by King, Danny
“It’s Sebastian. He’s trying to sneak away without saying goodbye,” Angel said, pulling the table cloth off Sebastian as he inched his way along the floor and towards the door.
Sebastian’s face fell when he realised he’d been rumbled. It had been a good plan. Not perfect but pretty good all things considered. Slither out on his belly under cover of lace and make a break for it while Vanessa and her mates were filling their faces on Brave Two Zero. Given the chance he would’ve probably tried it again but Henry’s steely grip on his ankle told him it hadn’t worked this time.
“I wouldn’t go out there if I were you, old bean,” Henry advised, dragging Sebastian back across the floor and into the bosom of the Coven once more.
*
Colonel Bingham was rearranging his chess pieces in light of the first battle of Thatchers’ Farm. He hoped to avoid a second, or at least ensure that it lasted a little longer than the first battle and produced a more positive result for his side. “Second Squad, spread along the southern ridge and hold that line. Third Squad, move up to the outer barns and hold those positions. Four and five take the southern slopes and find cover. I want eyes on every window.”
Larousse’s voice came hard on the heels of Colonel Bingham’s and attempted to countermand his orders.
“No Third Squad, you’ll provide support for Second Squad when they move in to take down the targets.”
Colonel Bingham could scarcely believe his ears. The definition of insanity, according to Albert Einstein, was to do the same thing over and over again and expect different results. That theory had been tested to its limits in the trenches of the First World War and if Larousse had his way it would be retested tonight. But Colonel Bingham would be damned if he was going to let the underfed donkey on the other end of the line throw his lions to the slaughter.
“There’s not going to be any more assaults, Mr Larousse. We’re sealing off the perimeter,” the mercenary told his patron.
“That’s not the plan, Colonel Bingham,” Larousse replied, only too aware of how the targets were taken down. He’d attended every training exercise and every live firing drill. He’d seen the footage of successful kills abroad and had read the training manuals. Give him a gun and he could do it himself – if his job wasn’t to stay back and oversee the mission as a whole.
“The plan changes when I lose a whole Squad in under a minute. Now we have three Squads left and I’m not throwing away any more of my men for nothing, do you understand?” Colonel Bingham argued.
Larousse couldn’t understand the logic of Colonel Bingham’s argument. What were the lives of a few soldiers when they stood on the brink of eternal glory?
“Colonel, this is the opportunity of a lifetime. We can’t just let them get away,” Larousse now resorted to pleading.
“And we won’t. We’re going to put a ring of steel around this farmhouse until daylight. Nothing gets in or out of there alive tonight. Then tomorrow, we can take that place apart brick by brick until there’s nowhere left for them to hide from the sun.”
That struck a chord with Larousse. Containment then total extermination with a minimal loss of life, as that seemed to be important to Colonel Bingham for some reason. It seemed like the perfect plan. Perhaps the Colonel did know what he was doing after all? And as Larousse had recruited him, this would surely reflect well on him with the Synod.
Larousse was convinced and sanctioned the change in tactics with a declaration of approval.
“Very good Colonel, carry on.”
Half a mile away, Bingham hung up the radio and turned to 18 to share the joyous news. “He says we can carry on,” he said, shaking his head
*
The Coven had also been anticipating the next assault and sat like coiled springs ready to pounce the moment the first person to set foot through their door. That no one did, came as something of a genuine surprise to Vanessa.
“They’re not attacking,” she pointed out, in case no one else had noticed.
“Would you?” Boniface asked, looking around the smoking carnage they were crouched in. Spent cartridges sizzled in pools of blood and dust danced with smoke in front of the building’s newest holes to give the place a Stalingrad-like ambiance. Boniface had been there on his holiday at the time so he knew.
“What are we going to do?” Angel asked, looking to the others for suggestions. Angel was a fearsome lone wolf but this was not the time to go off on a solo spree. The enemy outside was like none they had seen before. They were organised, well equipped and knowledgeable. This was no rogue Van Helsing on a mission. This was an extermination Squad. And they’d only just begun.
If the Coven were to see the sun set again tomorrow evening they would have to pool their resources to get the hell out of this mess.
“One thing’s clear, we can’t stay here all night,” Henry said, before noticing one voice had been conspicuous by its absence. “Duke? Duke, what’s the plan?”
He looked around for a response but the Duke was nowhere to be seen. The room had been practically demolished in the fight, with bullets, stun grenades and flying body parts littering the place with debris. Henry took a quick roll call and found Alice, Angel, Boniface, Chen, Vanessa and Sebastian all present and correct but no Duke.
Had the enemy got him? Had he fled the scene during the fight?
Angel overturned the upset table and found the Duke beneath. His face was grey and his eyes glassy. The reason was obvious to all. A large splinter of wood, blown off the grandfather clock, had lodged itself into the Duke’s chest right where mortal men kept their hearts.
“Oh no no no!” Henry panicked, pulling at the splinter but dislodging only a torrent of black blood.
The Duke winced and turned his eyes towards them. He tried to mouth something but the words were lost on his dying choke.
“Come back to us. Duke, don’t go!”
But the decision was not his to make and with one last agonised gasp he slipped beneath the veil of death to crumble to dust in Henry’s hands.
“He’s gone,” Henry said, scarcely able to comprehend this world without the Duke. How would they continue? How would they cope?
Everyone felt the same and their silence betrayed their fears. He’d been the rock of their movement, the closest thing most of them had known to a father and now he was gone. And nothing would ever be the same again.
Boniface had a thought. “Who gets his territory?”
The rest of the Coven glared at him with a mixture of horror and incredulity etched across their faces. Boniface read between the lines and gave a shrug.
“Too soon?”
But this would not be the end of the matter as far as he was concerned. London was now up for grabs. And opportunities like this didn’t come around every century.
CHAPTER 11
18 was an astute soldier. He’d learned his trade in various theatres of warfare and now applied this hard won experience to the operation at hand.
“Shouldn’t we just get out of here? If they’re as dangerous as Larousse says, shouldn’t we just jump in the trucks and fuck off as far away as possible?” he suggested.
It was a considered question so Colonel Bingham thought it earned a considered answer. “We’ve caught the tiger by the tail, 18. As long as we don’t let go we won’t end up like First Squad. Lights!”
A series of powerful spotlights clunked on all along the ridge to turn night into day. Six of them in picked out the farmhouse below and the surrounding barns to bathe them in a blanket of light from which a spider would’ve had trouble hiding.
“If anything so much as moves down there, shoot it,” Colonel Bingham ordered his troops.
“What if it’s one of First Squad?” 18 asked.
“Especially if it’s any of First Squad,” Colonel Bingham replied without needing to spell out why.
But Bingham needn’t have worried. Most of First Squad – or at least what was left of them – had been dumped in the cellar to get them out
of the way. It was one thing killing people, it was quite another to have them look at you for the next six hours.
“What about the Duke? Should we get a broom or something?” Vanessa asked, looking down at the pile of ashthat lay before her.
“I saw a dust pan and brush in the cupboard,” Alice said, intending the comment to be genuinely helpful.
“Dear God, and who says there’s no dignity in death?” Boniface chuckled. “Why don’t you just vacuum the poor bastard up and be done with it?”
“Leave him where he is,” Henry said. “His problems are over. Ours are just beginning.” And with that they uttered the Coven prayer to send the Duke on his way, with each wondering who would be left to recite these same words over their remains when the time came.
Henry squinted through the window and up the hill at the huge lights that blazed back. The light itself couldn't harm them. It was the wrong sort of light. Artificial. Cold. Weak. But it dazzled Henry to the point of blindness. He wasn’t used to it. He didn’t like it. And it unnerved him. He felt naked without a cloak of darkness in which to operate. He was a mole out of his hole. And the jackals were on the prowl.
“Let’s just Skype from now on, yeah?” he suggested.
“What’s Skype?” Angel asked.
“You know, that internet phone thingy?” Henry told her, using all the latest technical jargon to prove he understood what he was talking about.
“I can work the video now,” Alice said with pride. It had taken her thirty years but she’d finally got the hang of it.
“Are you still using tapes?” Vanessa asked with a smirk.
“Yes? Why? Aren’t you?” Alice replied uneasily.
A voice piped up in the darkness. “Jesus, it’s like being round me nan’s house!” Sebastian said, despite having no nan of his own, just a collective foster carer who played the same role to Sebastian and 250 other kids.
“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me,” Boniface said. “Does someone want to kill the little ratboy now?”
Angel grabbed Sebastian by the throat and yanked him towards her. She would’ve drained him in a heartbeat had Vanessa not interceded to save him once again.
“Wait, we might need him!” she said, dragging Sebastian away from Angel’s outstretched fangs.
“Get off him bitch!” Angel objected but Henry agreed with the logic and sided with Vanessa.
“No, she’s right. Leave him be,” he said, feeling the Duke’s presence in his decision.
“Fuck you, Henry. You don’t get to tell us what to do just because the Duke is gone!” Angel hissed, outraged at Henry’s audacity. She liked Henry and would’ve naturally sided with him 99 out of 100 (as long as it didn’t affect her) but he had no right to stop her from doing what came naturally.
“Just until we know what we’re dealing with,” Henry conceded, giving Angel a face-saving way out which she reluctantly took. “After that he’s all yours.”
When Alice also urged Angel to exercise restraint, Angel could tell which way the mood was swinging and holstered her fangs.
“Fine,” she shrugged. “I’ll stick him downstairs with the others.”
Vanessa grabbed Sebastian too and told Angel she would take him, which came with its own set of problems.
“I think it’s best if I took him, don’t you?” Henry finally said.
“But I brought him here tonight,” Vanessa objected.
“I’ll split him with you if you like?” Angel proposed, momentarily giving Vanessa pause for thought.
Sebastian didn’t know what to make of it all as he was pulled this way and that. The prospect of a gruesome and bloody death left him shaken to the core. On the other hand if he did have to die tonight (and it seemed like he did) having Angel and Vanessa going twos-up on him as a method wasn’t without its merits.
“Let go of him, both of you!” snapped a voice from the far side of the room. Angel and Vanessa turned in surprise to see Boniface glaring at them both.
“You’re taking Henry’s side now!” Angel exclaimed, and even Henry was having trouble believing this. Truly the world had gone mad.
“No sides, no arguments. Not if we’re to get out of here tonight,” Boniface said, for once taking the centre ground if only to see how it felt. Henry acknowledged Boniface’s support with a grateful nod and decided to get Sebastian away from the girls before temptation could strike again. But before he could, Sebastian had a question of his own.
“Here, hang on a minute, what others?”
Henry didn’t stop to explain. It was easier to simply show him so he marched Sebastian down to the cellar, across a pile of dead soldiers, and directed him towards a couple of chairs, both of which were currently occupied. The Thatchers gawped up at him in fear and mouthed anguished pleas from behind their gags. They didn’t like being tied up. Let’s face it, who did? But the Thatchers in particular knew what happened to people who found themselves tied up – especially in this cellar.
“Who are they?” Sebastian asked as Henry plonked him into a chair of his own and wrapped some ropes around him.
“The Thatchers,” Henry told him. “It’s their farm.”
Sebastian turned to Mr Thatcher nearest and nodded cordially at him. “Alright, how’s it going?”
Mr Thatcher could only blink in response. Even if he’d not been tied and gagged he would’ve still probably just blinked. What a thing to ask!
Henry was greatly amused. And even little impressed. Sebastian had spirit. That went a long way with Henry. He was glad they’d let him live. If only for the time being.
“You know what, Sebastian, Vanessa was right about you. You really are something else,” he told him.
Sebastian just about managed to rasp his lips and replied, “Coming from!” before Henry snuffed out that sentiment with a gag.
Upstairs, Chen and the others were looking over the equipment First Squad had gifted them. They’d seen a great many firearms in their time, albeit usually from the wrong end, but First Squad’s lightweight carbine assault rifles were the very latest thing. Chen examined one of the rifles closely, identifying the trigger, the cartridge case and the hole it was advisable not to suck on whilst playing with the trigger, but there were other catches and buttons too, most of which he was less familiar with.
“Anyone used one of these before?” he asked.
Off in the corner, Alice ejected her cartridge case, caught it before it hit the floor, slammed home another and locked and loaded as if she were handling a new ball of wool.
“I’ve got one at home,” she explained when she saw everyone looking at her in surprise. She might not have been able to work a DVD but when it came to dishing out death and destruction, few could match the sweet little old lady from Eastbourne.
CHAPTER 12
18 saw something he didn't understand at first. He adjusted the settings on his thermal image detector but there it was again. What was that?
The house was cold but the bodies of First Squad were still warm. Most had been deposited in the cellar and out of sight of the thermal image detector but one poor unfortunate, Private Stoker (otherwise known as 9), who’d tried to escape through an upstairs window, lay dead and disappointed with himself at the top of the stairs. 18 had noticed him earlier, just after the initial assault, but now he appeared to be moving again. Was he still alive? Should they attempt a rescue?
But his movements were odd. He didn't seem to be moving, simply jerking, again and again and again. What was happening to him?
“Sir,” 18 said, calling to Colonel Bingham for a second opinion.
“What is it?” Colonel Bingham replied.
“Something odd,” 18 told him, handing his superior the thermal image detector to see for himself.
Alas Private Stoker was indeed dead. As dead as dead could be in fact. But he was still very tasty – to some.
Boniface came trip-trapping up the stairs and caught Angel with her face buried into the former soldier’s soft and sticky p
arts, blissfully indifferent to the Mephistophelian faux pas she was committing by feeding on the dead. This was a human habit, devised by barbarians and practiced by peasants. The Coven feasted only on the living. It wasn’t just about the taking of blood. It was about the feasting on their food’s life force. In vampiric terms, Angel was behaving no better than a tramp scoffing chips off the floor.
“Oh for God’s sake, that’s disgusting, stop that before the others see you,” Boniface implored her.
“I don’t care, I’m starving,” Angel snarled back, her face sticky from Private Stoker’s juices.
“But he’s dead for God’s sake. That’s not right.”
Angel raised an eyebrow. “But he’s still warm. Want some? You know you do.”
Boniface leaned against the banisters and didn’t know whether to laugh or honk as Angel set about the carcass once more. Despite only seeing his friends once or twice a century he thought he knew them quite well but it was really only in the face of adversity that you got to know your peers. They had six or seven hours until the dawn trapped them here for good. What would happen once the sun started to poke up through the trees on the Eastern slopes. He’d seen people do terrible things in Stalingrad in the final hours of the siege, both to friends and foe alike. What would fate find them doing come 4.30am tomorrow morning?
Boniface had no chance to consider the question further. All at once the window at the top of the stairs shattered into a thousand pieces as a hail of lead ripped through the glass and into Angel’s chest. The force of the impact drove her back against the far wall and tore her clothing to ribbons.
Boniface managed to duck the worst of the onslaught but was showered in glass and plaster as the side of the building was raked with gun fire.
As quickly as it had begun, it ended, leaving Angel battered, tattered and sore, and more than a little aggrieved.
“What the fuck was that for?” she said, climbing to her feet and brushing the bullets from her body as her innards closed up to squeeze them out.
“Someone else objecting to your questionable culinary habits, I would say,” Boniface suggested with an unsympathetic smile.
