Blue Skin

by Steven Jenkins

  “Don’t worry about our security,” Katrina says. “It’s just there to keep out any unwanted guests.”

  “Like who?”

  “HCA, for one. But we don’t get those here very often. Our main concern is keeping the purebred blues out. Domesticated half-breeds like your brother are always welcome here. But blues without a guardian are too hard to control. Too dangerous. And there’re children at the farm to think about.”

  “Children?” I ask, my nerves settling a little.

  “Oh, yes.” Katrina smiles. “You’ll see.”

  Climbing down from the watchtower, the man opens the gate and waves us through.

  The van judders along a thick, lumpy field, filled with perhaps forty to fifty caravans. Through Wesley’s half-open window, the sound of children playing seeps in. It’s a sound that I’d almost forgotten.

  About two hundred metres to the left of us, there’s a large building, around the size of a small aircraft hangar, with a steel shutter at the front, and walls made up of rusty tin-sheets. Just up from that, perhaps another hundred metres, is a second building with a steel shutter. This one is much smaller, about the size of a cottage.

  Wesley carefully drives through the middle row of caravans, heading to the right of the field towards a large barn. Without any signal, two men pull the tall, wooden doors wide open. My insides shrivel with concern as we enter. Inside the barn is dark, with no windows, and the only source of light is coming from the entrance.

  The van stops, and Wesley and Katrina climb out. Within seconds, the back doors creak open. “You ready to meet Maggie?” he asks.

  “What about my brother?” I peer down at the mound of blanket, with Ben beneath it.

  “He’ll be fine, Jodie. Let him sleep. Sun won’t get him in here.”

  He waves me out, but I don’t move, still unsure of what to make of all this madness.

  “You’re safe,” Katrina says, holding out a hand. “You both are.”

  With reluctance, I take her hand and she helps me out of the van. Straightaway, a strong smell of hay and manure hits my nostrils, forcing me to wince and cover my mouth and nose.

  “You’ll get used to the stink.” Wesley closes the doors, and my chest tightens a little when I hear them click into place.

  I scan the barn, looking beyond the wooden fencing on each side. “You have animals?”

  “Of course, we do,” Katrina replies, chirpily, taking her husband’s hand.

  The bright, morning sun blinds me for a moment as I follow the couple outside. To the left of the barn, I see lots of cows scattered across a wide field. And to the right, I see pigs sniffing around a muddy patch of land, fenced in with barbed wire.

  “We have chickens around the back, too,” Wesley points out, clearly noticing my inquisitive stare. “I’ll show you them later, if you like.”

  “Okay,” I reply, realising that I’ve never set foot on a farm in my life.

  I’m steered into the heart of the campsite, where I’m met with several welcoming smiles from the residents. Men and women, young and old, sitting outside their white caravans, tinkering with their cars and 4x4s. Dogs barking. Children kicking footballs around, dragging containers filled with water. An instant sense of community.

  We stop at one of the larger caravans, and I’m struck with a mouth-watering smell of bacon and sausage. There’s a woman in her mid-forties, oily black hair tied back in a ponytail. Through her thick blue coat, I see broad shoulders and a round, overfed belly. She’s standing in front of a gas barbecue, holding a pair of cooking tongs with her thick, greasy fingers. She spots me just as she turns a sausage over on the grill. “Hello, sweetie,” she says with a welcoming grin, a puff of smoke hitting her blotchy face. “How was your trip?”

  “Fine, thank you,” I reply, nervously playing with the zip of my jacket.

  “Hungry?”

  Even the thought of eating something makes my stomach grumble. “Starving.”

  “Have a seat.” She points her tongs at one of the empty deck chairs in front of the caravan.

  “Thanks.” I sit stiffly, leaning slightly forward. Still not ready to let my guard down.

  Katrina pats me on the shoulder. “We’re off to get some sleep, Jodie. We’ll see you in a few hours.”

  “Okay,” I reply with a strained, nervous beam. “Thanks for everything.”

  “You’re welcome,” she says, and then disappears between two other caravans.

  The woman scoops up a sausage and two slices of bacon, and places them between two slices of white bread. “Ketchup?”

  I shake my head in protest. “No, thank you.”

  She puts the sandwich on a plate and passes it me. “Oh, where are my bloody manners?” She holds out her hand. “I’m Margret—but everyone ‘round here calls me Maggie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Maggie.” I shake her hand. “I’m Jodie.”

  She grins as she takes a seat next to me. “Oh, come on now. We’re all friends here. You can tell me your real name.”

  My stomach flips a little. How the hell does she know it’s a fake name?

  “Hey, if you prefer Jodie, then that’s your own prerogative. But you’re safe here. You can be yourself. No HCA. No cops. None of those stupid vigilantes.” She sweeps her hand across the air. “Just us campers against the rest of the world.”

  I swallow my reluctance like a chalky pill, and nod. “It’s Freya. Freya Lawson.”

  “Well, that’s a pretty name, Freya. Do you know what it means?”

  Taking a bite of the sandwich, I shake my head.

  “It’s Scandinavian,” she points out, proudly. “She was the Norse God of love and fertility.”

  “Mum never told me that,” I say with a mouthful of food.

  Maggie’s eyebrows rise. “Fertility. Such a fitting name in a time like this.”

  “So, do you own all this land?” I ask, dabbing my mouth with my sleeve.

  “Yes,” Maggie replies, handing me a sheet of kitchen roll. “This land has been in my husband’s family for four generations. We haven’t always lived here, though. Been travellers for most of our lives. Stayed all over Ireland and the UK. But once our first-born turned five, we had to settle down somewhere. Find him a good school.”

  I finish the sandwich in record time, almost feeling embarrassed at how greedy I must seem.

  Maggie chuckles. “You want another one, sweetie?”

  I’d love another, but I still find myself shaking my head. “No, thank you. So, how many children do you have?”

  Maggie hands me a bottle of water. “I’ve got one boy,” she replies. “Wesley. He’s the one who picked you up in Newton Port.”

  “Oh, right. I didn’t realise he was your son.”

  “Yeah. He’s a good lad. Strong as an ox.” She throws me a cheeky grin. “Not the sharpest tool in the shed, though.”

  I chuckle, just to be polite. “And your husband? Is he around?”

  Maggie shakes her head. “No. I’m afraid my Dan passed away.”

  My cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be, sweetie. You weren’t to know. And I love talking about him. He was the heart of this place.” She snorts. “Still is.”

  Nervously, I play with the bottle of water on my lap. I haven’t drunk anything in a while, but I’m too distracted, too on edge to unscrew the cap. “Why are you helping me?”

  “Wesley and Katrina are very important to this place. It’s their job to help those in need. Evaluate whether they’re safe to live with us at the farm.” She picks up her red flask, and fills up her mug. “And you and your brother looked in desperate need of a break.”

  My eyes start to well up. “Thank you.”

  Maggie reaches over and takes my hand. “You don’t have to thank me, sweetie. But you’re safe now. We have food, water, security.” Her eyes lock onto the bite marks on my wrist. “And we’ve got plenty of pig’s blood for your brother to feed on.”
<
br />   A tear rolls down my cheek. “Why are you being so nice to us?”

  Maggie pulls out a tissue from her pocket and hands it to me. “My son was taken from me last year.” She pauses. “James was just three months old.”

  “That’s awful. Was he a Hemovore?”

  She nods. “So, I know what you’re going through, Freya. I know it’s hard to have trust in this new world. But it’s time to stop running.” She picks up the plate of sausages, hovers it in front of me. “It’s time to start living again.”

  With a hopeful smile, I rest the bottle of water on my thighs, and pick up a sausage.

  Part V

  SEAN RICHARDS

  10

  As soon as I enter the car park, I’m overcome with anxiety. I’ve been waiting for this day—this moment to shine—for weeks. My very first nest. A chance to take out as many vamps as I like. No families to worry about. No danger of a child getting in the crossfire. Just a rifle, a shitload of bullets, and a disused factory infested with bloodsuckers.

  A gamer’s wet dream.

  So I keep telling myself.

  Michael and Nick say that the nerves are just part of the job. Apparently, I’ll get used to them, perhaps after a couple more busts. Although, Michael doesn’t seem the nervous type. Well, maybe he was as a young soldier, on that first day in a foreign country, taking out some sniper. But here, in this war, I’m yet to see him break a sweat.

  I get the usual mumbles of hatred from a group of police officers as they climb out of a van. But today, I brush off their prejudice without a moment’s thought.

  I’m working with Nick and Erin today. And also some guy called Henderson. Haven’t worked with him before. Nick says he’s some badass ex-marine, so we should be in safe hands.

  Just as I cross over the car park, I notice Erin’s car. She’s still inside, clutching the steering wheel.

  “You okay in there?” I ask, tapping the passenger window.

  She looks at me, but doesn’t respond.

  I open the door and climb inside. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she replies, struggling to keep eye contact, her body rigid.

  “We’ve got a briefing with Nick in ten minutes. We’re gonna be late.”

  She doesn’t speak.

  Frowning, I put my hand on her arm. “Are you nervous?”

  She nods.

  “Join the club. I couldn’t sleep a wink last night. Kept tossing and turning, petrified about this nest.”

  “It’s not just that. If I blow this today, if I freeze again, then I’m done for.”

  “You’re not going to freeze, Erin. That was a one-off. This will be different.”

  “How will it be different?” she asks, her words a little harsh.

  “That was someone’s home, someone’s children. Emotions are always going to be higher in those kinds of situations. But this is a nest. We can just switch off emotion and take down as many vamps as we can—without a second thought.”

  Erin lets out a long, frustrated groan, releases the steering wheel, and then runs her fingers through her hair. “Oh, God, I’m so pathetic.”

  I shake my head. “You’re not pathetic. You’re one of the toughest girls I know. And Michael knows it, too.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Well, he hasn’t called you into his office about you freezing, and he’s happy for you to come to the nest today.”

  “I suppose.”

  “And he knows you’re a crack-shot with the rifle.”

  Erin snorts, clearly being modest. “I don’t know about that.”

  “What are you talking about? You were top in our class! You’re the reason I asked Nick if he’d give me extra shooting practice.”

  Erin smiles tightly. “Yeah, your shooting skills were pretty dire.”

  “Hey, you’re the one stuck with me today. You just make sure you’ve got my back.”

  “Deal.”

  “And after we rip these vamps a new arsehole,” I say with confidence, “how about me and you grab a drink to celebrate? Maybe even a movie, too? You know, like normal people do after work. Like we’re postmen, or school teachers.”

  Erin puts her hand over mine; her soft touch sending tingles of electricity through my body. “Sounds good,” she replies. “But no chick-flicks. I know how much of a girl you can be.”

  “Fine. No chick-flicks.” I open the door and start to climb out. “Now, let’s show these pricks how it’s done.”

  11

  I feel nauseous, lightheaded.

  The four of us climb out of the van, into the bright sunshine, and head along the factory car park. Weeds and grass sprout out from the cracks in the concrete, and there’s a smell of decomposing rubbish in the air. So many businesses have gone like this since the outbreak. Ironically, the curfew was meant to keep people safe, but with more and more factories closing, they’ve become breeding grounds for vamps.

  When we first learned about these nests, for some dumb, childish reason, I thought it’d be cool to raid an old building, armed to the teeth with guns, batons, and dogs, and flush out a horde of stinking bloodsuckers. But here, at this moment, and even with the two Alsatian dogs, all I feel is a horrid sense of trepidation.

  From outside, the building doesn’t look much bigger than a tennis court, and fixed to the centre is a faded sign that reads: Morgan & Tailor Radiators. God knows if that company still exists in some way, but with the boarded-up windows, the peeling paint on the walls, I’m pretty sure that this dump has been closed for a good few months.

  As soon as we reach the steel doors, the dogs start to pull against my grip on the leash. The bloodhounds are no good on these sorts of raids. A vamp would rip the poor buggers apart. Alsatians are tougher, more aggressive, more trained for combat.

  Secured to the door is a thick chain. Nick retracts the handles on the bolt-cutters, lines up the metal teeth with the chain, and with one hard pull with his bulky arms, the teeth close and the chain splits in two.

  Erin pulls the doors open, and a vile sense of foreboding ripples through me. Keep your head, Sean. You can do this.

  “Ready?” Henderson asks us, his steady rifle pointed at the opening, his bald head dry as a bone. If he is nervous, then he certainly isn’t showing it.

  Erin and I lock eyes for a moment, as if silently saying: No, we’re not ready—but let’s get this over with.

  “I’m ready,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster, but Nick can probably tell that it’s forced. Think I’ve got a long way to go before I can have even half of his cool-head.

  “Let’s kill these bastards,” Erin says. Please don’t freeze today. I don’t want to lose you.

  The dogs tug violently at their restraints, desperate to sniff out a vamp. If only they knew how many dogs HCA has lost in the last few months.

  Inside the building, there’s a cool breeze, and a strong smell of mould. The odour reminds me of my grandparents’ old house. Musky. Nick, Henderson, and Erin switch on their torches, which are attached to the top of their rifles, because the entire room is pitch black; every window sealed up with something. Wood. Plastic. Cardboard. Anything to keep the sun out. A classic sign of a nest. There’s no shelving. No discarded machinery. And no vampires. Just flattened boxes, broken glass, and other bits of junk. At the far end of the room, about thirty-metres away, there’s a closed door. With no blueprints of the building, there’s no way of knowing if the door leads to a basement filled with vamps, or just a staff toilet.

  Heart in my mouth, I follow the soft footsteps and torch beams, praying that the light doesn’t reveal a cluster of vamps huddled up in a corner. If this was another home raid, another vampire holed up inside a bedroom wall, then I’d be glad of the action, glad to take out another bloodsucker. But this place is different. In here, in a building with this much open space, I feel like we’re sitting ducks. At least in a house, there’s a limit to how many vampires a mother can hide.

  Empty food pac
kets and plastic fragments crunch under our boots as we approach the door. Each sound makes the thirty-second journey feel like a marathon. Henderson lifts up his arm to stop us. He turns to me and then signals to the dogs. “Ready?” he whispers.

  I give a nod, and then he twists the handle and pulls the door open. I unclip the leash and the two dogs burst into a sprint, through the darkness of the doorway.

  Sweat running down my face, I unhook the rifle from my shoulder and point it forward, torch on, finger grazing the trigger. I catch Erin glancing at me. There’s a slight tremor in her arm as she points her weapon at the door. I want to tell her that everything will be okay, that it’s fine to be nervous. But what the hell do I know? I’m just as petrified as she is.

  The sound of dogs barking travels through the blackness, echoing off the walls. Nick and Henderson take a step back, causing Erin and me to mirror their footsteps.

  There’s silence again.

  I swallow hard and hold my breath, waiting for the chaos to start.

  Thirty-seconds pass. Still nothing.

  Maybe it’s a false alarm. Some kids messing arou—

  My heart stops in fright when a fox-like squeal overwhelms the factory.

  “They’re coming,” Nick whispers. “Get ready.”

  A bead of sweat slides into my eye, blinding me. I take my hand off the gun and quickly wipe it away.

  You can do this, Sean. Stay calm.

  Before I can get my hand back on the weapon, a blue cluster of bodies stampedes towards us, their gaunt, sinewy arms and fingers outstretched, scrambling through the narrow doorway, their wide jaws oozing with untamed fury.

  “Oh, fuck!”