Blue Skin (Book 4): Blue Skin

by Jenkins, Steven

  Rose has noticed it, too.

  What the fuck is going on?

  But then I see the disturbed look on Hannah’s face, and I know exactly what it is.

  The baby’s coming.

  Part XV

  SEAN RICHARDS

  46

  God knows what time it is because there’s no clock on the wall. Dawn can’t be that long now. An hour. Maybe more. Seems like it’s been dark forever.

  The moon is the only thing left to light the room. No lamp. No glow from the TV. Just glass and darkness to keep the vampires out. And they’re hungry. I can tell by their desperate cries, seeping through the window. But they’re always hungry. Always hunting. That’s why we don’t stand a chance.

  There’s a small wooden splinter protruding from the skirting board behind me, and for the last hour, I’ve been rubbing the cable-tie against it. I’m working blind, so it’s impossible to tell if it’s cutting or not.

  But I have to try. No matter what. These junkie bastards aren’t budging. Not yet anyway. Maybe when they pass out, maybe when they come to their senses, they’ll let me out.

  Come to their senses?

  These people?

  Not likely.

  I’ll be dead by dawn.

  “Where’s your girlfriend?” Tommy asks from the sofa, in the middle of rolling another joint. “The blonde chick?”

  I don’t answer.

  What the hell would they do to her if she was here? If she was in my place?

  It doesn’t bear thinking...

  “She was hot,” he chuckles. “How the fuck did a scrawny little prick like you pull a bird like that?”

  “Please, just let me go. I’ll do anything.”

  Tommy looks at Muscle-head as if an idea has suddenly formed. “How about you take us to that sexy girlfriend of yours and we’ll do a trade. Better than staring at your ugly ginger mug.”

  My skin crawls. “I don’t know where she is.”

  “He’s lying,” Muscle-head says. “I bet she’s out there now, waiting for him in his car.”

  Tommy glances at the window. “Out there? With all those blues? I hope not. She ain’t gonna last too long tonight.”

  I rub harder on the wooden splinter. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you doing this? My friend is gonna die. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  Muscle-head pops open another beer. “Didn’t you get the message?” He takes a swig and burps. “It’s the end of the world. It’s every man for himself.”

  “It’s not the end of the world,” I say. “It’s just a little messed up.”

  Tommy lights up his joint. “The world before the vampires came was ‘messed up’. What’s happening right here, right now is biblical. Old Testament stuff.” He takes a long drag and then blows out a huge cloud of smoke. “You really think we can stop them?”

  “If we find a cure,” I reply with genuine optimism. “Fix the fertility problem.”

  “You know, for a skinny twat,” Tommy says. “I had you pegged as a brain-box. A real egg-head.” He motions at Muscle-head. “But you’re as dumb as him.”

  “Hey! Cheeky prick!” Muscle-head snaps. “Speak for yourself.”

  “When the last city falls,” Tommy continues, “when the blues have taken out every last one of us—I’ll still be standing.” He takes another puff and strolls over to me. “Because I’m a survivor. I don’t let people walk over me. I don’t go hungry.” He drives his foot into the side of my face, and my head collides with the wall. “And I don’t let wankers like you steal from me!”

  A sharp, agonising pain charges down my spine. But I’m still breathing. I’m still conscious. Ear ringing, I rub the cable-tie faster. Harder. I pull my wrists apart. They’re still bound.

  “You’re a tough little shit,” Tommy says. “I’ll give you that.”

  I keep cutting...

  I keep pulling...

  Almost there...

  Just a little—

  Then pop! It breaks and my hands are free. Free to ball up my fist and slam it into Tommy’s nuts.

  With a loud, excruciating yelp, he crashes down to his knees, cupping his groin with both hands.

  I scramble to my feet. Muscle-head swings the baseball bat at me. I see it coming, so I duck under its path, and race towards the hallway door. My fingertips touch the handle just as I’m grabbed by the back of my collar. With nothing to break my fall, I’m yanked to the floor, cracking my head on the carpet. Muscle-head reaches down with just one giant hand, and drags me up by my neck. Robbed of air, I kick out and try to pry his thick fingers from my throat. But he’s too strong, his oversized muscles swelling as he squeezes even harder.

  And then, in a blur of colours, I’m launched across the room, the weight of my body breaking the wooden doors of the cupboard. Through the agony, the disorientation, through the cold, disturbing sniggers, I feel something hard pressing against my back. Something metal. Brushing off the broken wood, I see a dumbbell. It’s small, but I pick it up anyway, get to my feet, and hold it in front of me like a gun.

  My only weapon. My last stand.

  Muscle-head is standing between the hallway door and the kitchen door, blocking my only escape routes. And Tommy is standing by the window, a flick-knife in his hand, a smirk on his face. “What are you planning on doing with that, Sean? You can barely lift it, ya weak prick.”

  He takes a step closer.

  “Stay the fuck back!” I snap. “I’m warning you!”

  Muscle-head motions to the hallway door. “Go ahead. Make a run for it. See how far you get.”

  Tommy takes another step towards me. “I bet he’s fast with those skinny legs. We’d have a job catching this one.”

  “You think I won’t smash your head in?” I ask, teeth grinding, the dumbbell shaking in my grasp. “Do you?”

  “It takes a real man to kill,” Tommy points out. “You think you’ve got the balls?”

  For a split second, I’m back at Maggie’s farm. The gun in my hand. Her body lying on the grass. Blood gushing from her chest.

  Tommy is just three metres from me, so I swing the dumbbell, forcing him to retreat a step.

  “Careful with that thing,” he says. “You might pull a muscle.”

  Muscle-head laughs.

  “Fuck you!” With a heavy breath, I retract my arm like a shot-putter, and then, with every ounce of strength I can summon, I launch the dumbbell at the window. It flies through the centre of the curtains, and a sound of glass exploding follows.

  In astonishment, in utter horror, Tommy’s head twists to the window. “You fucking idiot!” he screams as a horde of vampires burst through the curtains, growling, clawing, instantly pinning him to the carpet, his body covered in a thick veil of blue.

  Muscle-head sprints to help his friend, swinging his bat wildly. “Nooooo! Tommy!”

  In the uproar, I bolt towards the hallway door, rip it open and slam it shut behind me. With tunnel vision, I scurry up the stairs and lock myself inside the first bedroom I find. My body quakes as I press my back against the door, heart and lungs about to rupture.

  The window! I need to get back on the street. I race over to it and relief washes over me because there’s a small roof beneath it. I turn the handle and the window opens wide enough for me to slip out.

  I glance at the door-handle. No movement yet.

  And that’s when I notice the shelves. Six of them. Attached to the opposite wall. Each one loaded with food. Bread. Cereals. Chocolate bars. Alcohol.

  And medicine!

  With wild haste, I read each box. Paracetamol. Aspirin. Vitamin C. Antihistamines.

  Even with a bruised face, a bleeding head, and a broken nose, a grin finds its way onto my face.

  Twelve boxes of antibiotics!

  There’s a rumble of footsteps trudging upstairs. A riot of bodies.

  I see a red backpack at the side of the bed.

  Something slams into the door.

  The handle ra
ttles.

  They’re here!

  Scuttling onto the mattress, I swipe the bag, empty its contents onto the floor, and fill it to the top with medicine.

  The wooden doorframe splits, chunks of plaster fly off the wall.

  I throw the inflated bag over my shoulders, and climb through the window. With both feet on the narrow ledge, I focus on the three-metre drop down onto the lower roof.

  The bedroom door bursts open.

  Deafening shrieks.

  The concrete below seems even lower.

  An army of vampires scrambles inside.

  A tidal wave of blue bodies.

  I’m coming, Neil.

  I’m coming, Freya.

  Fuck you, Tommy Reid!

  And then I make the leap...

  Part XVI

  FREYA LAWSON

  47

  “Push!” Rose says, her voice firm but low.

  Even through the deathly snarls beneath me, and even as my body judders as the vampires push and punch at the hatch, my stare is cemented onto the sofa bed. Rose is on her knees in front of Hannah’s parted legs. Blood is pooling on the cushions. Bursting veins as thick as cables on her neck, arms and legs. Sweat pouring down her purple, strained face. I want to help. I want to be there for her. In her hour of need. This moment of hell. But I can’t leave the hatch. There are too many of them. They’d wipe us out in a heartbeat. So I hold on. Push hard. Whatever it takes.

  Because they’re not getting in.

  Ellie is beside me on the chest of drawers, her father next to her. He can barely keep his eyes open, but we need him. We need his weight. Ellie is so young. So brave. I’d be cowering in the corner of the room at her age. She’s so special. That’s why I can’t let them get through.

  I won’t let them through.

  Another strained, agonising scream leaves Hannah as she grips the bed sheet, bunching it up and twisting it like dough.

  “It’s coming!” Rose says. “One more push!”

  “I can’t!” Hannah begs. “I can’t do it!”

  “Yes, you bloody can! You can do anything!”

  “Something’s wrong!” Hannah closes her eyes. “It hurts too much!”

  “Look at me, Hannah,” Rose orders her.

  Hannah opens her red-raw, tear-filled eyes.

  “Do you trust me?”

  Hannah doesn’t answer, the pain insufferable.

  “Do you trust me?” Rose repeats, this time more forcefully.

  Hannah nods.

  “Take a deep breath,” rose instructs her. “And push!”

  The thick bolt-lock on the hatch jiggles violently. The scratches like hounds clawing at a cornered fox. The hinge will crack. The wood will split. And they’ll be through. Before dawn. Before salvation. And all this would be for nothing. And everything we’ve—

  Shut up Freya! They’re not going to get in. You’re gonna keep fighting. You’re gonna keep holding on until everyone is safe.

  Another loud exhale from Hannah.

  Another agonising push.

  You’re stronger than everyone here. You can keep them out because you’re one of them. You’re a vampire. They have your blood running through their veins. It’s not a curse. It’s a blessing. And it’s the only way to beat them.

  “I can see the head!” Rose bellows. “It’s coming!”

  But there’s too many of them.

  We’re outnumbered.

  I’m just one person.

  Neil is sick. Ellie is just a kid.

  The screws loosen from the hinges.

  I hear metal grinding.

  Scratching.

  Hissing.

  They’re gonna—

  “It’s a girl!”

  The howls below disappear for a moment as I gaze, lost in a trance, at the blue-skinned baby in Rose’s arms. The sight is beautiful. Nothing like it was back in Mum’s bedroom. Ben was just a monster to me. A revolting freak of nature. A mistake. Some kind of unspeakable nightmare. Not a baby. Not a brother. Not a miracle. But this time it’s different. This time I’m different. The world is different. This is Hannah’s little girl. Hannah’s miracle. No matter how it looks.

  Exhausted, body saturated in sweat, Hannah sits up on the bed and takes the baby from Rose. The moment she rests it against her chest, she bursts into tears. It’s impossible to tell if they’re tears of joy or despair. Both. “Why isn’t she crying?” she asks, her words laced with alarm. “She should be crying. Babies are meant to cry.”

  “Vampire babies don’t cry,” Ellie says as the hatch grumbles beneath her. “None of them do.”

  “How do you know?” she sobs, her focus on her eerily silent little girl.

  “She’s telling the truth,” I cut in, watching as a thin split forms at the side of the hatch. “My brother didn’t cry either.”

  “Rose!” Neil says as if it’s his last breath. “Get...to the hatch. We...need you.”

  Flustered, she crawls off the bed, and climbs up next to me. But even with the threat of a horde getting through, her attention is still on Hannah.

  With the weight of four bodies, the hatch stops moving, leaving just the sound of scratching and hissing.

  Hannah has wrapped a sheet over the baby, the blood staining the white fabric. She stares down at the brand new life, her eyes brimming with amazement. Horror. Fear. Pity. A concoction of emotions no mother should feel. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love it already. It’s obvious. Why else would she worry about the baby crying? Why else would she be on the run from the HCA? This is her child. Her little girl. And no one is going to take it from her.

  “Listen,” Ellie whispers. “It’s stopped.”

  “What’s stopped?” I ask.

  “I think they’ve gone. I don’t hear them anymore.”

  Unconvinced, I hang my head off the chest of drawers to listen. No footsteps. No scratching. Nothing. Maybe she’s right. I glance at the window above Hannah. It’s still dark outside. What time is it? I look at the clock on the wall. 5:05 a.m. It’ll be dawn soon. Maybe they’ve left already. Their nest could be miles away.

  “Where are they?” Rose asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I reply. “But either way, we wait it out until sunrise. It’s not long.”

  Rose nods and then goes back to the bed. Hannah’s eyelids look heavy, desperate to steal a few hours sleep. Rose takes the baby from her, cradling it like any other newborn, unfazed by its appearance. “Why don’t you get some rest,” she tells Hannah. “You look shattered.”

  “I can’t. What if they get through the hatch?”

  “They’re not...gonna get through,” Neil reassures her, his words shaky, his skin ghost-like. “You’re safe.”

  Hannah takes a breath, strokes the top of her baby’s head, and lies back on the pillow.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask Neil.

  “I’m okay,” he replies, but he’s lying for the sake for Ellie. Her hand is over his. She knows how sick he is, how much he needs the medicine.

  “Why don’t you lie down on the bed?” Ellie asks. “Freya and I can hold the hatch shut.”

  Neil shakes his head, his eyes briefly drifting over to the baby. To him, all he sees is a vampire locked in the attic with us. The enemy. Another set of teeth to attack us. I guess he’s too weak to say anything. Too sick to show any revulsion on his face. And right now, all that matters is getting through tonight.

  “I’m not—” his words turn into a coughing fit, “moving. I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.”

  “Okay,” she says, and the attic falls dead silent.

  I keep the pressure on the hatch, but my attention is on Neil. With every minute that passes, his breath gets shallower. How he’s still awake is beyond me. I suppose when you have a daughter to think about, and a pack of feral purebreds trying to break in, an infected bite will have to wait.

  Rose is sitting up in bed, the baby in her arms. She checks the window. The sky has turned chocolate orange. Not long now. N
ot long before this nightmare is over. Ethan’s torn body downstairs jabs at my mind. The guilt cuts even harder. In the chaos, I forgot about him. The ray of hope that brought us here. Found us a home. In my head, when the dawn came, I imagined us leaving the attic with smiles across our faces. Smiles of relief. Accomplishment. We survived the night. Survived against all odds.

  How could I forget my friend?

  Tomorrow we’ll give him a proper send off. Celebrate his life. Celebrate everything he meant to this house. The way he protected us. The way he took out that purebred. The memory of its demise should feel like a victory, but the blood, the meat cleaver cut marks, the severed fingers by the stairs, just reminds me of losing Ethan, and what he had to sacrifice to keep us safe.

  A tear rolls down my cheek. Ellie sees it, but doesn’t say a word.

  Time passes. Seconds. Minutes. The stillness becomes difficult to swallow. How much longer ‘til dawn? How much—

  An explosion of glass hurls my attention to the window.

  Hannah screams as a million shards rain over her body. Before Rose can get off the sofa bed, the baby still in her grasp, a blue arm appears between the metal bars, its black talons inches from Hannah’s hair. Panic-stricken, she scrambles off the mattress and rolls onto the floor with a bang.

  Another arm bursts through the window frame.

  Neil grabs Ellie, pulling her tight to his chest.

  A blue foot slams down onto the bar, the impact shaking the attic walls.

  Another strike.

  I glare at the bolts which attach the bars to the ceiling. No movement.

  A third stomp causes dust to pour onto the bed.

  “They’re gonna get in!” Ellie cries.

  The bracket shifts a little when a fourth foot slams into the bars.

  I leave the hatch, grab the machete, and drive it through the window. A shrill squeal exits the purebred when the blade slices across its bare foot. I stab at an arm. Then another. Skeletal fingers wrap around my wrist, squeezing my bone, twisting my skin, forcing me to loosen my grip on the machete. I try to pry the fingers off, but they’re too strong. And then I’m yanked towards the bars. A bony hand locks onto my hair, dragging me to the open mouth of a vampire, its face pressed hard against the metal. I pull and pull, my hair tearing from my scalp, vampire nails cutting into my wrist, but I’m stuck. The bracket shifts again. The bars won’t hold. They’re gonna get—