Department 19: The Rising

by Will Hill

  There was a scream of rage from the ceiling, and Jamie looked up at the vampire who called himself the king of Paris. His hands were clawing at his face, his eyes wide and blazing.

  “You foul monster!” he shrieked. “I will hunt you to the ends of the earth! I will pursue you with every breath I have left! You will die a thousand deaths for what you have done!”

  “T-Bones,” said Jamie, suddenly, looking up at the raving vampire. “Everyone. Right now.”

  He raised his weapon to his shoulder, waited a split second for the rest of his team to do the same, then fired. The combined bang of exploding gas was incredibly loud, and Lord Dante, whose attention had been focused entirely on Frankenstein, looked round in time to see the projectiles coming, but not in time to avoid them.

  The five metal stakes tore through his body from all sides. Two crunched through his thighs before burying themselves in his stomach, one ploughed through his armpit before crashing into the red plaster of the ceiling, one thudded deep into the heavy bone at his shoulder and the last one tore through his throat, obliterating it.

  A huge spray of blood burst from Lord Dante’s neck, and fell the long distance to the floor of the theatre. For a moment, the vampire king twisted in the air, as the heavy metal wires hung from his body; he seemed to be trying to speak, but all that emerged from his gaping mouth was a series of bloody gurgles.

  Then the winches of the five T-Bones fired, and he was pulled to pieces.

  The five stakes whirred back into the barrels of the weapons with heavy thunks. A second later the vampire king of Paris fell into the aisle of his theatre, landing with a series of wet thuds. His legs were severed, as was one of his arms; they landed on the sloping floor, and rolled away towards the stage. His midsection was ruined, but his chest and his head were intact; blood was still gushing from his throat, and as Jamie watched, his bile rising despite the things he had seen in the last three months, the vampire began to age.

  His hair turned bright white, and great tufts of it fell to the red carpet. His skin greyed, and wrinkled, and suddenly his face was that of an old man. His chest rose and fell so slightly it was barely noticeable. His eyes stared up at Jamie’s visor, a look of desperate pain etched into them.

  Jamie was about to give the order for the vampire king to be staked, when a shadow fell across him, and he felt a blast of hot air on the back of his neck. He turned his head, ever so slowly, and found himself staring into the huge yellow eyes of the wolf that had been his friend. The blood-soaked snout was only centimetres away from his visor.

  More slowly than he had ever moved in his life, Jamie twisted his body round so that he was crouching in front of the huge animal. It tilted its head to one side as he did so, its eyes never leaving his purple visor, its mouth hanging open. He backed away, lifting his feet and placing them down as carefully as he could; he did not want to make a sound, or a sudden movement.

  The gap between himself and the wolf slowly increased, and then he was at the top of the aisle, standing with the rest of his team. They stared as the wolf padded forward, and stood over what remained of Lord Dante.

  The vampire king’s mouth worked silently as the great wolf’s breath blasted against his face, blowing the long strands of white hair back against the blood-soaked floor. With great effort, Lord Dante lifted his one remaining hand, and placed it gently against the thick fur of the wolf’s snout. The wolf closed its huge yellow eyes for a moment, seeming to enjoy the vampire’s touch. Then it lowered its head, and began to eat the vampire king’s chest.

  Lord Dante didn’t scream, but Jamie was sure that was only because he was incapable of doing so. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, his hand gripping the wolf’s fur, his mouth forming a perfect circle, as the thick, razor-sharp yellow teeth chewed through his flesh; he was still alive as Frankenstein broke through his ribcage, and tore his beating heart from his body. The wolf mashed it between his teeth, growling with pleasure, then swallowed the raw meat.

  As the remains of Lord Dante exploded around it, showering its grey fur with crimson, it threw back its head and howled a deafening roar of unmistakable triumph.

  46

  THE TWIST OF THE KNIFE

  “What now?” breathed Jack Williams, asking the question that all five members of the Blacklight team were thinking. “What the hell do we do now?”

  The wolf was standing in the aisle before them, less than three metres away, licking Lord Dante’s blood from the soaked, steaming carpet. It appeared to have no interest in them, but it had growled, without looking up, when Jack had stepped alongside Jamie. The inference seemed to be clear; that it had not yet decided what to do with them, and would prefer it if they stayed still while it did.

  “Dominique,” said Jamie, softly. “You have tranquilliser darts, right?”

  “Not darts,” replied Dominique Saint-Jacques. “I have tranquillisers, but they’re hypodermics. You can’t fire them.”

  “Then what the hell use are they?” hissed Jamie.

  “They’re for human witnesses,” said Dominique, sharply. “Not for werewolves.”

  Jamie sighed. “Give them to me,” he said.

  “How many?”

  “All of them.”

  Dominique lifted three hypodermic needles from a metal container on his belt, and passed them down the line to Jamie. He flipped the plastic caps off, and looked at the tiny needles.

  “Will these put him down?” he asked.

  “I don’t have the slightest idea,” said Dominique. “I hope so, for all our sakes, but I don’t know. That’s the truth.”

  “Great,” said Jamie. “Well, I guess we’re going to find out.”

  Jamie lifted his visor, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The fires were burning themselves out, the chairs and small patches of carpet that had been aflame now merely smouldering. There was blood everywhere, and Jamie took a moment to appreciate the work his team had done.

  Sixty vampires, give or take. No injuries, no casualties. Not bad at all.

  He smiled again.

  No injuries yet anyway. That might be about to change.

  He took a slow, deliberate step into the aisle. The wolf growled again, a little louder than the last time, and then Angela’s voice rang in his ears.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “What does it look like?” he replied.

  “It looks like you’re trying to commit suicide by werewolf.”

  “I assure you I’m not,” he said. He was staring at the enormous animal as it lapped blood from the floor, and was, frankly, terrified. But he knew what he had to do. “I’m not leaving without him. He’s why we came.”

  “He?” demanded Angela. “It’s not he any more, can’t you see that? Are you going to take a werewolf back to the Loop with us?”

  “That’s the plan,” Jamie replied, taking a second step forward.

  The wolf growled again, more urgently, and Jamie felt his legs begin to shake.

  “What are you going to tell Admiral Seward?” demanded Angela. “Don’t worry, he’s still my friend for twenty-nine days of the month? What do you think he’s going to say to that?”

  “I’m hoping he’s going to say congratulations on a successful mission,” said Jamie. “Now shut the hell up and let me do this.”

  He took a third step, bringing him within two metres of the animal, and then suddenly the wolf’s head was up, quicker than Jamie’s eyes could follow, its mouth wide and coated red, its nostrils flared, a sawing growl of warning emanating from its throat as its misshapen yellow eyes locked on Jamie’s own.

  Jamie stopped dead. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was absolutely sure that if he dropped his gaze, the animal would tear his throat out. So he stared back at the wolf, and saw something remarkable happen.

  The huge eyes, sunflower yellow with pupils as black as night, suddenly narrowed, in an unmistakably human gesture of recognition.

  “That’s rig
ht,” said Jamie, softly. “You know me. Don’t you?”

  He took another step forward. The wolf reared up, but it didn’t step back, or leap forward and kill him.

  “Don’t you?” he repeated. “What’s my name? You know it. What’s my name?”

  He was within a metre of the animal now. The wolf looked confused, and suddenly miserable, as though the elation of victory had been replaced by deep anguish. It moved its head quickly from side to side, its growl lowering in volume and rising in pitch, until it sounded almost questioning.

  “What’s my name?” Jamie asked, stepping forward again.

  He was directly under the enormous snout; he could have reached out and touched the slick-red grey fur.

  “Tell me,” he whispered. “What’s my name?”

  The wolf’s mouth opened, and it looked down at him with an expression of abject suffering. Jamie braced himself for the sensation of teeth closing round his head, but he did not shut his eyes.

  “Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaamieeeeeeeeeeeee,” howled the wolf.

  Jamie threw himself against the enormous snout and wrapped his arms round the animal’s head, his mind empty of everything but the knowledge that he had found his friend, and saved him, as Frankenstein had once saved him.

  The wolf’s enormous tongue flicked out of its mouth and licked Jamie’s face. The huge animal was still growling, but the tone of the rumbling noise had changed. It no longer sounded like a warning; now it sounded oddly like the purring of a cat. Jamie felt the rough texture of the tongue on the side of his face, and fought back tears. The wolf lowered its head, and nuzzled against him, its yellow eyes closed. Jamie saw his chance and, with guilt stabbing at his heart, plunged the three hypodermic needles into the thick fur at the animal’s neck.

  The yellow eyes flew open, but the wolf didn’t pull away from him. It regarded him with a look in its eyes that Jamie initially took for sadness, for disappointment, but realised almost instantly was trust, was faith, in him. The eyes closed again, as the huge animal slumped to the floor, its grey flank settling on the blood-soaked carpet. Its chest rose and fell steadily, as its tongue rolled out between its teeth and hung limply towards the ground.

  Jamie sighed, a deep, rattling release of everything that had built up inside him over the past three months. He felt elation, and pride, and fear, and guilt, all mingled together in a cloud of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. He pulled the needles out of the wolf’s neck, and took a faltering step back.

  “Holy shit,” whispered Jack Williams. “You did it, Jamie. You did it.”

  Jamie was turning to his friend, a smile spreading on his face, when the radio on his belt suddenly buzzed into life. He lifted it from his belt, keyed the RECEIVE button and held it to his ear.

  “Jamie, it’s me,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

  “Larissa!” exclaimed Jamie. “Larissa, we got him! We were almost too late, but we found this—”

  “Jamie, listen to me,” interrupted Larissa. “I called to tell you that I love you. OK? I don’t want to never have said it.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jamie asked. “We’ll be home in forty-five minutes.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Larissa. “You’re going to be too late.”

  47

  NOWHERE TO RUN, NOWHERE TO HIDE

  Kate Randall sprinted into the vast hangar and skidded to a halt in front of the control panel that stood beside the wide-open doors. She thumped the flat red button in the centre, and instantly the deafening klaxon of the general alarm screamed through the Loop.

  The Duty Officer came flying out of his office on the other side of the door, shouting at her as he ran.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Kate turned to face him, and her expression stopped him dead in his tracks.

  “Open the armoury!” she shouted. “Open everything we’ve got, and get everyone up here now.”

  “What the hell is…”

  The Operator’s voice trailed off as something caught his eye beyond the open hangar doors, and he turned his head towards it. His mouth fell open momentarily, then snapped shut. He turned away from her without another word, and sprinted towards the side of the hangar. Kate watched him work a series of controls, then saw two wide panels of the side walls slide back, revealing long racks of T-Bones, Russian Daybreakers and countless other weapons. She watched him lift a T-Bone from a rack, then turned and sprinted back out of the hangar.

  “Wait!” bellowed the Duty Officer, and she turned back to face him. “Where are you going?”

  “My friend is out there!” she yelled, and ran towards the runway.

  Larissa replaced the radio on her belt. She could hear Jamie’s voice shouting her name as she did so, but there was nothing more to say. She flexed the muscle in her jaw that few people possessed; her fangs slid smoothly down from her gums, and her eyes blazed a deep, swirling crimson. She stood in the vast shadow as it swept towards the Loop, her feet set, her shoulders back, her hands dangling at her sides, her gaze locked on what was coming.

  Valeri Rusmanov floated above the grass, at the head of an army of vampires.

  They numbered more than two hundred; they flew at his back, their combined shadow sweeping before them. They were not hurrying; their progress was steady, and ominously silent. Valeri had sent word throughout Europe, and the men and women who followed him now were the ones who had answered the call. They had arrived at the chateau in ones and twos; some he knew, or knew of, many he had never met before in his life.

  He didn’t care. His master had given him an order, and he needed soldiers to help him carry it out. They had flown to England the previous night, and lain low in the stately home of a loyal follower of Valeri’s late brother, Alexandru, an elderly vampire whose excitement at hosting the oldest Rusmanov brother, even for as little as twelve hours, had bordered on the pitiful.

  He had given two orders before they departed, as simple as any he had ever given in his former life as a General of the Wallachian Army: Henry Seward was to be captured alive; everyone else was to be killed. His new army had hungrily agreed, excited at the prospect of unrestrained violence against the men and women of Blacklight. Everyone who had answered Valeri’s call knew someone who had been destroyed by the infernal black soldiers; it was the reason the vast majority of them were there.

  The others, the small number who had come for the sport, for the opportunity to maim and murder, were the ones that Valeri knew he had to keep an eye on. They would be useful, he knew, but they might also be difficult to control. For their benefit, he had a large printout of the photo from Henry Seward’s ID, and had explained in intricate biological detail the punishment that would befall anyone who failed to obey the order to bring him back alive.

  They had made their way carefully through the woods that surrounded the Department 19 base; Valeri had been prepared to alter his plan if they were detected, but the information his informant had supplied was accurate. The long column of vampires had snaked through the trees, keeping beyond the range of the motion sensors, floating over the pressure pads that littered the forest floor.

  When they had reached the fence that marked the perimeter of the compound, Valeri had taken a deep breath; this was a moment he had often dreamt of, although he had never foreseen a time that it could be put into action. Dracula’s order had changed that; it no longer mattered if a frontal assault on Blacklight was foolhardy, or suicidal. He had been ordered to do it, and he was nothing if not a loyal soldier.

  He had barked a simple command at his assembled army, and as one, they had leapt into the air, over the high fence, over the ultraviolet no-man’s-land, over the laser array, and had flown steadily towards the distant dome of the Department 19 headquarters. As they crossed the runway that bisected the circular base, Valeri’s superhuman eyes picked out two figures on the grass below; as he watched, one turned and ran for the open side of the dome, from which yellow l
ight blazed in the gathering gloom.

  “She’s going to raise the alarm,” hissed the vampire at his side, a Ukrainian he had once hunted with on the Russian steppes, whose name was Alexey Grigoriev.

  “Let her raise it,” said Valeri. “It will do no good now.”

  The second figure turned to face them, and Valeri saw twin points of red light blazing from the place where it stood.

  The traitor, realised Valeri, with a rush of pleasure. The vampire girl who helped them to kill Alexandru. How fitting that she will be the first to die.

  Kate screeched to a halt beside Larissa, and grabbed at the vampire girl’s arm. Her friend turned on her, her eyes blazing.

  “Come on!” Kate yelled. “You can’t stay here!”

  “Go back to the hangar, Kate,” said Larissa. “Before it’s too late.”

  “It’s already too late!” Kate screamed. “And I’m not going without you. So come with me. Now, Larissa!”

  Larissa looked at her friend; her face was full of worry, but there was no fear to be seen. The vampire’s heart was suddenly full of love for Kate; she was so brave, so determined that she would not leave her friend behind.

  She smiled at Kate, then grabbed her effortlessly round the waist and rocketed into the air. Larissa flew through the air like a missile, barely two metres above the ground, and slid easily on to the concrete floor of the hangar. She released her grip on Kate, who stared at her with disbelief.