by Will Hill
“Indeed they are not,” said Turner. “So what’s our alternative?”
“Test it on a vampire,” said Karlsson. “A live vampire. But there are ethical—”
“Do it,” said Turner. “Immediately. I’ll get the Operational Squads to bring you subjects. Test it as soon as there are vampires in the cells.”
“Once we have their agreement, sir?” asked Browning.
Turner shook his head. “Test it whether they agree or not, Lieutenant Browning,” he said. “My suggestion would be that you don’t waste time asking them. Bring the results straight here, whatever time of day it is, whatever my schedule says I’m supposed to be doing. The very minute you have them. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” said Karlsson.
“Yes, sir,” repeated Matt.
“Good,” said Turner. “If this works, if this is what you say it is, I’ll make sure the world knows what you and your colleagues did. I promise you that. I want you to pass my profound gratitude on to every single member of the Lazarus Project. Will you do that for me?”
“Of course,” said Karlsson, an expression of pride rising on to his face. “Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you, Professor,” said Turner. “And you, Lieutenant Browning. Now get back to the labs. Go and find out whether you really have just saved the world.”
Jamie walked along the cellblock corridor, safe in the knowledge that his mother would already know he was coming.
He could hear her moving about in her cell, even though it was still more than a hundred metres away, and had no doubt that she would be frantically tidying. It was incredibly unlikely that he would notice if the square room was what she considered messy, but she would be mortified nonetheless; as a result, he slowed his pace, giving her time to make the cell immaculate.
Jamie knew that he should be with Ellison and Qiang, getting ready for the Patrol Respond they would be embarking on in less than an hour. The amendment to the Operational SOP – that they were to bring vampires back to the Loop alive from now on – had arrived on their consoles ninety minutes earlier and he should have been discussing such a radical change of policy with his squad mates. In the current climate, with public anger rampant and incidents of violence occurring with dizzying frequency, carrying out the new order was going to be fraught with difficulty; it was, Jamie knew from long experience, extremely difficult to subdue a vampire that didn’t want to be subdued.
Killing them was a lot easier.
There had been no explanation for the change in SOP. Jamie had heard the subject being discussed at length as he made his way down through the Loop, thanks to his supernatural hearing, and the prevailing view seemed to be that it was a PR exercise, a way for Blacklight to try and improve their standing among the sections of the population who believed that vampires deserved the same treatment as humans. None of the Operators – or at least, none that he had overheard – had raised the possibility that had immediately occurred to him as he read the new orders, a possibility that he dearly, desperately hoped was the truth.
Matt and his team have made a breakthrough, he thought. And we’re bringing them vampire test subjects. I’m absolutely sure of it.
Jamie heard his mother stop moving and resumed his usual pace, his boots clicking on the floor beneath him. He wanted to talk to Kate about the change of orders, and he really wanted to find Matt and ask him what was going on, but he needed to see his mother first, despite the guilt he felt whenever he did so.
The previous evening, in the officers’ mess, he had told Kate the truth about his reasons for not telling his mother that his father was still alive. He knew that Kate – and Matt too, in all likelihood – thought it was a selfish decision, a way for him to get back at his dad and exercise power over a situation in which he had been left in the dark for so long, but that genuinely wasn’t the case. He had not told her, and would not tell her, because he could see no good that could come from it, and because he had no desire to cause his mother more pain than she had already suffered.
He knew that it was very likely the same rationale that Frankenstein would use for not having told him the truth about his father, and as such placed him dangerously close to hypocrisy, but he was sure, deep down, that it was not the same thing. Had he been told the truth, he could have done something about his father being alive, helped him, or brought him in, or something. Whereas there was nothing his mother could do from inside her cell, and it would only be cruel to increase her feelings of helplessness. When this was all over, when Dracula rose or fell and Blacklight survived or was destroyed, he would tell her, and take the consequences of his decision on the chin.
Jamie walked out in front of the UV wall that sealed his mother’s cell and smiled. She was sitting on their old sofa with a magazine in her hands, and looking up at him with a ludicrously unconvincing expression of surprise, as if trying to make it clear that she definitely hadn’t known he was coming and definitely hadn’t scrambled to give the cell a quick once-over before he arrived.
“Hello, love,” she said, and gave him a wide smile. “It’s nice to see you. Are you coming in?”
“Hey, Mum,” he said. “I was planning to, if that’s all right?”
“Of course,” she said.
His mother got up and busied herself with the tea tray as he pressed his ID card against the black panel on the wall. The purple barrier disappeared and he stepped into the cell, leaving the front open behind him; it was a violation of basic security procedures to do so, but he doubted he could find a single person inside the Loop who believed his mother represented any kind of a threat.
“Here you go,” said Marie, holding out a steaming mug. He thanked her, took it from her hand, and settled on to the sofa as she lowered herself into the armchair opposite.
“How are you, Jamie?” she asked.
“I’m all right, Mum. Yourself?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “Not a lot really happens down here.”
“I suppose not,” he said. “Doesn’t Valentin visit you any more?”
“He does,” said Marie. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as though she wasn’t sure whether she had said the right thing. “It’s nice to see another person now and again.”
“I bet,” said Jamie. He had avoided even glancing into the ancient vampire’s cell as he passed it, but had still been able to feel Valentin’s eyes following him.
“What about you?” she asked. “Still no word from Larissa?”
Jamie grimaced. “No, Mum,” he said. “No word from her.”
“Oh,” said Marie, and forced a smile. “Well, I’m sure there will be soon.”
Jamie laughed. “Why would you think that?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Why would you think we’ll hear from her soon, Mum? She left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye and she removed her chip so that nobody would know where she’d gone. Does that sound like the behaviour of someone who’s about to have a change of heart and come home?”
“I don’t know,” said Marie. “I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“Yeah,” said Jamie. “Me. I’m the reason.”
His mother shook her head. “That’s ridiculous, Jamie. Why would you say something so stupid?”
“We had a huge fight that evening,” he said. “You know we did. And three hours later she was gone. You can’t tell me to pretend there’s no link between the two?”
“I’m not saying that,” said Marie. “I just don’t like to see you being so hard on yourself. I didn’t know Larissa, but I don’t believe anyone would throw away their entire life because they had a fight with their boyfriend. What was it about, Jamie? Can you even remember? Because I bet it wasn’t anything important.”
He bit his tongue. His memory of that evening, of their argument and what it had been about, was crystal clear, but he could not tell his mother that.
“You’re right, Mum,” he said. “I can’t remember.”
He sipped his tea a
s his mother stared at him, a sympathetic expression on her face. He gave her a thin smile, but her gaze didn’t change; it was unnerving.
“What?” he asked, eventually. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re a teenager, Jamie,” she said, her voice low and gentle. “Only for another couple of years, but you’re still one now, and teenagers never believe their parents have ever been through anything that might be relevant to what’s happening to them. But I would hope you remember that you’re not the only person in this room who knows what it’s like to lose someone they love.”
Jamie felt his heart lurch in his chest. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “It’s not the same thing, I know it isn’t. I just miss her, Mum. There, I said it. I know you weren’t her biggest fan and I know part of you thinks I’m better off without her, but I really miss her.”
His mother gave him a fierce smile. “I know you do, Jamie,” she said. “Did you know my parents didn’t approve of your father when we got together? Did I ever tell you that?”
Good judges of character, thought Jamie, and instantly chastised himself for such unnecessary viciousness.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t know that. Why didn’t Nan and Granddad like him?”
She shrugged. “They were snobs,” she said. “Simple as that. They wanted me to marry a lawyer or a banker, someone who could look after me properly, and your dad was just a lowly civil servant at the Ministry of Defence. Well, we all thought that’s what he was, anyway. Your granddad was so rude the first time I took him home to meet them, and your nan wasn’t much better. Years later, after you were born and Julian had won them over, they admitted that they were trying to scare him off, to make him feel so unwelcome that he’d leave me. Isn’t that awful?”
“Yeah,” said Jamie. “It really is. Why didn’t it work?”
“You know what your father was like,” she said. “He had a stubborn streak a mile wide. I think it just made him all the more determined.”
“And what about you?” he asked. “It can’t have been easy, knowing they didn’t approve?”
“Oh, I couldn’t have cared less,” she said, and laughed. “If anything, it just made me even more attracted to him. Which I’m sure isn’t something you can relate to.”
Jamie smiled. “Definitely not, Mum,” he said. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
His mother nodded, her grin still in place. “I was young once, Jamie,” she said. “I was even a teenager, if you can believe that, and I can still just about remember what it was like. Although to be fair, I didn’t spend my adolescence hunting vampires. So that’s probably where our experiences diverge a little bit.”
Jamie stood up. “Can I have a hug, Mum?” he asked.
His mother flew across the cell, wrapped her arms round him, and squeezed him so tightly that for a moment he couldn’t breathe.
“She’ll come back,” she whispered. “And if she doesn’t, it wasn’t meant to be.”
He squeezed her back. “Thank you,” he said. “Any more tea?”
Marie released him. “Of course,” she said, and set about refilling his mug. “So what else has been happening upstairs? Anything new?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There actually is, for once. The way we go on patrol got changed today. We have to bring vampires in alive now.”
“Why?”
“Nobody knows for sure,” said Jamie. “Some people think it’s a PR thing, that it’ll look better if the public sees us locking vampires up instead of destroying them, and that’s probably true.”
“But you think it’s something else?” asked his mother, holding out his mug.
Jamie took it and nodded. “I haven’t seen Matt for about a week, and neither has Kate. So yeah, I think it’s something else. I think the Lazarus Project has found a cure.” His mother’s eyes widened, and he moved quickly to clarify what he was saying. “I mean, I think they’ve made some kind of breakthrough. I think we’re being asked to bring them test subjects. But like I said, I don’t know.”
“You’ve always said Matt would do it eventually,” she said. Her eyes were so full of hope it made him feel guiltier than ever. “You’ve never doubted it.”
“I never have,” he said. “But I really don’t know, Mum, and I need to be sure you’re listening to me. I’m not telling you there’s a cure. I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Jamie,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”
“I know you’re not,” he said. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“And I appreciate that,” she said.
Jamie sipped his tea. “What do you think you’d do, Mum?” he said. “If this was all over, and you were back out in the world?”
She shrugged. “That would depend on whether or not I was still a vampire.”
“Assume not,” said Jamie. “Assume you were back to normal. What would you do?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’d like to go somewhere I haven’t been before. Somewhere I could read, and sleep, and try my very hardest to never have anything exciting happen to me again.” She smiled at him. “I think I’ve had enough drama for one lifetime.”
He smiled back. “Fair enough,” he said. “I don’t think anyone could blame you for that.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “So yes, a bit of peace and quiet would be nice. And I’d like to make some friends. I used to like having friends, before your father died. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What would you do if you were cured?” she asked.
Jamie narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know if I would take a cure.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t know for certain that I would take a cure, Mum.”
“Is that a joke, Jamie?” she said, her tone suddenly sharp. “Because it’s not funny.”
He shook his head. “No, Mum,” he said. “I’m not joking. I know it isn’t what you want to hear, but I don’t hate being a vampire like you do. And it makes what I do every night a lot easier, and a lot safer.”
Marie put her tea down, sat forward, and looked him squarely in the eyes. “I want you to make me a promise, Jamie,” she said. “Son to mother. Promise me that if Matt and the others really have found a cure, you’ll take it. You’ll take it straight away.”
“I’m sorry, Mum,” he said. “I can’t do that.”
Pete Randall checked his watch, and looked around a community centre that he sincerely hoped had seen better days.
The concrete building, which squatted in a nondescript suburb of Peterborough, was coated in flaking whitewash and floored with peeling linoleum. Plastic tables were lined up at one end of the long room, beneath a fading string of triangular union flags and a handwritten banner announcing that TUESDAY NIGHT IS BINGO NIGHT. Behind the tables stood two large plastic bins, from which a line of SSL volunteers were handing plastic bottles of cattle blood to the vampires queuing quietly along the wall of the community centre and out on to the street.
Several of the volunteers looked nervous, but were getting on with their jobs without complaint. Pete didn’t blame them, particularly those who were helping out on their first drive; the blood caused an involuntary reaction in most of the vampires, and the sight of their fangs and the red glow in their eyes was unsettling, no matter how dedicated you were.
The blood drives had fast become a central part of SSL. The first, which Pete had overseen barely a month earlier, had been sparsely attended, and the vampires who had shown up had been visibly suspicious, as if they were worried that Blacklight Operators were waiting to jump out from behind the tables and stake them. But attendance had risen rapidly once it had become clear that the drives were safe, and they were now running at least half a dozen every week. Pete had made arrangements with two chains of slaughterhouses to supply blood, but he was already frantically trying to locate more; they
had brought two hundred and fifty litres to the community centre, and had already given more than half of it away, barely forty minutes after they had opened the community centre’s doors.
“Is this what it means to be the boss?” asked a voice from behind him. “Just standing around and not getting your hands dirty?”
Pete smiled as he turned round. “I’m strategically assessing the situation,” he said. “It’s vital work. You wouldn’t understand.”
The girl standing before him grinned and punched him on the arm. The abundance of rings on her fingers meant the blow hurt more than he suspected she intended, but he didn’t let it show. Her name was Genevieve, but anyone who called her that was taking their life in their hands. She considered her name evidence of her mother’s pathetic obsession with class, her desire to drag their family as far up the social totem pole as was humanly possible; instead, she grudgingly went by Jen. She was twenty, a politics student with a razor-sharp tongue and purple streaks in her hair and a paragraph from George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London tattooed on her forearm. In the pub around the corner from the SSL office, not long after she joined, one of the other volunteers had suggested that she was a class warrior; her response had lasted for almost twenty minutes, and contained language of such graphic specificity that it could have stripped paint from the walls.
Pete was very, very fond of her.
“All right then,” said Jen, narrowing her eyes and grinning at him. “Whenever you’re finished being all strategic, the last of the blood needs bringing in. I’m going outside to check on the queue.”
“All right,” he said. “Give me a shout if there are any problems.”
Jen rolled her eyes, tapped the UV torch on her belt, and strode away across the wide room. Pete watched her go, then walked behind the row of tables and out through the community centre’s back door, unease momentarily filling him.
They were required to provide their volunteers with at least rudimentary protection against the supernatural; the insurance policy that covered SSL employees explicitly demanded it, and Pete knew many of the volunteers felt better with ultraviolet torches hanging from their belts. But if it had been an option, he would have strongly argued for their removal, for two reasons.
