by Thomas Emson
He dropped the walkie-talkie.
I’m not trained for this, he thought.
“Drake, get out here,” said a voice.
It was his unit sergeant.
“Sarge, what the – ”
“Drake, we need you,” said Sarge.
Six militia men, including the Sarge, faced the oncoming army.
And it was an army. It had soldiers in it. Real ones. Not play ones like Drake and his mates.
The new force moved quickly towards the stadium.
“Right,” said the Sarge. “Run!” He dropped his weapon and scarpered. So did the others. Drake was too slow. Too many doughnuts, not enough porridge.
He tried to flee, but the new force was on him quickly. He turned and saw it was being led by a Chinese girl who was armed with two short swords.
His last thought as they mowed him down was, It’s not true they all look alike, because he’d recognized her.
She was the girl who’d been tied to a pole in the stadium less than an hour ago.
And now she led an army.
And her army marched over him.
PART NINE. IMMORTALITY.
CHAPTER 89. INTO DARKNESS.
Hillah, Iraq – 10.03pm (GMT + 3 hours), 20/21 May, 2011
ALFRED stumbled out of the coliseum in pursuit of Nimrod. The Great Hunter walked down a flight of steps. It was as wide as the arena, made of stone, carved into the earth. Thousands of years ago, Alfred imagined, the spectators would flood down the steps after witnessing blood games in the amphitheatre.
Nimrod bounded down, dragging Sinclair behind him. She yelled out in pain as she bounced along. She left a trail of blood behind her. She isn’t long for this life, thought Alfred. But after being bitten by a vampire god, she was bound for another life. A long one. Immortality, he thought.
He hurried after Nimrod.
If I can bring him back to London, I’ll be immortal, too, he thought. Not the undead kind. Eventually he would die. An old man. A rich old man. But his name would live on. His legacy would survive. The man who had brought a god back to London. Now that was real immortality.
“Wait,” he cried, his voice echoing.
Nimrod appeared to be descending into darkness. Alfred didn’t want to go any further if he didn’t need to. He had to work out a way of getting this creature back to the UK. First, he had to gain its trust.
“Wait, please!”
Nimrod stopped and turned slowly.
Alfred stood frozen to the spot. He smelled of piss and sweat by now. He was terrified, but the thought of being remembered encouraged him on. The thought of pleasing his brother was also an incentive.
“We… my brother and me… we brought this woman for you, my Lord Nimrod,” he said.
Nimrod growled quietly. Alfred wished that the woman in white had still been around. She understood this monster’s language.
Nimrod glared at him with fiery red eyes. His leathery skin rippled. A mist wafted around the creature. Steam, thought Alfred, rising from its burning heart. Wounds peppered The Great Hunter’s body. Blades and bullets had penetrated the flesh. But none seemed to affect him. Insects crawled all over him, feeding on his injuries, scuttling in an out of the pores.
“She’s your enemy, Lord Nimrod,” said Alfred. “She and her friends have been killing your children. Murdering them. For years. Destroying your offspring.”
“I hope you choke on your balls,” said Sinclair. She was badly hurt, and her voice was raspy. Her arm appeared to be broken, and her leg was twisted at the knee. Blood poured from the two wounds in her neck where Nimrod had bitten her.
“He’s going to rip you to pieces, bitch,” Alfred told her.
“Jake’ll find you, Fuad. He’ll find you and crush you.”
“Your Jake’s a dead man, whore. That bitch witch has killed him. She was going to shag him first, then kill him. Like that, eh? Him shagging that bird? He don’t fancy you no more, you being all broken.”
Nimrod started going down the steps again.
Shit, thought Alfred. Kill her up here, for fuck’s sake. Don’t make me follow you down there – it’s fucking scary.
But he had to.
Sinclair screamed. Her cries echoed. Nimrod dragged her deeper and deeper.
Alfred followed.
CHAPTER 90. HALF-THING.
“LOVE me, Jake,” Ereshkigal said, her breath dank and old. It made him sick and it turned him on.
They tussled – a dance of death amid the ruins.
They wheeled around, slamming into walls. She clawed at him, tearing his flesh.
Her teeth had broken his skin at the throat, but he’d managed to force her away before they sank into his jugular. But her bite was hot on him. He could feel where her lips had kissed him.
She rammed him against a wall. The jutting rocks cut him.
He grimaced.
Pain on pain on pain.
She forced her thigh between his legs, pressing.
One arm locked around his waist, the other hand on his face, her fingers in his mouth.
His arms were wedged, one holding a bone sword inches from her throat, the other, pressing the second weapon into her belly, crushed between their bodies.
Lawton was dizzy. He felt sick. Voices sang in his head. That song of doom. His doom. The end of him as a human.
He fought against the change in him. Rejected his own evolution.
But you can’t stop change. You can’t stop nature, however twisted it is.
He groaned, fighting against everything – her, nature, himself.
He grew hard against her leg. His stomach lurched. His skin burned. His skull ached.
He saw swirling patterns through his dead eye. She curled back her lips. Her fangs were white. Her eyes blazed red. Her skin smelled of flowers and decay.
“I will make you mine forever,” she said. “We’ll never be parted. We’ll be lovers for eternity. Be immortal with me.”
“I… I thought this fucking eye of mine had done that… already… so why bother… ”
“You are not unkillable, Jake; you are only more difficult to kill. There is still human in you. Ugly, horrible, worthless human. Let me suck out the poison. Let me drink it from you and make you vampire. Not a mongrel. Not a half-thing. Let me make you perfect.”
She was strong. She had him virtually locked in her grasp. Her teeth pressed against his throat again. He felt them make indents once more.
Another second, he would be bitten.
And there was no escaping her this time.
His veins would be open to her.
He shifted a little, using the tiny amount of give he’d sensed between their bodies.
It was enough.
The skin broke.
They both gasped.
The flesh tore.
The blood was hot.
They gasped again.
His head swam.
He was weak, light-headed.
He heard the blood pulse. He felt it flow.
Arteries cut.
Another gasp.
Blood gushing.
Lawton gritted his teeth.
Ereshkigal threw her head back, her crow-black hair fanning around her chalk-white face. Her eyes were on fire.
She shrieked.
Her body stiffening.
He drove the bone sword deeper into her chest.
Her blood had stained him, and he felt it like lava on his skin – burning, scorching, charring.
He forced her away from him, her hands on his shoulders. He rammed the bone sword up again, to the hilt, into her solar plexus, through her heart.
And she screeched, an animal cry that rattled his bones.
Blood fountained from her chest, spraying Lawton.
She trembled in his arms and cried out his name:
“Jake! Jake! Jake!”
Her leg was locked between his thighs. Her death made him harder. His desire for her stronger than ever.
No, he told
himself.
“NO!”
And he went hilt-deep into her body, and blood gushed, and its odour was strong and metallic.
She writhed and screamed, and she looked at his face, and he looked her straight in the eye.
Her skin withered. Fiery arteries raced along her flesh. The smell of burning meat filled Lawton’s nostrils. Her body became increasingly hotter. But he held her. He wouldn’t let go.
They looked into each other, and he felt something deep for her – he felt her peace approach.
“I give you silence, Ereshkigal,” he said. “I give you sleep.”
“I would have loved you more than any of them,” she said.
And then she aged in his arms. Her beauty fading. Her skin creasing and charring, the fire eating her flesh. And all the while she made a keening noise, like an animal, and it went deeply into him, scoring his heart.
Her dying hurt him physically.
She was on fire.
But he took the pain, like he had taken all the pain in his past.
He suffered with her. Suffered until she became a blackened skeleton with his sword inside her ribcage. Suffered until the bones became dust.
And all that was left was him, the dance done.
CHAPTER 91. PROTECTED.
Wembley Stadium, London – 10.11pm (GMT), 20 May, 2011
DAVID and his mum curled up and waited for the vampires to devour them. The creatures circled.
George Fuad said, “Go on, feed on the fuckers, feed on them.”
The creatures hesitated. They looked at Fuad. He was bleeding badly. Blood on his chest, where David had stabbed him, and blood coming from his mouth.
And the vampires were drawn to it.
They sniffed it.
They wanted to drink it.
But Fuad was protected – the red mark in the form of a band around his wrist.
He growled at the vampires:
“Kill ’em, go on, kill ’em – fucking rip their throats out – tear the cunts to shreds – ”
One or two of the vampires looked back at David and his mum. They were trying to make a decision – which was the easiest kill.
But the fact that blood was flowing made it difficult. All their instincts told them to go for the wounded prey. But they couldn’t. The bleeder was protected.
“Go on, don’t look at me, you bastards,” said Fuad, spitting blood. It sprayed on the ground. The vampires hissed and licked their lips. He showed them the mark. “I’m a fucking Neb, you disgusting filth. You can’t touch me. But you can fucking do those two.”
David thought quickly.
He saw the knife.
He went on all fours.
His mum tried to stop him.
But he was away.
Scuttling across the ground.
Eyes on the knife.
Vampires all around him.
Fuad screaming at them to kill David.
He grabbed the knife, dived at Fuad, clutched his wrist, sliced off the mark.
Fuad screamed.
David, without looking, scuttled back towards his mother.
He showed the vampires the mark:
“We’re protected, we’re protected.”
Fuad screamed again.
The vampires growled.
His blood made them frenzied.
He was unprotected.
Not a Neb to them anymore.
Just food to them.
They went at him.
He screamed:
“You can’t touch me, you can’t fucking touch me!”
But they did. They piled on him. They tore at him. He shrieked. Only his twitching feet could be seen under a press of vampires, all of them trying to get at his wounds to drink his blood and make new wounds to empty his veins.
“Let’s go,” said David.
He started to drag his mum away.
But more vampires poured up the steps into the walkway. And now some of those who’d been feeding on Fuad rose to their feet, looking for more nourishment. Finding it right there in David and his mum.
The vampires prowled.
David had the mark.
“We’re protected,” he shouted, holding his mum close.
“Only one of you,” hissed a vampire. The creature charged in and lunged at David’s mum’s leg. Grabbed it and tried to pull her away. She cried out. David yelled, “Mum”! He rammed the red mark into the vampire’s face. It reeled, hissing, desperately rubbing its mouth and cheeks.
Another rushed forward, trying the same thing. David leapt up and stood in its way, brandishing the mark.
But behind his back, two more bolted towards his mum, making a grab at her.
She screamed, and David fended them off.
“We’re protected,” he said, crying.
“Just you, kiddo,” said a vampire.
He pinned the mark on his mum.
“No, David,” she said.
“Now her,” he said.
“No, David.”
The vampires snarled.
Gunfire erupted. Shouts came from nearby. A gang of people, some dressed in army fatigues, others in civilian clothing, rushed up the steps.
And David saw who was leading them.
“Mei!” he called out.
She was leading another army – just like she’d done months ago. And this time it was made up of soldiers. Real ones. They ploughed into the vampires. They pinned them down. They staked them. Mei was lethal. She wielded her wakizashi swords. The blades were bloody.
She embraced him.
Her army swept into the stadium.
“How did you do this?” asked David.
“Ediz found your friend Old Bill. He made internet message. Just a few soldiers heard it. Only a few, but enough to help us here. But more come. More come from all over England and Scotland and Wales.”
David and Mei helped his mum to her feet.
“Still many vampires,” she said. She looked at the body of George Fuad. It was covered in blood. There were bite marks on it – neck, face, arms, legs. He had a look of horror on his face. He had died in agony.
Good, thought David.
“Human leader dead,” said Mei. “But they don’t care. Vampires just feed. Vampires will kill anyway.”
“Can I borrow one of your swords, Mei?” he said.
She handed him the blade. David drove it into Fuad’s chest until steel hit concrete. He watched every second of Fuad’s decay and didn’t move until the last speck of dust had swirled away on the breeze.
As David stood up and handed Mei her sword, a voice on a loudspeaker said, “This is General Howard Vince. I am recently back from Iraq. I urge citizens to fight against this insurgent army that is invading the stadium. These are the friends of the traitor Jake Lawton. They are here to ruin Britain. The vampires will join you. Fight for England. In Iraq, we have discovered a great power that will make this country great again. A god for us to worship. A mighty warrior to lead us to victory. Fight back against the rebels. Fight back against the terrorists.”
The noise inside the stadium grew.
Everyone was fighting everyone else.
And vampires were in the mix, killing anyone they could.
“What are we going to do?” said David’s mum.
“Too many vampires,” said Mei.
“Jake must have failed,” said David. He couldn’t believe what he was saying. “The Iraqis got him. He didn’t get away. If this Nimrod thing is awake, and he survives, we’re done. We’ve got no chance. We’re lost.”
A sea of people burst down the stairs from the Royal Box. The hurtled into the tunnel. Some fell and were crushed by the stampede. The mob roared towards David, his mum, and Mei.
“Run,” he said. “RUN!”
CHAPTER 92. THE HUNDRED BRIDES.
Hillah, Iraq – 10.15pm (GMT + 3 hours), 20/21 May, 2011
AALIYAH was crying. She was in pain. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was that her heart had
been broken.
Her dream of being with Jake was over. The dream that had brought her to Irkalla. The dream that had taken her away from him in the first place.
But no, they didn’t have a future.
It was going to die in this underworld.
Die with her.
Nimrod had dragged her down the flight of steps, and every yard hurt.
It felt like a long time before they finally came to a halt.
Aaliyah wiped tears from her eyes to take a look. They were in a clearing.
Behind them, the steps that led up to the coliseum.
Before them, a rock face that climbed as far as the eye could see. There was a cave in the rocks, and its entrance was framed by a gateway of red clay. It appeared to be the doorway to a temple. The gateway was warped and broken, but once, thousands of years ago, it must have been spectacular. Evidence of carved figures could be seen, although the surface of the artefact was now cracked and shattered completely in places. Ages ago, it must have given the impression of great wealth, of a bright future. Of something that would live forever.
But everything died.
Everything, thought Aaliyah.
She spluttered, tears relentlessly streaming down her face. Her body hurt. She’d broken her arm, for sure, and her leg throbbed painfully. She was bleeding a lot, particularly from the injury to the side of her neck where the monster had bitten her. He’d sucked some blood out of her. Not enough to make her dead, then alive again. But enough to weaken her.
Nimrod began dragging her towards the cave.
“Where are you taking me, you bastard?” she said.
He was silent.
Inside, the cave’s floor slanted upwards. Nimrod dragged Aaliyah up the slope. It was dark, but she could make out skeletal arms poking out of the walls. Clamped into the bony hands were torches.
The floor levelled, and they went down a corridor, the walls decorated with murals depicting some kind of battle. A horned monster – Nimrod, thought Aaliyah – was at the head of an army that had savaged what appeared to be hundreds, maybe thousands, of people – men, women, and children. Torn bodies lay strewn across fields, in towns, floating in lakes. Blood was plentiful. The mural could well have been painted in it.
