Department 19, The Rising, and Battle Lines

by Will Hill

  Something moved, in the darkness near the roof.

  Matt froze.

  “What is it?” asked Kate.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I thought I saw something. Up there.”

  They waited, absolutely still, their T-Bones raised. Matt’s heart thumped in his chest, as he stared up at the distant ceiling.

  “OK,” said Kate, eventually. “Let’s keep moving.”

  They made their way slowly between the machines. Above their heads, a conveyor belt curved down and ran round a corner to their left. They followed it in single file, their weapons raised, and saw the huge room open up before them. The three Operators stopped, their uniforms disappearing into the shadows, and surveyed the scene.

  Newspapers rolled endlessly down the conveyor belt, as men in blue overalls scurried to and fro, packing and bundling and loading them on to pallets. At the rear of the wide space, a row of rolling metal doors punctuated the wall; standing in front of one of them were two men in normal clothes. Their heads were inclined towards each other, as though they were deep in some vital conversation. Then one of the men looked up, and Matt heard Kate gasp.

  “My God,” she said. “I didn’t really believe it.”

  Pete Randall frowned, as though he had heard something, and whispered to the other man, who stood up straight. Matt felt the breath catch in his chest and stop.

  His father was standing less than ten metres away.

  Greg Browning looked as though he had aged ten years since Matt had seen him last; his hair was streaked with grey, his face lined more deeply than ever, and his eyes had a sunken, haunted look to them.

  Scared, thought Matt. He looks really scared. They both do.

  He was suddenly overcome with the desire to rush across the open space and hug his father; it was something he would never have done when they lived in the same house, when the world had still been small and unkind, but the urge was almost uncontrollable.

  “Oh Jesus,” he said. “What are they doing here, Kate?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. It sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “They’re both OK, though. That’s the main thing.”

  “Agreed,” said Frankenstein. “But where’s Albert Harker?”

  There was a fluttering noise, like the sound of a large bird beating its wings, and then a dark blur dropped from the ceiling above them. Something flashed out, impossibly fast, and caught Matt on the side of the helmet; the impact was unbelievable, like being hit with a sledgehammer, and he staggered backwards before stumbling to one knee. His head swam, and he watched with greying vision as the dark shape slammed Kate into the machine they were taking cover against. She folded to the ground, her finger tightening spasmodically on the trigger of her T-Bone. The stake exploded out of its barrel and whistled away towards the ceiling.

  Frankenstein, whose instincts and reactions were honed by decades of experience, ducked the punch that was thrown his way and fired his shotgun. The report was deafening as fire licked from the gaping barrel. The dark shape leapt back into the air and vanished.

  The monster reached down and hauled Kate to her feet.

  “I’m OK,” she gasped. “Matt?”

  He struggled to his feet, his head still ringing from the force of the vampire’s blow. “I’m all right,” he said.

  The men in the blue overalls had stopped working and were watching the violence playing out before them with wide eyes. Matt and Kate’s fathers were staring directly at them, their mouths hanging open.

  “Follow me,” said Frankenstein.

  The monster ran across the open space of the loading bay. The workers backed away, their faces blank. Pete Randall and Greg Browning simply stood and watched, resignation on their faces, as the three dark figures arrived beside them, setting their backs against the rolling door.

  “I want to keep him in front of us,” said Frankenstein. “He’s much faster than he should be, but I’ve seen faster, believe me. Stay calm.”

  Matt adjusted his grip on his T-Bone and fought the urge to stare at his father; Greg Browning was standing less than five metres to his right, staring at him and his squad mates with an expression of pure terror on his face.

  I bet this is bringing back some bad memories, thought Matt, unaware of just how right he was.

  Greg Browning tried to drag his gaze away from the men in black, but found that he couldn’t; he was transfixed by fear.

  They were the bogeymen, the stuff of his nightmares, the dark agents of the government who had taken his son away from him. They had forced their way into his home, their faces hidden, and pointed their guns at his family. They were the very thing he and Pete had come south to try and expose, and now they were here, so close he could almost have reached out and touched their hateful black uniforms. Albert Harker had scattered them with his initial attack, but they had regrouped instantly; they appeared to be communicating with each other, even though none of them had said a word; their silence only served to make them more unsettling.

  He looked over at Pete, who was also staring wide-eyed at the men in black; he wanted to shout that this was their chance, that they should at least try to get the workers out, but he couldn’t make his throat work. Part of him was back in his garden, watching his son bleeding on the lawn, feeling again the terrible impotence that had been the very worst aspect of that awful day: the feeling of helplessness, of being small and scared and weak. So he watched, too scared to move, as the three men in black waited for Albert Harker’s next move.

  *

  “The helmet and the uniform are all well and good,” shouted a voice from somewhere above them. “And I must confess, I had come to believe my brother was lying when he told me you were real. But I know the shape of a legend when I see it. How are you, Mr Frankenstein?”

  The monster twisted the dial on his belt that controlled his helmet’s microphone. “I’m very well, Albert,” he said, his deep voice booming out through the cavernous space. “I assume it would be pointless to ask you to stop this madness?”

  Harker laughed, a high-pitched noise that was close to a scream. “You assume correctly,” he said. “Although I must say, I am deeply flattered that Blacklight sent you to try and stop me. That is a far greater compliment than my family ever paid me.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy,” said Frankenstein. “Why don’t you come down here so I can show you just how glad I am?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” replied Harker. “I’m rather enjoying the view from up here. I see you so clearly and you see nothing. It suits my purposes rather well.”

  “Which are?” asked Frankenstein.

  “Deciding how to kill the three of you,” said Harker. “I would ideally like to let you experience a little of what your beloved Department did to me, but I’m afraid we simply do not have the time. Agonising pain will have to do.”

  Matt twisted the dial on his belt to thermographic and scanned the darkness above the machines, looking for movement, for the telltale points of glowing red, but could see nothing. His heart pounded in his chest and his legs felt like jelly.

  “Where is he?” he asked. “I can’t see him.”

  “I don’t know,” replied Kate. “He’s going to have to show himself at some point. Keep your eyes peeled.”

  “I’m ready when you are, Albert,” said Frankenstein. “In the meantime, I’m starting to find these machines annoying. I’m sure you understand.”

  The monster strode forward, raising his shotgun as he did so. He jammed its barrel into a vent on the side of the machine at the end of the press and pulled the trigger three times. The machine exploded, its panels buckling, its insides crunching as it ground to a halt. Copies of The Globe quickly piled up inside it, fouling the line and blocking the conveyor belt. All the way along the press, alarms began to wail as the machines shut down one after the other.

  A scream of fury echoed from the darkness overhead.

  Matt braced himself.

  Here he
comes.

  But nothing happened. The scream died away, and from somewhere in the distance there came the tinkling of breaking glass.

  “That really pissed him off,” said Kate. “Was that a good idea?”

  Frankenstein grunted. “Can’t hurt,” he said. “Angry people tend to make mistakes. And we can hear better without those damn machines running.”

  Matt opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t get the chance.

  With a huge screech of rending metal, the rolling door that the five of them were leaning against exploded inwards, sending them sprawling across the floor of the loading bay. The metal frame slammed into Matt’s lower back, sending a bolt of agony shooting through him; he hit the ground and dragged himself forward, his teeth gritted, the blood pounding in his head. Around him, heavy thuds and cries of shock and pain rang out across the loading area.

  Matt turned his head and saw his father roll across the floor, blood pumping from a gash across his forehead. Kate’s dad was on his back, the buckled frame of the door pinning his legs. Matt used all his strength and flipped himself over on to his back; the metal sheet was lying across his thighs, but he could still move. He pushed himself backwards as Kate yelled in pain; he risked a glance in her direction and saw the door pressing down on her stomach. Frankenstein couldn’t be seen at all; there was simply a large bulge in the metal at the edge of the fallen door, where he was presumably lying.

  A dark rectangle stood open to the night sky where the door had been. For a second, there was silence, then Albert Harker dropped casually into it, his eyes blazing, a vicious grin twisting his face, and strolled into the loading area.

  “All your training,” said Harker, his tone warm and friendly. “All your weapons and your tactics and your experience, and you fail to be aware of your surroundings.”

  Matt pushed against the floor with all his might. The twisted metal of the door scraped down his shins, causing him to cry out with pain. His feet reached the edge of the frame and, for an awful moment, he was stuck; he bore down, ignoring the agony radiating from his ankles, and they slid out from beneath the door. He scrambled to his feet, pain stabbing at him from a dozen places, and backed away, his eyes fixed on the approaching vampire.

  “Matt,” screamed Kate, her voice loud in his ear. “Be careful, Matt.”

  “You have spirit,” continued Harker, smiling broadly at him. “What a brave little stormtrooper you are. I bet Blacklight are terribly proud of you, aren’t they? Not like me. I should have been like you, but I never got the chance.”

  The vampire walked across the fallen door, the metal creaking and bending under his weight. He reached the edge and floated down on to the concrete floor. Kate was still squirming, trying to lift the heavy frame. Harker looked down for a moment, then swung his foot against the side of her helmet. There was a sound like breaking pottery and she lay still. The vampire raised his head and resumed his course towards Matt.

  “My own father didn’t want me to join his precious Department,” said Harker. “Did you know that? I bet you did. I’m sure you and your colleagues still laugh about what he did to me. After all, I deserved it, didn’t I? I might have embarrassed him and my brother, and that could never have been allowed.”

  Matt raised his T-Bone with shaking hands. He had managed to hold on to it when the edge of the door had thrown him forward, but he had no idea whether it had been damaged as he fell. He kept backing away as the vampire came forward, his eyes burning red.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” said Harker, smiling at him. “Not immediately, anyway. I’m going to break your spine and let you watch while I kill your friends. That seems only fair.”

  The conveyor belt, full of copies of The Globe, thudded against Matt’s lower back, leaving him nowhere to go.

  Oh God. Do something, before it’s too late. Oh God. Oh God.

  He set the T-Bone against his shoulder, sighted down the barrel, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger; the metal stake burst from the barrel with a loud bang of exploding gas. Harker’s smile widened as he slid to his left, inhumanly fast. The stake rocketed past him and clattered uselessly against the wall.

  Matt let the weapon fall to the floor and pulled the MP5 from its loop on his belt as panic barrelled through his system, gripping at his heart and threatening to reduce him to tears of abject misery. He raised it in hands that felt as weak as a newborn’s, and was about to pull the trigger when a dark shape rose up behind Albert Harker, taller and wider than the vampire by far.

  There was a blur of movement and a fist the size of a basketball crashed into the side of Harker’s head, sending him flying across the loading bay. The vampire smashed into one of the machines with a deafening crash, then slid to the floor. Matt was still holding the MP5 in his hands and staring wide-eyed at the place where the vampire had been; it was now occupied by the giant figure of Frankenstein, his helmet gone, his grey-green face twisted with fury.

  “Are you hurt?” he growled.

  Matt shook his head, his eyes wide, his chest heaving up and down.

  Frankenstein nodded, then strode across the floor and lifted Albert Harker into the air. The vampire’s face came up and Matt gasped. His nose was squashed flat, his front teeth were shattered, and blood was spraying out of a gash that ran the width of his forehead. But what was worse was the noise emanating from Harker’s mouth: a high-pitched, shrieking sound that Matt realised, a millisecond too late to warn Frankenstein, was laughter.

  The vampire’s fist thundered into the monster’s stomach, driving the air out of him. His grip sprang open and Harker floated gently to the ground as Frankenstein staggered backwards.

  “Nice punch,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Would you care to bet that you don’t land another?”

  Frankenstein dragged in a deep breath, stood up straight, and looked at the vampire. “I don’t gamble,” he said. “I don’t believe in chance.”

  “How interesting,” said Harker. A smile spread across his broken face; in the same instant, he launched himself forward, his hands outstretched and grasping.

  Frankenstein saw him coming; he twisted his body, impossibly fast for a man his size, and clubbed the vampire out of the air with a huge forearm. Harker’s smile evaporated as he was driven into the concrete, digging a long furrow in the floor. A cloud of concrete dust exploded into the air, then swirled and billowed as Frankenstein ran through it. Incredibly, Harker was already on his knees by the time the monster arrived in front of him.

  Frankenstein didn’t even break stride; he swung one of his tree-trunk legs and kicked the vampire in the chest. There was a huge cracking sound and Harker screamed in agony as he was thrown backwards through the air, clutching at his shattered ribs and solar plexus. Blood rose up from somewhere inside him and erupted into the air as he screamed, his blazing eyes rolling wildly in their sockets.

  He crashed to the ground and Frankenstein raised his foot again, apparently intending to stamp the vampire’s head into the concrete and grind the life out of him. He brought it down, a terrifying look of rage on his huge, misshapen face, and connected with thin air as Albert Harker threw himself out of the way. He skidded across the floor, twisting on to his back as he went, then leapt to his feet. Frankenstein turned and the two men, who were in different ways both so much more, faced each other.

  Matt stared, his weapons long forgotten, as the two monsters threw themselves towards each other, colliding with a noise like a train crash. In the corner of his eye he saw Kate’s arms begin to move and heard a low, distant groan in his ear.

  Frankenstein felt one of his ribs break as Albert Harker slipped beneath a long, looping haymaker and slammed his fist into his side. He clenched his jaw as the vampire circled away, trying not to show how much the blow had taken out of him.

  He’s strong. Really strong.

  Harker moved in on him again, a dark, bleeding blur, and Frankenstein feigned left then right. The vampire’s fingers sliced through the air
where his face had been; he reached out, lightning fast, and gripped one of Harker’s wrists. He squeezed and twisted at the same time, and felt a surge of satisfaction as bones broke inside his fist.

  Harker bellowed in pain, wrenched his shattered wrist free, and backed away. Frankenstein hauled in a deep breath, then felt it freeze in his chest as Harker leapt forward again, so fast, far too fast, and landed a catastrophic punch on the centre of his chin. Pain tore through his skull and darkness exploded around him as he fell backwards towards the floor. His last thought, as the ground rushed up to meet him, was a simple one.

  Too slow.

  Matt watched in horror as the monster fell to the concrete floor.

  The groaning in his ears was becoming louder and more insistent, but he wasn’t listening; his mind was reeling from the sight of the defeated Frankenstein. Albert Harker staggered, clutching at his chest; it looked as though the punch had taken almost as much out of him as it had its target. Then he spat a dark wad of blood on to the ground, stood up straight, and turned to Matt.

  The vampire walked slowly towards him, a smile of inevitability on his damaged face. The noise in his ears had become louder and its rhythm had changed; as Matt stared desperately at the terrible figure approaching him, he realised it had become two words, spoken by a croaking, battered version of Kate’s familiar voice. He focused his reeling mind, and heard them.

  “Beam… gun.”

  Matt’s eyes widened; he reached down and grabbed the heavy cylinder from its loop on his belt. A small frown crossed Albert Harker’s face a millisecond before Matt pushed his beam gun’s button and pointed the wide ultraviolet beam directly at it.

  Purple fire burst from the vampire’s features and he screamed in high-pitched agony. Harker beat at his face with his hands, stumbling to his knees as he did so; the fire licked across his fingers, burning them red, as smoke began to plume from his body. Matt stared, his stomach churning, as Harker beat out the roaring purple flames and raised his head.

  What looked at him was little more than a skull.