Blood War (The Bloodeaters Trilogy Book 1)

by Rees, Kevin

  Cotrane unlocked the door and was pushed roughly backwards. Her foot caught Jarvis’s outstretched leg. She screamed and fell heavily on top of her partner. Cotrane rolled onto to her knees quickly but she couldn’t avoid the lifeless eyes of the man she had trusted many times with her life. Jarvis had started to stir many different emotions inside her, which until this moment, she hadn’t appreciated.

  ‘Ah, Bexx. Have you met President Aquino?’ Thoragan chuckled. ‘I’m sure his wife was more to your liking.’

  A young man walked into the study.

  ‘You murderer!’ Aquino launched himself at Bexx and got hold of his throat. Aquino squeezed hard. He looked into the boy’s eyes, expecting to see fear. But he was smiling. The more Aquino tried to crush his neck the more he smiled. Aquino felt no resistance, no fight from him. He pulled away, exhausted and staggered back to the chair. ‘What is he?’

  ‘Not sure. Unique though, isn’t he. And he’s mine, aren’t you, boy.’ the Praetor chuckled.

  Bexx nodded. He reached down and picked up Cotrane’s gun and examined it as if it were a piece of beautiful art. He cocked it and waited.

  Cotrane forced her eyes away from Jarvis and saw the boy’s face had become still — he was waiting. She knew the moment had come that would define her life forever.

  Thoragan nodded, then turned around hastily, placing fingers in his ears. He jerked to each of the shots the boy fired. It immediately infused the room with the perfume of cordite. The chair the President was sat in had acquired four neat holes, each one filling with blood. Thoragan turned and saw Aquino was still sat upright with his head rolling forward onto his chest. Thoragan smiled, the boy had done a splendid job. Cotrane, it seemed, had tried to intercept Bexx as he fired, putting herself in front of her President. She was unconscious and bleeding heavily from wounds in her right shoulder. The bullets had passed easily through her body and entered Aquino. There had been no change in the outcome, or any sense to her sacrifice.

  ‘Sir, I don’t think he’s dead yet. I think he’s trying to say something.’ Bexx knelt down, searching the face of the man he had almost killed.

  Thoragan came around the chair. There was a faint smile on the dying man’s lips. His hands hung limply on the arms of the chair, the only movement coming from his right index finger, which rose and fell as if inviting him to come closer. Thoragan obliged.

  The words were weak and barely carried on his last few breaths, but Aquino was determined to speak to his executioner. ‘Be careful, Thoragan. If you become president after this, you become the target.’ Aquino ran out of breath as the last word — flecked with bloody spittle — left his mouth. He stared at Thoragan with dead eyes. Even now he mocked the fat man.

  Thoragan laughed, but it wasn’t a laugh of triumph. It stuttered and failed as Aquino’s words left their meaning to saturate an ego that had persuaded him into this action to save himself. He leant away. Aquino’s accusing eyes followed him.

  ‘Bexx, put Miss Cotrane’s gun back into her hand, then fire a few shots from Mr Jarvis’s gun and place that in Aquino’s hand. Let’s make things a little complicated for the lady shall we? And all this done just before lunch.’ Thoragan was pleased with himself for at last taking more sensible action.

  The two men made for the cellar, leaving no uncertainties for others to find. Cotrane was guilty and would be executed. That’s how the room would read.

  The woman was still unconscious when someone took her arms and dragged her across the room. Near a small alcove, a hand reached out and manipulated invisible buttons and locking mechanisms. A long panel clicked open. The silent figure dragged her into the pitch darkness of a secret sanctuary. Cotrane was laid down gently before the panel was secured. The moment it slipped back into place, the room exploded with the sound of several pairs of feet pounding into Aquino’s study.

  Hours passed before the guards, police and other officials left the room. He watched over her in the darkness, managing to stop the bleeding as the authorities conducted their investigation. He was rewarded with a low groan as proof of his skill to keep her alive. The figure pressed a button flooding the small room with red light. Cotrane’s eyes fluttered as she started to regain consciousness. She emerged from the twilight space she had occupied for several hours and wanted to make sense of where she was. Strong hands coaxed her gently to sit up. Cotrane tried to resist, but found her body refusing to obey, especially her right arm, which was numb down to her fingertips.

  ‘I will see to your arm again in a moment, Miss Cotrane. First, you need to take these and drink this.’

  ‘Who... who are you?’ she murmured.

  The figure leaned forward. ‘I’m the one that’s going to save you. Then, between us, we will get revenge on the person responsible for our situation.’

  ‘Thoragan.’

  ‘Yes. Thoragan.’

  She squinted as the face of her saviour came close. ‘Cruz-Smith.’

  ‘At your service, Miss Cotrane.’

  She laughed and coughed several times before excruciating pain bored into her shoulder. ‘President Aquino... Jarvis?’ She looked up at him. The realisation of what had been implied left little doubt as to who was responsible.

  ‘There was nothing you could have done, Miss Cotrane. In fact, your admirable action has made your situation worse. It may have been better if you had been killed as well.’ Cruz-Smith smiled, understanding her sense of duty had dictated the outcome. Her entire life had been synthesised into that one moment of self-sacrifice. A fraction of a second, the position of her body as Bexx fired, all came together as the bullets left the gun. Had she been quicker perhaps, the four shots would have hit her. Instead they killed the man she had sworn to protect.

  Groggily, Cotrane took in the man who had saved her. Thoragan believed Cruz-Smith to be dead, and that made him the perfect ally. But how could she even begin to fight back? The answer never came as her body sent her back into a dark oblivion. Cruz-Smith caught her as she fell forward. He expertly re-dressed her wounds and made sure she was warm. Cotrane would take time to recover, but when she did, between them they would wrench the seat of power away from the Praetor and make sure his fall from power was a permanent one. Cruz-Smith sat down, closed his eyes and began his plan.

  Across a continent, Maya, Eddie and Sam returned to the high-rise with Karl’s body. Eddie took Sam to the infirmary, leaving Maya’s soldiers to carry Karl’s body up to the roof. The sun was going down, and the death ritual had to begin soon.

  Maya ran to her room, throwing off her clothes as she hurried to her small wardrobe. She snatched a long red dress off a hanger and quickly threw it over her head. Barefoot, she ran to the steps leading to the roof. As she emerged, Maya felt her throat tighten. All Karl’s troop stood rigidly to attention as she made her way between them to her father’s side. She smiled tearfully at Cole, who stood in the middle, looking slight and incongruous against the heavily muscled soldiers.

  The chants of the troop began.

  Karl had been placed on a special pyre. His body had been prepared traditionally, wrapped mummy-like, in silver bandages. Only his face remained uncovered and turned towards the dying sun.

  Maya walked quietly up to the pyre and stood by her father’s side. She laid a hand gently on his body before turning to speak to the men. ‘My father is not among us today. Like many before him, he gave his life for his people. He died in combat, like a true Sedach warrior should. But, Karl Felton was more than just a leader. He taught us the value of honour and discipline. Those two elements forged this team.’ Maya stopped as the troop acknowledged her words. She went on. ‘My father said this: There is nothing greater than to live within the code of honour. It protects the fine balance between knowing each action we take is justified, and that action is for the good of our people. To attain honour, we must always be disciplined in our thoughts and in our hearts, otherwise we have no moral strength or direction to strive towards true freedom.’ Maya looked at each soldier
. They were ready. As she prepared for the final part of the ceremony, the roof door creaked open. Everyone turned. Eddie came out first, helping Sam onto the roof. The former bodyguard still looked a little dazed. Neither spoke, observing the solemnity of the ritual. They stood next to the troop, who pulled them into the huddle as brother warriors. Maya smiled and mouthed “thank you”, to her lover before returning to the ceremony. ‘Know then of my father’s acts of courage. He defeated all, never lost an honest battle and commanded his teams with precision. I was proud to call him my father, and also truly saddened he found on this mission I did not live up to his expectation.’ A chorus of “no’s” sounded loudly from the gathered soldiers. ‘So it is with great sadness, and also honour that I, Maya Felton, daughter of Karl Felton release his spirit... I know he will live forever at Bervant’s side.’

  Two men stepped forward carrying urns. They began sprinkling handfuls of blue powder evenly over the body. Then, with reverent care, they laid a silver sheet across Karl’s face and tipped the remaining powder over it before stepping back and bowing. The silver bandages immediately began to crackle and pulsate with a blue light. The men, including Cole, surrounded the pyre chanting Karl’s name. The blue glow became so intense, Eddie and Sam had to shield their eyes as charged air whipped around them. As quickly as the crackling started, it stopped. All that was left on the pyre were the bandages. Karl’s body was gone.

  Maya walked over to Eddie and slipped her hand into his. ‘Thank you for being here.’

  ‘What just happened? Where’s his body?’

  ‘It’s how we treat our dead. The bandages and powder combined disintegrate matter. You burn your dead — It’s the same principle.’ Maya embraced him and kissed his neck. There’s something I must do. She left him and returned to the pyre. All the soldiers had gathered again in tight formation. Eddie watched as each man swore an oath to Maya. The only person who wasn’t standing with the troop, Eddie noted, was sat on the ground next to the pyre. Cole had the look of someone betrayed. His adoptive father had been taken so suddenly from him, and that cast a mask of brooding anger over the boy. Though, Eddie suspected, it wasn’t just Karl’s death that imprinted a look of someone out for revenge. And, Eddie speculated, he wasn’t making Cole’s life any easier. He’d caught the familiar look every time Maya was near him, or held him. The boy was in love with her. Cole wore his jealousy like a man no longer caring if the feeling would ever be shared.

  Eddie suspected Cole’s anger didn’t just stop with him. The boy watched, with his lips pressed so tightly they almost disappeared inside his mouth, as Maya received the oath from each of the soldiers. The shift in power taking place was significant. Something, as an adoptive sibling, he couldn’t share. Cole was ambitious, but didn’t carry the bloodline to divide the power base, which his sister, as Karl’s daughter, now commanded. Eddie would have to watch Cole, watch him very closely.

  After Maya took her first salute, she stepped down and moved back to Eddie.

  ‘What’s going to happen to Sam?’

  ‘Sam will grow quickly into our way of life. He is, as you said, very useful.’

  ‘But he has a wife and child, Maya. What’ll happen to them?’

  ‘They will be taken care of for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘Bullshit. That’s bollocks! You take me, okay, I’ve no family, but to take a man who has a wife and kid is criminal.’ Eddie ripped his hand away from hers. ‘You can’t do this to him.’

  ‘It’s done. He cannot go back and let anyone know of us.’

  ‘Like me...huh? Am I not allowed to leave if I wanted to Maya? Am I your prisoner too?’ Eddie rounded on her.

  She eyed him coolly. Maya knew her choice would require compromise’s to be made on both sides. Although, she hadn’t anticipated Eddie’s acceptance to be her chosen as difficult as he was making it. ‘I cannot let you leave my love.’ She put her head on his shoulder and stroked his cheek. ‘I have said goodbye to my father today. No other man has touched my heart like he did, until you, Eddie. I love you, and I couldn’t live knowing you were at my side because you believed I was keeping you like some bird in a cage.’ Maya looked into his face and kissed him. She felt his lips respond and then his body. They held each other as the sun faded, leaving dark silhouettes to cast their long shadows over a London skyline.

  Eddie looked over at Sam surrounded by the men Maya now commanded. He was laughing and joking, and he seemed to have found a revived spirit amongst new comrades. Eddie could see he was already adapting.

  And gone was his uncertainty. He knew Maya was right, he could go back to his old life, except that life had been destroyed by Father. If it hadn’t been for Kat, he may have thanked the Bloodeater for giving him something more than what had been his excuse for a life. Eddie had found Maya, a woman more than his equal, and someone he loved. He would be her chosen. And that was as certain as tomorrow’s sunrise.

  Father stood alone at the bow of a boat that chugged remorselessly through a thick, hazy sea mist. It was only just a little after six in the evening, but the fog had cut out all the light leaving him swathed in a candyfloss gloom. His neck was wrapped up tightly in a scarf, which he kept checking and readjusting over the wound that still exuded a white sticky fluid. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the waves hitting the keel as it cleaved through the water. To an observer, he seemed like a man quietly enjoying a trip across the channel in a charter boat. The observer would be quite wrong though. Father wasn’t quiet or still, his mind was calculating the next phase. Soon, he would come hunting again with a new Brood. And, once more, he would test the centuries old foundation of secrecy that shielded their two races from the First Blood population of Earth. He knew if the pact were breached there would be war — a Blood War — that would announce their existence to the world with terrible consequences for all who lived on this speck of dust hanging in space.

  Father had concluded — to avoid further conflict — all Third Blood hopes rested on the vaccine Marisa Felton had pioneered to change the essence of Bloodeater DNA back into the more docile, primitive state of the Firsts. He wasn’t going to allow the extinction of his race to be decided by a few genetically advanced tyrants. He would fight if he had to.

  Once his race dominated history and enslaved a whole continent. They bred humans for meat until they out-numbered their masters and revolted. Those were very dark days for him as he was forced to watch his people being massacred by their own cattle. Hundreds and thousands of humans pushed into revolution by Third Bloods who left little of their blood on the battlefields.

  The Bloodeaters never recovered, scattering in small numbers across the world. They hid in forgotten places, feeding cautiously, so as not to attract attention. He would never allow that to happen again. It was why he selected the hospital as his new battleground, the grand exposure to save his species. But, it had failed. He knew that. And, he knew he had no time for bitter recrimination. There were other doors he had yet to try.

  So far, only a handful of carefully chosen countries knew of their existence. There would be many others willing to offer sanctuary if he made his race known to them. He was confident the few places alienated by the “civilised” world, would welcome his people into their house, especially if he could expose any covert Third Blood interference in their domestic matters.

  And of course there was Bialowieza. He hadn’t been able to ignore what he saw that night. The proof that would one day expose the truth had almost been his, and that had gnawed away at him for over seventy years. If anything could alter the future, what he’d seen in the German camp might.

  ‘We’re here, sir. My crew will lower a boat and get you onto shore. When you get off the beach, take the path between the tower and the old café. There will be someone waiting to take you to where you want to go.’

  Without waiting for an acknowledgement, the man turned and made his way back to the wheelhouse, changing into a black shadow after a few paces. Father snif
fed the air and found a faint odour of meat carried on the breeze. It wasn’t the crew; he knew their scent. The sound of the boat being lowered over the side drew his attention back to his departure. The small vessel knocked against the chipped wood as it rode the top of a wave and rang hollowly below deck. From somewhere cloaked in the gloom, a voice called out for him. Father adjusted his scarf again before negotiating the narrow gunwale to the boat. He knew time was becoming an enemy, greater even than the Thirds. It was already pressing him into a decision sooner than he wanted. As he stepped down into the boat, Father could only contemplate his next action amongst the many complex plans he had considered. There were so many roads that could save the Bloodeaters, but which one would prevent their annihilation.

  As the captain’s first mate rowed with the surf, Father looked up through a hole in the mist at a full moon shrouded in a buttermilk hue. He remembered it glowing with the same creamy light the night it led his Brood through a Polish forest. His reminiscence was interrupted as the underside of the boat scraped along the pebbles of the shore. Father got out. No words were exchanged as he made his way up towards the path. He stopped and gazed again at the luminous orb hanging above his head. The old Bloodeater half-smiled.

  ‘Perhaps my friend, you can show me the direction I should take, just like you did in Bialowieza...remember what we found there.’

  The surf hit the shingle with nature’s relentless regularity, washing away any scars the boat may have left. Ahead of it, a light sea breeze followed the man who walked steadfastly to a car, parked by the side of the café. It had its lights switched off, but the driver had the engine idling. As soon as the man got in, the driver sped off quickly down a dirt road and disappeared from the deserted beach.

  A face pressed against a cold pane of glass in the window of the derelict café. He watched the red lights of the car disappear behind a dune and considered the word the wind blew in from outside — Bialowieza. The man had spoken the word loudly enough, as if it held some vital importance to him.