Department 19, The Rising, and Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  “So she’s really going to be OK?” he asked. “That’s what Major Turner said?”

  “For the fifth time,” she said, smiling at her friend. “Paul said she’s going to be fine.”

  “That’s good,” said Matt. “That’s really great.”

  You’ve got it bad, my friend, she thought, happily. If only you knew what I know.

  They reached the infirmary and stepped through the double doors. The long white room was almost empty; only a single bed, halfway down the left-hand wall, was occupied. Natalia Lenski raised her pale, pretty face from her pillow and peered at them as they approached, a small smile of recognition appearing as she did so.

  “Matt,” she said. “Kate. It is very good to see you both.”

  Matt blushed ever so slightly as she said his name, a tiny bloom of pale pink. He pulled slightly ahead as they neared Natalia and arrived at her bedside first. Kate slowed her own pace fractionally, hanging back to give them the briefest of moments alone.

  “Are you all right?” asked Matt. “How do you feel?”

  Natalia Lenski was a mess. Her face was bruised black and yellow, and covered in small scratches and cuts. A thin rectangle of bandage covered a patch of skin just above her ear, and her left eye was swollen almost shut. But she smiled at his questions, her face lighting up beautifully as she did so.

  “I am not too bad,” she said. “I was lucky, I think. Very lucky.”

  “Hi, Natalia,” said Kate, stopping beside Matt. “Good to see you again.”

  Matt frowned. “Do you two know each other?” he asked.

  “Not really,” said Kate. “Right?”

  “That is right,” replied Natalia, and smiled again. The girl’s injuries made Kate’s heart hurt, but her smile was a lovely thing to see.

  “Do you remember what happened?” asked Matt. “The explosion?”

  “I remember a sound,” said Natalia, frowning. “A very big sound. Then nothing until I woke up here and the doctors told me the door had hit me. They said it kept the fire away.”

  “Wow,” said Matt, softly. “I can’t believe you survived a bomb blowing up right in front of you. You’re like a superhero.”

  Natalia smiled, and Matt blushed again, more obviously.

  I should go, thought Kate. I’m in the way here.

  “I have to get back to ISAT,” she said. “I just wanted to see if you were OK, Natalia, and I’m really glad you are. Matt, you can stay for about ten minutes before Security gets here. If you want to, that is?”

  “I’ll stay,” said Matt, then looked at Natalia. “I mean, if that’s OK with you?”

  “Stay,” said Natalia. “It will be nice.”

  “OK,” said Kate. “I’ll see you both later.” She turned to leave, but Matt said her name and she stopped.

  “I wanted to ask Natalia something,” he said. “It might be better if you’re here.”

  “OK,” she said. “What is it?”

  Matt turned his pale, earnest face towards the girl lying in the bed. “Why were you going into Kate’s room, Natalia? When the bomb went off. What was going on?”

  Natalia blushed deeply. “I cannot tell you that,” she replied. “It is private.”

  “Private?” asked Matt, glancing at Kate. “Between the two of you? How does that work?”

  “You heard her, Matt,” said Kate. “She said it’s private.”

  Matt frowned and looked about to protest, but saw the gentle warning in his friend’s gaze. He looked at her for a moment, then turned his attention back to Natalia.

  “I have to go,” continued Kate. “Lunch tomorrow. One thirty. No excuses.”

  Matt nodded. “OK,” he said, then began to tell Natalia about the developments at the Lazarus Project in the last thirty-six hours. Natalia’s smile slowly returned and Kate left her listening happily to Matt’s increasingly excitable narrative. She closed the infirmary door behind her, knowing full well that she would not see Matt in the dining room the following afternoon, and forgiving him in advance. She walked along the corridor, her mind full of hope at the fragile, bittersweet prospect of two people finding happiness amid the darkness that surrounded them all.

  Christ, I hope he works out what’s going on, she thought, pressing the button that summoned the lift. There’s no way she’s going to tell him and I promised her I wouldn’t. It’s so obvious, though, surely he’ll see it for himself? He is a genius after all.

  The lift arrived and she stepped inside, a big smile on her face.

  Although for a genius, she reminded herself, he sometimes isn’t very bright.

  As Kate Randall and Matt Browning were opening the door to the infirmary, Major Paul Turner was stepping out of the airlock at the end of the cellblock on Level G. His stomach was twisted into an unpickable knot, a hard ball of cold, raging fury.

  Stay calm, he told himself. For her sake, if not for your own. Stay calm.

  The guard post to his left was occupied by an Operator from the Security Division that Turner commanded. The protocol was for every visitor to the block to sign in and out, but the Security Officer didn’t so much as glance in the man’s direction as he strode down the corridor, even when the Operator plaintively called his name. He kept walking, forcing himself not to run, his boots clicking loudly on the floor of the corridor.

  Stay calm. Stay calm.

  He had told Kate Randall he wasn’t angry with her, wasn’t disappointed in her, and he had been telling the truth.

  He wasn’t angry with her.

  Turner reached Valentin Rusmanov’s cell, took a deep breath, and stepped out in front of the ultraviolet wall that was supposed to keep the ancient vampire contained.

  The cell was empty.

  Turner stared for a long moment, and was about to reach for the radio on his belt when a blur descended from the ceiling. An arm shot out, inhumanly fast, hauled him through the purple barrier and slammed him against the flat concrete wall. He gasped as the blur solidified into the familiar shape of Valentin Rusmanov, his fangs gleaming, his eyes blazing red.

  “If you’re planning to kill me, Major Turner,” said the vampire, “I suggest you learn to be a little lighter on your feet.”

  “I didn’t come here… to fight,” croaked Turner. “If I had, I wouldn’t… have come… alone.”

  “Fair enough,” said Valentin, and released his grip. Turner fell to the floor, clutching at his neck. “In which case, what can I do for you, Major Turner? Given that we had the pleasure of each other’s company barely an hour ago?”

  The Security Officer forced himself to his feet.

  “I want to know why you did it,” he said. His voice was low; it was taking every ounce of his strength to keep his temper, to not let the humiliation Valentin had just dealt him mix fatally with the fury that was already roaring inside him. “I want to know why you did that to Kate.”

  “What did I do to her?” asked Valentin, floating effortlessly backwards through the air and coming to rest in one of his two chairs.

  “You know exactly what you did,” said Turner. He picked up the other chair, set it opposite the vampire’s, and flopped into it. “She’s nothing to you. She didn’t even know you existed until three months ago. Why torment her?”

  “Major Turner,” said Valentin, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “Do you truly understand the prospect we are facing here? What will happen if my former master is allowed to rise?”

  “I do,” said Turner.

  “If you truly did, then you wouldn’t be here asking me that question.”

  “Listen to—”

  “No, you listen to me,” interrupted Valentin, his eyes flaring a terrible, oily red. “If Dracula rises, then everything that this Department has ever faced is going to seem like a happy memory. And these children, in whom you and Holmwood have placed so much of your faith? They aren’t ready for what is coming, not ready in the slightest. You treat Jamie as though he is the reincarnation of Quincey Harker, Kate like a f
avourite daughter, and young Matt as though he is the magical key to a cure that you and I both know will probably never exist. I know you think you’re helping them. But you aren’t. You are failing them, Major Turner. This whole Department is failing them, and before long it will be too late.”

  Turner felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. He tried to tell himself that what Valentin was saying was wrong, but couldn’t make it sound convincing; the vampire’s words had the terrible ring of truth.

  “So what are you saying?” he asked, slowly. “What are—”

  “I told you all when I arrived here that I did not want to see Dracula rise,” said Valentin. “That was, and continues to be, the truth. I am on your side, Major Turner, whether you believe that or not. But if our side consists of young men and women who fall to pieces when someone tells them something they don’t want to hear, who are so very easily unsettled by their little secrets and petty jealousies, then what chance are we likely to have?”

  Turner was silent for a long moment. “You did it to help her?” he asked, slowly. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Valentin smiled. “Of course not,” he replied. “I’m a monster, remember?”

  42

  FATHERS4TRUTH

  From: kevinjmckenna@googlemail.co.uk

  To: north3571@hotmail.co.uk; 6589south@gmail.com

  Sent: 21:06:54

  Subject: Your comments on my blog post

  Hello,

  Thank you both very much for your comments on my recent blog post. I’m extremely grateful to you for sharing your stories, and I’m deeply sorry for the losses you have suffered.

  I am writing to you to ask for your permission to use your accounts in the story I’m currently working on, one that I’m sure will be very close to both of your hearts. You will be credited as anonymous sources, and your email addresses will be kept completely secret.

  Please let me know whether this is OK with you, and whether you are happy for me to proceed.

  Best wishes,

  Kevin

  From: north3571@hotmail.co.uk

  To: kevinjmckenna@googlemail.co.uk

  Cc: 6589south@gmail.com

  Sent: 21:23:07

  Subject: Re: Your comments on my blog post

  Dear Kevin,

  Thank you for your email – I’m very happy for you to use what I wrote in your story, as long as my anonymity is guaranteed.

  Please do keep me up to date on the story as it develops – I suspect that you’re right, and I will be very interested in reading it when it’s done.

  Cheers,

  north3571

  From: 6589south@gmail.com

  To: kevinjmckenna@googlemail.co.uk

  Cc: north3571@hotmail.co.uk

  Sent: 21:29:41

  Subject: Re: Your comments on my blog post

  Dear Kevin,

  I too am very happy, excited even, for you to use what happened to my family in your story. It will be nice for me to think that I’ve helped, even in some small way, to prevent what happened to north3571 and me from happening to anyone else.

  Best wishes,

  6589south

  “What did I tell you?” said Albert Harker, a smile rising on his pale face. “Easy.”

  “OK,” said McKenna. “So they agreed to let me use what they wrote. I still don’t get why you’re so excited.”

  “It’s simple, my friend,” said Harker. “This is the beginning of a crusade, a movement, and it’s possible that you, or I, or both of us, will not be around to see its conclusion. If we succeed, if we alert the public to the monsters in their midst, do you really think that will be the end of it? Blacklight is violent, and vengeful, and has a long memory; I am living proof of that. As things stand now, if we were to be found and killed, that would be it. The story would die with us. We are going to need help and I think these two men would be happy to fill that role.”

  “All right,” said McKenna. “But why these two? We’ve had more than thirty comments on the blog now. What makes them so special?”

  “They were the first,” said Harker, looking down at the laptop’s screen. “Look how quickly they posted. They’ve been waiting for something like this, I guarantee it. Look how detailed their stories are, how full of rage. They want to do something about this; they’ve just been waiting for someone to tell them what. They just need the right push.”

  “Push?” said McKenna.

  “Email them back,” said McKenna. “Tell them we want their help. I’ll bet you any amount they come.”

  “And then what?”

  “We put them to work,” said Harker, smiling. “If your editor turns the story down, which I think we both suspect he might, then we’re going to need to take a more direct course of action. If it comes to that, four of us will be better than two.”

  A more direct course of action? thought McKenna. What the hell does that mean?

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll email them. But don’t be surprised if they think it’s some kind of trap. I would.”

  Harker uncorked a bottle of red wine and poured himself a glass. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They’ll come. How’s the story coming?”

  McKenna opened a window on his laptop. “It’s done,” he said.

  “Let me see.”

  He gestured towards the screen. Harker walked back to the desk and McKenna rolled his chair out of the way, giving the vampire space. He opened another can of lager as Harker began to read, and lit a cigarette.

  The story was crazy; there was simply no doubt about it. But it was big, it contained some of the best writing he had done in years, and he was surprised to realise how much he wanted Albert Harker to like it.

  The vampire scared him; there was no sense in pretending otherwise. But his arrival, and the mad, furious cause that he had brought with him, had lit a fire underneath McKenna, something he hadn’t known since the old days. It was little more than a faint flickering, but it was there; he could feel it. And he liked it. He was beginning to allow himself to believe that he might, just might, be able to say goodbye to the mindless, soul-destroying work that filled his days and once again be someone who mattered, who could look himself in the mirror. He didn’t know how all this was going to end, but until it did, he was going to play his part to the best of his abilities.

  Harker’s cause would not fail because of him.

  There was one thing he did know, however. The quality of the prose wasn’t going to matter to Colin Burton; it would be a miracle if his editor read more than an inch or two beyond the headline. If he was lucky, Burton would think it was some kind of elaborate practical joke; if he wasn’t, the reply was likely to come complete with an invitation for him to find a new job.

  “It’s good,” said Harker, turning his head and smiling warmly. “It’s very, very good. It’s exactly what we need.”

  “I’m glad,” he replied. “They’re not going to run it, though, Albert. You know that, right?”

  “Maybe,” said Harker. “Maybe not. Let’s send it and find out.”

  McKenna rolled back to the desk and brought up his email client. He opened a new message, attached the file, and wrote a short paragraph to his editor. He hit SEND and sat back in his chair, blood thumping in his veins. He wondered how slight the chances were that Colin would see his story for what it was and print it. Then an unexpected word appeared in his mind, unbidden.

  Salvation, he thought to himself. This could be my salvation.

  “Well done,” said Harker, squeezing McKenna’s shoulder. “Let’s hope that he has more sense than you give him credit for. And if he doesn’t, well, as least we’re prepared. Email our two new recruits, then try to sleep. I have a feeling it’s about to get very busy.”

  The vampire withdrew his hand and headed back to the sofa. McKenna sat for a long moment, his mind racing with prospects he had not considered in years.

  Respect. Acclaim. Credit. Fame.

  From his desk at The Globe, cove
red in photos of celebrities in bikinis and footballers snorting drugs in nightclub bathrooms, such concepts had seemed as distant and unattainable as the moon. But now, with this story in front of him, a story so explosive that it might genuinely change the world, his mind was tormenting him with what it could mean for his career.

  For his life.

  McKenna drained his beer, stubbed out his cigarette, and started to write the second email that Harker had asked for.

  From: kevinjmckenna@googlemail.co.uk

  To: north3571@hotmail.co.uk; 6589south@gmail.com

  Sent: 23:19:02

  Subject: Re: Re: Your comments on my blog post

  Hello,

  Great news – I’m honoured that you would let me use your words to help tell my story (I know it’s all of our story really, that’s just the journalist in me coming out…) and trust me to treat them with the dignity and respect they deserve.

  As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking about something a bit radical since I received your replies. As before, please do not even hesitate to say no if it isn’t something you’re interested in. But here it is.

  I want you to consider coming down to London to help me open this huge can of worms. The time may come soon when a few brave souls are required to stand up and be counted. Let me know if I’m talking to the wrong people.

  Best wishes,

  Kevin

  From: 6589south@gmail.com

  To: kevinjmckenna@googlemail.co.uk

  Cc: north3571@hotmail.co.uk

  Sent: 23:52:33

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Your comments on my blog post

  Dear Kevin,

  We have discussed your proposition and we accept.

  We will be travelling to London tomorrow – no further details at this stage, I hope you understand.

  Please let me know where we should meet.

  Best wishes,

  6589south

  Kevin McKenna turned his laptop and showed the message to Albert Harker. The vampire smiled, red light flickering in the corners of his eyes.

  “It’s all falling into place,” he said. “Just as I told you it would. Well done, my friend. Well done.”