Department 19, The Rising, and Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  I thought there was something between us. I believed in her. Stupid.

  The realisation of why Larissa had led them north, and the surge of adrenaline that had seen him press the stake against her throat, had exhausted him. He felt tired, and useless. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, and caught Thomas Morris looking at him.

  “What?” he snapped. “What is it, Tom?”

  Morris didn’t look away, like Jamie had been expecting him to do. Instead he held the teenager’s gaze for a long moment, then shook his head, grunted something inaudible, and averted his eyes.

  Tom told me this was a bad idea. Even he could see she was playing me.

  “Shut up,” Jamie whispered, and Larissa turned to look at him. She cocked her head, but he looked away; he couldn’t bear to see her, was struggling to tolerate being anywhere near her. She reached over and touched his arm, and when he looked into her pale, beautiful face, she smiled at him, an expression of placation, of apology. He didn’t return it; he just stared into her wide eyes, and waited for her to drop her gaze. After a few seconds, she did so, and he returned his eyes to the floor of the helicopter.

  “Ninety seconds,” said the pilot, his voice crackling over the intercom.

  Frankenstein reached above his seat and pulled his helmet down into his lap. He drew the weapons from his belt and checked them quickly, before replacing them in their loops and holsters. Morris did the same, removing the magazine from his MP5, checking it, and clicking it back into place.

  “You won’t need those,” said Larissa. “There won’t be anyone here.”

  “This may be a surprise to you,” replied Frankenstein. “But I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.”

  Larissa laughed. “You think I care whether you believe me?” she asked.

  “No,” replied Frankenstein. “I’m sure you don’t. But I am sure you care what he thinks.” He gestured towards Jamie, who looked up at him. “Am I wrong?”

  Larissa looked away.

  “That’s what I thought,” said the monster, as the helicopter touched down.

  The four passengers leapt down into a dark farmyard. A large metal shed rose in front of them, tractors and other farm machinery looming in the darkness, a round grain store standing silently to their left. To their right sat the farmhouse, a squat building of pale stone behind a neatly kept lawn and two long flowerbeds. There were no lights on in the house, and no smoke rose from the chimney.

  Morris pressed a button at the rear of the helicopter and a huge door lowered to the ground with a deafening hiss. He walked up into the hold and out of sight. Frankenstein, Jamie and Larissa waited in the yard, until they heard an engine fire into life, and a black SUV slowly reversed down on to the tarmac.

  “What’s going on?” asked Larissa.

  “The helicopter needs to be back at the Loop,” said Frankenstein. “It was checked out for a training flight. It can’t be gone any longer without someone asking questions. We’ll drive home.”

  Morris brought the car to a halt and got out. Frankenstein led them forward, his T-Bone outstretched in front of him. He tried the handle on the front door of the farmhouse, and it turned in his hand. He eased it open, reached inside, and flicked a light switch on the wall by the door. The bulb burst into life, bathing a homely, rustic kitchen in warm yellow light. He held the door open, but Jamie paused.

  “Give me the detonator, Tom,” he said.

  Morris gave him a questioning look, but passed him the cylinder. Jamie wrapped his fingers around it and rested his thumb near the button on the top.

  “All right,” he said, and walked into the farmhouse, ignoring the look on Larissa’s face as he passed her. The rest of the team filed silently inside, Morris closing the door behind them.

  “Where’s the family?” asked Frankenstein.

  Larissa stared at him. “Where do you think?” she asked. “They’re gone.”

  “God damn you,” muttered the monster. “You and all the rest of your kind.”

  Jamie walked through the kitchen, around a battered wooden dining table, and led them into the rest of the house.

  It was empty, as Larissa had promised it would be.

  They stood silently in the kitchen. Jamie’s head was lowered, his mind racing with one terrible image of his mother after another. Morris was looking nervously at the door, desire to leave this place and return to the Loop written all over his face. Larissa was watching Jamie, an expression of shame on her face, and Frankenstein was staring at the vampire girl so intently he didn’t appear to be blinking.

  “Everything about you is a lie, isn’t it?” he said eventually, his voice low.

  Larissa returned his gaze, and sneered.

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she spat. “Nothing.”

  Frankenstein’s gaze didn’t so much as flicker.

  “I think I do,” he said, softly. “I think I know a lot about you. Do you want to hear what I think?”

  “I really don’t care,” Larissa snapped. “If you’ve got something to say, get on with it.”

  Frankenstein nodded.

  “I don’t think you’ve ever killed a single thing in your life. I think you’re a scared little girl who was pretty enough for Alexandru not to kill her. I think you were terrified of him, and I think you probably spent every second of every day looking for a way to escape from him. But I think you were too scared to try it. Am I warm?”

  Larissa looked away, and the monster continued.

  “I think you probably lied about the men and women you killed until Alexandru believed you, probably until you even started to believe it a little bit yourself. I think you probably survived on the leftovers of others’ kills, and on animals when you could find them. I think you lied, and lied, and lied so much that you made Alexandru believe you were almost as bad as him, although if you’d asked the rest of his followers I bet none of them would remember ever seeing you take a life. I think that’s why you were entrusted with killing Jamie.”

  The monster’s voice was rising now, thick fury spilling into it.

  “I don’t think you spared Jamie; I don’t think you could do it, when it came down to it. I don’t think you could kill him. And while I’m grateful for your weakness, your lies and your bravado and your criminal selfishness have wasted time that could have been spent looking for Marie Carpenter, time we did not have to spare. And if we’re too late to help her because of the time and attention we wasted on you, wasted on a pathetic little vampire girl we would have been better off letting die in the garden where Alexandru dropped you, then so help me God I will make you pay for it for the rest of your days!”

  Frankenstein was visibly shaking, his great shoulders trembling with anger.

  “Look at me!” he roared, and Larissa, whose head was turned towards the wall, jumped. “If you can’t, then look at him at least! Do him that courtesy, after you’ve wasted our time and left his mother in the hands of a madman! Look at him!”

  Larissa’s shoulders hunched, then she slowly turned back to face them. Jamie felt a gasp rise in his throat as he saw her face.

  The vampire was crying.

  Tears ran down her pale cheeks, leaving narrow lines that glistened under the electric light above the table. Her expression was one of utter misery, and she looked at Jamie with pain etched across her face.

  “The night your mother was taken. After you left me in the park,” she said, her voice barely audible, “I ran. I got a couple of miles before Anderson caught me, and brought me back to him.” She spat this last word, her face momentarily curling with disgust. “Alexandru pulled me into the air, smiling, telling me he had to teach me a lesson, talking to me like everything was normal. Then he beat me until I lost consciousness, and dropped me out of the sky.”

  She looked at Frankenstein, and hate twitched across her face.

  “You’re right,” she continued. “I’ve never killed anyone. Never hurt anyone, until the soldier and
the boy in the garden, and I didn’t mean to hurt them. I was in so much pain, I can’t even—”

  Larissa looked away, composed herself, then looked directly at Jamie.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I truly am. I thought you’d kill me if you thought I didn’t know anything, and I don’t want to die. I haven’t had a chance to live, not yet. I don’t want to die.”

  “Why take us to Valhalla?” asked Jamie, quietly. “Why lead us on a wild goose chase?”

  “It was all I could think to do. I know you think I led you there to get even with Grey, but that wasn’t it. I just knew I couldn’t stall you any more and I couldn’t think of anywhere else, and I thought that if it was the last time I was going to see the outside world then at least I could see the person who did this to me and—”

  She broke off, fresh tears pouring down her face. Jamie watched her cry, and fought back the urge to comfort her, to step across the kitchen and put his arm around her.

  “Do you know anything that can help us?” Jamie asked. Frankenstein started to groan, but he held a hand up, quieting the monster. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t,” he continued. “But we need to know. Anything Alexandru did, or said, before you attacked us, anything unusual? Anything at all?”

  “Nothing,” said Larissa. “He was just Alexandru, the same monster he always was. The day before the attack I heard him on the phone ordering more Bliss, but that wasn’t unusual. He went through tons of the stuff.”

  Jamie’s blood froze in his veins, and he looked over at Frankenstein, who had turned as still as a statue.

  “The day before?” the teenager managed. “The day before my mother was taken?”

  Larissa nodded, a confused look on her face.

  “What is it?” asked Morris, breaking his silence. “What’s wrong?”

  Frankenstein’s head slowly swivelled towards Jamie, the expression on it full of thunder.

  “The chemist,” he said, slowly. “He lied to us.”

  I told you he knew more than he was saying! I told you that right outside his house! Why wouldn’t you listen to me?

  “Let’s go,” said Jamie, walking quickly towards the door, the detonator hanging loosely in his hand.

  “Go where?” asked Morris, following the teenager out of the house.

  “Dartmoor,” answered Frankenstein. “And put your damn foot down.”

  The Blacklight team stood on the edge of the moor, checking their equipment. A hundred yards along the road stood the chemist’s neat, pale stone farmhouse, smoke drifting lazily from the red chimney.

  “We do this my way,” said Frankenstein, clipping a pair of UV grenades to his belt. “No arguments. The rest of you have had your chance. Is that clear?”

  Jamie stared up at the monster, but said nothing. Morris nodded, and Larissa looked away, her eyes still ringed pink from crying.

  “Good,” said the monster. “Follow me.”

  The giant man led them along the road, the heels of their boots clattering out a steady rhythm on the tarmac. He pushed open the gate, walked quickly along the path and knocked heavily on the front door.

  It opened immediately.

  “There’s no need to knock,” said the chemist, smiling at them. “I heard you coming from—”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. Frankenstein pulled the beam gun from his belt, his hand a blur of grey-green in the night air, levelled it and pulled the trigger. The chemist took the concentrated UV light square in the face. His skin exploded into flames, and he staggered backwards, screaming in pain. Frankenstein looped the hand that was holding the beam gun into the doorway, and the barrel crashed against the chemist’s jaw. Something crunched, and the vampire went to his knees, still screaming, still beating his face with his hands, trying to extinguish the purple flames. Frankenstein kicked the chemist on to his back, and stepped into the house. The rest of the team stared, uncomprehending; the entire assault had taken little more than three seconds, and the suddenness of the violence had frozen them where they stood.

  The monster reached down, grabbed the chemist by his hair, and dragged him along the hallway that stood beyond the front door.

  “Close the door!” he bellowed. “Get in here and close the door!”

  Fear spilled through Jamie as he looked at Frankenstein’s face. The monster’s features were twisted into a snarl of savage, brutal enjoyment. His eyes were bright and alive, and his mouth curled at the corners into a terrible smile. He wanted to run, away from that face, away from the thick smell of burning meat that was emanating from the chemist.

  But he knew he couldn’t.

  Instead he grabbed Larissa’s arm with his free hand, keeping the detonator out of her reach, and shoved her into the house. She went without protest, her eyes fixed on the smoking figure on the floor. Morris moved on his own, slowly, staring at Frankenstein, and when they were both in the hallway Jamie reached back and slammed the front door shut behind them.

  The monster hauled the chemist through the first door on the right and into a large, comfortable sitting room. He knelt down across the vampire’s chest, pulled one of the UV grenades from his belt, and gave it a sharp twist. The red light that signified that the grenade was live lit up on the top of the small sphere, then Frankenstein leant down, prised open the chemist’s jaws, and shoved the grenade into his mouth.

  “What are you—” cried Jamie, horrified.

  “Shut up!” roared Frankenstein. “Get one of those chairs and put it down next to me! Now!”

  Jamie looked around the sitting room, saw a dining table surrounded by six dark wooden chairs standing in the corner, and ran to it. He dragged one of the chairs over to where the monster was kneeling on the helpless, groaning vampire, and glanced down at the chemist’s face.

  He wished he hadn’t. The skin was burnt almost completely away from his skull; bright white patches of bone shone out through raw red and charred black. He gulped, and turned away.

  Frankenstein lifted the chemist easily from the floor and placed him on the chair. Then he stepped back, lifted the grenade’s detonator into his hand, and stopped next to Jamie. Morris and Larissa stood behind them, silent and terrified.

  A terrible sound emerged from the chemist; a rhythmic series of gasps that sounded like a death rattle. Then the vampire lifted his head, trained his burnt eyes on the four figures in front of him, and grinned savagely around the grenade.

  It’s laughing. My God, it’s laughing.

  “Cover him,” said Frankenstein. Morris fumbled his T-Bone from his belt and trained it on the chemist, and Jamie followed suit.

  “You will not move, or say anything,” said the monster, staring evenly at the chemist’s ruined face. “You will answer my questions by nodding or shaking your head. If you refuse to answer, or I think you’re lying, I will press this button, and your head will explode from the inside out. Then I will stake what is left of you. Is that clear?”

  The chemist snarled, but nodded his head.

  “Good. You lied to us when you told us you knew nothing about Alexandru. Correct?”

  Another nod.

  “He placed an order with you the day before we arrived. Correct?”

  The vampire’s red eyes blazed with hate from his scorched face, but he nodded again.

  “Did he ask you to deliver it to an address?”

  The chemist shook his head, sending droplets of blood flying in the warm light of the living room.

  “Did he send someone to collect it?”

  Another shake.

  “Did he collect it himself?”

  A long pause, and then the faintest of nods.

  Jamie gasped.

  “He was here?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Was my mother with him?”

  The chemist stared at the teenager, and then nodded sharply. Jamie felt as though he was going to be sick; his stomach lurched and saliva splashed into his mouth.

  “Was she all right?” he asked. “Was she hurt? Has he hurt he
r?”

  The vampire looked at Frankenstein, who appeared to consider for a moment, then stepped forward and crouched at the chemist’s side, being careful not to block the aims of Jamie and Morris.

  “You’re going to spit the grenade into my hand,” he said. “I’m going to put it inside your shirt, and we’re going to continue this conversation. If you move even a millimetre, my colleagues are going to destroy you. Is that clear?”

  A frantic nod told the monster that it was, and he held his hand up flat before the chemist’s face. The vampire stretched his torn mouth open, and pushed the grenade out with a black, burnt tongue. It fell into Frankenstein’s hand with a thud. The monster shoved the metal sphere down the front of the white shirt the chemist was wearing, and stepped back.

  “You’ll die for this,” spat the chemist, as soon as the huge man was out of reach. “All of you will die for what you’ve done here today.”

  “If you don’t be quiet there will be death in this room,” replied Frankenstein. “But it will be yours, and yours alone. Alexandru placed an order with you five days ago, the day before he attacked Jamie and his mother. When did he arrive to collect it?”

  “Three days ago,” snarled the chemist, his eyes fixed on the monster. “But the order was huge, more than I had in store. I had to acquire new quantities, and make the order from scratch. He was very... angry.”

  “So it wasn’t ready when he arrived?”

  “Aren’t you clever?”

  “Did he leave and come back for it?”

  “That wouldn’t have been very hospitable of me, would it? Especially not for one of my very best customers.”

  Realisation dawned on Jamie like the first clap of a thunderstorm. “He stayed here, didn’t he?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper. “He stayed in this house while you finished the order?”

  The chemist spat a wad of blood on to the living room floor, and glared at Jamie.

  “That’s right, you little brat. Alexandru, Anderson, and his prize.”

  His prize?

  “My mother,” Jamie said. “He kept my mother here while he waited for you to make your Bliss. And you let him? How could you do that?”