Department 19, The Rising, and Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  They set out across the plain, unaware that one of them had less than three minutes to live.

  Larissa smelt it before she saw it.

  “Something’s coming,” she said. “Something bad. I’ve never smelt anything like it.”

  Adrenaline splashed into six nervous systems.

  Morris, McBride and Stevenson immediately pulled Larissa and Jamie into a circle around Kate. The five members of the Blacklight team scanned the empty plain, their visors sweeping left and right, their weapons at their shoulders.

  For long seconds they stood motionless, silent apart from the sound of their own breathing. Then Stevenson lowered his weapon and turned to his companions.

  “There’s nothing here,” he said.

  A dense tangle of bushes behind the Operator exploded in a shower of leaves and splintered wood as something huge leapt across the dark grass. It growled as it moved on four powerful legs, its yellow eyes glowing, thick ropes of saliva trailing from jaws that were filled with gleaming teeth. It clamped its mouth on Stevenson’s throat and hauled him forward, barrelling into the rest of the team and sending them tumbling across the plain. As he fell, Jamie heard a terrible ripping sound as the creature pulled out a ragged chunk of Stevenson’s neck, and heard the Operator scream in pain.

  He dug his heels into the grass and pushed himself back to his feet. He saw Kate sliding down the slope, heard her shouting for his help, and ignored her. The further she was away from whatever had leapt from the bush, the better. He turned back, ready to run up the slope towards Stevenson, but what he saw at the top of the rise froze him to the spot.

  The Operator was lying on his back, blood gushing from the hole that had been torn in his neck. His face was pale, and his eyes were closed, but Jamie could see the black material of his uniform rising and falling.

  He’s still alive. You have to help him.

  But he couldn’t make his petrified limbs move.

  Standing over Stevenson was a huge grey wolf, as large as a small car. Its coat was thick and tangled, its snout soaked with the Operator’s blood, its eyes gleaming. A terrible smell was emanating from it; a thick fog of spoiled meat and sickness. It looked down the slope at him, and Jamie felt his insides turn to water. Then it threw back its head and howled, a terrible, deafening noise that sounded like damnation. It lowered its mouth towards Stevenson again, the moonlight gleaming off its enormous teeth.

  The crack of gunfire rang across the plain, and the wolf twitched, red blooms of blood appearing along its flank, then howled again. Jamie looked round and saw Morris and McBride making their way up the slope, fire spitting from the barrels of their MP5s.

  Where’s Larissa?

  He looked around wildly, and saw her near the bottom of the slope. She was crouching next to Kate, holding the girl’s face in her hands, and a surge of affection so hot it was almost something else shot through him. He drew his MP5, then ran back up the slope and fell into step next to McBride, who acknowledged him with the briefest of looks. The three Blacklight men pressed forward, their submachine guns screaming in the night air.

  The wolf leapt down from Stevenson’s unconscious body, and roared at them, a sound so gigantic it physically drove Jamie back a step. His ears rang as he stepped forward again, his finger clamped tightly on the trigger of the MP5. Bullets slammed into the wolf, tearing clumps of fur from its coat, spraying dark blood across the grass. Jamie saw a round take one of its eyes out, leaving a neat black hole where the pale yellow ball had been. But the huge animal seemed to barely notice.

  “Take it down!” bellowed Morris. “Take out its legs!”

  Jamie’s MP5 clicked empty. He hauled a new clip from his belt, slammed it into place, and pulled the trigger again. The three Operators concentrated their fire on its left foreleg, and the limb splattered apart, wet chunks of flesh raining to the ground. The wolf howled in pain, and leapt forward, propel ling itself across the grass on its three remaining legs, closing the distance in long, shambling strides. They fired at its right foreleg, bullets flying wide as the creature swayed towards them.

  Ten feet away the wolf dipped, the muscles in its powerful back legs tensing, ready to leap. Then with a sickening tearing noise the right foreleg came apart under the weight of the gunfire, and the leap was a howling, aborted thing. The wolf flopped into the air, screeching in pain, and crashed to the ground before them. They leapt back, out of the reach of the jaws that were snapping blindly at the air, the teeth clamping together over and over with a sound like breaking pottery. The wolf pushed itself forward, its back legs digging into the ground, and they emptied their guns into its exposed underside. Explosions of blood burst from the white fur, and the animal bellowed. Then it lay still, its ruined chest rising and falling, great jets of warm air blasting out of its nose and mouth.

  “Jesus,” said McBride, breathing hard, staring down at the fallen animal.

  Jamie stepped forward slowly, and looked at it. The wolf was lying on its side, its shattered forelegs hanging uselessly, its snout soaked red with blood. Its one remaining eye revolved, looking at nothing.

  “Check on Stevenson,” said Morris, and McBride ran up the slope to the fallen Operator. Jamie walked over next to Morris, and gestured down at the animal.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s a werewolf,” replied Morris, his eyes never leaving the stricken creature. “An old one. A hundred years, at least.”

  Jamie stared at him. “A werewolf?” he asked.

  Morris nodded, without looking at him. He was watching the creature’s flickering chest, the white fur moving in waves as the flesh beneath it rose and fell.

  “Frankenstein told me they were real,” said Jamie, in a low voice. “I didn’t believe him. Not really.”

  Morris pulled the Glock pistol from his belt, then darted towards the wounded animal. He placed the muzzle of the pistol beside its one remaining eye, and pulled the trigger. There was a dull thud, and the wolf lay still.

  Then as Jamie watched, it began to change.

  The fur began to thin, and seemed to withdraw into the creature’s flesh. There was a horrible series of cracking noises, and angular shapes emerged beneath the thick grey skin. The snout shortened, drawing back and flattening, the nostrils narrowing, the teeth pulling up into the gums. The lower legs straightened in a series of crunches, and the colour of the animal began to shift, from grey to pale pink. Jamie’s mouth hung open; less than a minute after the transformation had begun, the wolf was gone. Lying on the grass where it had been was a naked man, his body twisted and broken. His arms were in tatters, his eyes were missing, and his torso was covered in holes, from which blood began to ooze.

  “Believe him now?” asked Morris, placing his pistol in its holster.

  Jamie nodded, slowly.

  “There aren’t many of them,” said Morris. “Most of them live in isolation in the forests, but a few act as hired muscle. Alexandru must be serious.”

  Larissa and Kate appeared at Jamie’s shoulder, and he jumped. They looked down at the broken body, identical expressions of disgust on their faces. Then McBride shouted that Stevenson was still alive, and they ran over to where he was lying.

  The Operator was convulsing on the ground when Jamie reached him. McBride was holding the sides of his head, trying to steady him; his arms and legs beat the grass, his body jerked and twisted despite McBride’s strong grip.

  “What’s wrong with him?” cried Kate.

  “The change is coming,” replied Morris, his face ashen.

  A terrible crunching noise emerged from Stevenson’s body, and Jamie saw his forearms break. They folded on themselves, until they were almost at right angles. The Operator opened his mouth and screamed, a high, terrible wail of agony. Then the noise came again, and his shins snapped. This time the scream was so loud it was like an ice pick through Jamie’s head. Stevenson thumped against the ground, his body rocking back and forth, foam frothing from his mouth, blood squirting from
his injured neck. Then, as his helpless companions watched, his jaw began to stretch, the bones grinding against each other, and his scream turned into a howl.

  Thick black hair began to sprout from Stevenson’s skin, bursting through his pores and tearing through his uniform. His eyes turned yellow, and his shaking became so frenzied that McBride was thrown loose.

  “Somebody help him!” cried Kate, her voice high and anguished.

  Morris pulled the Glock from his belt for a second time, and knelt down next to Stevenson’s head. The man, if he still was a man, was twitching and shaking on the grass, apparently oblivious to the small crowd gathered around him. Morris cocked the gun, and placed the barrel against Stevenson’s temple.

  Larissa turned Kate away from the stricken Operator and held the teenage girl’s face tightly against her shoulder, covering her eyes. Jamie watched, unable to tear himself away, as Morris pulled the trigger.

  A spray of blood and brain flew in the dark air, and then Stevenson was still. The change, which was less than half complete, reverted quickly, and within thirty seconds the Operator was lying motionless on the grass, the coarse black hair gone, his limbs straight and human again.

  *

  They dragged him under the shelter of a tangled bush, and left him. There was nothing else they could do for him; time was becoming short, and they needed to keep moving. After a few minutes, in which time Kate composed herself and McBride said a silent goodbye to his friend, they walked down the slope, towards the monastery.

  Chapter 44

  IN THE HOUSE OF GOD

  Jamie stepped into the monastery’s courtyard, and stopped dead, his breath caught in his throat. He didn’t believe in God, and therefore didn’t believe in Hell, but he doubted that even if it was real it could be any worse than what he was looking at now.

  The team had made their way across the plain and approached the monastery silently, spread in a line across the dark grass, crouching as they moved. They had stopped with their backs against the stone wall beside the tall arch that led into the building, three on either side, their weapons drawn. Screams of pain and high shrieks of pleasure floated on the night air, and thick smoke drifted across their nostrils, alive with the acrid scents of burning wood and meat. Morris motioned silently for McBride to lead them in, but Jamie shook his head vigorously. They were so nearly there; so nearly at the place where Alexandru was waiting for them, where his mother was being held, and he would not stand still while other men led the way. He crouched low, and swung around the edge of the stone arch, into the courtyard.

  The cobbled yard was small; it was walled on all sides, and an opening stood in the middle of each. The ones to the left and right led into low buildings that Jamie guessed had been stables, and the one at the rear, opposite the arch through which he had just entered, led into the monastery itself. But between it and him was a scene dragged bloodily from the very worst corners of his imagination.

  A large bonfire had been built in the middle of the courtyard. Jamie felt the heat of it on his face as soon he rounded the corner; a thick column of grey smoke climbed into the pale silver sky, and explosions of sparks burst into the air.

  The bodies of monks were strewn around the cobbled ground. Many were naked, others still wrapped in their brown robes. Appalling violence had been visited on them. Blood was everywhere; dripping into pools at the bases of the walls, splashed in crimson swirls on the pale stone, running freely between the cobbles beneath their feet.

  Kate began to weep, quietly. The rest of the team looked slowly around the courtyard, their faces grey, their eyes wide.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” said McBride.

  “Me neither,” said Morris, shaking his head.

  They walked slowly around the bonfire, their weapons at their shoulders, and faced the open doorway that would take them inside the monastery’s main building. The opening was dark, and uninviting.

  “Follow me,” said Jamie, softly, and stepped inside.

  In front of Jamie was a solid stone wall, on which a single word had been scrawled in thick streaks of red.

  WELCOME

  Corridors led away to his right and left, lit by oil lamps that hung in ornate metal holders at head height. The watery yellow lamps illuminated the passages, and Jamie saw dark shapes lying on the ground in both directions.

  Get a hold of yourself. It’s only going to get worse.

  “Which way?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Kate, her voice trembling. “The monastery is a square, with the chapel hall on the other side. We’ll end up in the same place either way.”

  “All right,” said Jamie. “Then we split up.”

  He looked at Morris and McBride, who were standing together, their black uniforms rendering them almost invisible in the darkness.

  “You two, take Kate and check the right corridor. Me and Larissa will take the left.”

  A look of panic rose in Kate’s face, but he ignored it.

  Nearly there. You’re nearly there.

  He was, and he knew it. Somewhere in this building, probably waiting for him to appear, was Alexandru. And if the old vampire was here, then so was his mother.

  He was sure of it.

  He grabbed Larissa’s hand, and pulled her along the corridor that led away to the left. She came without protest, curling her fingers around his, as the two Operators led Kate to the right. She cast a nervous look over her shoulder, but allowed herself to be led away.

  Jamie and Larissa stepped around the bodies of dead monks that littered the floor of the narrow passage. They stared blankly, their eyes wide and uncomprehending, blood pooled around them, their mouths twisted in pain. Jamie ignored them; there was nothing that could be done. They passed wooden door after wooden door. He pushed one open and looked in on a bedroom so austere it was closer to a prison cell. The stone walls and floor were unadorned; the only contents of the room were a wooden chair that stood in front of a small desk on which lay a large Bible, and a wooden bed that looked incredibly uncomfortable. He closed the door and they rounded a corner at the end of the corridor.

  Movement flashed in front of them, and Jamie held his T-Bone out in front of him. He pulled his torch from his belt as Larissa’s eyes reddened beside him, and shone it down the passage. Crawling up the wall ten feet in front of them, like an awful overgrown insect, was one of the monks. It turned its head towards them as the light from Jamie’s torch passed over it, and the look on its pale, narrow face was purgatory. Its eyes gleamed red, but the mouth was contorted into a wide silent howl, and tears spilled down its cheeks. It clawed at the pale stone of the wall, tearing its fingers to shreds, and then it slammed its forehead into the wall, splitting the skin on its forehead, sending blood pouring down its face. It did it again, and again, and again.

  “Stop that!” yelled Jamie, and the monk fell awkwardly off the wall, landing in a heap on the floor.

  It looked at them with an expression of pure agony, and Jamie thought he had never seem such misery in the face of a living creature. It crawled a few feet towards them, sobbing and weeping, and Jamie took a step backwards, levelling the T-Bone at the approaching figure. It shuffled on to its knees, and faced them.

  “Damned,” it said, in a choked voice that was almost a whisper. “Damned.”

  Larissa made a noise in her throat, and Jamie looked at her. She was staring at the vampire, and he realised with horror that she knew exactly what he was going through.

  “Tried not to do it,” the monk whispered. “Not strong enough. Damned. Damned, for all eternity.”

  Jamie shone the torch past the weeping figure, and the beam picked out the body of a second monk, lying slightly further down the corridor. His neck had been ripped out, but there was very little blood on the floor around him.

  The hunger was on him and he fed on one of his brothers. Oh God.

  He raised the T-Bone, and pointed it at the monk’s chest. The broken, anguished figure in th
e brown habit didn’t so much as flinch. It simply linked its hands in front of its stomach, and closed its eyes. Jamie took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

  The explosion of blood brought two more vampire monks shambling along the corridor. They swayed out of the darkness, their red eyes gleaming, but Jamie and Larissa were ready. He tossed her the stake he had reclaimed from Kate, and they strode forward to meet them. Larissa leapt into the air, her broken left arm hanging beneath her, taking the confused, newly turned vampires by surprise, and plunged the stake into the chest of the nearest monk. It grimaced briefly, then burst in a shower of blood. Jamie T-Boned the other, the projectile punching a neat round hole in his brown robe and the skin beneath. It exploded, soaking the pale walls a dark crimson. Larissa stepped forward, leant towards the dripping blood, then stopped, and turned to Jamie.

  “Look away,” she said.

  “Why?” he replied.

  “I don’t want you to see this. Please, Jamie.”

  He nodded, and turned his back on her. From behind him came a wet sound, then a stifled grunt of pleasure.

  “OK,” she said, after a long moment.

  He turned back, and looked at her. Her lips shone red, and her arm was no longer broken; she was rotating it in its socket, inspecting it, and looking at him with shame on her face.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s keep going.”

  He reached out a hand towards her, and she accepted it, gratitude on her beautiful, blood-streaked face.

  They were nearly at the end of the corridor when they heard a soft weeping from behind one of the wooden doors. Jamie pushed it carefully open.