Blue Skin (Book 2): Blue Skin

by Jenkins, Steven

  We nod, but neither of us knows what the hell we should be ready for.

  He pushes the doors open, and that odour gets stronger.

  “What’s that smell?” Erin asks, her mouth and nose scrunched up in disgust.

  “It’s the smell of burning bodies,” he replies, unemotionally. “Haven’t you ever smelt a slaughterhouse before?”

  Erin shakes her head, her hand now over her mouth and nose, her eyes watering.

  I remember that smell now. There used to be a slaughterhouse right by our school. That stink used to infect the playground, and waft in through the windows on sunny days.

  So gross.

  “We can’t exactly bury all those Hemovores,” Michael continues. “Everything here gets burned—once we’re done with them.”

  Done with them?

  To the right of us, there’s an orange door with Restricted Access written in big white letters across the centre. It has another security panel on the side, and the two cameras on the opposite wall are pointed right at it. What the hell could be in there? Are we going to get to see inside?

  Without even realising, I’ve stopped outside the door, trying to look through the tiny vent at the top.

  “Get away from the door, Sean!” Michael snaps. “That’s not for you!”

  “What’s in there?” I ask, startled, still with one eye on the vent.

  “It’s classified,” he replies, and then motions with his head to follow him. “Come on. We’ve got lots to see.”

  “Sorry, sir,” I say, catching them up.

  Classified? We’ve witnessed someone murder a lorry full of vampires. What’s left to hide?

  After another few metres, the tiled floor of the corridor stops, shifting into gridded steel as we approach a staircase. At the top, through another door, we come out onto a balcony. Michael grips the metal railing. “Take a look,” he says, proudly, leaning over the edge.

  Erin and I join him, our eyes swelling with shock at the spectacle fifty-metres below. The floor space is about the size of a soccer pitch, with wire fencing stretching all the way around, and almost reaching the height of the balcony. And inside, at least two hundred vampires sit and lie, passed out, slumped against steel benches, sprawled out, ankles shackled to the concrete floor. Prisoners. The sight takes my breath away, overwhelming me. I’ve never seen so many in one place.

  I thought the nest was bad enough. But this…?

  “Oh, my God,” Erin blurts out, leaning over the railing, gaining a closer look. “How many are down there?”

  “Last count?” Michael replies, pursing his lips to think. “Three hundred and two. Not including the twelve subjects in the truck.”

  “Aren’t you worried that they’ll climb out?” she asks. “They can easily get over that fence.”

  Michael shakes his head. “It’s electrified. One touch of that metal—and BOOM!”

  “What do you want with them?” I ask.

  “Well, as much as they need to be eradicated,” he replies, “we still need to learn from them. They’re faster than us. Stronger. They can heal in seconds. Age rapidly. We can’t just ignore that. As much of a problem as they are, Hemovores are amazing creatures. Miracles even. More advanced than anything on this planet.”

  “But they’re monsters,” I say, almost snapping at him; Mum and Dad’s death resounding in my head. “Killers.”

  Michael puts his hand on my shoulder. “I know that, Sean. And I know how confusing this must seem. But there’s so much we don’t understand about their DNA. And that’s exactly why we need this facility. We could unlock a cure for cancer, maybe. Or Alzheimer’s. If we don’t at least try, then all this pain, all this death would have been for nothing.”

  “But there are so many of them. Why would you need all those just to test their DNA?”

  Michael points down at the prisoners. “Sean, do you see that Hemovore in the corner?”

  Squinting, I follow his finger, but I can’t see which one he’s referring to. There’s a cluster of vampires huddled up in the corner, all fast asleep, and apart from wearing different clothing, they all look identical to each other. “Which one, sir?”

  “The bald blue one,” Michael replies with a smirk.

  Perplexed, I turn to him, wondering what the joke is. “But they’re all bald and blue.”

  “Exactly, Sean. They may look the same, but it doesn’t mean they are. A cage filled with gorillas would look the same to us, but that’s just our perception.” He chuckles. “Hell, I bet a Hemovore couldn’t tell the difference between one human and the next.”

  “I see what you mean.” Would I recognise Ben if he was down there? I’m not so sure.

  “We get something different from every test,” Michael continues. “Purebreds are faster, more aggressive. Half-breeds might be a little slower, but they’re far more intelligent. And those results are just from the physical and mental tests we’ve been doing here. DNA. Brain samples. Stem-cell research. There’s so much more to learn.”

  “Can we see one of the labs?” Erin asks like an excited child in a toyshop. “Maybe see one of these tests?”

  “Of course, you can,” Michael replies, and then starts to walk back the way we came. “That’s why we’re here.”

  Hypnotised by the prisoners, I can’t help feeling a little sorry for them. I mean, how long have they been down there? How painful are these tests? I’m fine with eating a cheese burger, or tucking into a Sunday roast, but the thought of torturing the actual cow, keeping it prisoner, and then cooking it—well…

  Grow up, Sean! You had no problem killing all those vamps at the nest. What the hell’s the difference?

  “You coming, or what?” Erin calls out, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Sorry.” I catch up with them.

  Just as we pass the orange Restricted Access door, there’s a beeping sound, and a green light illuminates on the wall above it. The door opens and a loud puff of air escapes. A man wearing a white lab-coat and blue disposable gloves emerges. I try to look inside, but the man quickly closes the door behind him, punches a code into the security panel, and then walks towards the balcony.

  “After I take you to see Dr Moore,” Michael says, “we can pop downstairs to the furnace. See how all this ends.” He glances back at us as we reach a set of doors. “Sound good?”

  “Yes, please, sir,” Erin replies, nudging me with enthusiasm.

  Michael swipes his card down the centre of the security panel. “And then maybe get some lunch.”

  I sniff the air hard and retch in repugnance.

  Maybe I’ll skip lunch.

  21

  This is the first time I’ve been in Erin’s flat. It’s pretty nice. Second floor on a four-storey building. Light blue walls. Wooden floors. Really fancy for an eighteen-year-old. The living room/kitchen is small, but cosy, and there’s definitely a strong girl-vibe coming from the frilly purple pillows on the white couch, and the framed photos of cute cats and dogs. Didn’t take Erin as the cutesy type. Must belong to her flatmate.

  “So, how long have you lived here?” I ask her, leaning back on the couch, taking a swig of beer from my bottle. For the first time all night, I actually feel stress-free, like I’m just catching up with a friend. God help me if this was an actual date. This couch would be drenched in nervous sweat.

  “Straightaway,” Erin replies, topping up her glass of red wine. “I couldn’t stay in that house after what happened. Way too much headwork.”

  “Yeah. Same here. I haven’t been back to my house once. Don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have my grandparents.”

  Erin grins with slightly reddened teeth, and then takes a sip of her drink. “We could have been flatmates.”

  I return a smile, and then down what’s left of my bottle. “You wouldn’t want to live with me. I can’t cook for shit.”

  Erin snorts. “Neither can I.”

  “Yeah, but you’re more mature than me.”

  �
�Well, at least we agree on something.” She sets her glass on the coffee table and gets off the couch.

  “You are. Before all this shit happened, I used to spend my days slouched in my chair, eating peanut M & Ms, playing video games all day.”

  Erin walks over to the kitchen area, my eyes fixed on her perfectly round arse, packed so neatly into those tight grey jeans. Opening the fridge door, she glances back, catching me in the act. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, I drift my eyes over to the wall, hoping that she thinks I was staring at a cat picture instead. “I love video games,” she points out. “Just haven’t played in a while.” She pulls out a bottle of beer. “Didn’t your ex-girlfriend ever play? What was her name again?”

  She knows her name. Is she jealous? Pretending that she doesn’t care? “Freya. Video games were never her scene.”

  She hands me the bottle and I thank her. “That’s a shame. Bet it was nice living next door though. Sneaking back and forth to each other’s bedrooms.”

  “It wasn’t quite like that. We didn’t need to sneak around. Her Mum had other things on her mind.” Change the subject, Sean. Talking about her won’t help you. “She’s gone now, anyway. Off somewhere with her vampire brother.” I can’t even bring myself to say his name out loud. I gulp down nearly half the bottle in one. “Good riddance, I say. Someone else’s problem now.”

  There’s a moment of painful silence.

  “So, where’s your flatmate tonight?” I ask, hoping to steer the conversation away.

  “Out with her boyfriend. He stays over sometimes, but she’s mainly over his place.”

  “That’s good. At least you get some space.”

  Erin tops her glass up again. “Yeah, but it can get a bit lonely being on my own. There’s only so much TV you can binge on.”

  “I suppose. My grandparents are pretty cool with giving me space—and I still get company when I need it. My grandmother doesn’t say much, though, but she’s always up for watching a horror movie. And my grandfather spends most of his time fixing up old junk in his garage. He’s tried to teach me a few things over the years, but DIY is lost on me.”

  “What do they think about you working for the HCA?” she asks, swinging her feet up on the couch, her white sock grazing my thigh.

  Did she mean to do that?

  “They’d rather I didn’t,” I reply as a warm surge of electricity travels across my skin, “especially Gran—but I think they understand. They spend so much time making sure I’m all right, I sometimes forget how hard it must be for them. I mean, they lost their only daughter that night, too.”

  “Yeah. I know.” She gently strokes my arm with her hand. “At least they still have you.”

  “Lucky them,” I say with a tight smile. “And I don’t tell them everything we do on the job. God, if I did, they’d never let me do it. Like the nest. I haven’t told them about that yet. If they knew how dangerous that was, they’d flip out.”

  “Yeah. But I suppose there’s not much you can tell them. Definitely not about The Facility, anyway.”

  I shake my head. “No, I guess not.” I nervously peel off the beer label as her big toe wriggles against my leg. It feels nice. Tingly. She’s definitely coming on to me. “So, what did you think of the place?”

  “Pretty cool.”

  “Yeah, me too.” No, you didn’t, Sean. Just tell her the truth. “Not what I expected, though.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, her big toe now massaging my leg. “Too grey and dull looking?”

  I shrug my shoulders, trying to ignore her obvious flirting. “I don’t know. Just felt a little cruel shooting all those vampires in the back of the lorry.”

  Erin chuckles. “What are you talking about? Why else did we take them to The Facility? It’s not a health spa.”

  “No, I know that. It’s just…seeing it done like that… I don’t know…”

  “Look, I sort of know where you’re coming from. Witnessing all that was a bit of an eye-opener, even for me. But you have to admit, it’s a hell of a lot better that gassing them, or sending them to the electric chair.”

  I nod because she’s right. And it’s dumb to give a shit what happens to them. They’re just vampires.

  “And if someone wanted to kill me,” she adds, “then I’d rather they did it quick, painless, and when I was asleep.” She swallows almost half her glass of wine. “And who gives a shit about them, anyway? Those bastards came into my house, into my bedroom, and tried to kill me in my own fucking bed.” She shakes her head with a look that I’ve seen before. It’s a look of pure disgust, of loathing. And eyes of absolute hatred, and bitterness. So powerful, so prominent, not even my loss could match it. “But that’s behind me now. My parents are gone, and all I can do—correction: all we can do—is take out as many as we can. One by one.”

  “You’re right. I’m being an idiot. To hell with the lot of them.”

  Erin beams, putting her hand on mine. “You’re not an idiot. You’re just a little sensitive, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Sensitive?” I prod her side with my fingers. “Cheeky cow.” I tense my measly bicep. “Butch, more like.”

  Softly pinching my arm, she chuckles. “Okay then, Arnie—butch, it is.”

  “That’s more like it.”

  As I rest another empty bottle on the floor, I notice, for the first time, how pert her breasts are. They’re not exactly big, or small. Just right. Perfect—like Freya’s were.

  Stop it, Sean. Stop thinking about her. She’s gone.

  Erin picks up my empty bottle. “Same again?”

  “I’ll get it,” I say, getting off the couch. I walk over to the kitchen and open the fridge. Each shelf is stocked to the gills with junk food, cans of Coke, leftover pork chops, some very questionable curry in a plastic container, and the only vegetable in sight is a bag of lettuce, which, judging by the browning leaves and suspicious odour, I’d say was way past its expiry date. “So, what did you make of all those prisoners?” I ask, grabbing a beer. “Seems like a lot just for a few tests.”

  “Who cares?”

  “No, I don’t mean it like that. I’m just curious.” The moment I sit on the couch, Erin puts both her feet onto my lap. “Three hundred seemed a little excessive, don’t you think?”

  “They can poke and prod as many as they like. I don’t give a shit. As long as they’re stuck in that place and not on the streets, that’s good enough for me.”

  Shut up, Sean. You’re ruining the mood. “And what about that restricted room we passed? Didn’t you think that was strange?” For Christ’s sake, stop talking!

  Erin sniggers, poking my stomach with her foot. “Oh, my God, Sean. You worry too much. It’s just a room. Another place to experiment on them.”

  “But why was that room sealed off and not the others? I mean, he showed us pretty much the entire facility. Aren’t you in the least bit curious about what was behind that door?”

  “You’re paranoid. I bet you’re one of those conspiracy nuts. I bet you think the moon landing was fake, or that America took down the Twin Towers.”

  I snort, even though she’s half-right. “No, I just thought it was strange that—”

  She takes my hand and pulls me towards her. “Why don’t you stop yapping about stinking bloodsuckers and secret doors, and kiss me for Christ’s sake?”

  I freeze, butterflies invading my gut. Just do it, already. Kiss her, you idiot. She’s gorgeous. The kind of girl every nerd dreams of.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks with a scowl.

  I shake my head. “Nothing. It’s just…”

  Moving her head away, she throws me a paper-thin smile. “You’re still hung up on Freya.”

  “No. No. It’s not that.” Liar. “I don’t give a shit about Freya. I’m just worried about risking our friendship.”

  She puts her warm hands on my cheeks and pulls me close. “That’s okay then,” she whispers, and then her soft lips meet mine.

 
; And we kiss.

  Pulse racing, frozen limbs thawing, I close my eyes and run my fingers through her smooth hair, unable to stop a picture of Freya forming in my mind. Forget about her! It’s too hard because this reminds me our first kiss on the couch. I remember the smell of her hair. Coconut. That feeling of relief that something had finally happened. That nervous energy twisting, turning, shifting into passion. A moment that I—

  For fuck’s sake, Sean! Stop it! You’re kissing yet another stunning girl, on yet another perfect night. That’s two more girls you ever thought you’d end up kissing. Just enjoy the moment and stop thinking about Freya.

  Erin breaks away from my lips, beaming. She gets off the couch, pulling me with her hand. She steers me like a puppy out of the living room, those butterflies multiplying with each step towards her bedroom. “What about your flatmate?” I ask when we reach her white door. “What if she comes home?”

  “She won’t be home for hours,” she replies, guiding me inside.

  Erin closes the door behind us, and a mix of excitement and dread suffocates me.

  Part VIII

  FREYA LAWSON

  22

  The second I open my eyes, I’m met with a dull ache coming from the back of my head. Gently touching it, I wince in pain when I find a huge lump beneath my hair.

  What the hell happened?

  I rub my eyes hard, the disorientation slowly lifting, and start to take in my surroundings. I’m back at Katrina and Wesley’s caravan, lying on the bottom bunk, with the curtain pulled around the bed. I climb off and check the top bunk.

  Where’s Ben?

  A jolt of horror slices through me as I recall last night’s events.

  Ben!

  Body tight with fear, I gingerly pull the curtain over to peek into the caravan.

  “She’s awake,” Wesley says from the table; the sound of his chirpy voice startling me.