by Will Hill
They emerged into a large industrial kitchen. The floor was coated with a sheen of grease, as were most of the work surfaces. Two gas rings were still lit on one of the stoves, beneath a large metal pot. Jamie crossed the room, twisted off the gas, then peered into the cauldron. A thick brown stew, its ingredients unrecognisable, had boiled itself almost dry, burnt to the sides of the pan in thick, crusty brown ridges, like the rows of a ploughed field. The smell, of cheap meat and old vegetables, hit the back of Jamie’s throat, and he stepped back.
“Clear,” said Kate.
Jamie looked around. She was standing with Larissa by the double doors at the end of the kitchen, waiting for him; the angle of her head and the set of her hips suggested she was not feeling particularly patient.
“Clear,” he confirmed, and went to join them.
They quickly checked the rooms on the ground floor, and found them empty. The whole floor was offices and supply cupboards; nothing moved in any of the rooms, or in the long corridors that connected them. The Operators’ boots thudded across the linoleum floor, and the doors creaked and groaned as they were opened and closed; apart from that, the building was silent.
Jamie led the squad up the staircase, which switched back on itself after a small landing halfway up. On the wall of the landing, in green letters a metre high, two familiar words had been spray-painted.
HE RISES
Jamie squared up to the wall, and clicked the button on his belt that operated his helmet’s camera.
“I’ve logged it,” he said, and started up the stairs again. “We’re not here for graffiti. Let’s get on with it.”
After a second or two, Kate and Larissa followed him. As they pushed through the doors that led to the first residential floor, a low snarl emerged from Larissa’s throat.
Jamie stopped instantly. “What is it?” he asked.
“Blood,” she replied, her voice thick with hunger. “A lot of blood.”
“Ready One,” said Jamie, and the three Operators drew their T-Bones from their belts. “Contain where possible, as per the SOP. Destroy only if necessary.”
“Understood,” said Kate.
“Understood,” echoed Larissa. The anger and petty mischief were gone from both their voices; they were ready to do their jobs.
Jamie led them through the door. A long central corridor extended away to their left and right, with doors set into it on both sides. In front of them was a wide reception desk and nurses’ station, and behind the desk was a dead woman.
She wore a look of terror on her frozen features, and her white tunic was soaked red with the blood that had poured from the hole in her neck. She was slumped in a plastic chair, her limbs at unnatural angles, dumped there once her killer was finished with her.
Kate unclipped the ultraviolet beam gun from her belt, flicked it on and ran the purple light across the woman’s face.
Nothing happened.
“She’s dead,” Kate said, quietly.
“Confirmed,” replied Jamie. “Let’s keep moving.”
The squad made its way down the right-hand corridor, checking every door. The rooms that lay behind them were little more than prison cells, wire-framed beds topped with thin, heavily stained mattresses, uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs and tables, a metal sink and a metal toilet, hidden behind a ragged curtain that was evidently supposed to provide privacy. The windows were high up on the whitewashed walls, near the ceilings, and were barred from the outside. On the tables of some of the rooms stood birthday cards, and crayon drawings, and letters from relatives and friends.
“I would not want my grandma to end up here,” said Kate, as they examined the last room of the corridor. “What kind of place is this to put people? It’s awful.”
“I don’t know,” said Jamie, in a low voice. “Maybe if you can’t afford somewhere better, this is where they send you. When you can’t look after yourself any more.”
“Nonsense,” whispered Larissa, fiercely. “This is where you put people to forget about them. No one would ever choose to be here. Their families put them here when they became a burden.”
“Christ,” whispered Kate. “How could you do that to someone you loved?”
Her question went unanswered.
The final room contained more of the same green graffiti, written large on one of the bare walls, and a wide arc of crimson blood, sprayed at high velocity across the narrow bed and worn pillow. The occupant of the room was nowhere to be seen.
“Double back,” said Jamie, leading them out into the corridor and back to the nurses’ station. “Same again.”
Down the second corridor they found more bodies.
They were sprawled on uncomfortable-looking beds, slumped on the cold concrete floor, hurled unceremoniously on to the chairs and desks. They were all elderly; the youngest maybe seventy, the oldest a tiny wizened man with bright, fierce eyes, who could have been anything from eighty to a hundred and fifty. They wore the same thin nightdresses and pyjamas; some had reading glasses around their necks; some had small portable radios beside their beds that were still quietly broadcasting Radio 4.
Terrible violence had been done to them all; blood coated the barren rooms, ghoulishly bright under unforgiving fluorescent lights that cast harsh illumination on broken bones and severed limbs, rent flesh and spilled innards. A single mercy had been visited upon the residents of the Twilight Care Home, on these men and women who were parents and grandparents, who had been so obviously taken by surprise by the carnage that had engulfed them, and could not have hoped to understand the evil that had descended upon them.
One tiny mercy.
“They’re all dead,” said Kate, finishing her sweep with the beam gun. “None of them have been turned.”
Her voice was low, and thick with emotion. There was a level of desensitisation that came with being a Blacklight Operator, where horror and bloodshed were daily occurrences. But it was impossible to completely cut yourself off from the reality of things, from the human tragedies you witnessed.
“There’s nothing we can do for them then,” said Larissa.
“Agreed,” said Jamie. “Let’s continue our sweep.”
The squad moved back to the staircase, and climbed higher into the building. On the second floor they found more of the same; bodies in their rooms, drained of blood and life, nurses and orderlies strewn on the floor of the corridors, left where they had fallen as they tried to run.
“Six or seven vamps,” said Jamie, as they climbed the stairs again, passing more green graffiti, the same two words over and over, seeming to mock them. “It would have taken at least that many to do this.”
“First Wallsend, now this,” said Larissa. “It’s not good.”
“No kidding,” said Kate. “Nothing about this is good.”
But as the three Operators climbed the stairs to the top floor of the Twilight Care Home, they had no idea just how right she was.
Beyond the double doors, the nurses’ station stood empty. Blood was pooled on the desk, and dripped steadily to the floor. Where it had come from was not immediately apparent; there was no body in sight.
The layout of the third floor was different to the two below; one wing contained the same corridor of bedrooms, but the other wing was a single large room, where the residents socialised and ate their meals. The squad turned away from the double doors that led that way, and moved down the corridor, checking the bedrooms one by one.
The first two rooms were empty.
The third was not.
Unseen by her squad mates, Larissa’s eyes flooded red before the door was even fully open; her fangs burst into place as a low growl rose from her throat. Then she was moving, shoving the door out of Jamie’s hands and disappearing into the room. There was a second snarl, then a crash as something in the room was sent flying. By the time Jamie and Kate followed her, less than half a second later, she was holding an elderly vampire up against the wall, her fingernails digging into his throat.
“Help me!” he pleaded. “Please help me!”
“Larissa!” shouted Jamie. “Put him down!”
Larissa reached up with her free hand and pushed the purple visor away from her face. Jamie recoiled; her eyes were blazing red, her mouth twisted into a grimace of fury. She stared at him for a long moment, then threw the old vampire on to his narrow bed, where he curled into a ball and began to whisper to himself.
Jamie strode forward, anger clouding his judgement, and grabbed Larissa’s hands.
“Contain!” he yelled. “Not destroy! You told me you understood that!”
Larissa jerked her hands from his grip, with such force that he stumbled backwards. Kate caught him before he fell; he felt himself redden with embarrassment and was thankful, not for the first time, for the visor that hid his face.
“What does it matter?” Larissa growled. “It’s a vampire. We destroy vampires. That’s what we do, right? They’re all the same, they’re all monsters, so that’s what we do.”
She whirled away and smashed her fist into the wall, which exploded in a cloud of dust and powdered plaster. She rounded on Jamie, her chest heaving as she fought to control the anger that had risen through her without warning.
The sight of the old man, forgotten and left to rot in this horrible place, had broken something loose inside her, something she usually managed to keep buried; the awful prospect that even if she and Jamie and Kate kept getting lucky, kept surviving, then the end result was that she would have to watch them get old and die, leaving her alone. She felt the weight of the curse that had been inflicted on her by Grey, the casual way he had torn the chance of a normal life away from her, and she was suddenly furious, more furious than she could ever remember being.
“Aren’t we?” she screamed at Jamie. “We’re all monsters! We all deserve to be destroyed! That’s what your mother thinks, and I know that’s what you think, so why won’t you admit it, you coward!”
Very slowly, Jamie reached up and removed his helmet. His face was pale, his eyes wide. He dropped the helmet to the floor, and stepped towards her. She backed away, hissing loudly, but he kept moving, until her back was against the wall, and she had nowhere to go. He reached out and took her hands again, and this time she let him, the red fire in her eyes blazing uncontrollably.
Then he wrapped his arms round her and, after a moment’s resistance, she let herself be drawn against him.
Kate stood by the doorway, and watched them. She wanted to be angry, to be jealous, but she wasn’t. She watched them with envy, wishing Shaun was there, so she too had someone who could make the darkness recede, if only for a moment. And she realised in that moment how thoughtlessly the three of them had treated each other, and resolved that it would not continue.
The vampire on the bed was watching too, a look of fear on his elderly face. Kate crossed the room, and knelt beside him.
“What’s your name?” she asked, pushing back her visor.
“Ted,” he whispered. “Ted Ellison.”
“What happened to you, Ted?”
“I… I don’t know. I was asleep, and then there were screams, and shouting, and then someone came in here, and then… I don’t know, I’m sorry, I don’t know.”
He began to cry again, and she shushed him, gently. Jamie and Larissa joined her beside the bed, and she quietly asked Jamie for a restraining belt. He unclipped it and handed it down to her.
“Ted,” she said, softly. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re going to get you out of here, and we’re going to take you somewhere safe. But I need you to put this on for me, OK?”
Ted looked at the belt in her hand; a flicker of fear crossed his face, but he slowly sat up nonetheless. She helped him lift his arms and slide the harness over his shoulders, then clipped it in place over his heart. She pulled a cylindrical detonator from her belt and twisted it a single click to the right. Red lights appeared on the two devices, then she replaced the detonator in its loop.
“I need you to stay here, Ted,” she said. “We’ll be back for you as soon as we check whether everyone else is OK. We’re not going to leave you here. I promise.”
Ted nodded his head, and then smiled, a crooked grin that lit up his aged features.
“What is it?” Kate asked, smiling back.
“You remind me of my granddaughter,” said Ted. “She’s always telling me what to do as well.”
“You just wait here for us to come back, and hopefully you’ll get to see her again soon. All right?”
Ted nodded again, and Kate stood up.
Squad G-17 looked at each other; there were things to be said, but all three knew it was not the time to say them. Instead, Jamie lowered his visor into place, and the two girls did likewise.
“Let’s see who else is still here,” he said.
Squad G-17 moved quickly along the remainder of the corridor, checking the rooms on both sides.
They found evidence of struggle, they found spilled blood, and in one room they found the tattered remains of an elderly man who had been literally pulled apart. Kate gagged at the sight, at the thick smell of blood in the small room, and Jamie pulled her quickly back into the corridor and closed the door. He held her shoulder for a long moment, then told her there was nothing she could do. After a second, she nodded, and they moved on, until the three Operators were standing outside the last room at the end of the corridor.
Jamie eased the door open, and heard a series of gasps from the darkness. He felt for the light switch, found it, flicked it on and stepped into the room, with Larissa and Kate behind him. The bed had been turned on its side and set on the floor at an angle to the walls, creating a triangular space behind it, which had been covered by the stripped mattress. It looked like the kind of fort children would make when playing, the kind you could pretend was a Rebel Alliance base or the secret lair of a Bond villain. They stepped forward, and Larissa pulled the mattress aside.
Beneath it, piled together in a cowering mass of pale skin and nightclothes, were twelve of the residents of the Twilight Care Home. Twelve pairs of eyes stared up at the three black-clad figures, wide with fright and damp with tears. For a long moment, no one moved, or said a word. Then Jamie gripped the bed, and pulled it aside.
An old woman, her body pressed tightly against a man who Jamie guessed was her husband, cried out, and grabbed pitifully for the bed frame, as if the flimsy grid of metal and springs was all that was protecting them from the fate that had befallen so many of their fellow residents. Her husband shushed her, stroking her hair with a gnarled, arthritic hand, staring defiantly at the blank purple visage of the figure that had crouched down in front of them.
“Get it over with,” he spat.
Jamie recoiled, then suddenly realised how frightening his appearance must be to these terrified survivors. He quickly pushed the visor away from his face, and looked down at the huddled men and women.
“Thank God,” whispered an elderly lady, gripping a silver cross tightly in her hand. “Oh, thank God.”
“You’re safe,” said Jamie, in as comforting a voice as he could manage. His throat was tight at the thought of the ordeal these men and women had been through. “They’re gone, you’re safe. I promise.”
Several of the survivors began to cry, and he heard a gasp of sorrow through the earpiece in his helmet. He glanced round, saw that Larissa and Kate had also lifted their visors, and that Kate was holding a hand over her mouth.
“Is anyone hurt?” he asked, returning his attention to the cowering men and women. “Does anyone need a doctor?”
The survivors looked at each other, and shook their heads, one by one.
“Good,” said Jamie. “That�
�s good. Can you all walk?”
“We can walk,” said the man who had spoken. “We can all walk fine.”
“OK,” said Jamie. “I need you to walk down to the ground floor, and out of the building through the main door. There are police outside, who’ll take care of you. But I need you to go now. All right?”
The men and women murmured their agreement. Jamie took one woman’s hand, and gently lifted her to her feet. She stared at him, her face a mixture of confusion and naked relief. Larissa and Kate leant forward and began to do the same, and quickly the room was full as the survivors were helped to their feet.
Jamie took hold of the shoulder of the man who had spoken.
“I need you to lead them out,” he said. “Can you do that? I need you to be honest with me.”
“I can do that,” he replied, staring into Jamie’s eyes.
“Good. Do it now, please.”
The man held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded sharply, and walked steadily towards the door. The rest of the survivors followed him; a moment later, they were gone.
Squad G-17 stared at each other. Jamie gave both girls a fierce smile of pride, and led them out of the room, towards the communal hall at the other end of the corridor, steeling himself as he did so for what they might find behind its large double doors.
The huge room was empty.
Jamie pushed the doors open with the barrel of his T-Bone, and the squad slipped into the hall with their weapons at their shoulders, ready for the worst their imaginations could conjure.
But it was empty.
Small circles of plastic chairs were still gathered round metal tables, on which chess sets and draughts boards still stood, and tea sets and piles of small plates remained unbroken. The long table to their right, where meals were served to the residents, was upright. A small television sat in the corner of the room in front of a semi-circle of moth-eaten sofas, playing BBC News 24 at a volume that was barely audible. Punishing fluorescent lights still blazed overhead, giving the room the sickly feeling of a vast operating theatre.
