. Finally, his face red with exertion and embarrassment, he nodded.

  “Enough,” he said.

  The vampire kissed him softly on the cheek, then sat up, the glow in her eyes fading. She was still straddling his chest, but Jamie felt the pressure pinning him to the ground lessen. He flexed the muscles in his shoulders, felt them creak as they loosened, and looked up.

  “Did you take it easy on me?” he asked. “Tell the truth.”

  Larissa Kinley held his gaze for a long moment, her smile fading, then dropped her eyes.

  “Damn it, Larissa,” said Jamie, trying to squirm out from beneath her. “I told you not to. What the hell is the point of this if you’re not even trying?”

  She frowned, and bore down again, holding him in place. “I was trying, Jamie,” she said. “But are we training, or are you trying to get hurt? Because if it’s the latter you can find someone else.”

  Jamie stared at her pale, beautiful face and felt his anger dissipate. He knew she was right; his girlfriend was rapidly becoming one of the most powerful vampires in the world, and could have ended their sparring session within the first few seconds had she wanted to. She could have broken every bone in his body, or simply killed him, without breaking a sweat, and, although it was galling to be so completely outmatched, it would be senseless for him to end up in the infirmary for no better reason than stubborn pride.

  There was something else too; he knew that on some level, in a place inside herself that Jamie could never access, Larissa wanted to hurt him. Her vampire side was growing stronger and more powerful with each passing day, and, although he believed her when she claimed she had it under control, he knew exactly what that side of her wanted: to tear flesh and drink blood.

  To kill.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, smiling up at her. “You’re right.”

  Larissa smiled back at him. “Of course I am,” she said. “As usual.”

  She arched her back and began to rise into the air, but he grabbed her thighs and pulled her back down. Her eyes flared, and Jamie felt a shiver pass through her; her vampire side was pushing for control, the animal part of her that he knew she regarded as almost a separate person. She let herself be brought back to the ground, then dipped her face towards his, a low growl emerging from her throat. The movement was so fast and fluid, like the strike of a cobra, that it took his breath away; he stared at her, utterly intoxicated by everything she was.

  Her blazing eyes bored into him, her fangs gleaming centimetres from his face. He reached up, almost without realising he was doing so, and ran the tip of his index finger over one of the sharp white teeth, feeling its smooth hardness, the greasy sensation of the plasma that coated it. Larissa growled again, a guttural sound of pure lust in a moment that seemed to last forever. Then, all at once, the spell was broken.

  The glowing light in her eyes flared black, then disappeared so quickly it was as though it had never been there at all; the pale brown eyes that she had been born with were suddenly staring down at him, wide and full of fear. Then she was moving, taking hold of his wrist and dragging him bodily across the bathroom. Jamie was pulled to his feet willingly, still reeling from the intensity of the moment that had so abruptly ended, which was for the best; Larissa was hauling him with such force that his shoulder would have dislocated if he had resisted. She shoved his hand into the sink, turned on the hot tap, and scrubbed at his fingers with liquid soap, her hands flying back and forth. Jamie let her scour his skin for several seconds, until he suddenly realised what she was doing.

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s OK, Larissa. It’s—”

  She looked at him, and the expression on her face cut off his words like a guillotine. He watched in silence as she washed his hand again, then a third time, before towelling it dry and raising it to her face. She examined it carefully, searching, he knew, for any cut or scratch, no matter how small. Eventually she seemed satisfied and let go of his wrist.

  “Bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?” said Ja
mie.

  “No,” she said, staring at him with anger she was clearly trying to control. “I don’t. I don’t think there is such a thing as an overreaction when you’re dealing with the most dangerous substance in the world.”

  “It’s cool,” said Jamie. “You didn’t bite me. I’m fine.”

  “It is not cool. One drop of what’s on my fangs is enough to turn you if it gets into your system. One tiny little drop.”

  “I know,” said Jamie. “But remember where we are. Even if that did happen, they’d transfuse me in the infirmary before the turn even started. It’s OK, Larissa, really it is.”

  She sighed. “I know, Jamie. I know you’re careful and I know where we are. You just have to see this from my perspective. It’s not much fun having something in your mouth that turns people into monsters.”

  Something about her choice of words struck Jamie as deliciously funny, and he let out a snort of laughter. He tried to hold it, not wanting her to think he wasn’t taking what she said seriously, but failed; he started to laugh harder, casting apologetic glances at her between peals of hilarity. Larissa stared at him coldly, then gave in; her face curled into a smile that was, to Jamie’s eyes at least, profoundly beautiful, and she started to laugh with him as he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

  When their laughter had subsided, Larissa took a half-step back, and looked at her boyfriend. Her vampire side, the part of herself that she hated, but which she knew he found guiltily, maddeningly attractive, was gone, pushed back down to where it lurked, waiting impatiently for release. What remained was a teenage girl: awkward, conflicted, increasingly unsure of the world around her, and her place in it.

  Almost a month had passed since she had challenged Cal Holmwood about the morality of what Blacklight and the other supernatural Departments actually did on a daily basis, had asked him to justify the murder of men and women who had, in the overwhelming majority of cases, never asked to be turned into vampires. The issue still gnawed at her insides, like an itch she was unable to scratch, but it was not the one that rose into her mind as she looked at her boyfriend. That was something else entirely; three words spoken by the Interim Director that she wished more than anything she had not overheard.