Blue Skin

by Steven Jenkins

  I look down at the table. There’s a pool of liquid over the white cloth, drenching my napkin. But my glass of water is still full. My head feels wet, so I pat it. What the hell—my hair is soaking. There’s water dripping down my neck and arms.

  “You’re drenched,” Sean points out with a grimace.

  I look up, but there’s nothing there, just a bone-dry, cream ceiling.

  The water is still flowing, getting thicker and thicker. What the hell is going on?

  I’m freezing.

  The sound of people chatting starts to fade.

  The table is now a pool of water.

  Sean begins to disappear, his voice becoming an echoey drone.

  “Wakey, wakey,” a woman’s voice says.

  Who is that?

  Through the distorted room, a face begins to form. “Maggie?”

  The restaurant evaporates completely, pulling me out of my dream, back to reality. But water is still running down my body. From my chair, I look up and find Katrina. She’s standing behind me, pouring a jug of water over my head.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Wide awake, disorientated, I try to take in my surroundings. The room is massive, with walls made out of scuffed up tin-sheets, and there’s a closed steel shutter at the far end the room. Am I still at the farm? In front of me is a barbed wire fence that stretches around a square hole at the centre of the room, about four-metres deep, and about ten metres wide. Its walls and floor are made of concrete, stained with dirt and patches of dark red. And on each side of the pit, there are three wide and high steps, elevating a crowd of at least a hundred men, drinking from cans and bottles, their raised voices filling the room with a muffled hum.

  Who the hell are they?

  And why are they staring at me?

  To my left, sitting on a wooden stool, is Maggie.

  Oh shit! She has a handgun pointed at me.

  I freeze in terror, gripping the sides of the chair, praying that this is all just a dream—a vile, twisted dream.

  “What’s going on, Maggie?” I ask, panicked. “Who are these people?”

  She sniggers.

  “Why are you laughing?” I ask, tears trickling down my cheeks. “What do you want from me?”

  “Oh, sweetie. We don’t want anything from you.” With a smug look on her face, Maggie points down at the pit. “We only want him.”

  In the corner of the hole, there’s a male vampire, cowering, bare feet and chest, wearing a pair of black joggers. His thin, trembling arms are over his head, blood dripping over a metal collar. “Ben!” I scream in dismay. “What the hell have you done to him?”

  “He’s a vampire,” I hear Katrina say from behind me. “They heal. He’ll be fine.”

  My stomach flips and I have to stop myself from vomiting. With a hand over my mouth, I glare in disgust, in confusion, at all the men, the spectators. Are they residents? “What do these people want?”

  She picks up a microphone from the floor, and holds it to her mouth. “They’re here to see a show!” Maggie cries, her voice blaring through a speaker, overwhelming the room. Her words create a ripple of excited cheers from the audience. “Maybe make some money!” The roaring intensifies.

  “Money from what?” I ask.

  She moves her mouth away from the microphone. “It’s pretty simple: when you’ve got a world where vampires exist, you can’t exactly go back to dog-fighting, now can you? The customer needs something better, something different.”

  “Don’t do this, Maggie. Please. I beg you!”

  Maggie stands up. “Sweetie, we’ve been doing this since the start. It’s nothing personal. Just business. Making money in this world is tough. Sometimes you’ve got to bend the rules a little to make a little. These fences protecting us weren’t cheap, you know.”

  “Please, Maggie. Let us go.”

  Ignoring me, she walks over to the barbed wire railing and whistles over to Wesley, who is standing on the opposite side of the pit. He nods his head and disappears into the crowd.

  “Please, Maggie,” I weep. “He’s just a kid.”

  She doesn’t respond.

  The crowd ignites again with thunderous cheers and chapping. A path forms between a row of them, making way for a female vampire, dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans. Barefoot. There’s blood running down her forehead, and she has a collar around her neck. It’s attached to a thick chain, with Wesley grasping the end.

  Oh my God! It’s Jade!

  Wesley drives a stun-gun baton into her chest, and then disconnects her collar. She cries out in agony, stumbling into the barbed wire. He drives his foot into her side and she plunges into the pit.

  Ben rushes over to her twitching body, his hand on her shoulder.

  There’s a second commotion coming through the crowds. Another man has Simon in a headlock, dragging him across the floor. “No,” I say under my breath, my voice buried in bewilderment, in panic. “What are you doing?” He releases him on a chair and then rams a stun-gun baton into the side of his neck. With a limp head hanging forward, drool seeping from his bleeding mouth, Simon tries to get up again, but the man drives a fist into his chin.

  Maggie redirects her gun at Ben. “Tell your brother to fight,” she turns to me, that smug look gone, replaced with a cold, blank stare, “or I’ll put two bullets in his head. See if he can heal from that.”

  On autopilot, I try to stand, but stop in my tracks when I feel a cold blade against my throat. “Give me an excuse, Freya,” Katrina whispers into my ear, her breath stinking of beer.

  “You think I won’t shoot him?” Maggie asks. “You think I won’t just bring another vampire out to fight her?” She sniggers. “Sweetie, there’re thousands of them out there. Another dead blue is hardly gonna make the news, now is it?”

  What the hell do I do? Let him fight her? Risk dying? Risk killing Jade.

  But I barely know her. Or Simon. What choice do I have?

  You can’t. There’s got to be another way.

  “What about your son?” I ask. One last throw of the dice. “He was a Hemovore, too. Don’t you feel any kind of remorse?”

  Maggie’s face reddens with anger, and she fires the gun into the pit. I scream in fright when the bullet misses Ben by an inch. “What the hell do you think happened to him?”

  “The HCA took him from you. Like they tried to do to Ben.”

  Maggie shakes her head, disgusted. “The government didn’t take James. They didn’t even know about him.” She looks around the room at all the gawping, bloodthirsty spectators. “The stinking vampire killed my husband. Ripped his throat clean out.” A sinister grin creeps over her face. “So, I put a bullet into my own son’s brain.”

  I gasp in horror, picturing the vile image. “How could you?”

  “‘How could I’? Sweetie, you really do live in your own little fantasyland, don’t you? When your dog goes rabid, you gotta take ‘em out back—and blow their brains out.” She fires a second shot into the pit; this one grazes Ben’s shoulder. “Now, tell your brother to fight!”

  “Okay. Okay. Just put the gun down.” I lean forward, watching in revulsion as Ben cups his bleeding shoulder. “Ben! It’s Freya!”

  He looks up at me, his yellow eyes glowing with fear.

  “You have to fight her!”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “Please, Ben! She’s not your friend!” I feel sick. “Jade wants to hurt you! She wants to hurt me! She’s dangerous!”

  Ben turns his attention to Jade. She’s standing up, her back against the wall, her fists clenched.

  “Kill him, Jade!” Simon shouts from his chair; his eyes on his daughter; Wesley’s knife over his throat.

  Adrenalin surging, I grip the arms of the chair tightly, leaning ever further forward. “Kill her, Ben! Before she kills us!”

  Snarling, Jade takes a step forward.

  The crowd starts to roar, creating an earthquake of movement. Maggie sits down on her stool, watching the sho
w with a rancid smirk across her greasy face.

  Jade makes the first move, dragging her fingernails across Ben’s chest, tearing his skin like paper. Ben lunges forward and grabs her throat, slamming her back against the wall with a loud thud. She drives her knee into his groin and he lets go of her neck, his legs buckling. In a split second, she’s on top of him, pinning him, her fingers wrapped around his throat, ramming his head against the hard concrete.

  “Get up, Ben!” I shriek through the vociferous cheers.

  “Kill him, Jade!” Simon cries, his voice louder than mine, more vicious. I turn to him, my teeth grinding together, a strange urge to slam my fist into his mouth.

  My attention returns to the pit. Ben has managed to escape her clenches and is back on his feet. He swings a punch. The first one misses, but the second catches her jaw. For a moment, she loses balance and stumbles back against the wall. Ben drives his shoulder into her chest, and she cries out, her eyes closed, her face creased with pain. He grasps the top of her head and brings it down, slamming it into his right knee. Jade’s legs weaken, her eyes roll back, and she falls to the ground.

  “Get up, Jade!” Simon shouts. “Come on! On your feet!”

  Straining to open her eyes, Jade pushes her chest off the ground, but her elbow collapses and her face drops. Ben kneels over her and rams his fist into the back of her head.

  “Stop, Ben!” I cry out. “That’s enough!”

  Maggie turns to me with a venomous scowl. “I’ll tell you when it’s enough!”

  “What are you talking about? He’s won. It’s over!”

  She shakes her head. “No, sweetie. It’s over when someone dies. So, unless he finishes her, I’ll put a bullet in his head, and Jade can fight someone else next week. It’s up to you.”

  I’m juddering, the sound of cheering deafening. It’s suffocating me.

  I need air.

  “What’s it gonna be, Freya? Bullet or brawl?”

  I take a deep breath, imagining Ben’s brains being spattered across the wall, picturing Maggie turning the gun on me instead.

  You’ve got no choice, Freya. It’s him or her?

  Do it!

  Do it now!

  “Kill her, Ben!” I sob loudly, disgusted. Nauseated.

  “No!” Simon weeps. “Don’t do it!”

  Ben drops to one knee and grabs her head.

  I look away and close my eyes before the cracking noise comes. The sound echoes around the room, cutting through the chatter and laughter.

  In the darkness, I hear Simon screaming out. My stomach burns with loathing and I throw up over my legs and feet.

  “Good, girl,” Maggie says, standing over me. “You’re not as dumb as you look. And Ben gets to fight another day. So, everyone’s a winner.”

  Simon doesn’t even struggle as he’s dragged through the crowds. His tear-soaked eyes are on his daughter as she lies motionless in the pit.

  “I’m sorry, Ben,” I say to him as he stands over her body, his fists clenched. He turns to me, disturbed.

  ‘Help me,’ he tells my head. ‘I want to go ho—’

  His words are cut off when a man shoves an extended cattle prod onto his back.

  I leap onto my feet in madness. “Leave him alone!”

  Something hard connects with the back of my head.

  The room starts to spin. I’m dizzy.

  My legs turn to jelly, and I collapse on the ground.

  I try to speak, try to move, but I can’t.

  My eyes start to close. The sounds around me disappear.

  And then, once again, I sink into the darkness…

  Part VII

  SEAN RICHARDS

  19

  I’ve never sat in a seven and a half lorry before, or any lorry for that matter—and especially one with thirty-two vampires locked up in the back.

  Haven’t heard a peep out of the inventory all journey, which should be a good thing—but it’s not. If anything, it’s unsettling. Eerie. The sun is strong today, with scarcely a cloud in sight, so most of them should be fast asleep. Not that you could hear anything through the sluggish diesel engine and terrible ‘80s power-ballads over the radio.

  Erin’s been dozing for most of the three-hour journey; her head resting against my shoulder; her silky black hair touching the skin on my neck. It’s a little uncomfortable having her weight pressing down on me, yet I can’t bring myself to move. I wouldn’t want to miss a moment of it. It feels too nice, like it was with Freya. I miss that so much. But Erin and I are just friends. Can’t have it any other way. This job is way too dangerous to have a distraction like that. Imagine if we broke up, my head in the clouds—and then I’m pinned to the ground by a pack of purebreds.

  No, thank you.

  I can’t say I recognise any of these country roads. They all look the same. Long, grey, and mind-numbingly boring. The fields that stretch out for miles, the quaint country pubs, the isolation of this place—it all reminds me of An American Werewolf In London. But seeing as we’re on our way to a secret lab, where vampires are poked, prodded, and exterminated, a fictional werewolf should be the last thing on my mind.

  Nick says that The Facility has to be remote, kept secret, because of vampire activists, and pissed off families wanting their loved ones back. Shit, I bet they’d have this place burned to the ground given half the chance.

  It was weird driving through Ammanford earlier. Haven’t been there since my parents were... My throat catches just thinking about that night. Granddad had to deal with the sale of the house. I couldn’t bring myself to even set foot in the street.

  “How long left, Nick?” Erin yawns, lifting her head off my shoulder.

  I stifle a groan of disappointment, missing the weight of her head already.

  “Just a few more miles,” he replies, pulling the lorry tight against a bush as a tractor passes.

  “So, how has this place been a secret for so long?” I ask. “Don’t the locals come snooping?”

  Nick shakes his head. “What locals? It’s miles from civilisation. We get the odd hiker, but usually they think it’s just a factory.” The road becomes wider, so he speeds up. “Or a slaughterhouse.”

  “What if someone tries to get in?” Erin asks.

  “Then they’ll get arrested.”

  Erin nods. “Fair enough,”

  Nick slows the truck down, taking us along an overgrown road.

  Perhaps another five minutes pass before we reach a steel fence with a set of gates directly in front of us, and four security cameras positioned along the top.

  “We’re here.” Nick opens his window, and puts his thumb up to a camera.

  Within seconds, there’s a loud clatter of steel, and, like magic, the gates slide apart.

  A mixture of nerves and exhilaration engulf my stomach as the lorry begins to move again. In the driver’s wing-mirror, I see the gates closing behind us as we enter the car park, and another set of security cameras pointing right at us.

  The two-storey, grey building stretches across at least three hundred metres. And as Nick said, it looks just like any regular factory. But no fancy signage. No bright lights. Hardly any windows. Just a faceless building, devoid of any distinguishing features. In fact, with the high-steel fencing and cameras, it looks more like a prison.

  I guess it sort of is—without parole, of course.

  Nick drives past a few parked cars, away from the main entrance, and then down a narrow road at the side of the building. God knows why I’m so nervous, so sweaty. After the nest, something like this should be a piece of cake. What’s wrong with me?

  You’re just excited, Sean. That’s all. You get to see how all this ends.

  At the very back, there’s a huge open garage door, leading directly inside the building. And standing to the side of the opening, there’s a chubby man, shaved hair, dressed in a green overall. Nick swings the lorry around and reverses into The Facility with expert precision.

  Once we’re inside, the
garage door closes and Nick shuts off the engine.

  “Sean, Erin—you two ready for your tour?” Nick asks with an excited tone, like we’ve just discovered Jurassic Park.

  “Yeah,” Erin replies with unfiltered eagerness in her voice, and wide childlike eyes.

  We climb out of the lorry, stepping into a large garage. Just like the outside of the building, the walls are grey, bleak even, no windows, and there’s a quiet radio playing somewhere. Sounds like Bon Jovi. Steel cabinets, tool stations, and spare tyres take up most of the floor space, and there’s a distinct smell of diesel and motor oil in the air. It reminds me of Granddad’s old garage, except here there are fewer cobwebs and giant spiders.

  We follow Nick to the back of the vehicle. He unlocks the shutter and then slides it up, revealing thirty-two vampires, passed out on the floor, and shackled by their feet to the walls.

  The man dressed in green climbs up onto the lorry.

  “What’s he doing?” Erin whispers to Nick.

  “You’ll see.”

  The man pulls out a handgun, screws a silencer into the barrel, holds it up to a female vampire, and then squeezes the trigger.

  “Is he just gonna shoot them?” I ask with a shocked grimace.

  Then my question gets immediately answered when a tiny thud leaves the gun, and a bullet rips through the vampire’s temple.

  I wince in disbelief. Erin does the same, grabbing my hand, but instantly letting go.

  The man in green takes out another vamp, then another, until all that’s left is a mass of dead bodies, and perhaps ten or so still alive, still fast asleep.

  Even though I’ve already taken out my fair share of bloodsuckers, somehow the image is disturbing. I avoid looking at Nick in case he sees the aversion in my face.

  “A little barbaric, maybe?” I hear a man say.

  The three of us turn to find Michael standing behind us. A clipboard in one hand, and a pen in the other.

  “No, it’s fine,” I reply. Where the hell did he come from?

  “Hey, if you didn’t find that barbaric, then I’d be bloody worried.” He pats me on the shoulder as he steps between Erin and me, staring at the mass of dead bodies. “We don’t employ psychopaths. But, as much as we wish there was a more humane way to dispose of them, we just don’t have the time nor budget to facilitate it. All we can do is make it quick, make it painless—and most importantly, keep it away from the public.”