Blood War (The Bloodeaters Trilogy Book 1)

by Rees, Kevin

  ‘I’ll tell you something else that’s weird about him. I did the general chat and got no response. Mate, the creepiest thing happened. He had his hands under the blanket and out of sight when we walked in.’ He paused again as if trying to pick the words so Eddie would believe him.

  ‘Yeah, go on,’ Eddie urged.

  ‘His hands are all messed up, Ed. Why the fuck didn’t that prick Stone tell us?’ Andy looked spooked. ‘And I don’t know why I didn’t pick it up when I was changing him.’

  ‘What do you mean messed up? How messed up?’

  ‘It’s fucking weird, mate.’ Andy held his hand up. ‘The index finger and middle finger and all the rest seem to fit together. His fingernails become one big fuck-off nail. And Christ, they’re as sharp as an eagle’s claw. I know because he wrenched his hand out of mine when I went to trim them and nicked Kathy.’ Seeing Eddie’s concerns, he added: ‘No, she’s okay, just a little nick on her wrist. But an inch over and a little deeper and we would be down another nurse. Shit! Sorry mate, that’s not how I meant it.’

  ‘I need you to keep a close eye on him and report anything to me...understood?’ Eddie said.

  The night shift passed on towards the morning. Fred couldn’t be moved as an outbreak of winter vomiting flu on three wards saw them quarantined immediately to stop the spread. The old man in the wheelchair had to be eventually sedated as he kept repeating the word he had shouted earlier and tried to get out of his wheelchair as if terrified of being in the hospital. The psychiatric registrar eventually ordered him to be detained under section and sent him to the psychiatric ward.

  Periodically, Eddie looked in on the kid mainly because he had to, not through choice or professional care. The boy looked scared and didn’t seem to be aware of anything. He hadn’t reacted to any of the staff or the security guard. His eyes told Eddie he’d gone from a cocky, loudmouth arsehole into a shivering, whimpering child. He hoped he was suffering after what he did to Kat.

  Eddie could see his arm was badly swollen, leaving the hand to dangle uselessly. If the police surgeon was on form, they would easily pick up the snapped tendon and send him to another casualty unit to get it treated.

  Half an hour later they arrested the kid, charging him with attempted murder.

  Eddie delegated the remaining duties and drank all his vodka in quick succession. Given what happened, there was too much adrenaline in his system to give him the slightest appearance of being drunk. From four onwards he hid away in his office, waiting for news from the surgical team. It came at a quarter to six. They had miraculously managed to save Kat’s leg, but it would take lengthy rehab to heal. Eddie thanked them. As he put the phone down he started to cry.

  2

  The drop from the roof of the derelict tower block to the broken concrete was two-hundred-and-seventy feet of empty space. If someone jumped from this height it would take around five-seconds for the body to hit the ground. Then, everything that had once been human would be turned into a bloody, unrecognisable pile of burst organs and pulverised bone, which some poor bastard would have to shovel up into a couple of bin bags. But that didn’t trouble the huddled shape hunched low on top of a narrow wall separating the high, urban derelict from smashed paving slabs below. They also didn’t care about the frozen rain riding alongside a strengthening wind that whistled like a kettle around the top of the tower, or the air, loaded with hard, icy pellets that was turning their black fatigues white before melting into the soaked material. The night was also loaded with something else: a scent marker, very fresh and sandwiched between the swirling ice and wind. It had a distinctive character that bore a unique signature that was unmistakable.

  The figure stood up quickly, balancing steadily against the increasing force of the wind and tried to pinpoint the direction it was coming from. In defiance of the elements, the watcher began to narrow down the area where the scent was strongest. Frustratingly there was no beacon or giant “X” proclaiming the exact point, only a rudimentary sense as to the bearing.

  The wind suddenly surged violently. Whoever had sent the marker had also sent a Trojan horse buried deep inside it. Gale force wind turned the icy pellets into tiny, stinging missiles that drilled into the flesh beneath the clothing. The figure began to waver dangerously on the precipitous edge of the tower, forcing them to step back onto the roof. Dropping down onto one knee, the figure bowed and began speaking in a guttural whisper as if in ritual prayer. The low wall running around the edge of the roof deflected most of the wind, allowing the mantra to be completed without every intonation being whipped away. As the last few words were spoken the figure stood up, pausing briefly to note with quiet satisfaction that the storm was reduced to a light breeze.

  ‘Maya! I picked up the scent.’

  The figure whirled around. The footsteps had been soundless and belonged to a man emerging from an unlit doorway onto the roof. The hood of the black uniform was ripped off, revealing underneath a strikingly beautiful woman. ‘I think Father just sent us an invitation.’ She walked over to the man and looked up into his face. ‘And I think he’s still not decided his next move,’ she paused. ‘The Brood haven’t detected him yet... he’s vulnerable.’

  The man nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘You could be right. He’s certainly close. You have done exceptionally well tonight with that storm. I’m proud of you.’

  ‘Hey, don’t get gooey on me, Dad. You’re the big bad hunter, remember?’ Maya took her fathers hand. ‘Shit! I need coffee. Is Lars on his way up to relieve me?’

  ‘Language, Maya Ann,’ her father chided. ‘C’mon, I’ll get you that coffee.’

  They turned towards the door just as a young man emerged out of the darkness. He walked over to them, zipping up his jacket. His hood was pushed up onto his forehead, revealing a question mark of blonde hair that peaked out above his eyes. Spending some time with Lars would reveal he had an intense focus, and an annoying perfectionist. There was also an innocent quality that amused Maya when she saw how much in awe of her father he was; like a little boy meeting his hero every day.

  Her father, Karl Felton, was revered amongst his peers with many supporters campaigning for him to be elected as a full member of the Third Blood’s Unified Council. It took a personal plea from the President for him to even agree to be put forward. The President said he needed him as much as democracy needed someone with his distinction and frank honesty to stand against the only other candidate, the self-styled Praetor Thoragan. Thoragan was a grandmaster in the art of deception, and a dirty political campaigner — a honed skill he used to gain a platform through deceit and fear. He used those qualities ruthlessly to bind people into unspoken contracts that would ultimately expand his power base. His name was linked to three sitting members of the council and several other influential senators. Several of his opponents accused Thoragan of using bribery in whatever form to scare certain supporters who had appetites and preferences, which he probably threatened to expose.

  ‘There you are, Lars,’ Karl said, smiling amiably at the young man. ‘Maya has detected Father’s scent, so keep your senses alert. Report anything immediately and I’ll be straight up. Oh, and Lars. Jacqueline asked me to pass a message on to you,’ Karl said, smiling, which the young man returned. ‘Please don’t piss over the side of the building again. She doesn’t want to have to wash her hair twice in two days.’

  Lars nodded slowly, the shame emerging from the tight collar of his jacket and up his face. He quickly pulled the hood down. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he stuttered. ‘It’ll not happen again, I promise.’

  Karl nodded and walked passed him through the door. Maya followed after her father, grinning up at Lars. They made their way confidently through the pitch-black corridors as if they were lit by daylight. Maya overtook her father, in need of the promised coffee. Even though the cold hadn’t had much effect on her, the simple pleasures most took for granted were like a Christmas gift. She found inhaling the aroma of fresh coffee incredibly
sensuous, and its bitter taste nectar. For Maya, this helped her to remain sane in the First Blood’s world where her life was a constant lie, and yet hidden in plain sight.

  After long nights scanning for signs of Father, and waiting months, or — in some remote outposts — years, the mind dulled into a false sense of complacency and blunted anticipation that everything remained benevolent and unchanged. Maya though, never stopped wishing for the hunt to begin so they could return home.

  ‘Dad! We may have a fix on the direction of the scent. Monitor 13 took the biggest sample and I’ve narrowed down the area to a square mile east of the Thames. All emergency frequencies are being monitored. Seems quiet. Nothing going on except an attempted murder in a hospital, but they caught the guy and he’s on his way to the police station.’

  Cole Porter Robeson Paulette stood with night vision goggles on and an ever-present smile bisecting his face. It was a smile that had no right to be there, given his encounter with one of Father’s Broods that killed his whole family. Karl had found him fifteen years ago after poor intelligence delayed his team. They arrived too late to save anyone in Cole’s village. Karl took him into his own home, not once considering the effect it would have on Maya. A year previously her mother had been murdered and she needed the closeness of her father. But Karl’s anger needed direction. He accepted mission after mission, hoping it would bring him face to face with his wife’s killer. When he brought Cole into their lives, Maya felt even more betrayed. She tried her very best to hate him, but as the weeks passed the boy’s upbeat humour became infectious. When she broke her silence, Maya found him to be as lost as she was.

  ‘Get me everything on the hospital incident, Cole,’ Karl said. ‘It may be random but lets not overlook the obvious.’

  ‘Okay, dad. Hey, sis, you look soggy. Bit wet out there for you girls tonight, huh?’ Cole smirked at the woman who stuck her tongue out.

  Karl left the two of them and walked to his office. He took a moment before opening the door. There was something troubling him about the vector scans. A hospital experiencing an attempted murder was certainly unusual, but not unheard of. The room he entered was pitch black, but Karl navigated as well as any blind person. He opened a filing cabinet and took out a map. It showed the capital in colourful detail, which was redundant in the dark. Karl’s senses were glowing white-hot as he calculated the attack as being more than a simple crime. Always, always, his instinct had led him to the start of a hunt, and he had learnt to follow that instinct. The scent was in the right direction for the hospital. Father had to be near there, he was sure of it. Soon he hoped to be briefing his team to begin prepping for an assault. He would also have to seek permission from Sixsmith, his contact in Whitehall. Only he could authorise any mission on London’s streets.

  The talk of Father was having an effect on Karl. He’d felt it beginning on the roof — a tingling all over his skin. Karl was just able to suppress it with Maya being so close. He never liked her seeing him change. The shift began slowly at first, taking his state of calm and dissolving it, before moving him into a familiar coldness. His adrenal glands dumped huge quantities of adrenaline and cortisol into his bloodstream, forcing his system to react immediately to the hormone. Karl was elevated into a sensory storm as his body readjusted itself to the warrior state all hunters experienced before engaging with the enemy. Now he could see clearly, and think without the need for emotion.

  ‘So what do the jungle drums tell Kialamos tonight? Do they beat the news that his coffee is getting cold?’ Maya said, bringing two mugs into the room.

  She stopped when she saw the change her father was going through and stood silently in the doorway. He had been bent over a map when it started, she guessed. He took the crucial twenty breaths that allowed his body to swell, letting the muscles expand in size with each inhalation. When he turned towards her, the pupils of his eyes had dilated leaving only black orbs. He was in full Stevat’d teh — The Warrior Blood. It was the Third Blood way of preparing for the hunt. For Maya, this meant in the next few hours she would get her first experience of real combat.

  ‘Get me more accurate data on this attempted murder. Tell Cole to hack into the hospital network; perhaps the security guards will say something on their radios. Tap the phones, anything — but I need some cold facts.’ Karl growled the order, which Maya felt rumble in her chest.

  She left without question.

  The blood surge pumped through his skin, stretching it tightly across his huge frame. Karl gripped the edge of the table. He saw clear images of his hands tearing Father’s living head off his body. The mouth would scream as the devil realised this time his lifeblood was spilling onto the floor. For his wife and the millions of victims, he would make the beast die painfully. Karl’s grip on the table lessened as his body began to adjust to his state. It would remain present and on a fine trigger, ready to unleash a hell-storm when the combat began.

  Maya stepped back into the room carrying a piece of paper. She knew the initial stage was over and her father was back in control.

  He turned and smiled. It was always something he found incredibly uncomfortable for her to witness. He noticed the paper in her hand and the intense smell of fresh coffee. Maya carried the cups over to the table and offered her father one. He took it, smiling, aware his eyes hadn’t probably changed back; they were always the last to re-adjust.

  Maya hesitated before speaking. She looked up at him as if waiting for a sign.

  ‘What have you got?’

  She pushed the piece of paper across the desk. Karl turned it around and began reading a communications intercept Cole had picked up. It seemed the police had already decided the young man who stabbed a nurse was guilty, as the chatter between the arresting officer and his control room confirmed. But, Karl wasn’t going to be convinced on one piece of evidence. Maya spread another, more detailed, map on the table. She pointed to the area where Cole had said the scent had been detected at its strongest. Karl watched as Maya started to trace the streets with her finger, eventually coming to St Margaret’s, the scene of the stabbing.

  ‘It’s too coincidental,’ she said. ‘Even if you triangulate back to this tower it puts that hospital in the centre of where the scent came from.’

  Karl nodded. ‘Or perhaps we are just making the incidents fit together. And why pick a hospital? That doesn’t make any sense. He fights in the dark, not out in plain sight.’ He sipped his coffee and stood thinking for a moment. ‘Okay, let’s look at this area more closely.’

  Maya nodded and left with the map. Karl drank deeply, rolling the rich, sweet coffee around his mouth. There was something very strange happening. As a tactician you wouldn’t give your position away, or indicate your strength to the enemy. Father had made both those errors tonight.

  Or were they errors?

  3

  Eddie felt exhausted and wanted to get out of his office to look in on Kat before going home to sleep away the nightmare of the last ten hours. He had to make sure she was all right, for his sake. Since the attack, he’d run hundreds of questions through his head — should he have seen to the scumbag earlier instead of letting his emotions out of the box? He could have patched him up in ten minutes and sent him on his way. Could he have done this, or done that? It was sapping whatever mental reserves he had left after the long night. And the last thing he needed right now was walking towards him. Sister Flint was homed in on him like an executioner walking to the lever. She strode in briskly without saying anything and sat down heavily on the chair, squeezing the air out in a humourless fart. She pretended, as she did every morning, not to notice and took out her little black notebook and fountain pen primed with her favoured purple ink.

  ‘I hear you were caught up in an incident last night. I expect to know everything that occurred before you leave,’ she demanded, her pen poised over the notebook expectantly like a hack journalist waiting to take down all the gory details.

  Eddie regarded her as a pig. Not just fo
r her size, it was the delight she took in snuffling around to find anything to complain about, or harass the staff for no other reason than she could. She hankered after the little bureaucratic minutiae she could bury her snout into and use to further her own arse-licking career. Like this morning, every time she entered the office there was that deliberate momentary pause to show her obvious distaste aimed at the cold coffee cups on the desk, surrounded moat-like with Snicker and Mars bar wrappers. Her remoteness and disgust was designed to remind him she had invested a year more in this department than he had, and that made her top bitch. Eddie was just the annoying puppy that humped legs and got kicked in the balls to bring about some obedience.

  ‘And good morning to you, Sister Flint. Would you like a coffee before I hand over?’ Eddie said, with strained politeness.

  She shook her head. ‘I want a complete account of the incident in case I’m questioned. I want to know all the details of the attack, and I need to inspect the cubicle to see if it has been cleaned properly before you, or any of your staff sign off.’

  ‘After you, Sister Flint.’ Eddie could feel a wave of cold anger rising from the pit of his stomach as he led the way out of the office to the cubicle.

  She pulled out the bed and examined the floor. Obvious disappointment stung her face as not one drop of Kat’s blood was left anywhere; not on the floor, walls or ceiling. For once the cleaning staff had excelled themselves. Eddie stood quietly and imagined kicking her fat arse back to his office to let her understand how emotionally fragile he and the staff were at this time.

  ‘Satisfied?’ He punctuated the word syllable by syllable. Eddie could feel his dark place looming again.

  They walked back to the office in silence. As soon as the door was shut she began to interrogate him about filling in an incident form and demanding to see the accident book to make sure he’d done it correctly. She patronised him like some first-year rookie staff nurse.