by Lee Isserow
After the briefing ended, Ben followed Steve and the four tactical officers into a door off from the room, which had lockers full of weapons, shelves and rails full of equipment. He watched as the tacks donned their uniform; an armoured under-shirt that went all the way up their necks; matte black stab-proof vests; long, thick gloves that rolled up their entire arms; similarly reinforced trousers; steel-capped boots; helmets that covered their ears and had a clear visor that seemed to seal them in.
The lead tack, Griffiths, saw Ben staring at him. He gave him a big grin “Ain't no untrained blooder getting through that!” he shouted, tapping on his visor with his knuckles, then slamming his chest with both fists. The three other tacks hollerred in agreement. Ben felt uneasy. The phrase blooder sounded a little too close to the N-word for his liking.
“Ignore them,” Steve said, quietly. “They're all macho now, but when it comes down to it, only you and me get to take these bastards down.” He smiled, taking Ben over to a rail and handing him the same gear the tacks were donning.
But he didn't find Steve's words reassuring. Ben continued to watch the tactical team as he got dressed, saw them grab their shotguns, continuing to hoot and shout back and forth, It felt a little too much like Aliens, and he was starting to worry that they were about to walk into a slaughter.
30
A large matte black tactical van was waiting for them as they exited the elevator. As with his previous trips on the lift, Ben couldn't tell whether they had gone up or down. Logic told him that if the operations room was hidden deep underground, then it must be beneath the parking structure, which appeared to be just below the ground floor. Ben realised that it was the first time he had thought about the outside world since walking through the doors of Thames House almost three weeks previous. It was a shock. Not because of what he had been missing, but because he hadn't realised how insignificant and pointless his life had felt until it had purpose. Now, his life most definitely had purpose. He had purpose.
The van's engine roared to life, and sped through the cavernous parking structure, circling a one-way system until the exit was in sight. They headed towards a slit of blinding white light that grew larger as they approached, a shutter crawling up into the ceiling at a leisurely pace. The tack behind the wheel didn't seem in the mood to wait for it to open fully, and barrelled towards it, the van emerging into daylight with barely a hair's breadth between its roof and the shutter. As they drove through the streets, Ben chuckled at who and how he was when he first came in. He had no idea what was waiting for him in Thames House, and even in his wildest dreams couldn't have imagined the truth.
As the smile faded from his lips, Ben's eyes couldn't help but fall on Steve's tactical gear. It was made of the same material as the armour the tacks wore, but it was built differently. There were a number of points where the material seemed thinner, as if a blade could easily slip through. There were also all manner of attachments and objects that looked like they were removable, as if his armour had been designed to hide any number of knives that could be taken to those weaker points, to let blood flow as and when required.
The van hurtled through the streets along the bank of the river, pulling up in an alley a few roads down from Tower Bridge. There was a railway arch above them, and a series of small shops and houses. Ben recognised the building directly ahead of them, its photo had been shown during the briefing. A dilapidated house that had been boarded up long ago, but at some point recently, the boards had been tugged from the door, leaving a small gap, just big enough for a slim man to slip through.
“Ready for breach?” Griffiths asked, the question directed at Steve, who nodded. “Glad to hear it.” he said. “Been a while since we last had a chance to break something...” He signalled to the three other team members to pull a large, hefty battering ram from the back of the van, and joined them as they carried it towards the door.
“Step back, lad,” Griffiths said, shooing Ben out of the way as they lined the battering ram up with the door. “On three,” he said. “One.” They pulled the ram back and let it swing forward. It was a few inches shy of the door. “Two.” They swung it back again, it went higher, further, but still didn't make contact with the thin sheet of wood. “Three!” They heaved it back one more time and it burst through the fragile wood of the door, hundreds of splinters flying through into the dusty darkness of the building, as the door gave way to the heft of the solid metal battering ram.
The tacks dropped it and stepped back, Steve moving ahead of them. Ben held back and watched as MacGaulty snapped his thumb against the side of the glove. Slim, sharp claws sprung forth on either side of his four fingers with a barely audible sigh. They were only half a millimetre thick at the the base, tapering down like a scalpel blade at the point. Unlike a scalpel, each of the eight blades was short and stubby, not even a centimetre long, but Ben knew full well how efficient even the shortest of blade could be at calling a haemogoblin forth, let alone eight of them. Steve held his clawed fingers against the thinner material on the inside of the other wrist. “Hey Mate! We just want to talk!” He chuckled, as he stepped across an old, sodden carpet.
The tacks stood in formation at the door, shotguns at the ready. The weapons might not be able to kill the blood, but Fairchild had taught the new recruits that dispersing it with buckshot did at the very least slow it down.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Steve hollerred, tunelessly.
Ben saw some movement in the shadows, and wanted to shout out to MacGaulty, but found there was no voice in his throat. It didn't matter, Steve had seen it too and turned, taking the claws on his glove just a little bit closer to his wrist.
“I see you there...” Steve taunted, as he stepped over a broken table towards the shadow. Little clouds of dust burst out from under the shattered wood as he put his full, heavy weight down with each step.
The shadow quivered as MacGaulty drew closer. Ben could see something shining in the darkness.
“He's... got a knife...” Ben tried to say. He had to forced the words, they came out was a whisper that grated against his dry throat.
The shadow moved sharply, the glint of knife singing as it whipped through the air, accompanied by the sound of a tear, then the wet slosh of liquid flowing. Blood had been let loose. The shadow was starting to grow.
Steve was done going slowly and playing nice. He dug the blades of the gloves deep into the flesh of his wrist. His hand turned, and tore a deep hole up towards his arm, ripping through veins and musculature as if it were butter. He pulled the glove from the wound and shook his hand out. Blood spattered against the walls and floor. The amorphous monster that burst out of Steve's arm was larger and faster than the one growing in the shadows. It puckered in at the front, and tore itself open to form mighty, gelatinous jaws. The sinewy strands of viscous fluid between the two halves started to form into sharp, brown teeth. The same teeth Ben has seen in so many nightmares, that he had seen every time he had let his own 'goblins loose.
He watched in silence, remembering Fairchild's class on the biomechanics of the vivi sanguinem. The current hypothesis was that the sentient plasma used naturally occurring clotting factors to form such structures. The teeth, or any harder part of a blood, anything that had to impact or grab rather than stick or absorb, was essentially nothing more than a large, condensed scab. Knowing that whilst in the training sessions was one thing, it was easy to observe bloods and see how the structure changed in various places, but watching at the door at the darkness inside was very different. The viscous monstrosity coming out of Steve's wrist looked almost demonic, as if the hole in his arm was a portal from which it escaped from hell itself.
The creature in the shadows lunged. Ben's mouth dropped as it came into the scant daylight in the dank house. This wasn't like the globular monsters he had seen before, this thing was like a snake, with a black diamond for a head. It made a sloshing sound as it flew through the air, tearing through the body of the demonic entity a
ttached to Steve. The diamond head of the shadow's creature burst open, like a grappling hook, and whipped back, receding on its path, tearing blood loose of MacGaulty, that spattered against the walls and floor. The snake quickly lapped it up and its head returned to the diamond shape. It started slinking through the air again, as if waiting to strike once more at its prey.
Steve's 'goblin cowered and dodged the snake's movements. It seemed shaken by the assault, but having been attacked only made it angrier. The creature snapped its jaws, trying to catch hold of the snake, but the wiry thing was too fast for the fat monster. Whilst his blood was lunging for the shadow man's 'goblin, Steve reached to his chest with his free hand and pulled a thin dagger from the padding, twirling it in his hand before jabbing it into his side.
The snake lunged at the new creature that was starting to flow fast out of Steve's belly. Its black head bit through the new 'goblin and sucked the thing down. Ben watched a wide smile crawl up Steve's face. This was exactly what he wanted.
The larger creature had been feigning how weak and slow it was, and opened its mighty jaws, biting clean through the snake and swallowing every drop of it. The smaller blood, that had been attacked by the snake grew in size too, and swallowed up the diamond head of its aggressor.
What was left of the snake tried to reform, but the man in the shadows had lost a lot of blood. He groaned and he tried to force concentration, but it was no use. Steve's two monstrous bloods were on him, their massive jaws latching themselves into the infected man's flesh, sucking him dry.
The body fell to the ground, and the tacks moved in, leading with their shotguns, insuring that the hostile was no longer a threat. Ben stood back and looked at the scene, the blood on the floor and walls was moving, trying to coalesce. The larger of the two 'goblins coming from Steve lapped them up with a syrupy tongue, before starting to returning to the large man's veins.
Steve strutted out of the door, a big beaming smile on his face as he met Ben's gaze. With an additional five or six litres sloshing around his body, he seemed just that bit larger than he was before he entered the abandoned building.
“And that, is how we do!” he said, as he headed towards the van with a smug grin on his face. Ben watched his mentor as he walked away, and turned back to the body. It hadn't occurred to him until then that he was being trained to kill.
He wondered if he could do it, but then remembered what was at stake. They were saving the world from an infection – an infection he could spread if he didn't have full control of it – and he would do whatever it took to maintain control.
31
In the weeks that followed, each of the other new recruits was taken on missions to observe the Blood Squad in action. Their classroom sessions became fewer, and their practical lessons in the white room increased in regularity. They each knew that soon it would be time for them to go out in the field in a practical capacity, but none of them could say that they were truly prepared yet.
Even though Steve eventually got the upper hand in each of the operations, his tactics of being attacked and then striking back didn't sit well with any of them. It was also worrying that the blood-driven each seemed to manifest their bloods in different ways. Where Ben's op involved a man with a blood snake, Tess had seen a woman with multiple tentacles. Chris has seen an old man that she swore conjured a shark, and Nick said he thought he saw a gorilla.
Steve reassured them that it was nothing to worry about. “The blood-driven brain works different to us, they can't think for themselves, but images get through, so where we have these ugly blob bastards coming out of us, they have relics of memories from who they used to be.” He chuckled, even though there was nothing to laugh at. “Guy likes dogs all his life, his blood-driven brain will make dogs out of blood, y'get me?”
The new recruits nodded, Nick and Chris accepting what they were told, but it didn't sit right with Ben and Tess. Together, they practised in the white room, trying to conjure bloods that had anything more than the globular form they were used to, but it was to no avail. When Steve discovered they were practising by themselves, he was proud, as that was exactly what the next stage of their sessions would involve.
They were locked in the room, two at a time, and ordered to let the blood flow. Without an uninfected person in the room, the blood appeared hesitant attack, so it was up to them to make the blood betray that instinct.
Steve taught them to focus their anger, give it to the blood, which made it lash out. Ben's creature supped from Tess's, then Tess's from Ben's. Chris attacked Nick's blood, then Nick's chomped down on Chris's. Steve told them he was prouder than he had been of any set of recruits previous, he had even managed to get Chris to get over her reluctance to take a blade to her skin.
Ben slept in his bunk with a smile on his face, not because of the pride Steve had tried to instil in him, but because he could feel Tess's blood flowing through his veins.
The blood didn't care that they were different blood types, it was smarter than their bodies, didn't have a problem with different strains. Blood was blood, and it supped at anything that was going. But her blood was in him, and his in her. Ben didn't know if there was any physical connection from her side, but having a part of her inside him made him feel warm inside, and he hoped she felt the same.
All the weight shifted on the bed, and Ben woke to Steve's massive beaming face.
“What time is it?” Ben asked, groggily.
“Time for a field test!” Steve said, the smile wider than Ben had ever seen before. They were going to take what he had taught them out into the real world, and that excited their mentor. Little did he know, how close their first field test would be to their last.
32
The four new recruits were sat at the back of the briefing room whilst Ailes laid out the situation for them, Steve, and the four tacks that went out on the operation Ben observed. “Subject one twenty seven,” Ailes barked, indicating to a photo on the screen. It was of a University of East London student ID card. A young man, gaunt, dark hair and pale skin, cheekbones that could carve a pumpkin. He had small dark eyes that reflected the light of the flashbulb when the photo was taken. His date of birth put him at twenty three. “A known infected that is most certainly blood-driven. We've monitored several calls he has made to escort agencies over the past week, he has drained his bank accounts hiring both male and female sex workers, no doubt with the intention of turning them into vectors.”
Ben stared at the young man's face. He knew he shouldn't empathise, but he couldn't feel that by them calling him 'subject one twenty seven' rather than by the name on the ID card; Daniel Johnson, they were dehumanising him. But, he reassured himself, that was probably the point. The Blood Squad was training him to kill these vectors, even if some operations were apparently intended to capture rather than kill the subjects, all he and the other new recruits had seen was kill missions.
He put it to himself; would it be easier to kill Daniel Johnson, or Subject One Twenty Seven? The answer was simple, and he tried to make himself forget the name Daniel Johnson.
33
In the tack room, the new recruits were given the same armour that Steve had worn on each of their operations with him. He demonstrated the various points on the armour that were intentionally weakened, and the multiple knives and sharp points on the uniform that could be used to cut a vein open.
As they travelled in the back of the van, they practised pulling the blades from the hidden compartments, flicking the switches that made the claws on the gloves pop out and in again.
“Don't worry,” Steve said, watching them fidget with their new toys. “When the time comes, you'll know what to do.”
None of them were certain that was true. It was one thing letting bloods out in a training room and swapping fluids back and forth by letting their creatures devour one another. To use that training in the field, to kill someone, that was putting them all on edge.
The van pulled up on the pavement on a street jus
t off Kings Cross, and they all filed out. The tacks grabbed the battering ram and dragged it over to the door whilst Steve smiled at each of the newbies in turn.
“I'll take the lead,” he told them. “This is going to be a cakewalk.”
They stood back as the count began, “Three. Two. One.” the door was blown off its hinges by the force of the battering ram, and the tacks let it fall to the ground.
Ahead of them was a tall, steep staircase. Steve started making his way up, huffing and puffing a little more with each step he hauled his girth onto.
Ben followed, Tess behind him, Nick behind her, and Chris at the rear, the tacks held back at the front door. As Steve got to the apartment's door at the top of the stairs, there was an almighty crash. They all turned to see Nick on his hands and knees, his heavy armour ricocheting off the stairs as he slipped down into Chris's legs, almost knocking her over too.
“Shh!” Steve said, holding a hand up, listening for movement inside the apartment. When he was certain there was nobody coming to investigate, he signalled for them to continue climbing the staircase. Chris helped Nick up, and all of them stopped at the threshold to the flat.
“You guys ready?” Steve asked, with a wide smile. The others nodded nervously. “Of course you are!” he said, grabbing hold of the bannisters and lifting his right leg with a grunt, before slamming all his weight into the frail lock in the door. It burst open and Steve pulled a blade out from his body armour as he stepped through, observing every shadow in case it was hiding Subject One Twenty Seven.
Very little thought had been put into decoration for the living room they found themselves walking into. There was a throw over a couch, an Ikea coffee table sitting on top of an Ikea rug. The walls were painted with a plain cream paint that was yellowing around the dedo rails on the floor. It reminded Ben of the lunch room back at the school. He smirked to himself, that life seemed so far away, that guy a completely different person. Who he was, going on secret operations with a covert government department, that felt like who he was always meant to be.
