by Will Hill
“Squads nine through twelve report immediately to the hangar,” he said. “Maintain readiness and wait for orders. Out.”
“Jesus,” said Kate, her voice low. “This is bad, Paul. This is really bad.”
Turner didn’t respond; his attention was already focused back on the screen.
“So,” said Patrick, “how does somebody become a vampire? Can you tell us?”
“Again, I’m no expert on the science,” said Gideon, uncrossing his legs and sitting forward. “But you have to be bitten. There’s something in the bite that changes you. You can’t be turned by sharing toilet seats.”
Patrick and Helen both burst out laughing, and Turner felt anger boil into his stomach.
You idiots, he thought. You irresponsible, reckless idiots. You have no idea what you’re doing.
“So what happened to you, Gideon?” asked Helen. “I’m sorry if that’s too personal.”
Gideon smiled. “Not at all, Helen,” he said. “It’s fine. I was bitten by a man I met at a party, almost twenty years ago. We were … well, you don’t need to know the details. But he bit my neck. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”
“Twenty years ago?” asked Patrick, incredulous. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’ve been alive for forty-four years,” said Gideon.
“That’s unbelievable,” said Helen. “You don’t look a day older than twenty-one.”
“The ageing process slows down when you’re turned,” said Gideon. “It doesn’t stop, so if any of your viewers think vampires live forever, then I’m afraid they’re wrong. But it does slow down. A lot.”
“I think most of my friends are going to be pleading for someone to bite them,” said Helen, grinning widely.
Patrick burst out laughing, and Gideon flashed a warm smile in her direction.
“I can imagine,” he said. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. I don’t think they’d want it if they knew what it’s really like.”
“Right,” said Patrick, a serious expression appearing again on his face. “So what is it like? I mean, day to day?”
Gideon shrugged. “I can’t go in the sun,” he said. “And I have to feed. Apart from that, I can live a normal life. And there are benefits, of course.”
“When you say feed,” said Helen, “do you mean drink blood?”
Gideon looked her square in the eyes. “That’s right,” he said.
“You’ve brought some with you this morning,” said Patrick. “That’s what’s in that bottle, right?”
“Right,” said Gideon. “That’s lamb’s blood. I have a butcher who keeps it for me.”
“So it doesn’t have to be human?” asked Patrick.
Gideon shook his head. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t. Although there are vampires who won’t drink anything else.”
“Why not?” asked Helen, her face growing pale.
“Because it tastes better,” said Gideon. “I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. A lot better.”
“And what happens if you don’t feed?” asked Patrick, his voice low.
“The hunger takes you,” said Gideon. “Imagine the hungriest you’ve ever been in your life, multiply it by a thousand, and that’s what the hunger feels like. If you resist it for too long, it will drive you crazy. And I mean that literally.”
“Has that happened?” asked Helen. She was as white as a ghost now, her eyes wide. “I mean, to anyone you know?”
“Not first hand,” said Gideon. “But I’ve heard stories. Some vampires think they’re doing the right thing by refusing to feed. But the hunger breaks them, and they feed anyway. There’s no stopping it.”
“That’s horrible,” said Helen, her voice tiny.
“I completely agree,” said Gideon.
“This has stopped being fun, hasn’t it?” growled Kate. “Now that he’s talking about blood and crazy people. You idiots.”
Affection for his young Lieutenant filled Paul Turner as the phone on his desk began to ring, Major Griffiths’ name glowing on its screen. He glanced fondly at her as he picked it up.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“Social media has gone completely off the charts,” said the Surveillance Director. “Almost ten thousand mentions a minute and increasing rapidly. 999 is jammed, and every TV news channel in the country has cut in live to follow this. And it’s not just here, Paul. This is going out all over the world.”
“Talk to Intelligence for me,” said Turner. “Make sure the police understand that there are going to be riots when this is done. And alert the other Departments, if they aren’t already watching. They need to know what’s happening.”
“Yes, sir,” said Griffiths.
“Thank you,” said Turner. He hung up the phone and looked back at the screen.
“So,” said Patrick. There seemed to be an uneasy atmosphere on the Coffee Break set, a tension that had not been there when the interview began. “You said there were benefits to being a vampire, apart from ageing less quickly. What are they?”
Gideon grinned. “I can fly,” he said. “I’m stronger than any normal human in the world, faster too. And it’s very, very hard to kill me.”
“You can fly?” said Helen, her face a mask of incredulity. “Are you really telling us that?”
Gideon didn’t answer. Instead, he leant back on the sofa and slowly, almost casually, floated up into the air. From beyond the small set the cameras were focusing on, a chorus of shouts and screams rang out. Gideon came to a halt a metre above the sofa and hovered, smiling at Helen.
“My God,” she whispered. Her eyes were huge, her face translucent.
“This is real,” said Patrick, his voice thick with fear. “I want everyone watching this to know that there are no wires being used, no camera tricks. What you are seeing is really happening, right in front of us.”
Gideon spun slowly upwards, until he was standing on thin air. Then there was a blur of movement, and he was sitting between Helen and Patrick on their sofa; he had crossed the set faster than the cameras could follow. Helen screamed and jumped to her feet, as Patrick scrambled away, his eyes wide and full of terror.
“I’m sorry,” said Gideon, his smile shrinking. “I didn’t think you would believe me unless I showed you. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Helen didn’t look as though she believed him; she had retreated towards the curtain that covered the windows, her entire body visibly shaking, her hands covering her mouth, her huge eyes fixed on the vampire. Patrick was breathing deeply and rapidly; as Turner watched, he made a visible effort to calm himself, and turned back towards Gideon.
“I’m sorry for our reaction,” he said, his voice audibly trembling. “You have to understand, that was quite a shock.”
“It’s OK,” said Gideon. “I understand completely. Do you mind standing up for a moment?”
Patrick nodded and got to his feet. Gideon did likewise, then took hold of the long sofa and lifted it into the air as though it weighed no more than a feather. He held it easily at shoulder-height for several seconds, a small smile on his face, then carefully put it down.
“That’s incredible,” whispered Patrick, his voice hoarse. “It’s impossible.”
Gideon stepped at normal speed over the coffee table and settled back on to the guest sofa. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”
Very, very slowly, Helen sat back down next to Patrick. She perched on the edge of the sofa, as though readying herself to flee, and looked with obvious fear at her co-presenter.
“There was something else that Kevin McKenna wrote in his article,” said Patrick. “He said vampires have red eyes.”
Gideon nodded.
“But your eyes are green. They’re the same colour as mine.”
“Our eyes aren’t always red,” said Gideon. “It’s mostly an involuntary reaction, if we’re threatened, or angry, or if we smell blood. But it can be controlled.”
“Can you show us?” asked Patr
ick.
“Yes,” said Gideon, then turned to Helen. “But I should warn you in advance, it can be quite unsettling.”
“It’s OK,” said Helen, her pale cheeks colouring pink with embarrassment. “I’m fine now, honestly. It was just a shock when you flew. Oh God, I can’t believe I just said that. You flew.”
Gideon smiled sympathetically. “Are you sure?” he asked.
She nodded.
“All right then,” said Gideon. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The camera zoomed in on his pale, handsome face as glowing pink slowly began to drip into the corners of his eyes. It deepened to scarlet as the whites disappeared, then blazing to crimson as the irises were swallowed up. The light reflected on the skin of his face, turning it red, and glowed so fiercely that the camera was forced to zoom out to keep Gideon in focus; the supernatural light bloomed around his head like an aura.
The shot switched to Patrick and Helen on the other sofa, their mouths hanging open, their eyes comically wide. Then Helen’s hands leapt back over her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she cried, from behind her fingers.
The shot cut back to Gideon, who was regarding the presenters with his terrible, glowing gaze. But it was not his eyes that had caused Helen to cry out; the vampire had opened his mouth in a wide grin, and clearly visible below the straight line of his upper teeth, bright white and wetly gleaming, was a pair of long, pointed fangs.
“I don’t understand,” asked Patrick. “How has it been possible to keep people like you a secret? How didn’t we know about you until now?”
Gideon smiled. The red in his eyes disappeared and his fangs rose back into his gums. “Because the government has gone to great lengths to keep it that way,” he said. “If I’m walking down a street at night and a member of Blacklight sees me, they will kill me, and the same goes for the rest of my kind. So most vampires choose to keep their heads down. It has never been in our interests for the public to know we’re real.”
“Have you put yourself in danger by coming here today?” asked Helen.
“I would imagine so,” said Gideon, and shrugged. “But it was time to end all this secrecy. McKenna’s article started the process, and Blacklight couldn’t put the cat back in the bag. People started to wake up. And now they know.”
Helen nodded sympathetically.
“I want to thank you for spending time with us, Gideon,” said Patrick. “I know you’re in a hurry to leave, and I think we can all understand why, given what you’ve told us. But I think it’s no exaggeration to say that we have seen the world as we know it changed this morning. So thank you for your honesty, and your bravery.”
“You’re very welcome,” said Gideon, and smiled.
“One last thing,” said Patrick. “What advice would you give our viewers if they encounter a vampire?”
“Make sure they don’t,” said Gideon. “That’s the best advice I can give them. Because not all vampires are like me. Some of them are monsters, and you might not know until it’s too late.”
“I knew someone would come,” said Gregor. “After I let the old vampire live. Are you here to kill me?”
Arkady Petrov shook his head. “No,” he said. “We are not here for that.”
“You are Blacklight,” said Gregor. “Is that not the reason you exist?”
Petrov frowned. “I am not Blacklight,” he said. “But you know of them?”
Gregor shrugged. “This forest is still part of the world,” he said. “I hear many things. And I have been listening to you talk to each other since your helicopter set down in the field beyond the trees. So I ask you again: are you here to kill me?”
“No,” said Petrov. “That is the truth.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said Gregor.
Of course you are, thought Jamie. You don’t want to have to kill five Operators. Because you know that then the Departments would send a hundred.
“You are the man we are looking for?” asked Petrov. “The one they call the first victim?”
“Do they call me that?” asked Gregor, and laughed. “I did not know.”
“But you are him?” pressed Petrov.
“I have come to understand that I was the first man to be bitten by the vampire who became known as Dracula,” said Gregor, his eyes momentarily shimmering red.
“Can you tell us what happened to you?” asked Engel.
Gregor frowned. “Why should I do that?”
“It would be helpful for us,” said the German Operator.
“Would it?” asked Gregor. “I cannot see how. I was bitten, but I did not die. When I awoke, I was different. I presume this is a process you are all familiar with.”
Engel tried again. “There is a belief that something out of the ordinary happened to you.”
“Who believes that to be true?”
“There is a prophecy—”
Gregor boomed with laughter, cutting her off. “Prophecies are for fools,” he said. “Stories to tell around campfires. Are you saying that you, men and women of science and technology, have sought me out because of some whispered legend?”
Jamie frowned. “Why else would we be here?” he asked.
Gregor faced him. “To ask me to fight,” he said. “On your side in the war that is coming. Is that not the case?”
“Yes,” said Larissa, her eyes glowing at the corners. “That’s right. What do you say?”
“Shut up, Larissa,” said Petrov.
Gregor’s welcoming expression disappeared, replaced by narrowed eyes and a set of the jaw that turned Jamie’s insides to water. The old vampire turned slowly towards Petrov. “Do not speak to her like that in my presence,” he said, his voice the slow ice of a glacier. “I will not have it.”
Petrov stared at the first victim, their gazes locked together. There was silence, sudden and thick with the possibility of violence, until Larissa spoke. “It’s all right,” she said. “He’s our squad leader. It’s OK.”
Gregor narrowed his eyes even further, until they were little more than glowing crimson slits. Then he opened them, and the smile returned to his face as he nodded at Larissa. “Forgive me,” he said. “I do not like men who behave uncivilly towards women, and my temper has always been a weakness.”
You and me both, thought Jamie, and smiled.
“What happened to the man you carry?” asked Gregor, and nodded towards the wooden stretcher that held the body of Tim Albertsson.
“I think you know,” said Larissa, her eyes darkening.
“As I said,” said Gregor, his smile widening. “Men who threaten women make me angry.”
Jamie’s eyes widened with sudden understanding.
Larissa had been telling the truth; she didn’t kill Albertsson.
The first victim did.
Relief swept through him, closely followed by guilt at his failure to entirely trust his girlfriend’s innocence.
What did Albertsson do to her, though? he wondered. What made the first victim kill him? What threat did Tim make?
The thought made his skin itch with anger, and he found himself momentarily, viciously glad that the American was dead. He immediately pushed the feeling away, demanding better of himself, ordering himself to stay calm, and returned his attention to Gregor. But to his left, it became instantly clear that Van Orel had reached the same conclusion as him.
“You killed him,” said the South African, his voice low and full of outrage. “While he slept. Like a coward.”
Gregor’s eyes narrowed again, and darkened to a pulsing crimson. “Careful,” he said. “Be very careful.”
“Why?” asked Van Orel, his voice rising. “In case you kill me too? In case you kill us all? You know damn well we couldn’t stop you, so do it if you’re going to. Bloody well get it over with.”
Petrov shot a furious glance at Van Orel, its unspoken message abundantly clear.
Shut the hell up. Control yourself.
“Is that what you want?” as
ked Gregor, softly. “To die?”
Van Orel laughed. It was an ugly noise, high and rasping; it sounded like something inside him was on the verge of breaking. Jamie stared helplessly, then saw movement in the corner of his eye, and felt his heart stop in his chest.
Engel had raised her T-Bone and was pointing it directly at the first victim’s heart.
“You killed him,” she said. “And for what? Because he was uncivil? Ridiculous.”
“Do not point your gun at me,” said Gregor.
Jamie gasped. The first victim’s voice had lowered to a depth and bass that shook the ground beneath his feet. Engel trembled visibly, but did not lower her weapon.
“Why not?” she asked, her voice unsteady. “You are a murderer, and I do not face murderers unarmed.”
There was a blur, and then the first victim was standing in front of Engel, his hand gripping the barrel of her T-Bone, his eyes blazing. She shrieked as he jerked the weapon out of her hands and hurled it towards the distant wall of trees, where it disappeared into the gloom.
“I told you,” he growled, leaning his face in close to hers, “not to point your gun at me. You are in my home.” Then there was a second blur, and the vampire was again standing on the porch of his cabin, his gentle smile restored.
Petrov turned and glared at his squad with eyes full of warning. “The next one of you who talks,” he said, “I will shoot myself. Is that clear?”
Engel looked at her squad leader, her eyes wide and full of shock. She opened her mouth to say something, or possibly simply to burst into tears, but Petrov raised a single gloved finger in her direction. The German Operator stared at it, then closed her mouth, her face a mask of misery. Jamie watched the silent exchange, then returned his attention to Gregor, who appeared to be waiting politely for them to conclude their business. Petrov pointed his finger at each of his squad mates in turn, before turning back towards the cabin.
“You built this place,” he said.
“I did,” said Gregor. “It took many years, but time is not something I have lacked.”
“You do not like visitors,” said Petrov. “The wall. The traps. The dead animals.”
